by Alan Lee
She was, in a lot of ways.
Byron was in the basement practicing his guitar for the first time in weeks. She used to love the sound of his strings. Now she wanted to break them. She walked back and forth through the house. Hoping her fiancé would hear her heels on the wooden floor and be intrigued. Would come tell her she looked beautiful. Would ask her what on earth she was doing. Would care.
He didn’t. He turned up the volume on his guitar amp and sang louder.
Jennings felt like he was sinking into Afghan sand. He sat in his truck, parked on an empty driveway a block removed, watching Lynch’s Jaguar ease to a stop in front of Daisy’s house.
She emerged and paused under the street lamp, like she had a halo. From four houses away, her outfit struck him and his chest tightened.
Lynch would be thinking risqué thoughts.
“He’s here,” said Jennings.
The two men listening on the conference call remained quiet.
Lynch got out from the car. What a car. He looked sharp in a blue sports jacket. Jennings couldn’t be positive at this distance, but Lynch might’ve undergone a haircut and shave. Satan looking dapper for his date.
She looked tiny next to him.
Lynch opened the passenger door for her. Closed it and returned to the driver seat.
“They’re rolling. So far so good.”
The Jaguar pulled away and Jennings’ eyes shifted down to the phone’s map, watching Hathaway’s dot leave him. He imagined echoes of his friends dying.
Lynch had pressed against Hathaway when he opened her car door, but was otherwise remarkably civil on the drive. Thanking her for the company and asking about her weekend. Hathaway, accustomed to Byron talking about video games and driving his old Jeep, found the Jaguar and pleasant conversation at odds with her expectations.
Lynch had hungry eyes. Couldn’t help himself and his pulse raced visibly in his neck.
He parked on Wasena Avenue and said, “You look so lovely, Ms. Hathaway, that I’m surprised your fiancé didn’t keep you to himself tonight. If you belonged to me, I would have eaten you up.”
Fiancé. He remembered the ring she used to wear.
“When we’re not at school, Mr. Lynch, you may call me Daisy.”
“You can call me Peter no matter where we are, Daisy. But I like how Mr. Lynch sounds on your lips.”
They strolled side by side to Bloom and she scanned the far sidewalk. Didn’t see Lewis. He was there, she knew. Rightfully hiding until they were inside. But she yearned for a friendly face.
Bloom was a small one-room restaurant, designed to look industrial and modern. White and spare, and Hathaway made the unfortunate comparison to an operating room.
The hostess whisked them to the reserved table in the corner. Perfect for Lynch’s purposes. And perfect for hers.
Lewis, however, would only have a narrow angle to see them from the street.
Their waitress arrived and poured each a glass of water from her carafe. Before Hathaway could order, Lynch laid his hand on hers to still her. Told the woman, “You keep Peter Michael chardonnay on hand. We’ll take a bottle.”
The black hair on Lynch’s wrist and knuckles brushed and repulsed her, and she drew her hand away under the pretense of checking her phone.
The device was recording.
She set it on the table and casually draped her napkin over the screen.
Lynch said, “The chef here is excellent. He was hired from a restaurant in New York.”
“I’ve been here once only for a cocktail.”
“Once you taste the best, Daisy, you’ll never go back.” He flashed the large teeth.
“The wine, you mean.”
“Among other things.”
“Is the bottle expensive?”
“For some. But what’s a hundred dollars on a night like tonight, Daisy.”
“The wine might be lost on me. I don’t drink often and when I do the bottle costs nine dollars.”
“When you’re with me, we’ll have the best. Wine’s a natural lubricant.”
“Oh?”
“To ease the date along.”
She forced eye contact and a smile. “Attorneys drink better than teachers, I suppose. Comes with the salary?”
“Your little friend Daniel Jennings guzzles Coors Lite, without question. Or maybe his own piss.”
“Did you hear his truck was vandalized?”
Lynch did not answer immediately.
In the cold, Craig Lewis walked to the intersection of Main Street and Winona. Strolled down the sidewalk. To see Hathaway’s corner table he was forced to move closer than he wished.
He wore a Bluetooth earpiece under his toboggan and when he spoke his breath condensed into fog.
“They’re sitting at a side table. I can see them. But only just.”
“How’s she look?” The voice belonged to Jennings. He sounded angry.
“Stunning. She’s earning glances from the surrounding patrons. Even an old gay man like me can appreciate her, Mr. Jennings.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“She looks calm. I see her side profile. She took her hand away from him to fiddle with her phone.”
“Murray, can you see Lynch’s car?”
“Nah, but they’re not far. Should I move?”
Jennings didn’t answer because he didn’t know, and Craig Lewis began to shiver. He hoped none of his former students saw him out here, playing the peeping Tom.
32
Lynch hadn’t answered Daisy, because he did know Jennings’ truck was vandalized. What’s more, he knew that Daisy had gone to the chief of police with suspicions that he himself had done it.
In fact he hadn’t. His Giant Mongoloid had.
Lynch wondered how brave Daisy would be about her betrayal later. He’d already forgiven her but she had to learn she couldn’t run to the police. Especially if it meant his father would show up afterward and berate him.
