by Cora Brent
The kid on horseback tips his wide straw hat back and glares. “Stay off the fucking path then, asshole.”
A shoving match ensues and there’s more cursing, some shouted promises of blood. The pair of them roll right into Oscar’s legs.
The dark-haired girl lets out a loud sigh, then stomps over and pulls them apart. She’s petite and bird-like. Oscar stands ready to jump in if the boys make a move to rough her up at all but they freeze like a cartoon when she yells, “Stop acting like savages!”
The other two girls find this choice of words hilarious and they laugh harder. Oscar is beginning to wonder if they know how to do anything else.
With one final shove, the larger boy rolls off and stalks away without even hinting that he’s noticed Oscar at all despite the fact that he crashed right into him a few seconds earlier. The girl holds out a hand to the other boy, who’s grabbing at his hat and moodily shoving it back onto his head.
“Hell of an impression we’re making,” the girl says with a headshake as she hauls her brother to his feet. She meets Oscar’s eyes, stares searchingly for a second and then nods. Right away Oscar can guess that she’s the rare sort of girl who doesn’t have much patience for bullshit.
“I’m Ren.” She jerks her head. “This is Spence. The nasty ape stalking in the direction of the brothel is Monty. By the way, it’s not a real brothel so don’t get all excited. Like the rest of this place it’s just leftover garbage from the heyday of Hollywood’s revisionist Old West era.”
“Is that so?” says Oscar, trying to take it all in. The crumbling buildings, the gang of rowdy siblings, his mother somewhere in the background.
“Brother!” Mina squeals and kisses the air around the head of a broad-shouldered man whose movies Oscar has seen but whose hand he’s never shaken.
At the man’s side is a scowling woman with the same dainty build as Ren. Her face says she’s on the fading side of forty. She’s staring at Oscar.
“I thought he was a boy,” she complains unhappily. “You described a boy, not a man.”
The girl named Ren makes a face, rolling her eyes. Spence looks like he’d rather just get back on his horse and ride somewhere more interesting. The giggle twins go on giggling. Monty broods on the balcony of the brothel. And August Savage is scrutinizing him thoughtfully.
“Hello Oscar,” he says and it’s the friendliest greeting so far.
“Oscar is tall,” Mina explains as she slumps against the car with a sigh.
“You are tall,” August agrees. “How old are you now?”
“Sixteen,” Mina answers.
“Seventeen,” Oscar corrects.
“Ah,” nods August. “That explains it.”
The scowling woman grabs August’s arm and leads him to the far side of the car. Oscar can hear her hissing. He sees August’s hard glare in response.
“Enough,” says August and leaves her to glower alone as he returns to his sister’s side.
Mina looks uncomfortable as she stands in her brother’s shadow. When her absent gaze lands on Oscar it’s full of apology. This unnerves him.
Oscar looks around. This neglected collection of buildings in the middle of nowhere is not exactly the heaven that Mina remembers. Except for the Savage family it seems there is nothing and no one for miles. It doesn’t appear that will change anytime soon.
“Welcome to paradise.”
Now that he’s been introduced to a few of them, Oscar can figure out who the rest of the Savages are. The bitchy woman who perches atop her stilettos and regards Oscar like he’s a wild animal that’s just crapped in her roses is Lita, August’s wife, matriarch to the gang of wild teenagers. He knows that sullen Montgomery of the Brothel is the eldest, Loren who calls herself ‘Ren’ is next in line, then the twins Spencer and Ava. Finally Brigitte, who smirks at him through a curtain of red hair, is the youngest.
Atlantis Star looks like a place people might end up if they are running from zombie invasions or hellfire Armageddon. The end of the proverbial and literal road. Oscar wonders how long they’ve all been stuck out here and why the hell they came in the first place. It’s the opposite of glamorous.
August barks that Spencer needs to help Oscar with his bags. Spencer doesn’t seem pleased but he obeys after one more regretful glance at the waiting horse.
