“Don’t you dare use that word to describe something you can’t even begin to understand,” Kate cried.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Jenn repeated. “And I’m not letting anyone drag me into Deer Lake and dunk me in the frigging water. And why is this the big plan? Because I have a job in a restaurant owned by two married people who happen to be women? Because other women whose partners are women actually go there—OMG, showing themselves in public—and eat dinner sometimes? Well, so do a bunch of other people who are as straight as you are, Mom. Are they going to hell because they eat at G & G’s or is it only the people who work there who’re going to hell?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Baptism is a first step,” Reverend Sawyer added. “Without baptism to wash your soul of sin, you cannot enter into God’s Kingdom.”
“I don’t want to enter God’s Kingdom if it means I get to hang out with people like you!” Jenn headed for the stairs. She had homework and a test and there was no way she was going to listen to either of them a second longer. They’d have to tie her and gag her before she’d ever submit to being baptized.
“Jennifer McDaniels, do not walk away,” Kate said. “Reverend Sawyer is talking to you, and you need to listen. There’s a class on Wednesday evenings that you will have to start attending in preparation for baptism. Once you have completed that class, you will be baptized.”
“Like hell I will,” Jenn said. “I work on Wednesday nights and I’m gonna keep working on Wednesday night. Got that, Mom?”
“I can’t let you burn in hell!” Kate cried. “As your mother I must put you on the path to heaven, Jenn. You can’t see that clearly, but you will someday. And in meantime, I can see it, and you must understand that—”
“Shut up!” Jenn shrieked. “I’m happy like I am. Why isn’t that enough? Why can’t that ever be enough?”
“Because happiness whose source is perversion is not happiness,” Reverend Sawyer said.
“I’m not a pervert,” Jenn cried. “If anyone’s perverted, it’s the two of you!”
• • •
ALL OF THIS, Jenn thought, merely because her mom had walked into G & G’s to give her a ride home. She hadn’t witnessed how hard Jenn worked to earn her money, and she sure as heck hadn’t bothered to meet either Giselle or Gertie to learn exactly how much effort they were putting into their restaurant. She had merely seen some ladies having a nice time celebrating someone’s birthday and some other ladies having a little anniversary dinner. That had been enough for Kate McDaniels. No way was her precious little Jennifer going to be exposed to such sin. It was eternal damnation by association, Jenn thought. She was so furious at the end of the encounter with her mom and Mr. Sawyer that she stayed furious all night and was still furious when she got off the school bus the next morning.
Things got worse for her immediately.
There was a large newly placed banner over the front doors of South Whidbey High School. It was done in the hues of the rainbow and, like the steam punk posters, it advertised the prom. Beneath these words, RAINBOW PROM, was the relevant date. And beneath the banner itself stood Squat Cooper and two other boys.
Squat saw her as Jenn approached. He said something to the other two, and they slouched off. Jenn took note of their stupid jeans hanging low on their crotches. At least, she thought, Squat had never adopted that totally ridiculous and utterly hideous fashion statement. At least, she thought, he knew that having to look at some dude’s underwear was not the thrill a girl was seeking.
“How can you stand to hang with those creeps?” Jenn asked him.
He looked startled, both at her words and her tone. “Did someone rise from the wrong side of the bed this morning?” he asked. “That’s Brent and Haydn, by the way. We’ve been in school with them for something like thirteen years, counting preschool.”
“Well, they’ve turned into lowlifes.”
“Lowlifes with brains. Hmmm. I didn’t think one qualified for lowlife-dom if one’s GPA topped three point five.”
“Those two don’t have a combined GPA of three point five.”
Squat seemed to study her before he said, “Have we taken to judging based on appearances?”
“I don’t know, Squat, have we? Aren’t you the person who told me I’d be judged by the company I’m keeping?”
“Since you’re keeping company with me at the moment, you have nothing to fear,” was his reply. “On the other hand . . .” He gave a glance at the banner above them. “I would suggest a wider berth might be in order . . . ?”
