Luck on the Line

by Zoraida Cordova

  “Whoa,” James mutters.

  I slump down and he sits beside me.

  Whoa doesn’t even begin to cover it. My mother is sleeping with my best friend.

  Chapter 39

  “That’s fucked up,” James says.

  His voice echoes in the stairwell. When the music vibrates against the walls, his voice rings that much clearer. His hand massages my neck.

  “How did I not see?” I’m frozen on the steps. I should have seen it. The watch. The way my mom wanted to know if Bradley and I were fooling around when I first got into town. Growing up, all the guys at school wanted to bang my mom. I never thought to consider Bradley was one of them. How did I not see it? “Am I so wrapped up in my own world that I couldn’t realize what was directly in front of me? Oh my god… It was Bradley. Bradley was the guy who left in the morning the other day. I knew his dad would never get him a watch like that. He said they’d been together for months. This is horrible. What if Bradley ends up being her fifth husband? Oh my—Sky. Sky doesn’t even know she’s getting dumped!”

  I think of the way she was acting at the bar. How they are clearly always fighting. How she left during the tasting. She knows. Of course she knows. Call it a sixth sense, but women always know.

  James squeezes the back of my neck. I relax into his grip. It’s amazing how with only his touch I feel so relaxed. Granted with just a little bit of his silence I can also feel so crazed.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  James puts his arm across my shoulder and brings me closer to him. I look up at his face and he kisses my lips. “There’s nothing for you to do.”

  I make a face. “She’s my mother. He’s my best friend. It’s just too weird.”

  “Have you and Bradley ever—”

  “Really?” I smack his thigh. “That’s what you want to ask me?”

  He laughs. “Humor me.”

  “Almost. It was always an almost. Something wasn’t right every time. We’ve always been friends. It’s the kind of friendship that’s so old you almost don’t realize you’re both changing until you wonder why you’re still friends.”

  He’s quiet for a bit. His eyes are covered in shadow, but I can still make out the trace of a frown. “How does this make you feel?”

  “How I feel?”

  “Uh—yeah? Am I allowed to ask you that?” He nuzzles my hair.

  “I guess.” My brain is fried and I want more champagne. “What better place to talk about feelings than post-coital in a dark stairwell in a shitty club.”

  “Hey, this is the busiest club Downtown this week. But whatever. Tell me, how do you feel?”

  I shrug. “The only person who has ever asked me how I feel is my pediatrician. That and my shrink in high school. He’d go, ‘Hello, Lucky. How do we feel today?’ He always said ‘we’ as if there was more than me living inside of me. I feel like, when it comes to young girls, grown-ups see the people we are, and the people they want us to be. They’re not the same person. I never managed to fit into the girl they—my mother, my teachers, my stepdads, my shrinks—thought I should be. I was always just me. I’ve known me my whole life, and my inability to compromise with that is why I keep running.”

  His thumb draws circles on the back of my neck as I lean on him. I’ve never been this open to anyone before. Not guys I’ve dated for months. Not even Bradley.

  “I feel like I don’t even know the people around me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know Felicity. I don’t know Bradley. I thought I did. I thought that he was my perfect best friend. He was the guy my mother always told me to aspire to have.”

  I can feel James flinch when I say that.

  “I wonder if she did that because she wanted him,” I continue. “Or I don’t know. I could never see myself with anyone.”

  “Because you don’t want to compromise who you are.” He says it as a question.

  “I’m pretty selfish.”

  “Yep.”

  I elbow him.

  “You wanted to know who I am? For starters, my real name is James. My full name is Francis James Murphy.” He sighs. “When I was sixteen. I made friends with these skeezers that moved in across the street. They threw all kinds of parties. Drugs, girls, booze, you name it. My Ma hated it when I came home late because she knew I was over there. She’d tell me there was nothing good for me in that place, but I wouldn’t listen. I told her it was better than being at home with my dad drunk and screaming all the time.

