Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  I smiled to myself. Well, at least her sense of humor was intact. That was always a good sign.

  “Relax,” she said with a soft, unenthusiastic laugh. “You worry too much.”

  “Yeah, probably, but…” I held my breath for a moment, my mind flashing back to that conversation I’d had with Ranya the night Anthony had dinner with Slade. “Listen, can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I closed my eyes. “I know we’ve talked about this, but I need you to be honest with me. Please.”

  “Okay…”

  “Everything with Anthony,” I said, barely whispering, “is it—”

  “Jesse.” Her voice was suddenly doubly heavy with exhaustion. “Please. I’ve told you. I’m fine with it. I practically threw you at him, remember?”

  “I know, but…” I sighed. “You’ve said you’re okay with it, but I’m still concerned it’s not. I know this whole situation isn’t easy for you, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

  Simone forced out a breath. I couldn’t decide if she sounded tired, frustrated, or annoyed. Maybe all three. “Can we talk about this the next time we see each other? I’m beat, Jess. I really don’t want to discuss this now.”

  I rubbed my forehead with two fingers. Why did I expect this conversation to proceed any differently than it had the last half-dozen times I’d attempted it in the last week? No idea. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I supposed I wasn’t. Tired of beating my head against a wall, if nothing else.

  I forced my frustration out of my voice. “Sure, we can talk later. How did today go?”

  “Good,” she said. “It’s just heartbreaking, though, touring a place like that.”

  “Where were you today again?”

  “Touring a homeless shelter. I can see why people are trying to get places like that on your radar. The facility needs almost as much help as the people in it.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “I’m supposed to visit a few myself pretty soon.”

  “Well, brace yourself. It’s eye-opening.” She paused. “Anyway, I should go. I have that dinner tonight with that environmental group.”

  “You sure you’re up for it?”

  She laughed softly. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a dinner.”

  “I know, but I hate seeing you run yourself ragged.”

  “It’s an election. Nature of the beast.”

  “Yeah, but you sound exhausted.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “But are you—”

  “Stop worrying about me,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll be fine. What are you up to tonight? Your schedule looked pretty clear until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Thankfully, it is. I’m just having dinner tonight with Anthony, Ranya, and hopefully Chris.”

  “No Julie?”

  “Fuck, I hope not, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  She laughed. “Well, good luck. Tell Chris I said hello.”

  “Will do.” I paused. “Take it easy tonight, all right?”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” she said softly.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We hung up, and I stared at the phone again. Then, sighing, I got up and headed back into the house.

  Simone was a strong woman, I reminded myself. She could handle this. She’d be all right.

  I hoped.

  * * * *

  Anthony, Ranya, and I grabbed a corner booth at the mostly empty restaurant. Not fifteen minutes later, Chris joined us, and to my surprise, his lovely wife was nowhere in sight. I thought she might catch up with him—maybe she was outside on her phone or bitching at a valet—but Chris seemed simultaneously nervous and relaxed. Like a kid sneaking out of his parents’ house, both excited by the thrill of breaking the rules and scared to death of getting caught. That, and I didn’t catch the acrid stench of fire and brimstone in the air, so she couldn’t have been too close by.

  “No wife tonight?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful that my darling sister-in-law might not be gracing us with her company.

  “She’s out with her sisters.” Chris laughed nervously. “I suppose I should have put in a formal request. I’ll probably hear about this later.”

  I laughed, but something tightened in my chest. Maybe the comparison to a kid sneaking out was closer to the truth than I thought. After all, this was unusually rebellious for him. Dangerously so, if I knew Julie.

  So it came as no surprise when, halfway through dinner, Chris’s cell phone rang. The shrill intrusion brought a string of profanity to my brother’s lips, and his shoulders tensed as he pulled the phone out of his pocket.

  “Sorry,” he muttered to us. “Warden’s calling.” Then he put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Ju—”

  Jesus Christ, I could hear the screaming from here. Anthony, Ranya, and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. None of us spoke, and every move we made—lifting a drink, setting down a fork—we did so with exaggerated stealth, like the slightest incriminating clatter of cutlery would get Chris into even deeper shit.

  My brother rested his elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought you were out for the evening.” Oh God, tell me that isn’t fear in his voice. “Well, I know, but you—” He swallowed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Honey, I’ll make sure it’s taken care—I know, I know.” He put up a hand as if the gesture could placate her even though she couldn’t see it. “Honey, I’m just having a couple of beers with Jesse, I’ll—” He exhaled sharply. “I’ll be home by then, I promise.”

  I swore he sounded like a kid begging for mercy from a parent. A little bit defensive, a lot nervous, and not the way any man should be when talking to his wife.

  A moment later, he set his phone next to his empty glass. “Fuck.”

  “Everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He waved a hand. “Everything’s fine.”

  “You sure?”

  In a heartbeat, exasperation turned to fury, and he slammed his hand down beside the phone and the glass. “Jesse, back. The fuck. Off. Everything is fine.”

  With that, he snatched up his drink and cell, and then stormed across the restaurant to the bar on the opposite end.

