by Hope Lyda
“That’s scary, isn’t it? First, faith is a relationship with God. It isn’t a cause and effect situation you have in the corporate setting. I know what that’s like; I experienced it in formal ministry. Second, you’re always better off with faith, Libby. I’ve hit some low points after this miraculous transition in my life, and I experienced a period of letdown when reality set in. I was scared. I asked all the things you’re asking.”
“This is not a pep talk yet.”
“Then I looked around me. I saw my new situation for what is was—a gift. Everything I’d wanted was right before me in some form. No lie, Libby. And I’m not implying we give God our grocery list and he fulfills it. That’s a very distorted vision of faith and religion in general. God didn’t give me everything I asked for…but God has given me a heart for everything he was planning to provide. And his version is sweeter, Libby. So much sweeter.”
There on the corner I started crying. I got it. I’d been trying to make faith a mystery with a crazy list of steps to get there. I’d forgotten that God knew me—even when I didn’t know myself. Aunt Maddie and I hung up and I rushed back to the restaurant, tripping over a patch of moss growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. The hostess of the Ginger Teahouse stepped outside to help me up. We both adjusted my sweater and she examined the cement burns on the palms of my hands. She blew on them and offered reassurance in Chinese as we made our comical way back inside.
Cass was walking toward me with a look of confusion on her face. “Where have you been?” Then she saw the cuts on my hands and rushed to my side. “Libby?”
“I guess this goes with a leap of faith.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later. Sorry I abandoned you during your session with Mom.”
“It’s still going on,” she said, laughing. “Nate is moving back in this weekend.”
My jaw went slack. “I’ll never question Mom’s abilities again.”
Cass drew her breath in and then pushed it out with big cheeks. “Actually, we’ve been seeing a Christian counselor at a church in our neighborhood for several weeks. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom. You know how she feels about church.”
“Yeah.”
“But it all works out. Mom will think she resolved our marital situation, and Nate and I will be healthier as a couple.”
We hugged again. “I couldn’t be happier for you guys, but you know…I think it’d be good to tell Mom about the counseling.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You needed to see faith in action in your life, and same for me. I think Mom needs to see it as well…to recognize it in our lives.”
“Maybe you’re right. Not today, though, Nate and I are going to politely ask them to head on home so we can work on our family life without distractions.”
I grimaced. “Yes, that’s enough for one day.”
I thanked the hostess and walked back to the table with my sister.
“What food level are we on?” I inquired dutifully rather than explain my absence.
“The mein course,” Dad said motioning toward the huge platter of noodles, vegetables, and shrimp.
“Of course,” Cass followed.
We slipped back into our family bit, but I knew nothing was going to be routine ever again—at least not for Cass and me.
Thirty-Four
After I got off the bus in my neighborhood, I stopped at the video store for a couple action movies and then ordered some take-out Indian food for dinner. This was all guilt driven. I felt badly for leaving Hudson alone so much. I barely even checked in with him. I had the guy so scared to answer the door or the phone that he was probably feeling a bit as though he were back in solitary therapy at SOS.
I had clocked out early. Partly out of this guilt and mostly because the second letter was burning a hole in my coat pocket. I took two steps at a time up to my lobby. My small but important conversation of revelation with Aunt Maddie had turned things around for me. I still had lots of questions, but I had new food for thought. I was excited to talk through it with Hudson, and I also had a strong desire to share the good news with Blaine. I sensed he would understand my breakthrough and be happy for me. I smiled to myself and a joyful laugh escaped my lips.
“What are you so jolly about?” Newton asked from behind the counter.
I didn’t want to look at him to respond, but I did. My happy personal moment inspired me to share goodwill with my fellow man by engaging in polite conversation. That was a mistake. Newton had a toothpick in one hand and a Scrabble tile in the other, and he was looking at me with more curiosity than I would like to generate from such an odd fellow.
“Did you hear that Ray Stricter and Trevor Lawson are going to be in town?”
Dang. That’s what I needed to warn Hudson about. I knew there was something urgent. “Who?” I asked innocently and then regretted extending the invitation to prolong the conversation.
“Of the band Torrid? Surely you know Torrid.”
“I’m more into jazz.”
“Well, they were in Torrid until Jude Shea exited and left them high and dry. Did you know that they all used to live here before they were famous?”
“Interesting,” I said, shaking my head and walking toward the elevator.
“I’m hoping they’ll come by for a stroll down memory lane. It’d be so great. I’ve got my camera right here.”
I turned to look and Newton pointed to the drawer to his left. He then wedged his toothpick between his front teeth and twisted it.
The elevator door opened and just as I stepped in, he called out, “Your friend left a bit ago. In case that’s dinner for two.”
I stopped the door with my foot, backed out, and turned around. “He what?”
“He went out a bit ago…maybe half an hour. He looked around the lobby, said ‘See ya,’ and left. He’s more polite than most of the tenants. Speaking of which, you know you’ll have to pay $50 more a month if he’s staying much longer.”
“Which way did he go?”
Newton scrunched up his face in a mode of serious contemplation. The answer was within reach of his little mind if he could just concentrate. “Left.”