“Thanks, but I got it,” Oscar growls as he heaves two large duffel bags over each shoulder with a grunt. There was more that he’d left behind in the storage basement at school. He suspects he won’t ever see any of it again but that’s fine. He knows instinctively that he will never be returning and anyway he doesn’t need the burden of a whole mess of stuff.
In Oscar’s opinion that’s the biggest problem with people like his mother. Too much fucking stuff.
Atlantis, on the other hand, seems to have very little stuff. It’s a scorched ghost town in bleak condition. A rusted pickup truck sits in front of the house. Beside it is a silver Lexus.
Spence had shrugged and wandered back to his horse when Oscar refused his help but Ren falls in step beside him.
“You can’t walk out of here you know,” she says cheerfully. “Consequence is twenty miles away.”
Oscar stares at her, thinking she must be speaking in rural American slang terms that haven’t found their way across the ocean. “The consequences are twenty miles away?”
“Consequence. It’s a town. It has a traffic light and a gas station and a bunch of really unhappy people who barely move between May and October. That’s all there is in this area. At least it’s something though. I drive the girls out there to catch the school bus to Copper, which is another ten miles past that and the only high school between here and Phoenix. But at least it’s summer now so I don’t need to worry about it.”
“Shit, you serious?”
“Always.”
Oscar processes her words. “Why don’t you go to school with your sisters?”
Ren plays with the ends of her dark hair. “Online school. Spence does it too supposedly, although I damn well never him sitting down at the computer. We get shitty Wi-Fi out here by the way. A gust of wind knocks it out for an hour. Monty dropped out last year and spends most of his time stealing Dad’s old pickup so he can whore it up with whatever female is dumb enough to plant her face in his crotch.”
Oscar lets out a chuckle. The girl is weird, but there’s something innocently charming about her. “You sure don’t hold back, do you? Where the hell are we going, anyway?”
“Over there.” She points. “You’ll be staying at the little house right behind the brothel.”
“Words I didn’t expect to hear when I woke up this morning.”
“Ha! I’ll bet. The house was originally built for the caretaker or something. It’s where the boys sleep. Well, sort of. Spencer camps out in the desert half the time even though Lita keeps warning him that he’ll get his nuts chewed off by a Gila monster. And Monty just uses it as a fuck den so it might be kind of noisy in there. See that piece of crap in the foreground? We call it the brothel since it used to serve as either a saloon or a bordello, depending on what the script called for. Spence won’t be any trouble. But you tell me if Monty gives you shit and I’ll talk to him.”
Oscar glances up and sees Monty still scowling on the balcony of the brothel. The half rotted wood is completely bowed in the middle and Montgomery Savage seems to be tempting fate as he looms there with hulking menace. Oscar wonders if he’s aware of just how closely he resembles his grandfather and decides it’s probably something Monty’s been hearing his whole life. His dark eyes follow Oscar with a mute warning but other than that he doesn’t shift a muscle.
Oscar answers him back with a hard stare. It would be more effective if he wasn’t twisting his neck to look up but he’s kicked his fair share of sullen ass in his day. If it comes to it he would pit his muscle against Monty Savage any day.
Hopefully he won’t be hanging around here long enough for things to go that sour.
&
nbsp; “Thanks, Loren,” he says, still holding Monty’s gaze until Monty smirks, drops his eyes and looks to the west where the sun is beginning to dip low.
They’ve reached the far side of the brothel. Oscar can’t hear the voices of the adults any longer. The other Savage girls have disappeared. He watches Ren in the soft evening shadow and is struck by the sight of her. Even without makeup she has a face that demands attention. At the same time, a ray of sun filters through her loose cotton shirt and shows him the curve of her small breasts. Despite himself, despite the fact that this girl is off limits and he’s been inside of girls that could body double as porn stars, he recognizes pure fucking quality when it’s in front of him. Something stirs powerfully in his core and he shifts the weight of his luggage.
Ren suddenly gives him an arch look. Oscar wonders if she has supernatural dick sensors and can tell he’s getting a little chubby in his pants.
“What?” he says defensively.