  I looked at Ranya and Anthony. “I…um… Do you guys mind if I go talk to him?”

  “Go, go.” Ranya gestured toward the bar, her bracelets jingling sharply. “And if I’m not here when you come back, I went to kick his wife’s butt.”

  “Be my guest,” I muttered. Anthony and I exchanged a glance, and he gave me a slight nod.

  I got up and followed my brother. He was seated at the bar, hunched over his empty glass, and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw me, his expression hardened. He turned away from me, but the mirror over the bar revealed the deep furrow of his brow and the way he’d set his jaw. I took a seat beside him and tried not to take his stiffening posture personally.

  The bartender set a full glass of what I suspected was scotch in front of Chris before fading into the shadowy scenery to help another patron.

  I took a breath, ready to speak, but Chris put up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  He glared at me. “I can guess.”

  I sighed, watching him pick up his drink and take a sip. As he grimaced and swallowed, I said. “If you can guess, then I’m right.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Prove me wrong.”

  He muttered something under his breath and set the drink down, but neither spoke again nor looked at me.

  I exhaled hard. “It’s just you and me. I swear, I’m not in this to judge you. You’re my brother. I just want to help you.”

  “Then stay the fuck out of it and quit using my life as a goddamned campaign slogan.”

  I drew back. “What?”

  We stared at each other, neither speaking, neither moving.

  I swallowed. “So, what
I’m campaigning…that does apply to you?”

  Chris held my gaze for a moment. Finally he sighed and looked away. He brought his drink up to his lips, and I thought he was about to speak, but instead he pounded the drink and then used the empty glass to flag down the bartender.

  I said nothing as the bartender came over. Chris ordered another—a double this time—and added it to our rising tab.

  Once we were alone again and Chris had taken a few swallows of his drink, I said, “How long has it been going on?”

  Silence. Long, unnerving silence.

  “I’m not going to judge you,” I said softly. “None of this conversation leaves this bar.”

  My brother looked at me, some undefined desperation lifting his eyebrows. “You won’t repeat it. To anyone. For any reason.”

  “Not a word,” I said. “I swear it in blood.”

  He searched my eyes. Then he took a deep breath and set his drink on the bar. He held it between both hands and stared into it. “She’s always been controlling and demanding. It’s just, it’s her personality, I guess. She hated it when I spent time with you or Nate. Always got pissy, like I should be spending every waking hour with her. I just thought she was needy, you know?”

  My gut coiled into a knot. I’d wanted to have this conversation for a long time, but now that we were here and the floodgates were open, I was sick to my stomach. Just as I knew I would be. God, I hated being right.

  Chris continued. “When we were engaged…” He trailed off, eyes still focused on the ice and liquid between his hands. “Things got pretty bad about three months before we got married. So that’s, what, two years ago now? Three?” He shook his head. “Anyway. The wedding planning was stressing her out. We were both filming at the time and she wanted this huge wedding, and so I suggested putting it off.” He looked at me. “You know, just postpone it a couple of months so she wouldn’t have to worry about it while she was in the middle of filming.”

  “Seems reasonable enough,” I said. “I’m guessing she didn’t agree?”

  Chris laughed bitterly. “No. No, she definitely didn’t agree.” He walked his fingers along the sides of his glass, slowly turning it between his hands so it made a quiet scraping sound on the bar. “Anyway, I suggested it. Man, she flipped out. She flipped. The fuck. Out.”

  I sat up, folding my arms on the bar. “What happened?”

  He swallowed. “The wedding planner had left this binder. Two inches thick or so. Huge book. Julie had it in her lap while we were talking, so it was the nearest thing. And believe me, Julie is a tiny thing, but that girl can throw.”

  I shivered. “And I’m assuming she has good aim.”

  Chris nodded. “I put up my arm so it didn’t hit my face, but the edge cut the fuck out of my arm.” He absently rubbed his wrist and the side of his forearm, and he spoke faster now, if a little quieter, as he once again buried his gaze in his drink. “Of course she was all apologetic and cried and kept apologizing over and over. I figured it was just a fluke. I mean, she lost her temper. The stress got to her. It was just a one-time thing that would never happen again.” He picked up his glass and almost touched it to his lips as he said, “Just like every fucking time after that.”

  He threw back the rest of his double in a single swallow.

  “How bad has it gotten?”

  Chris put his glass on the bar and pushed it away. He reached up to casually scratch his arm and, as he did, pushed up his sleeve just enough to reveal an odd shadow. After a second, I realized it wasn’t a trick of the bar’s dim light, but a fading bruise.

  As he let his sleeve down again, he said, “I think she’s done more damage to my car than to me, but…” He cringed and might have shuddered. “She’ll throw whatever’s in reach. I learned a long, long time ago not to fight in the kitchen or garage.”

  The sick, acidic knot in my stomach coiled tighter.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone squealed to life again.

  “Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then picked up the phone. “Again? Really?” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

  Then he answered. “Hey, honey.”

  The screeching. The tinny, audible screeching. Chris shrank away—from me? From Julie?—like a beaten dog shying away from an upraised hand.

