by Meg Gardiner
Marc squeezed him. ‘‘No pride in this. You win nothing for fighting with him.’’
Patsy burst through the throng with Keith at her shoulder. She tottered on her stilettos, gaping at the mayhem.
‘‘What have you done?’’ She clawed at her suit. ‘‘What is wrong with you? Goddammit, Jesse.’’
The guests glared, watching Jesse work himself to a sitting position. Patsy turned and stumbled back through the crowd. David and Caroline stared at the ruined table. Caroline covered her mouth. She turned her head and David led her away.
Jesse leaned on his arms, closed his eyes, and hung his head. Marc was holding tight to P.J., calming him down, until finally P.J. sagged and held up his hands.
‘‘I’m cool. Let me go,’’ he said.
Marc waited a few seconds and released him. P.J. stalked off, slammed open the patio door, and stormed out to the veranda. After a moment Sinsa ran after him.
The crowd dribbled away in embarrassment. Jesse reached for the wheelchair and flipped it upright. Waiters and the maître d’ bustled in from the periphery to clean up. Jesse hoisted himself into the chair. A busboy with a broom and dustpan started sweeping up broken plates.
Jesse looked at him. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
He peered around and spotted David and Caroline. She was hunched under her father’s arm, shuddering with tears. Jesse took a breath and headed toward them.
Marc touched my elbow. ‘‘You all right?’’
‘‘Hell, no.’’
Outside, P.J. had sunk onto a bench near the pool. Sinsa sat by his side, cradling him. His hands sawed the air. He spit words, staccato and inaudible. Across the ballroom, Jesse was apologizing to Caroline and her parents. They couldn’t have looked more unforgiving.
From the bandstand, a guitarist picked at a chord. ‘‘All right. Let’s get this celebration into swing.’’ The keyboard began an arpeggio. ‘‘Come on, this time everybody hits the dance floor. We’re Avalon, and we’re here to party.’’
My heart hopped. I turned and looked at the stage. Merlin Ming stood at the microphone with a guitar in his hands.
21
What a big band. They were bigger than I’d thought. Drums and bass and keyboards, guitars, sax. Murph on the kit, and Merlin playing lead, counting off, one, two.
He turned and spotted me.
They hit the opening chord of the song, and swung straight into it. Merlin was strumming with vigor, catching all the chord changes, and his eyes were pinned on me.
‘‘Marc,’’ I said.
His face was severe. ‘‘Is that them?’’
I was backing up. ‘‘What the hell are they doing here?’’
His hand wrapped around mine. ‘‘Easy does it. We’re going to leave, but we’re not going to run.’’
My legs wanted to jackrabbit. Merlin cut his eyes away from me to his guitar, his fingers sliding up the neck. His round little shoulders hunched to the beat. His leisure suit was powder blue. He turned his face from the mike and mouthed something. Murphy, pounding on the drums, lifted his face and looked out across the crowd.
‘‘Now,’’ I said. ‘‘I want to get out of here.’’
Marc’s hand steadied me. ‘‘We’re cool. These guys just hit the first chorus. They’re not going to interrupt the song to come after you. So let’s just stroll on out of here.’’
People were taking to the dance floor. We wound our way among them, walking toward the door. The only thing that kept me from bolting was Marc’s hand, clasping mine.
I leaned toward him to be heard over the music. ‘‘I have to warn Jesse.’’
I scanned the crowd. Jesse was across the room near the door, by himself, looking drawn. Looking, I saw for the first time, like his father. Beaten down.
I tried to speed up and Marc held me back. Jesse caught sight of me. For a second he looked relieved. But he blinked, and his expression clouded. Without a word he pushed back, hard, out of the room into the hall. He turned and was gone.
I knew what he’d seen: me, on the dance floor, hand in hand with Marc Dupree.
Shit. Shit. I wrenched loose and pushed my way past dancing couples. The bridesmaids were doing a group squiggle in the center of the floor. I reached the far side of the room, near the bar. The song was hitting its final chorus.
Marc reached for me. ‘‘Maintain, Evan.’’
Sinsa brushed past me, going to the bar. ‘‘Gotta hand it to you. You’re alpha.’’
‘‘What?’’ I said.