I headed back out to the neighborhood and turned left. I looked around. What if he’d taken a bus somewhere? I’d never locate him. With every step I took I was getting angrier. How could he risk going out in public like this? I scanned the block up and down and then across the busy street. Panic was rising up in me along with the anger. Now dinner would be cold, and I’d be stuck with two action movies.
Without any direction or plan I kept walking forward. I knew I’d go bonkers if I went back to the apartment to wait. At least I was using up the panic energy this way. If I find him, I’ll hug him and then I’ll slap him hard.
The “Walk” light flicked on at the intersection so I started to walk-run to catch it. He was probably at the market getting a soda. After I hugged and slapped him we’d laugh about it and he’d promise never to…
“Libby!”
I turned around to find Hudson coming out of Easy Street Records and waving. I marched toward him, and his “it’s so good to see you” look turned to mock terror. I swatted him several times with the video bag. I pulled him to a spot several yards away from the store and whisper-yelled up at him, “You went there? After our conversations about being extra careful, you go to one of the primary music stores in town? What is up here?” I tapped my forehead hard. Some soup splashed out of the Indian take-out bag.
Hudson laughed but squelched it quickly. “Only for a few minutes, I swear.”
“It isn’t about the time. It’s about the stupidity.”
“Hey, hey!” A guy in a black Easy Street T-shirt came running up to us.
I widened my eyes and gave Hudson a huge “I told you so” look and prepared to make up some believable story about how my friend had gone through one of those celebrity lookalike makeover shows and that although this looked like Jude Shea, he was a kindergart
en teacher from Renton.
The guy was breathing hard as he held up a plastic bag with a couple CDs in it. “Man, you left without your stuff.”
Hudson’s smile was full of victory as he thanked the young man.
“See, no need to pour soup all over yourself. What’s with you and wearing food, anyway? Is it a condition I should know about? Should a psychiatrist know about it?”
“You are so in the doghouse. Take these.” I shoved the bags at him and walked several paces in front of him. He whistled at me a couple times, but I kept my eyes straight ahead, staring only at other pedestrians, the seams in the sidewalk, the potted plants restaurants put out by their stoops to form pseudo-terraces, the awnings of the coffee shops, Blaine.
Blaine!
I looked away quickly. But even as I did, I saw that he had noticed me. I had to return my gaze to him. I was all flustered and excited and guilty about Hudson and Cecilia and tired and still on an adrenaline rush from Hudson’s disappearance.
“Libby!” Blaine said this with warmth and happiness, and he said it not only with his voice but with his eyes and smile. But just as Hudson had quickly changed his expression, Blaine’s face melted when I said nothing. My lips would not move and my heart was racing.
Instead of saying it was good to see him or that I missed him terribly at work, which was all true, I said, “We were just getting dinner!” and I pointed back at Hudson. It was a stupid thing to say to begin with, but the fact that I said it as though I were covering up doing something wrong made it a hundred times more regrettable.
Blaine seemed surprised, but without missing a beat he nodded and said, “Dinner is good. You deserve it.” He extended his hand to Hudson, who was now by my side.
“I’m Blaine. Good to see you. I saw you at the art museum recently.”
Hudson was confused, as was I. Had Blaine seen him before? Hudson stuttered as he said hello. He lifted up the bags to explain why he couldn’t shake hands. Blaine’s hand hovered in the air, unshook and alone, so I shook it. This scene called “Pathetic moment in one woman’s life” was playing out quite perfectly. Blaine looked down at our clasped hands and pulled his away to point down the street. “I’m headed for dinner myself. Libby, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. I have a couple days reprieve before heading back out. Don’t suppose Cecilia returned today?”
Hudson’s eyes lit up with recognition but he played it cool and shuffled his three plastic bags around.
“Nope,” I said, loudly. “We might never see that woman again.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“I doubt tomorrow. My guess is she is gone for a while longer. Her usual…”
“I meant…I’ll see you tomorrow,” Blaine said, interrupting me before I continued down the road of further self-embarrassment.
“Yes. Tomorrow. Bright and early. See you, Blaine.”
Once he was out of earshot I seethed at Hudson. “This is why you don’t go buy the latest Britney Spears CD just because you want to.”
“Britney Spears!”
We didn’t speak the rest of the walk back to the apartment. I looked so ticked that Newton didn’t even make a smart remark about extra housemates.
“I’m sorry. I had to go out. I was having a total craving. It’s a carryover from my first round of rehab,” he said as soon as we reached the apartment.
I threw my coat down on the couch and glared at him. “A craving? So help me…if you’re using, you’re out of my place. And you can plan your own comeback.”
“For these.” He reached into his pockets and removed five Abba-Zaba candy bars. They had wrappers that looked like NASCAR flags. I had seen them all through childhood but never had one. He handed one to me; I pouted. I was above sugar bribery.
“And the record store. You just had to go in for old time’s sake?”
“I wanted to see what was new. Libby, I have lived in a total vacuum for months. I wanted to look up a few bands and see what was going on in the industry.”