“Would you? Why would that be? ’Cause I like a couple of lesbians? Or ’cause unlike you, I don’t judge people?”
“Didn’t you just judge Brent and Haydn?” Squat asked. “Or was that someone else? Because as I recall our conversation so far—”
“Oh shut up! Stop talking like some stupid professor. Act real for once if you possibly can.”
His eyes grew darker as did his face. He said, “Seriously? What’s crawled up your butt, Jenn?”
“You, at the moment,” Jenn snarled. “Do me a favor and crawl out, okay?”
• • •
SHE HAD TO get away from everyone, but the only person she could realistically get away from was her mom. Both of them, she figured, needed time to cool off. Her mom, especially, needed to know that she couldn’t bend Jenn to her will as long as her will involved baptism classes that took place on one of her work nights followed by some gruesome ceremony during which she was expected to wade into Deer Lake in order to have a chance of someday speaking gibberish. As long as she stayed at home, this was what she faced, though. She knew that Kate wasn’t going to cease and desist until Jenn was guaranteed entrance through the Pearly Gates.
She brought this up with Becca after lunch. She began by bringing her into the picture about Mr. Sawyer’s visit and about the plan he and Kate had devised to save Jenn’s soul. She finished up with the only solution she could come up with to bring her mother to reason. She needed to get herself out of the house so that Kate could see how determined Jenn was not to be forced into something against her will.
She said to Becca, “C’n I stay at Mr. Darrow’s place? It would just be for a few nights. Maybe only two, even. I figure if I don’t go home and if my mom has to worry about where I am, maybe it’ll be more important to her that I’m alive than that I’m baptized into that bizzaro church of hers.”
Becca was quiet. Occasionally, she had a super unnerving way of looking at people and she was doing that now. It was like . . . Jenn wasn’t sure what it was like other than that it seemed as if Becca didn’t believe her.
“Can I?” she asked again. “Maybe it would be just for tonight. I won’t make any noise. I won’t be any bother. I can even hang around at G & G’s till Mr. Darrow goes to bed and I can leave before he gets up and there won’t be a reason he’d even know I was there because I wouldn’t say a word.”
Becca bit the side of her lip. For a horrible moment, Jenn wondered if Becca, too, was deserting her. She couldn’t understand how that could possibly be. They were BFFs, and she wasn’t asking for anything but a couch to sleep on. No food, no water, no . . . nothing.
Becca said the unbelievable then. “Can’t someone from the club help you out?”
“What club?”
“The Gay Straight Alliance. Haven’t you gone to a meeting?”
“Why would I go to a meeting?”
“I was just thinking that other kids have probably gone through this and—”
“What? Gone through what? What’re you saying?”
“It’s just that you’re saying . . . I mean, what you’re saying about your mom and everything else, like G & G’s . . .”
Jenn couldn’t believe her ears. Becca, too? What was going on in her world? She said abruptly, “Just forget it. Forget I even asked.”
“Never mind. Like I said, forget I asked. Forget everything while you’re at it, Becca. I thought we were friends, but obviously—” Jenn was horrified to feel tears threatening. There was nothing to do but walk away.
Becca called after her. “Jenn! Wait! I was only—”
Jenn swung around, “Forget it,” she cried, and she didn’t care in the least that about fifty kids were nearby, heading to class, witnesses to her confrontation with Becca.
29
The solution to most every problem in Seth’s life was making music. This had long been the case, and when Prynne joined the gypsy jazz group, this turned out to be doubly true. Even more than playing by himself or playing with Triple Threat, Seth discovered that with Prynne there was a complete musical understanding. There was virtually no need even to shoot a look between them to indicate who was to dominate a particular moment in what they were playing.