‘‘You managed to set all the dogs against each other. You’re top bitch.’’
Up on the bandstand Avalon was swinging. Murphy rode the beat, right foot kicking the bass pedal, drumsticks hitting the cymbals, shaven skull bobbing in time. His gaze slid my way. Behind his drooping mustache, he wet his lips with his tongue.
I pulled Marc from the ballroom into the hall. The music dimmed.
‘‘Don’t run,’’ he said.
‘‘I have to find Jesse. And I have to talk to him, alone.’’
He was nowhere in sight. I headed for the entrance.
Marc jogged to keep up. ‘‘No can do. The Secret Service doesn’t work that way.’’
No Jesse in the atrium. In the ballroom Avalon’s song echoed to an end. There was a smattering of applause, and the band switched gears into a Bee Gees tune, too fast. I headed out the door into the sunshine. Across the drive, Jesse was slamming the door of the Mustang.
I walked past the urns with the orange bougainvillea. Marc shadowed me.
I stopped. ‘‘Wait. Here. Please.’’
He shook his head, frowning. The Mustang fired up.
I put a hand on his chest. ‘‘If the Mings come out, shoot their disco boots off. But let me talk to my boyfriend alone.’’
It sounded adolescent and insufficient. Boyfriend. I should have said lover. Meant to say, my heart. Knew the word I needed was husband.
Jesse backed out of the parking slot, turned the wheel, and saw me. I ran into the driveway in front of him and put both hands on the hood.
‘‘Wait.’’
The engine idled. It felt churlish and powerful, rattling through my hands and up my arms. Jesse’s face was exhausted and remote. The stereo was up high. Springsteen, The Rising. It sounded dark and harsh.
Jesse put down the window. ‘‘I don’t want to do this, Evan.’’
‘‘I’m getting in.’’
‘‘No. I’m done. I’ll have Lavonne go with you this afternoon.’’
‘‘The Mings are here. That’s them inside, butchering ‘Stayin’ Alive.’ ’’
He glanced at the clubhouse, and at Marc fuming outside the door.
‘‘They saw me,’’ I said. ‘‘They may have seen you, too.’’
His shoulders rose and fell. He looked at me. ‘‘I’m going.’’
‘‘I’m with you.’’
I ran around the car and got in. Shut the door. Marc marched toward us. Jesse gripped the gearshift. He was waiting for me to say something. One word. I was that close to getting tossed out. I gave Marc an apologetic glance, and held my tongue.
‘‘Okay then.’’ He floored it.
We thundered down the driveway. Gold light and green shadow strobed across us. I checked the wing mirror and saw Marc running behind the car, sprinting but losing ground. After a dozen strides he gave up. He changed tack, waving to the parking valet.
‘‘Do you see the Mings?’’ Jesse said.
‘‘No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t coming.’’
‘‘We’re gone. They won’t catch us.’’
We roared out onto the main road. The Mustang’s engine sounded raw. ‘‘Worlds Apart’’ coursed from the stereo, a hard melody of loss and anger. I watched the live oaks streak past.
‘‘I know I’m an idiot,’’ I said. ‘‘I blew it, big-time.’’
The road curved. He took the bend hard, and I pushed my feet against the floor, but I had no brake pedal. He straighten
ed the wheel and the car leaped down the road.
‘‘Where does he get off, telling P.J. there’s no pride in taking me on?’’ he said.
‘‘Jesse, you—’’
‘‘And don’t say it. Just don’t. That was the stupidest, rudest thing I’ve ever done in public, and I’m dogshit in my family for the next century.’’ He checked the mirror. ‘‘I had P.J. He was done.’’
‘‘I know. And thank you for taking my corner.’’
‘‘It was a fight. Straight up. I didn’t need Roger Ramjet wading in and saving my ass.’’
‘‘I get the feeling he’s pulled people out of fights before. He meant no disrespect.’’
‘‘Right, strutting around with his lock-and-load attitude. Wearing those fuck-me shades.’’
‘‘All right, enough.’’ My shoulders tightened. ‘‘This isn’t about the U.S. Navy.’’
‘‘No? Then what is it about?’’
The white line on the road was a blur. The stereo was hurting my ears. I turned it down.