“Here’s a news flash for you…Jude Shea is missing. That’s right. You heard it here first. The guy tried to jump off the Space Needle, and then he just disappeared without a word. How’s that for an update?” I hated that I was overreacting again to Hudson. I hated that I sounded just like Marsha in her voice mail about Rachel. But mostly I hated how hurt Blaine’s face had looked when I responded so strangely, so indifferently to seeing him after his trip. I wanted to call him, but what would I say?
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry would be a good start. I sighed. “Me too. I have this feeling that everything is shifting, Hudson. I don’t want to blow it for you.” As soon as I said that, I had a surprising revelation. I didn’t want to blow it for him, but I was going to have to blow the whistle on myself. After seeing Blaine and having my gut and my heart leap with joy and regret at our encounter, I knew I had to tell him about my involvement in this plan. I wished there was a way to confess my sins and still be a steward of Hudson’s career. Blaine would be angry and my private work with Cecilia would be more than adequate cause for dismissal. Now I wished I had asked questions about that dang 401(k).
“Things are shifting. Look.” He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a folded piece of bright yellow paper.
I opened up the flyer. It was an announcement about Ray Stricter and Trevor Lawson coming to town for the EMP documentary event.
“Eeeee.” I made a Lucille Ball goof up sound. I meant to break it to him.
Hudson picked up on what that meant. “And you were going to tell me when?”
“I just found out. Recently. And then was reminded of it again a few minutes before I went looking for you. You see? It’s crucial that you don’t go out again. What if you ran in to one of them? And the papers and tabloids will all be rehashing Torrid news because of their return to Seattle. You are on everyone’s mind. Got it?”
“I think we need to tell Cecilia about the event. I want Ray and Trev to be a part of the dialogue, and I’ve told her that all along. This timing, with them in town, feels so intentional. I think this is it. What do you know about the event?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“But Mr. Diddle mentioned the great Bob Dylan exhibit.”
“I was going to suggest we go this week, but it’s too risky. You can’t go near that place. I’ll be going because Pan has an entry in the competition Ray and Trevor are judging. That reminds me.” I snapped my fingers. “I need to call her.”
“That reminds me,” he said, mimicking my motion. “She called earlier to ask if she could pick me up tomorrow evening and take me to see Max. I’m sure she meant you too. I said yes,” he cringed, ready for a scolding, “but before you yell, I want to say this: I can guarantee that there’ll not be one tabloid-reading sheep among the herd.”
I fell onto the couch with a thud. “I need food.”
He was delighted with my nonresponse response. “Me too. I’ll fetch the fancy paper plates, and I’ll start our evening’s entertainment which you so thoughtfully provided. Do you have a preference?” He dug through the movie bag.
“You choose.” I was exhausted physically and tired of thinking about all of it…guilt, secrets, plots, disappointments…
“How about Conspiracy?”
I nodded. Maybe watching these very things played out on the screen was the cathartic experience I needed.
I woke up to the sound of the DVD player shutting off and Hudson snoring in the bedroom. After watching Conspiracy, we had put in The Usual Suspects, which we had both seen a few times, so it lost a little something about halfway into it. I’m not sure when I’d dozed off, but I had dreams of Kevin Spacey with long hair.
I peered at the VCR clock, a function of the metal box I’d never been able to utilize unless it was indeed midnight or noon every time I happened to glance at it. Hudson had set my VCR, microwave, and stove clocks during his first full day of solitude. It was 1:30. I sat up, my mind somewhat alert but my body
weighed down with exhaustion.
My hand went to my cheek. Etched in my skin was the tweed pattern of my coat. My coat. I turned on the reading lamp and pulled out Paulo’s letters.
I had to remember to FedEx the originals to Cecilia as soon as I got in to the office. I reread the first letter. Was it Mel Gibson’s onscreen portrayal of paranoia, or did this letter sound a bit more sinister than before? I stretched my body across the arm of the settee and peered into the bedroom. Hudson was sprawled out with his jeans on and part of a blanket strewn across his shoulders. He was sacked out.
I settled further into the cushions and opened the second letter.
My Cecilia,
Aren’t we the devilish ones? It indeed seems fated that you have someone on that end who will serve our needs and who has her own interests in the success of this venture. She need not know the end result of her loyalty for her work to be helpful. In fact, I wish I could keep more employees in the dark. You have a knack for brilliance, my gem.
The property is secured, delayed, and, after the “accidental” Seattle reunion with all properties involved, the fight to follow should lead us well past the contract deadline. FreeTime will have legal control over them, their image and appearances, and the rights to their music. Meanwhile, the FreeTime band destined to replace Torrid will be able to make their way without being in the shadow of the Jude Shea mystery. Get the champagne chilling. This seems as good as wrapped up. Should we plan a getaway to Belize as our celebration? Or Paris?
I’ll see you the day before the fireworks, my good luck charm. I will wear you on my sleeve like the old days, but not until we can be seen together. Did I say old days? It wasn’t so long ago was it, my dear? Can thirty years go by in the blink of an eye? I think of that photo of us in Vanity Fair, you walking toward the camera, your eyes lifting to greet the camera and the crowd standing outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater…and me stealing glances at you while trying to act as though I was the one leading you into the limelight. But it was you who sparkled.