She smiles. She has a perfect smile. Perfect teeth surrounded by perfect lips. “Thought you’d be more, I don’t know, European. That’s how we thought of you; Aunt Mina’s exotic little European waif.” She wrinkles her nose. “You seem like you could be from from L.A. Here’s the house. Door’s never locked.”
Oscar stops. “You said it was built for the caretaker?”
“Yeah, I think so. My grandparents, sorry our grandparents, were too busy being fabulous in Los Angeles to spend more than a few months a year out here so they paid some poor sucker to sit around and sweep up the dust. The rooms are really small in there but at least there’s central air. My father had it installed when we moved out here last year.”
“It looks like one of the rest stops we passed on the interstate.”
“It probably doesn’t smell any better either.” Ren’s voice takes on a defensive edge. “Look, I know it’s not what you’re used to and before we wound up here it wasn’t what we were used to either, but it’s still better than what a lot of people have.”
A vague sense of shame pricks at him. There he stands with his elite education and his pricey clothes while the Savage kids have been reduced to this. But why? Mina had once mentioned that August was very bad with money. He knows Atlantis was passed down from Rex Savage and he remembers his earlier thought about people who’d run out of options.
Who the hell is he to judge anyway? A former slum kid himself. He’s become a snobby jerk.
Ren is opening the door. “You could stay in the big house, but then you’d be under Lita’s thumb and I can tell you from experience that life is not comfortable there.”
“I’m sure this’ll be fine,” he says, following Ren inside as she fumbles for a light.
“Welcome home,” she says and Oscar glimpses beer cans, strewn clothing and some mismatched furnishings.
“Nice,” he says, dropping his bags in the tiny living room, figuring that’ll do until he finds out where he’ll be sleeping. Ren stands over by the light switch. Her arms are crossed and she watches him. Oscar has the feeling she is forming a series of opinions about him right then and there.
“New York,” he says, taking a step in her direction. “I was born in New York.” He looms over her, satisfied when she squirms. “And I’m not especially waif-like. Or little.”
“New York,” she repeats and Oscar can tell the news surprises her. “I didn’t know that.”
“Seems like it would have been easy enough to find out if you cared to look into it.”
She smiles again and damn if that devilish grin doesn’t do all kinds of crazy shit to him. “I guess I never cared, Oscar. Still, seems like the kind of thing you ought to know about your cousin.”
He leans into the wall just to the right of her, resisting the urge to touch a stray lock of dark hair that’s fallen into her eyes. “Usually my buddies call me Oz. And I’m not really your cousin, Ren.”
“That’s right, you’re not. Do you want to be?”
“Hell no.”
She nods. “Good.”
He can’t tell what she means by that. It isn’t a straight flirt. This girls isn’t full of all the games and plots that occupy other girls. Somehow he already knows this. He also knows that no matter what kind of strangeness has transpired in the last two days and no matter what this girl’s fucking last name is he wants to grab her and commit a series of dirty acts right here in the cramped living room.
Ren cocks her head and does a strange thing. She reaches out and tips his chin up. It isn’t sexy and isn’t supposed to be. It seems almost like a sorrowful gesture. Why the hell would Loren Savage feel sorry for him?
“Are you thirsty?” she asks, brushing past him and heading for the galley kitchen.
He follows her. “Depends. What kind of poison you offering?”
She flicks the tap and begins rinsing out a crystal wine glass. “Water. You want something stronger you’ll have to beg it off the boys or steal it from August. Actually if you ask him he’ll probably just give it to you.” She fills the glass and extends it. “We have water filtration even out here beyond civilization so you’re safe to drink from the tap if you don’t mind the dusty taste.”
Oscar accepts the glass, his hand briefly brushing against hers. The fine crystal was likely born to hold things more sophisticated than water. He takes a long drink and fills the glass again while Loren leans against the counter. Besides her flowing shirt she wears cutoff shorts and her tanned, bare legs end in scarred turquoise cowboy boots. Oscar finishes the lukewarm water and raises an eyebrow at her.