He turned it back up. The car heaved over a rise in the road.
‘‘You’re going too fast,’’ I said.
No response.
I reached for the stereo and hit the eject button, put down the window, and threw the CD out. His mouth opened in astonishment. But he didn’t stop.
Her. It was her, Evan Delaney, here at this la-di-da Montecito wedding. Her and her little friend. He watched her run out of the room, and he wanted to run after her, but they were in the middle of the song, so he kept playing, and shit, they had to do something, now.
He turned, keeping the beat. Murph was steady on the kit, but looked like he had a plan. Murph always had a plan, made them up right on the spot. That got them into trouble sometimes, with Toby. Got him into trouble, ’cause even Toby was scared of Murph and wouldn’t yell at him. So he got his ass chewed instead.
Final chorus. They ritarded. Murph did a little roll and fade. Merlin worked his shoulders. Shit, stuff like this made him itch.
The next song on their set list was ‘‘Isn’t She Lovely,’’ but Murph stood up and told the guys, ‘‘ ‘You Spin Me Round.’ Acoustic.’’ Murph pointed at him with his drumsticks. ‘‘Come on.’’ Merlin’s nerves jumped.
The guys slid into the Dead or Alive shit, no questions asked. He and Murph hopped off the bandstand and went out into the hall. Murph pulled him toward the entrance.
‘‘You saw Delaney?’’ Merlin said. ‘‘She shouldn’t be here, middle of the day. She’s supposed to be getting the money. What’s she pulling?’’
Murph stuck his drumsticks in his back pocket. He was thinking. Hard, Merlin could tell. They came to the entrance and looked outside.
‘‘Don’t know,’’ Murph said, ‘‘but we’re going to find out.’’
They saw him in the sun, the black dude. Looking pissed off. Standing at the parking valet’s podium, while the valet phoned to have his car brought around.
‘‘Yeah,’’ Murph said. ‘‘We’re going to find out right now. Come on.’’
Jesse gaped at the rearview mirror, watching the CD spin across the asphalt behind us. ‘‘Why’d you do that?’’
‘‘That album makes you angry and depressed. And it was giving me a headache.’’
‘‘You’re blaming the E Street Band?’’
We were coming down the glen, back toward city traffic. My stomach was cramping. He had the Mustang running flat out.
‘‘You’re in danger. It’s because of my brother. How could you think I would let you face it alone?’’ He stared out the windshield. ‘‘Do you want me on your team?’’
‘‘Don’t say that. You and I are the team.’’
‘‘I’m not blind, Evan.’’
I felt two inches tall. ‘‘I know.’’
‘‘And I will not play second string. Not with you.’’
‘‘That’s not what’s going on.’’
He looked at me. ‘‘Delaney. You came to the wedding with another man.’’
I saw it ahead, where the road curved left—the line of orange traffic cones Marc and I had passed driving to the wedding earlier. The job site was now empty. I saw the sunlight turning through the canopy of the live oaks. I felt the car going into the bend. Late.
‘‘Jesse.’’
He braked. The tires grabbed for the road and missed. He threw the wheel, but the back end of the car danced to the right and swung out from under us. We skidded sideways into the cones, flying down the line. They spewed around us one after another, bam bam bam, flying up like bright scattershot. The view out the windshield panned to trees and the golf course and the road back where we’d been. Jesse hung onto the wheel but we were gone.
22
We spun, tires screaming, off the asphalt onto the shoulder. Dirt blew over the car and in my window. The air went brown, stinging my eyes, and I felt Jesse hanging on and trying to stop the car, but we were slaves to acceleration. The trees were coming at us through the flying dust.
I prayed. God, please. We were going backward, loose and helpless, bouncing over the dirt. I waited for it.
And without a sound, we came to rest on the shoulder. Dirty and stunned and unscathed. The engine guttered, ready to rumble some more.
The dust settled outside like a brown veil, clicking onto the roof and hood, clearing to a view of light glowing through the trees, and strewn orange cones, and skid marks. Jesse gripped the wheel, breathing hard.
‘‘You okay?’’ he said.
I listened to the engine and the dust shirring down.
‘‘Evan.’’ He clutched my arm. ‘‘Are you all right?’’