  “One night she decided to come and get me. I don’t remember what I was doing. Maybe I was drunk or high. All I remember was hearing shots. Five of them. I remember everyone screaming and ducking. But something inside of me hurt, you know. So I went outside and the oldest guy, they called him Kid, was slumped down on the porch with a bullet in his arm.

  “My Ma, she was on the sidewalk. I didn’t realize it was her at first. She was in her nightgown. I just stood there as the blood pooled out from the back of her head. Boom. Single shot to the back of the head. One though her shoulder. Another through her chest. I still didn’t know it was her as people started coming out, the sirens heading our way.

  “I knew it was her when my dad ran screaming up the street. And I just stood there as he screamed louder and harder than any of the sirens driving up the block. I just turned around and grabbed the first thing I could and started bashing Kid on his face. No one came to his rescue. No one cheered or helped. They just watched. Even the police. They stopped me short of killing him though.”

  I place my hand on his face, urging him to look at me. What do you say to that? I know that when my dad died, all the “I’m sorrys” in the world made me feel even worse. I know that’s not what James wants to hear. Instead, I kiss his face. His eyelashes tickle my cheek. I wanted all of James and here he is. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  “Is he still in Boston?”

  James nods. “My Pa lost the house but kept the bar. Lives in the office upstairs. After my mom was killed, he just lost it. He blamed me. I blamed me too. So my Pa just treated me like shit after that. And I believe it. I believed I was shit. I dropped out of high school when I was seventeen. I got picked up for disorderly conduct a lot. Then, a few weeks shy of my eighteenth birthday, I got bagged for dealing. I went to juvie for two years. My probation officer was the security guard from Fenway. When I got out my older brother got me a job washing dishes at his friend’s diner. Then they put me on the line. Now I’m here, with you.”

  “I saw your brother in the back alley the other say,” I admit. If we’re going to come clean, I’m going to have to tell him sooner or later.

  James sighs. “You think I’m a drug dealer, don’t you?”

  “If you won’t tell me, my imagination will just get out of hand.”

  “My brother Michael is really proud. He came to see me after Clarissa called him. So we fought because he’s afraid I might lose a good thing. Then we fought because I wanted to give him money to help Pa pay the bills. The old man won’t take my money, but if it comes from Michael he will. We fight a lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “You have to invite your family to the restaurant. They have to see everything you’ve accomplished.”

  “They won’t come.”

  I don’t lift my head from his shoulder. I let his hand brush up and down my back.

  “Look,” he says. “There’s no rule that says you have to know everyone 100% because we are never going to be the same person our whole lives. You’re not the girl you were yesterday, or two years before that, or two weeks ago. I’m not the guy I was when I was seventeen, thank God for the world. We change, every single day, for better or worse. That doesn’t mean that you have to keep running just because you’re afraid someone won’t love you.”

  “I don’t know, James. I’m so confused. You’re playing these games. You’re hot and cold and hotter—”

  “They’re not games! I’m just as confused as you are.”

  I shake
my head, but don’t let go of his hand. “I don’t even know where I’ll be next week. Just know that everything you just told me, it doesn’t make you a bad person. Terrible things happen. You didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I did.”

  Now it’s my turn to come clean. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “To be with me?”

  My laugh echoes. “Once a year my mom and I have a deal. We get dinner on the anniversary of my dad’s death. Then I leave again the next day.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “It was ten years ago today. I guess we both lost a parent ten years ago… I wanted ice cream and my mother said no because it was late. My dad, he could never say no to me and he took me along for a ride. He really loved me. We’d drive everywhere just to listen to music and watch the trees go by. This time my mom stayed home to wait for us. On our way to the store we got in a car accident. I lived. He didn’t. My mom and I kept going. Now I’m here, with you.

  “Listen to me James. You didn’t pull that trigger. I didn’t drive that car. We’re just the product of bad luck and tragedies.”

  “When I was beating on that guy at the game,” he says, “it all just came back. I could see Kid’s face in his. I realized that anger isn’t gone completely. That’s why I’m no good for you.”