“No,” she says. She’s smiling again.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking a few things though, Oscar.” She sighs and shakes her head, her wavy black hair falling forward and brushing over the tops of her breasts. “You boys, you amaze me. You never even try to hide it.”
“Didn’t know the Savages were telepathic.”
“We’re not. You’re just transparent.”
The accusation bugs him. It bugs him enough to mess with her a little. He stands toe to toe with her.
“What am I thinking about, Ren?”
She blushes and looks at her boots. “S-sex.” She stumbles over the word.
Oscar laughs out loud. He laughs so hard he nearly drops the glass. “With who?”
Now she’s flushing crimson. Her self-assurance evaporates and she shifts uncomfortably.
“Well, weren’t you?” she demands with irritation.
This is the most fun he’s had in days. He drops the laughter and assumes a look of utter solemnity. “Nope. Right hand to god it hasn’t crossed my mind. Not even for a second.”
She believes the lie. She bites her lip. “Dammit, I’m sorry.”
“I guess I can forgive you for your obscene assumptions.”
“Seriously, I’m sorry.”
Oscar is studying her. She crosses her arms over her breasts and refuses to look him in the eye now. He can’t picture her in the glittering world of the rich and famous, but then she doesn’t quite seem as if she belongs here in desert exile either. She might not completely belong anywhere.
Like me.
“How long have you been out here?” he asks. “I mean, I know you guys haven’t always lived out here. Mina said you used to live in a mansion in California.”
She answers slowly. “Fourteen months. The estate was foreclosed by the bank. An investor from China lives there now. I’m sure you know my dad’s career is long over and little by little he’s lost his inheritance. Lita’s never earned an honest penny in her life but she’s long dreamed of pushing us into the business.” Ren makes a face. “I took a ton of screen tests and hated it. The lights, the cameras. It was awful. But Ava’s had some bit parts in sitcoms and Brigitte landed a role in a kids’ movie. That’s when August woke up and pulled the plug.”
“You mean that’s when he moved you to the middle of nowhere for some reason?”
She nods vaguely and skirts around the question. “My da
d’s always had this thing about dynasties. He’s a student of history, obsessed with it really. If you ever want to know about which family ruled England during the fifteen hundreds you can ask him.”
“The Tudors,” interrupts Oscar.
Ren shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, my dad loves to point out that every dynasty ends, figuratively at least. It doesn’t mean everyone drops dead, but there comes a time when the sun stops shining on them and that might be a blessing.” Ren frowns and lets out a short, pained cough. “He didn’t want us in the business. He said it had to end, that we had to be given a chance at other choices.” She looks around with a wry expression. “Of course, there was also the fact that we were virtually destitute. August has gradually sold off whatever remained. Lita just about crapped out steel nails when he moved us out here, but it’s probably the only fight August ever won.” She looks at him and gives out a little crooked grin. “You get all that? That’s the history of the modern Savages.”
“There are worse histories to have.”
“I know. I’m not complaining. It’s not terrible. It just is.”
“True. And, if August is ever in really dire straights, I’m sure my mother would help him out.”
A cloud passes over Ren’s face. “Mina-“ she starts to say, and then stops.
Oscar wants to hear it. “What?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
He drops the subject. “Hey, you sleep up in the big house?”
She nods. “Yeah. This place is small and I don’t really want a front row seat to my brother’s many conquests. Where Monty digs up all these trashy girls I’ll never know. Anyway, August still needs to clear out some rooms where a bunch of my grandparents’ junk is stuffed. As soon as he gets around to doing that I won’t have to share with Ava and Brigitte anymore. My sisters have their good points but sometimes inhabiting the same space with them is indescribably awful.”
“I’ll bet. So I imagine Mina isn’t staying in the brothel. She’ll be bunking up with you?”
Ren gives him a strange look. “No, that’s not the plan.”
“Care to clue me in what the plan actually is? Seeing as how Mina yanked me out of school, hauled me to another continent and then dissolves into weeping or weird reminiscing whenever I ask her about it.”