I saw him. He wasn’t hurt. But he wasn’t okay.
I opened the door. I tried to get out but couldn’t stand up. I looked down and unbuckled my seat belt.
I got out of the Mustang and stood by the roadside. My legs felt like a newborn foal’s, ready to buckle. The air seemed to be knocking me around. Looking back in the car, I saw Jesse leaning across to my side, his face dazed.
He wasn’t anywhere close to okay. He was only close to the edge. And I could see only one way to get him back.
‘‘Go home,’’ I said.
‘‘Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?’’
I walked away from the car, heading down the glen toward town.
He called my name. I walked. The light was intensely bright. Where the trees shaded the roadside, puddles lingered. The engine dropped into gear. He pulled alongside.
‘‘Please get in,’’ he said.
I shook my head. The Mustang inched alongside me.
‘‘Please. I’ll drive slow. You can drive. We won’t drive; we’ll just talk. Please.’’
The engine growled. It sounded as if it were ready to eat me.
‘‘I’m not getting back in this car. Nothing you say can make me.’’
‘‘Evan, I’m sorry.’’
I didn’t look at him. ‘‘You’re going to kill yourself. I can’t be with you when you do it.’’
A raw silence bled around me. Jesse’s voice was empty. ‘‘Marc’s going to be here in a minute. Go with him.’’
I nodded. He kept pace, until finally I said, ‘‘Go.’’
‘‘When I see his truck coming.’’
I stepped in a puddle without meaning to. After a minute we heard a vehicle coming down the road from the direction of the country club. It was Marc’s truck.
‘‘Ev.’’
‘‘Just go.’’
He pulled away.
The silence in the glen felt sharp. I waited, and as Marc’s truck drew nearer I hugged myself, because I was about to lose it. I hated the thought of unraveling in front of Marc, every bit as much as I wanted to cry on his shoulder. The truck slowed and stopped. I walked toward it.
The doors opened, and the Mings stepped out.
Two beats, count ’em, I stood by the road. What had they done to Marc?
Didn’t matter. They were going to
do it to me too. I ran like a stone flung from a slingshot.
Murphy ran too, with real linebacker speed. He clipped me from behind with a low tackle that threw me off my feet. I landed flat, splashing in a puddle. The breath clapped out of me. My elbows scraped open on muddy gravel. I got to my knees to crawl but the skirt of the dress tangled around my legs. Murphy jammed his foot between my shoulder blades and stomped me down again.
‘‘Where’s the money?’’
I writhed but he put weight on his leg.
Gut check. I couldn’t lose it. ‘‘The money’s all set.’’
Merlin paced back and forth. He was a powder blue rodent. ‘‘She’s lying.’’
‘‘What’s your problem? I’m not supposed to pay Toby until five o’clock.’’
Murphy dropped onto my back, straddling me. It was like having a two-hundred-pound mattress draped across me. I could hardly breathe.
‘‘You said you needed till five to get the money transferred. Instead you dicked around, coming to this froufrou wedding.’’ He waved at Merlin. ‘‘Check her purse. See if it’s in there.’’
Merlin grabbed my small purse and dumped out the contents. He kicked my lipstick and cell phone into the puddle.
‘‘Nothing.’’
I turned my head toward him. ‘‘I couldn’t fit twenty-five grand into that tiny purse. Give me a break. You know how big a wad that much cash makes.’’
He kicked my key ring, picked up my wallet, and pulled out all the cash I had, sixty-four bucks.
‘‘You haven’t done jack,’’ he said. ‘‘Lying bitch. You played us again.’’
He threw the wallet at me. And he threw the money at me. He spun in a circle, little hands pawing his thinning hair.
‘‘Toby’s gonna kill us, Murph. We are so fucked.’’
Murphy’s hip bones pressed on my ribs. ‘‘Calm down.’’
‘‘We were supposed to keep tabs on her, make sure she was doing what she was supposed to,’’ Merlin said.
‘‘Shut up,’’ Murphy said.
‘‘What we gonna tell the boss, we saw her at our gig? Right, keeping tabs on her, we catch her all prettied up partying with her pals, having a good laugh at us?’’
I looked at him. ‘‘The money’s ready to go.’’