He wanted to grab her tits. Everyone in the restaurant wanted to do the same, he knew, but they belonged to him. Instead he gripped the table edge and tried not to think about the hints of her blue bra peeking.
He forced his teeth apart before he bled. “Daniel should choose a new profession, don’t you think? It’s going so poorly for him.”
His date blinked her big green eyes. “Poorly?”
“He’s an immediate failure. At the military and now teaching. He’d have better luck playing male nurse.”
“You were angry at him the other day, Peter, in my classroom. What was that about?”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“You threw books at him.”
Lynch could feel the processes of his mind warming, like windows closing to trap in heat.
She said, “Do you see him as a threat?”
“A teacher, a threat?”
“He’s a Green Beret, though, right?”
“He’s a peg-leg. A pathetic grunt who got his foot blown off. No, Daisy, he’s not a threat.”
The waitress brought wine. She poured their chardonnay into burgundy wine glasses. A minor mistake, using a burgundy glass, but one that irritated him. The waitress was an attractive woman, but compared to Daisy Hathaway she looked like a cheap whore.
Hathaway was about to order but she would get it all wrong. Intentionally, he thought, because she’d prefer he did it for her.
He said, “Bring us the focaccia first, plus salami vesuvio and whipped chèvre. And the olives. Followed by two bowls of the soup de jour. Main course, potatoes aioli and the pan seared striped bass.”
The cheap whore smiled. “Very good, sir!”
Lynch pushed the glass of chardonnay at Hathaway and leaned close. “You think Daniel knows what half those words mean?”
“I don’t know them. How do you?”
“Like you said, my income. I own my own law firm and I don’t eat at McDonalds. I learned during law school.”
“So you didn’t grow up rich.”
�
�You’re looking at a self-made man. Life handed me nothing, Daisy. I took it all. The opposite of Daniel, who came from a prestigious family and squandered it.”
Daisy let her foot wander forward until it encountered Lynch’s pant leg. “I wish I knew what the words mean.”
“I’ll teach you. Our next date we’ll sit on the same side of the table and go over the menu together.”
“Oh will we.”
“Maybe get handsy underneath.”
She sipped the chardonnay and he could’ve died from the sight of her lips on the glass, the light filtering through the wine and golden on her neck. Was her hand shaking? Poor girl was nervous. “Wow. This doesn’t taste like my bottle.”
“That’s the taste of success. Wouldn’t you rather drink that than Coors Lite?”
“I would. But this meal costs two days of my salary.”
“Keep me happy, Daisy, and I’ll pay for it always.”
She sipped again, watching him over the rim, and her foot teased his pant leg.
“How does a girl keep you happy, Peter?”
“You can use your imagination or I’ll draw you a picture.”
“And what happens when a girl doesn’t?”
Lynch didn’t want to smile but it was reflexive. “Same answer, Daisy.”
“You look like a man who won’t…” She sucked at her teeth. “…who won’t suffer disappointment quietly.”
“Why should I? Quiet is boring.”
“I heard that about you. That you’re a pit bull in the courtroom.”
“Guilty. Who told?”
“It’s a rumor among the faculty.”
“You should see me in the bedroom, Daisy.”
She ignored the comment. Playing coy.
“Do you want me to plan the holiday party? Or was that invitation an excuse?”
“An excuse.” He winked. “To get you drunk.”
“You’re a rascal, Peter Lynch.”
“You’re more than welcome to plan the party, if that kind of thing suits you. I don’t give two shits. But save your ideas for our second date.”
“Who says there’ll be a second date?”
“I say.”
“Takes two to tango. You better earn it.”
“And you better watch your mouth around me, with that dirty talk. My mind isn’t always…clean, Daisy.”
“You’re easily angered, Peter.”
“Anger is the mark of a true man. Trust me, you want your man mad, not passive.”
“So you were mad at Daniel,” she said.
“I…” He paused to swallow. “That wasn’t real anger. Daniel isn’t worth my real anger.”
“Tell me what you do when there’s real anger.”
Her excitement made her eyes dance. Made his pulse race. A woman who understood the value of danger.
“Have you ever hurt someone, Daisy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hurt them physically. Caused pain.”
“Not that I remember,” she said.
“You would if you had.”
“Then no, I haven’t."
“It’s euphoric.”
They’d both leaned forward. Both pressed against the table. Speaking softly. Contained in their bubble of candlelight.
“That can’t be true, Peter.”
“Pain makes me feel alive."
“Your own pain?”
He nodded. “Yes. And the pain of others. The only emotion I’m sympathetic too.”
“Do you feel alive right now?”
Another smile. He never smiled this much.
Daisy was a remarkable woman. He felt weak.
He said, “For a different reason.”
“Who do you hurt?”
“No one who doesn’t deserve it. Or need it.”
“You hurt yourself?”
“Of course.”
“On purpose,” she said.
“Pain is a powerful emotion. I indulge.”
“You don’t hurt Benji, I hope. He’s a good kid.”
“How do you think he got that way, Daisy?”
“Not pain.”