This was what allowed Triple Threat to shine at their next rehearsal. The group generally rehearsed in Langley at a place called South Whidbey Commons, a Second Street cottage where local kids learned how to be baristas, man a cash register, sell secondhand books, and take care of customers. South Whidbey Commons also provided a garden with seating out in front and public spaces inside for small meetings and such. It was in a room farthest in the back of the place that Triple Threat did their rehearsing of what was their specialty: the wildly complicated gypsy jazz of Django Reinhardt.
Reinhardt’s music had always been a draw when they were rehearsing, and this day was no different. People had started wandering in from the front of the Commons during their first number, and more slipped into the room as they went on.
Their practice session was two hours long with all its starts and stops. When they played their final tune, they were more than ready to call it a day. They acknowledged the applause of their listeners and were packing up their instruments when a woman unknown to any of them made her way through the departing crowd.
Her clothing said Seattle: None of it matched but it all seemed to work, from her après ski boots to her untied bow tie to her drooping dreadlock storage cap to her man’s tuxedo jacket over jeans. She introduced herself as Steamer Constant, which sounded to Seth more like a drink than a name, and she went on to tell them her line of business.
She was, she said, a scout. Triple Threat exchanged looks because none of them had the first idea what she was talking about. She went on to add that she was a talent scout, there in Langley to attend the piano festival that was taking place at the town’s art center.
“Between concerts,” she said, “I’ve been checking out the coffeehouses. Never seen so many in a town so small. Today it was this place’s turn. How long’ve you guys played together?”
For the original members it was four years. With Prynne, it was just over six months. When Seth told her this, Steamer Constant asked if they had representation, because her job was to look for talent.
“You an agent or something?” Jackson, the mandolin player, asked.
“Consider me an agent for the agent,” Steamer replied. “Like I said a talent scout. You’ve heard of that, right?”
Well, they weren’t exactly idiots, Seth thought.
Steamer went on to ask if they’d cut any CDs yet, if they had demos she could take with her to Seattle. They did have one, but they’d made it inside Dane the banjo player’s garage, and with a look at each other, they silently agreed that they sure as hell didn’t want some talent scout listening to that.
“Too expensive to do a decent one,” Seth settled on telling her.
She nodded, as if this struck her as wise. She dug in a briefcase for business cards, which she handed around to all of them. She said, “C’n you get into Seattle sometime to play?”
“What, for you?” Prynne asked.
“For the agent I’m scouting for,” Steamer said.
They looked at each other once again. Then they looked at her as if she were the angel Gabriel come to make his big announcement to the Virgin Mary. They all spoke at once, variations of they sure as hell could come to Seattle and play for an agent and when when when would Steamer Constant like this to occur?
“No hurry,” she said. “Any time you’re ready. Give me a call and we’ll set it up.”
That said, she was gone, leaving them holding her business card and looking from her departing back, to the card, to each other. A miracle had occurred.
• • •
AFTER SEVERAL ROUNDS of high-fiving each other, Triple Threat split up and headed off. Seth and Prynne picked up Gus who’d been outside the Commons, attached to an exterior faucet and waiting patiently. With the dog between them, they took off up Second Street, up to the corner of Second and Anthes, where the climb out of the village began. Here Seth had parked his VW, in front of the bright white village museum.
Gus, however, was not inclined to get into the car without a little action in reward for being so patient. He pulled in the direction of the small city park across the street. Seth said to him, “Later, okay? We get back to Grand’s and I’ll throw your ball.”
The Lab didn’t look happy with this idea. Prynne said, “Poor guy. Hey, I need some new strings and rosin, Seth. Why’n’t you take him over to the park. I’ll get what I need at the music store and then we can take off.”
Langley Music was close, tucked inside an artful collection of shops gathered around a patio and a walkway planted with ferns and flowers. There, musical instruments and supplies were sold and lessons were given: mostly to retired baby boomers who decided now was the time to start playing guitar.
Seth said, “Good idea.”
Prynne smiled and replied, “One of many, buddy,” and she kissed him, slinging one arm around his neck. “I got another one, but I’ll tell you later,” she murmured.