  I sink into the pressure of his arm around me. I breathe in the smell of his hair and his sweat. “I’m not so sure I’m done running. That’s why I’m no good for you.”

  “Wait a minute,” James says, sitting up straight. “Are you leaving after the opening?”

  I open my mouth to say “yes.” The truth is, I don’t know. I thought I had a plan B. “My mom said that if I stayed for the opening she’d pay for school again, if I wanted to go back. That was our agreement.”

  His hand on my back turns into a grip. He grabs my shirt in a fist and pulls me closer to him. It makes me gasp. I wrap my arms around his torso.

  “Then what is this, Lucky? What, are you slumming with the chef before you get out of Dodge?”

  He’s trying to be funny, but the hurt digs deep.

  “How can you say that to me?” I ask.

  “How can you just pick up and go?”

  I pull out of his grip. My shoes are loud clicks in the quiet stairwell. I don’t want to think about this. It’s time for an ostrich move. He follows me willingly, finds my lips and kisses me with a fervor I’ve never felt before.

  “I don’t know what this is,” I motion between him and me. “I don’t know what I want.”

  He kisses my cheek, my jaw. He lets go and a chill replaces the warmth of his body. He heads to the door and pulls it back, letting in the scratchy techno beats. He looks at me over his shoulder, waiting for me to follow. But I’m frozen in place by the way he looks at me. “You know, you wouldn’t have to compromise yourself with me.”

  That’s the thing. I already have.

  Chapter 40

  It’s the day my mother and I are supposed to have our yearly rehash of feelings and memories of my father, and we’re at The Jet Longue, where a barrage of college Greeks mingles with young professionals and bachelorette parties. Nunzio gives me the thumbs up from where he’s sandwiched between beds of silicone. I lead James to our harem VIP alcove. When we walk past the black light, it highlights the stains on our clothes, and despite everything that’s happening, it brings a wicked smile to my lips.

  Except when we get there, nothing is as I left it.

  Someone bumps into me as we enter. Sky’s face is covered in tears. I grab her wrists to get her to stay, but she shakes her head.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I’m sorry for my mother, for Bradley, for everything because no one deserves to feel that way. She pulls out of my grip and I let her go.

  James puts his hand on my lower back so we don’t get separated in the bacchanalia. When I pull back the curtain, I have to make sure I’m in the right alcove.

  Felicity is sucking face with some guy whose muscles are bigger that James’s. Stella is standing on top of the small center table doing what is presumably the Charleston, and Bradley is dancing around her like she’s Aphrodite and he’s an unworthy commoner.

  The bottle of champagne has been replaced with a bottle of vodka. How long were James and I gone? I check the time and it’s already midnight. It’s time to turn into a pumpkin and go home.

  “Oh honey, you’re back!” Stella says to me. She hops off and I have to grab onto her so she doesn’t lose her balance. She kisses my cheeks. “You smell like a man!”

  Then she sees James. “It’s my star Chef!”

  James chuckles and pats my mom’s head as she wraps herself around him. Bradley grabs my mom’s arm and pulls her to his chest.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask Bradley. So much for pretending that I don’t know about them.

  Bradley looks from me to James. “We’re dancing, baby.”

  Bradley calling me baby makes my skin crawl more than any catcaller on the street. He knows how much I hate that.

  “Luuuucky,” my mom says, pulling away from Bradley’s embrace and coming back to me. “Don’t you think we should do something like this in the restaurant?” She grabs hold of the silk drapery and tugs on it. She leans in too much and falls on the cushy couch, pulling me down with her.

  “Okay, time to go,” I say.

  She grabs my hand and yanks me back down. “But I’m having so much fun! I never get to have fun. It’s always this and that meeting and the filming and planning. I never get a chance just do me, you know? Even my own daughter doesn’t want to spend time with me.”