  I gripped the edge of the bar just to keep my hands from, of their own accord, reaching out and grabbing the phone so I could give that psycho a piece of my mind.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get home, okay?” Pause. “I love you too.” Then he hung up and dropped the phone on the bar, jumping when it clattered loud enough to turn every head in the room. Then he pushed it away like a plate of something he didn’t want to eat and ran a shaking hand through his hair. I thought he swore under his breath, but couldn’t be sure.

  “I’d ask if everything is all right,” I said quietly, “but I think I have my answer.”

  “Yeah.” He reached for his glass. His cheeks reddened, and he didn’t look at me as he said, “Just…don’t say anything, all right?”

  “I won’t.”

  Holding his glass just shy of his lips, Chris stared at the bar with unfocused eyes. When he spoke at last, the words barely made it to me: “Look, I feel like the biggest pussy in the universe for this. She’s my wife. She’s half my size.” He turned to me. “But Jesse, I’m afraid of her.”

  “As well you should be,” I said. “Jesus, Chris, I’ve been scared for you for a long time.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Fuck, wouldn’t the tabloids have a ball with that? Tough guy can do his own stunts in an action film but can’t stand up to his hundred-pound wife.”

  “That’s not why you’re staying, is it? Because of what people would say?”

  Chris said nothing.

  I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. “Look, I know you think it makes you less of a man, but my God, Chris, don’t you dare stay in that situation just to keep up appearances. Trust me, you do anything to keep up appearances, it never fucking ends, and it will blow up in your face.”

  “What would you know about it?” he snapped.

  I gritted my teeth. “Oh, a thing or two.”

  Chris furrowed his brow. “Meaning?”

  I dropped my gaze.

  “Jesse?”

  “Just take me at my word,” I said quietly. “It’s—”

  “No, I’m not taking you at your word. Look at me, Jesse.”

  I met my brother’s eyes.

  He narrowed his just slightly. “You wanted me to be open with you. Now you return the favor.”

  I moistened my lips. He had a point. I’d been prying information out of him for months, and now that he’d finally conceded, it didn’t seem right to keep my own cards close to my vest.

  “This doesn’t leave this bar?” I asked, barely whispering.

  His eyes widened. “No. Of course not.”

  “Promise?”

  “Swear it in blood.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced around, making sure there were no prying ears nearby. Not another patron, not the bartender who’d disappeared into the background. Once I was certain we were as alone as we could be in a room that wasn’t quite empty, I turned back to my brother.

  Barely whispering, I said, “Chris, I’m gay.”

  His lips parted. “You…what?”

  “I’m gay.” My eyes darted around the room once again, making damn sure no one had suddenly sidled up next to us to listen in. “I’m sorry I never told—”

  “But what about Simone?” An undercurrent of anger threatened to bring up the volume of his voice. “Does she—”

  “She knows,” I said. “She…she knows.”

  “But you guys are still married.”

  “Yeah, because we’re trying to keep up appearances,” I said. “And it’s killing her. It’s killing me. We have to put on…put on this show. And we can’t stop until the election’s over.�
�� I made myself look at him in spite of the shame that had me wanting to hide beneath the bar. “So I know what I’m talking about when I say this whole keeping-up-appearances thing is hell. And that’s without what Julie’s doing to you.”

  “Wow.” He paused, shaking his head. “You’re gay. My wife kicks the shit out of me.” He rested his elbow on the bar and rubbed his forehead. Then he laughed softly and looked at me. “Man, our family is fucked up.”

  I managed a halfhearted laugh. “Yeah, it is.”

  “And thanks for not, you know, letting this out. Mentioning me by name.”

  “I won’t say a word unless you want me to.” I paused. “But I’m serious. You need to get out of there. You can’t keep—”

  “Yes, I can,” he snapped. “I appreciate your concern. Honestly I do, but you don’t realize how fucking complicated this shit is.”

  “I don’t understand why you have to stay in a marriage where your wife fucking throws shit at you,” I said.

  He glared at me. “You, the domestic violence champion of California, can’t fathom why I can’t leave?”

  “I get that,” I said. “Believe me, I do. But there’s got to be…something.”

  “It’s not as simple as walking away, Jesse. She has control over every dime we have.”

  “What about community property?”

  He laughed bitterly. “Fat lot of good that does me between now and the end of a divorce that you know she’ll drag out.”

  “Then stay with me. Anything you need—a house, a car…” I waved a hand. “Hell, I’m a damned lawyer. Whatever you need, say the word.”

  “I can’t ask you for all of that.”

  “Then consider it a loan, but my God, you can’t stay with her. You need to get the fuck out of there.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “What can I do? There has to be something.”

  “If there was something anyone could do, I’d have done it already myself. There is so much—” He stopped abruptly and looked past me.

  An inkling of panic crept into my chest as I imagined Julie storming into the bar behind me, but then Chris said, “Looks like you’re needed for something.”

  I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Ranya hurrying across the room with her phone in her hand. Normally I’d have asked her to take a message and let me deal with it all later, but her gait was fast and her eyes were wide and I knew immediately something was wrong.