“Epic.” He laughed.
Contentedly he watched her walk in the direction of the music store. She was so . . . He didn’t know what. She was just Prynne and he loved her and how she made him feel.
Seth said, “Come on, boy,” to Gus and he could see how the dog brightened up at that. Life was so looking up, Seth thought. Prynne was back, Triple Threat was cooking, and now a talent scout wanted them all to come to Seattle and play for an agent.
He hadn’t ever felt this happy. The future was bright. With Prynne at his side, it seemed that anything was possible.
30
When Prynne said, “But this has always been just a temporary thing. You know I’m a solo act,” Seth didn’t know what to think. It didn’t make sense to him that someone might not want to play in front of a talent agent. But that was what Prynne told him when he reported to her that, a couple of days after she’d heard them play, Steamer Constant had tracked him down via South Whidbey Commons and asked Triple Threat to come into Seattle ASAP. Prynne said, “It’s Triple Threat, not Quadruple Threat,” when he protested that she had to go.
Seth figured her hesitation had to do with nerves. He was nervous, too. So were the guys. But if they didn’t take this opportunity, who knew when another would come along? So despite her reluctance, Seth talked Prynne into it. On the appointed day, she stowed her fiddle in the back of Jackson’s dirt-encrusted RAV4, Seth did the same with his guitar, and they took off.
Down in Clinton, there was no ferry line and they rolled right on, along with motorcycles, cars, and a school bus. Jackson and Dane stayed inside the SUV for the fifteen-minute crossing, but Prynne said she needed to go above and use the rest room. She’d been awfully quiet and she wasn’t looking so great. Seth said he would go up, too, because if she was as nervous as she seemed to be, he figured she needed either moral support or someone to comfort her if she upchucked her breakfast.
The crossing was a smooth one, the waters of Possession Sound so glass-like that had anything bro
ken the surface, you could have seen it nine hundred yards away. Seth waited at one of the windows, watching tree-studded Hat Island slide by in the distance. When Prynne joined him, she was still pale, so he bought her a sugar cookie from the cafeteria and pressed it on her. She tucked it into her shoulder bag, and they returned to the SUV.
Within five minutes of arriving in Mukilteo across the water from Whidbey, Seth knew that something was wrong. They were heading up the hill away from the water when he noticed Prynne’s head had fallen forward onto her chest. He murmured, “You okay?” as the SUV hit a curve. She rocked against him and murmured something he couldn’t understand. He said quietly, “Prynne, you okay?” so as not to freak out Jackson and Dane in the front of the vehicle. She didn’t respond but merely smiled. She finally murmured “Sleep,” scooched away from him, and then settled across the back seat with her head in his lap.
Dane glanced back and said, “She okay, man?” and Seth decided to say, “Up all night. She’s totally nervous about this thing. She’ll be okay, though,” to which Jackson said, “Hope so,” with a look into the rear view mirror.
What Seth knew was that hope was an up-in-the-air thing because Prynne was stoned out of her mind. The first thing he thought of was that she’d somehow put her hands on more Oxy. Or it was something else, but whatever it was, Prynne had taken it in the ferry bathroom. His only hope was that the effects would wear off by the time they got into Seattle.
The talent agent’s office was in an area called Fremont, a quirky part of the city nudging a canal that led from Lake Union into the greater waters of Puget Sound. What characterized the place was a large statue of the Russian leader Lenin, a humongous concrete troll that sat beneath the Aurora Street Bridge, and other fanciful outdoor art. Like every other Seattle neighborhood, Fremont had its own downtown with shops offering everything from junk posing as antiques, to consignment shops, to thrift stores posing as consignment shops, to galleries offering the wares of the neighborhood’s artists. From the downtown area near the canal, Fremont climbed a long hillside to a place called Phinney Ridge, and it was practically to Phinney Ridge that they had to drive before they found a parking space.
The Edge of the Light Page 20