  Stella looks down at the carpet. She’s slurring and unbalanced. I’ve seen my mother drunk, but never this unfocused. When she looks at my face her pupils are dilated. She runs her fingers through her hair and shimmies her body to the song. “Lucky, it’s like the music is right on my skin, you know. Bradley, give me another one.”

  She holds out her open hand to Bradley, who’s dancing like a fool. Realization hits me over the head. I jolt up and push Bradley in the chest. “What did you give her?”

  “Oh, come on, Luck,” Bradley says, trying to put his arm around me. “It’s not a big deal. We’re all adults.”

  I’m so mad I’m shaking. I turn around to grab my mother when I feel a hand smack my ass hard. I spin around to kick him in the balls, but he’s just laughing like a kid. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the lights. James grabs him by the shirt and presses him against the wall.

  “Don’t you ever touch her, you understand?”

  My stomach fills with dread. The last time James defended me, he pummeled a guy in the face. It’s not that I don’t think Bradley deserves it. It’s that Bradley isn’t worth it. I put my hand on James’s shoulder and feel his body relax under my touch. His response to me moves me more than anything. Bradley scoffs at James and I can feel how hard it is for James to let go. Bradley pulls a little bag out of his pocket with fun colored little pills. Future doctor Bradley Thorston, happy-pill dispenser extraordinaire.

  I watch in slow motion as my mother gets back up on the table, and I’m stuck in this bizarre freak show. She holds her hand out and Bradley starts handing her a pill. I’ve been around loads of people who party like it’s their last day on earth. I’ve tried drugs a couple of times, so I can’t be a hypocrite and tell my mother what to do. She’s a grown-ass woman capable of making her own choices.

  Except, there’s something inside of her that’s broken. I refused to see it but it’s been in the back of my head since I got home. It’s in the way she drinks scotch at noon. In the way she runs away to New York when her restaurant is in the middle of opening. How she takes to fucking a guy half her age—and maybe if it wasn’t with Bradley, I’d feel better about it. It’s in the way she wants to bury herself from the world, to see all the shiny and pretty things because they’re beautiful, and that alone will make the day just a little bit better. More radiant.

>   I see the broken parts of my mother because they’re in me, too. Only I have the liberty to run away. She never did.

  I grab the pill from Bradley’s hand. I throw it on the floor and crush it into tiny pieces.

  “There’s more where that came from, Lucky,” Bradley laughs. He’s trying to be playful, but he’s just creepy. He’s the kind of guy I hate.

  Stella laughs, and the disconnect in her laughter frightens me. I reach out and punch Bradley in the throat. I grab my mom’s hand. She fights me. The bottle of vodka smashes to the ground. A waitress walks in and gasps as the broken pieces clatter to the floor. Felicity breaks apart from her rendezvous and is startled by everything around her.

  “We’re going!” I pull Stella’s hand.

  She reaches out and smacks me across the face. Never, not even at my worst teenage tantrums has my mother hit me. Now, on the verge of 23, in front of strangers who peek into our VIP room, in front of Bradley, James, Felicity, she decides is a good time. My skin stings. I see the regret in her face right away. Surprisingly, I don’t feel angry. I’m overwhelmed with grief, with the need to fall down and cry, but then I realize that if I break into a bunch of tiny pieces, who will be there to pick her up?

  “We’re going.” I say again.

  Stella whimpers like a child. She jumps off the table. I see it happening, but my reflexes are too slow. The floor is slick and wet and covered in glass. Stella’s foot slides. I try to grab her, but I end up with air. The waitress screams. Bradley tries to climb over me to get to my mother. James pulls him up and holds him back.

  Even under the loud pulse of the music, I can hear my mom’s head smack against the table.

  Chapter 41

  My favorite memory of my mother comes a little bit after my father died. We were living with some relatives in Poughkeepsie, New York and neither of us had any appetite for anything unless it was covered in sugar. Cookies and black coffee for breakfast, frozen popsicles for lunch, apple pie and whipped cream for dinner.