Sheila approached Everett, gave him a brief hug, and held the lapels of his jacket. “I mean it. Be careful. He’s a liar, Ev—”
Eddie sauntered back around the corner. “What’s the holdup?”
“Ready.” Everett pulled away from Sheila, hugged Karen, and gave her a gentle kiss. “We’ll see you ladies in a little while.”
“Be careful, babe.” Karen squeezed his arm, made him look into her eyes, and didn’t care if the others heard her whisper, “I’ll be praying.”
10
AFTER SHEILA AND KAREN had toured most of the upstairs, they came to a door that was ajar. “And this is the magnificent Madison’s room.” Sheila tapped on the door and led the way in.
It was lavender, with similar hues in the bedspread, pillows, and lamps. Madison had changed into sweats and thick socks and was lying on the bed writing in a journal. She rolled over and forced a smile.
“I love the colors,” Karen said. “And look at this dollhouse. My word, it’s wonderful. With working lights. I had one for years. I think it’s still in my folks’ basement.”
“She’s never wanted to part with it.” Sheila swiped a hand across its black roof.
“Who did these sketches, and the watercolors?” Karen examined the matted works hanging at various spots on the wall.
“I did.”
“These are incredible, Madison! What did you go by to create these?”
“Some from pictures in magazines or photos. Others, I was there—like the waterfall. That was from a family trip to Oregon—Coquille River Falls—”
“In the Siskiyou National Forest,” Sheila said. “Eddie insisted that we go. And he was right; it was beautiful.”
“You have talent, Madison. The watercolors are so loose and free. I love paintings like that. I took some classes once…”
“Watercolor?” Madison asked. “Really?”
“Yeah, but I’m horrible. I do everything in—”
“I keep telling Madison that her father knows a bigwig at the Savannah College of Art and Design.” Sheila eyed her daughter. “But she’s not sure she wants to go to college. I just don’t want her to end up like her older brother—”
“Mom, please.”
“He just hasn’t been able to keep a job. Hops around a lot. And his father still pays him an allowance—”
“Mom.”
“What’s wrong? I’m just—”
“Aunt Karen doesn’t need to hear this.” Madison’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and Karen’s cheeks warmed.
“She may as well hear it. She’s part of the family.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. After admiring each painting, Karen spoke. “Why don’t you let Madison finish showing me the upstairs, Sheila? That’ll give us a few minutes to get better acquainted. How about we come down in a few minutes?”
Sheila raised her eyebrows at her daughter. “Fine.” She waved her hand and exited, her voice echoing down the hall. “You two spend some time together. It’ll be good for you.”
Madison pursed her lips and shook her head. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” Karen smiled.
“She takes medication. Sometimes it puts her on edge.”
“Oh…for what?”
“Depression.” Madison stood. “Where haven’t you been?”
“Let’s see. I think we covered it, except that room down there.” Karen leaned into the hall and pointed.
Madison set her journal on the bed and meandered into the hallway. The room was set apart from the others, near the banister overlooking the family room. She stopped in the doorway and motioned Karen inside. “This was David’s room. They’ve kept it just like it was, before the accident.”
From carpet to walls, the room was dark blue. The focal point was a glass NBA backboard attached to the wall with a red, white, and blue basketball suspended in midair as it swished through the hoop; the basketball itself was a globe lamp, which lit up when Madison flipped the wall switch.
Karen’s mind flushed blank when she saw the huge DeathStroke poster. She shot a glance at Madison, but the girl wasn’t paying attention—or at least, pretended not to be. Karen walked over to the double windows and looked out over the blacktop driveway and peaceful street.
“David loved it here.” Madison joined her. “He had a motorcycle. Used to spend hours riding around the neighborhood. Some of the neighbors complained about the noise, but Mom and Dad never did do anything about it.” She chuckled.
“I never got to meet David.”
“He was a wild thing.” She picked up a photograph of him and several of his buddies. “He was searching.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” Madison said. “Answers.”
“Answers to what?”
“Life, I suppose. He was an emotional person. He had a good heart.”
“I want you to know that Everett feels terrible about letting David down—and you and Wesley.”
“David was the one who was so crazy about him.”
“Everett was a different person back then.” Karen couldn’t help but look back at the DeathStroke poster. “He was lost. Selfish. The fame went to his head. All the drugs and alcohol, he was just unreliable. Not to mention miserable. He had a rough upbringing.”
“David wrote about him a lot in his journal.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Madison opened the top drawer of his dresser and searched around.
“Oh no, that’s private.”
“I can’t find it anyway. It’s usually right here. Mom’s probably got it again.” She shut the drawer and moved toward the door.
“What about Wesley, how is he?” Karen followed her.
Madison stopped just before leaving the room and faced Karen. “He’s bitter. Reckless. He drives my mom and my dad insane.”
“Why do you think he’s that way? David’s death?”
“He was like that before David died. My folks have spoiled him. They spoiled each of us.”
“Hmm.” Karen had determined that she would never spoil her children, but now… Well, there was no use dwelling on such things.
“But material things can only go so far—you know?” Madison turned away, her shoulders back as she drew in a deep breath.