“Pain forces growth.”
“It’s also destructive, Peter.”
“Yes that happens. A necessary side effect.”
She was breathing deeply, the shadows and light shifting. “So you hurt people. What then? What do you do then?”
“You’re an eager beaver, Daisy.”
“What if you hurt someone and destroy them?”
“You heard a rumor about that.”
“I…”
“Be honest with me. I’m an attorney with a built-in bullshit detector.”
“Okay, Peter.”
“You heard a rumor about me, didn’t you.”
“Yes.”
“About my destructive side.”
“Yes.”
“Which rumor?”
“About California.”
“Ah.” He leaned back and finally tried his own wine. The glass clinked when he returned it.
“Are they true?” she said.
“Depends on what you heard.” A pause and then, in a fit of madness, “Actually, no, it doesn’t depend. The rumors are true. All of them.”
He watched his own reflection grow in her eyes as the waiter brought their first course. Bread, cheese, salami, and olives.
He pushed the olives her way.
“These are for you. A natural aphrodisiac.”
At her reaction, he laughed. Loudly and he couldn’t stop.
He felt so good.
Jennings, in his truck, the motor running. Eyes glued to the map on his phone screen, to Hathaway’s dot at Bloom.
“Update me, Craig.”
“I’m freezing.”
“At least you get to watch. I’m dying.”
Lewis’ reply came scratchy through the speakerphone. “They’re on soup now. Our girl’s doing great. Lynch looks like a man in love.”
Jennings didn’t realize he’d stomped the gas pedal until his RPMs reached 4,000.
This was torture.
“You cheered in high school, I bet.” Lynch already knew she had. He’d gone through her social media and her yearbooks.
“I did.”
“And college. At Belmont?”
“You remember,” she said.
“That’s where your calf muscles are from, the years of work. Did the college squad have male cheerleaders?”
“Yes.”
“Where they gay?” said Lynch.
“Two of them. In the closet.”
“Did you date the straight ones?”
“No. Not my type.”
“It’s the same with a male nurse, I assume. A male nurse wouldn’t be your type either.”
She finished her soup and set the spoon down. Wiped her mouth and laid the napkin on the table. It irked him. The napkin should go in the lap.
“Why do you keep saying Daniel should be a nurse?”
Lynch shrugged. “He was a medic in the Army. It’s quite a similar situation to the male cheerleader, when you think about it. I’d be doing him a favor, firing him.”
“Can you do that?”
“I’m on the board.”
She said, “But the other trustees? The head of school?”
“Rich fools in need of a good lawyer. I own over half the board. Own them, Daisy. They come to me with their dirty secrets. They’re being sued by their au pair or their wife was arrested for cocaine or their son diddled an underage girl, and I make the secrets vanish within the halls of injustice. They know not to cross me. I alone sway the board vote.”
Hathaway felt a flutter of heightened panic.
“You asked about pain. Tell me this, Daisy. Think back to cheerleading in high school and college. You were in peak physical condition. Your body so tight and perfect that it squeaked. Surrounded by boys mad for you. They’re in heat, would kill to be with you for a night. And you’re wearing a tiny skirt and tight shirt and jumping a
round. You know the boys are watching. Salivating. You’re pretending you don’t notice. That it’s all innocent. You remember.”
“I…”
“You denied them and you caused them pain.”
“Perhaps.”
“You know you did, Daisy. You knew it at the time, you know it now. That makes it even sweeter. Admit it. Part of the joy of looking good is withholding it.”
“Everyone wants to be admired, Peter.”
“You hurt them. On purpose. You were a blessing and a curse. You knew the porn running through their heads.”
The same thoughts running through Lynch’s.
They stared at each other and shared the knowledge. He didn’t hide it. He reeked of lust.
“Hm,” she said.
“So you understand, Daisy, the joy of pain.”
“On a different scale.”
“Imagine it heightened. The excruciating passion. I don’t process emotions like most people. But pain is something I can feel. Burning to death would be a tremendous high, don’t you think?”
The waitress removed their soup bowls and laid out dishes of fish and butternut squash purée and soft potatoes.
“Try it,” he said.
Daisy complied. Of course she did. She ate a bite of bass. Closed her eyes and slowly withdrew the spoon.
“Delicious.”
“I know. Do as you’re told and it’ll always be delicious.”
“Do you hurt the girls that please you, Peter?”
“It’s a good hurt. Sounds strange, but trust me.”
“It’s sexual.”
“Of course pain is sexual.”
“Do you hurt the girls that don’t please you?”
“Yes.” Lynch was on his second glass of chardonnay. Not enough to be drunk. But he felt giddy. Her rapt attention filled him with raw power. With invincibility. She felt like the first snort of cocaine, a high chased by coke heads, a high they’d give anything for.
Her toe still fiddled with his pants. She whispered now. “Do you do worse than hurt them?”
“Anything I do to girls, they deserve. And they enjoy it.”
“Such as?” she said.
“Let’s not rush things, Daisy.”
She paused. Set her fork down and leaned back. Cast her eyes across the restaurant, as though she’d lost interest. Disappointed.