Karen put a hand on her shoulder. “You want to go back in your room for a minute? Get a Kleenex?”
Madison nodded and walked toward her room. Karen retrieved a tissue from the small bathroom and handed it to her as they both plopped down on the bed.
“I’m sorry.” Madison rubbed her nose with the Kleenex. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional—why I’m telling you all this. I barely know you.”
“We all need someone to talk to now and then.”
“My parents provide well for us, but they’re so busy. My dad’s always working or off—somewhere. And Mom works down at the Fashion Mart. She’s in all kinds of clubs.” Madison gave a half smile. “And she loves to shop.”
“When I was young,” Karen said, “my dad put his work above everything. Even above my mom and me. I know how that feels. It hurts. And it makes you look for that attention in other places.”
Madison stood. “I don’t know…” The girl looked like she needed to vent.
“What is it, sweetie? What else?”
“I just don’t want him to hurt my parents anymore. They love us, I know. They’ve just never known how to express it. All our lives they’ve tried to be our friends, but they never established any…boundaries.”
“You’re so mature, Madison. What you’re saying makes sense. You’ll make a good mother someday.”
“I don’t know about that…”
Karen ignored the ache inside. “If what you say is true about your mom and dad wanting to be your friends and not knowing how to set up guidelines or discipline, that’s probably a very stressful way for them to live, too.”
“It is. My dad’s a wreck. Trying to work and make deals and pay all our bills.
Do you know what happened to him—the cuts?”
Karen was somewhat stunned by the directness of the question. She couldn’t lie and found herself frustrated by Eddie’s immaturity. “Did you ask him?”
“Yeah. He said someone tried to take his wallet on the subway.”
Karen looked down at her hands, twisting her platinum wedding ring, admiring the diamonds, and letting the silence speak.
“Is that what happened?”
Karen sighed. “Your father just needs some good friends right now. That’s why Everett and I are here. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
Madison spun away and leaned on the tall dresser with both elbows. “This whole situation is so messed up. Sometimes I just want out.”
“Why don’t you go then? What about that art college in Savannah, after you finish high school? You’re so talented—”
“You don’t understand.” She faced Karen with outstretched arms. “I can’t leave.”
“Why on earth not?”
Madison crossed her arms and, with a furrowed brow, took several steps toward Karen. “Wesley, okay? I don’t feel comfortable leaving my folks alone with him. He’s unpredictable. So are his friends. You wouldn’t understand.”
Karen stood, checked the door, then approached Madison. “What’s he into that’s making you so scared?”
Madison paced. “We better go back downstairs.”
“Madison, when David was in the hospital, your father told Everett that Wesley was probably doing drugs—maybe even selling…”
She stopped and glared at Karen.
“That’s not all,” Karen continued. “The kid who survived David’s wreck told Everett that Wesley was into methamphetamines.”
“Did he tell you David was high on meth when he wrecked the Camaro?” Madison finally let go. “And that he probably got it from Wesley?”
The pacing started again, but Karen stopped Madison by gently gripping her shoulders. “It’s okay. I understand—”
“Do you?” Madison pulled away from Karen. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you’ve seen some of the things I’ve seen, right from this very window.”
“You need to talk about it, Madison. I’ll be your friend.”
The girl went to the window, rested one knee on her bed, and looked outside, expressionless. “Cars come in the night. All different kinds. All hours. Wesley runs out to meet them. I think he’s selling meth or buying it. I don’t know.”
“When you see—”
“One day I was at the neighborhood pool. Wes and a friend came flying into the parking lot.” She spoke as if she were staring at a TV, watching it again on video. “A car was chasing them. Wesley and his buddy ran into the pool area. Children were everywhere. They didn’t care, ’cause they were so high. A man and a woman followed them in. He threatened to kill Wesley. Said Wes had put a knife to his son’s throat at a party the night before.”
“What happened?”
“Some of the dads at the pool had to get between them. Broke it up. Threatened to call the police.”
Karen walked up behind Madison and rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
This time, Madison didn’t move away but continued talking as she gazed outside.
“I’ve seen low-life thugs carrying guns, waiting in their junk cars for Wesley to get home. When he gets stoned, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’ve heard him firing guns out back. He’s nuts. And he thinks he’s untouchable.”
“Where are your parents when this stuff happens?”
“If it’s during the day, they’re gone. If it’s at night, they’re asleep. Their bedroom’s at the back of the house. In the summer they go up to the lake on weekends, so we’re here alone.”
Someone was coming.
Karen grabbed Madison’s hands and whispered quickly, “I want to help you. I’m here for you. Okay? You can call me anytime.”
Madison squeezed Karen’s hands and nodded, a minor gesture, but one that sent a healing breath of life into Karen’s suffocated soul.
“Where have you girls been?” Sheila burst into the room, reeking of liquor. Madison’s eyes darted to meet Karen’s. “Come on, come on. Would you two quit gabbing? I want to show Karen the rest of the house.”
As they were about to leave, Madison must have heard something. She crossed to the window, looked out, and immediately turned back into the room. “Speak of the devil.”
“What?” Karen walked to the window.
Madison’s gaze fell back to the driveway.
Karen’s eyes followed to the muddy white Yukon below.
11
EVEN THOUGH IT WAS Saturday, traffic was heavy as Everett drove Eddie into Manhattan under gray skies, taking FDR Drive along the East River. By the time they stopped at First Federal Bank and reached East Fifty-second, it was midafternoon, and Christmas shoppers and sightseers had converged on the Big Apple in full force.
Everett finally found a parking spot in the shadow of the towering Citicorp building. As the brothers set out for the restaurant, an arctic wind swirled amid the lofty buildings, whipping through the shaded streets, rattling holiday decorations, and making it feel fifteen degrees colder than it had in the suburbs.
“Don’t forget, you’ve got to take me to my car after this.” Eddie’s teeth clacked.
“Why’s it down here? I thought you were taking the subway?”
“I usually do, but I had errands. Wanted to have my car.”
“I can’t believe all the people down here.”
“It’s always like this.” Eddie nodded toward the crosswalk. “That’s Pappano’s over there.”
The Italian eatery was small and informal looking from the outside, with a dark wood facade. Red and white checkered curtains hung on gold rods in the lower half of the large window. Above it, “Pappano’s” was lit up in red script.
Bells on the heavy front door jingled as Eddie entered first. The place smelled like oregano and freshly-baked bread, and Everett let the warmth soak in. A short, gray-haired woman hustled toward them, wearing a white blouse and black pants. Her olive skin was wrinkled, and she had a hooked nose.
“Two of you.” She grabbed several large plastic-coated menus.
“Actually,” Eddie said, “we need to see Mike. Is he around?”
Her eyes shifted from Eddie to Everett and back to Eddie. She examined the bandages on his face. “Wait here.” Returning the menus to their holder, she headed to the back of the room and through a set of red curtains.
So much for his nerves calming.
“Is Mike the bookie?” Everett whispered.
“Yeah.”
As Everett’s eyes adjusted to the restaurant, he noticed that four tables around the room were occupied by patrons, who didn’t pay much attention as the Lester brothers stood by the old-fashioned cash register.
“You won’t need to say anything,” Eddie said.
We’ll see about that. Everett had been in his share of nasty situations before, but he hadn’t fought sober since he was a boy. And he’d never had to deal with the mob. So he was gearing up for anything, taking deep breaths, getting psyched to be tough, if necessary.
The little Italian waitress exited the curtained room and headed for a four-top she was serving in the far corner of the dining room. Before Eddie could get her attention, a hand parted the curtains. A large, clean-shaven white man wearing a gray suit and white shirt peered out at them. Then the curtains closed.
It wasn’t the first time Everett chastised himself for getting involved. Lord, protect us.
The curtains parted again and the same man stepped through, waved them back, and disappeared into the mystery room.
“That’s Paulie,” Eddie whispered, putting his shoulders back and leading the way. When they got to the curtains, he stuck his head in. “Mike?” He entered and Everett followed.
It was dark and smoky. A TV glowed with college football from the upper corner of the room. Below it sat four suited me
n with stone faces, playing poker amid ashtrays, drinks, and several dirty entrée dishes. Beyond them was a sink and a black Formica countertop, stocked with ten or twelve bottles of liquor.
The tension ratcheted up several notches. The place looked like a mob hangout from The Godfather, where someone could get whacked while eating a bowl of spaghetti.
At the far end of the room was an old wooden desk. On it sat a hunched man. His face was badly pockmarked, and he had thick black eyebrows and a curved scar on his forehead. “Hello, Eddie.” He dangled his legs and glossy wingtips. “Glad you could make it.”
“Sal.” Eddie nodded toward him.
Next to the desk sat Paulie. Adjacent to him—leaning back on two legs of a chair—was a skinny, balding man with a long thin nose and dark, sunken eyes. “Eddie,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Come over here. You brought a friend, how nice.”
Eddie approached the men, and Everett followed several steps behind.
“This is a buddy, Mike. He helped me with this.” Eddie reached inside his heavy coat and produced a thick white envelope. He handed it to the skinny man, who opened it, removed the stack of bills, and fanned them with his thumbs.
Mike smiled. “Must be nice having such generous friends.”
Everett noticed the poker game had stopped momentarily as the four men at the table watched the transaction.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Mike motioned to Everett.
“I don’t believe…” Eddie stammered. “I don’t think it’s necessary,”
“Oh, come on, Eddie!” Mike banged his chair to the floor. “Who do you think we are? Give your brother a proper introduction.”
Eddie sighed and shot a worried glance at Everett. “Gentlemen, this is Everett Lester.”
Everett nodded once. The men stared.
“If that takes care of everything,” Eddie turned toward the curtains, “we need to get going.”
“Hold on. Hold on.” Mike laughed and stood. “Let’s make sure we got this right before you go runnin’ off.” He smacked the envelope of bills against the palm of his hand. “We got twenty-four grand in all here, correct?”
Eddie nodded while Mike counted some of the money, then handed it to Scarface sitting on the desk. “Here’s four thousand to Shy Sal. That right, Sal?”
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 8
