by Teresa Toten
Did he hurt me? No, but I was hurt. “How did you find me?”
“Big Bob hit the roof!” He shook his head. “I mean, he totally blew up. Thank God you told Grady it was a Marcetti party. Grady didn’t know what that meant, but Big Bob sure did.” Ethan leaned forward. “Look, apparently the guy is notorious for these kinds of parties, for bringing in pretty paid companions or party girls. One of the guys in the band said that Cassidy is one of his, uh, purveyors. He finds girls for Marcetti.”
Thank God it was so dark. Thank God he couldn’t see me. Thank God I couldn’t see me.
“Big Bob was heading straight for the door when Grady convinced him to call me. See, if Big Bob turned up, it would signal a club war, and Marcetti is connected big-time. It all happened within ten minutes.”
I stared at the grass and kicked off my lone shoe. “But you called the police, right? They’ll shut it down, right?”
Ethan shook his head. “I didn’t call them, Toni. That was a Hail Mary pass on my part. When I say Marcetti is connected, I mean connected. The police may or may not have helped, depending on who responded.” He stood up. “He’ll have to lay low for a spell and regroup, but he’s a cockroach. Indestructible. We better get going.” He extended his hands. “If we’re not back by eleven, Big Bob and some guys from the club are going to come after us.”
“For me? Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and stupid and just so…sorry. I thought Cassidy liked me. I don’t deserve to breathe.” I wanted to crawl into a ditch.
“No, Toni, no. You’re just…sweet and trusting and maybe a little naïve. It’s not a bad thing.” He held my hands. “But I need to know if that man hurt you.”
I deserved it. I must have deserved it for being so stupid and blind and…
“Toni, did he hurt you?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll go back and kill him is why.”
I held myself and started rocking. “No, not really, no…but…” The kiss, that slobbering, vile, open mouth, the smell and the sweat, all that sweat. I lost it.
I wailed so loud that I scared the squirrels.
“What? Toni, what is it? What happened to you?” Ethan held my arms. “Tell me!”
“He kissed me! I’ve been waiting my whole life for my first kiss, my whole life, and he kissed me! I dreamed and dreamed and the…” I started hiccupping. More punishment. I was in a full-on ugly cry that was now accompanied by embarrassing hiccups. “I’m going to be seventeen hic in a couple of weeks and hic I’d never ever been kissed! And I dreamed…And it was him! How hic pathetic is that?”
“Oh Toni, shhh…it’s okay.” Ethan cupped my face in his hands and wiped away my tears as I continued hiccupping. “I should have done this the moment I saw you. God knows I wanted to. My mistake.” He leaned down and tilted my head upward. He kissed my forehead and a part of me calmed down. But another part lit up.
“But…hic.”
“Shhh.” He kissed my cheek as soft as a whisper and then the other cheek. Even though it was night, Ethan still smelled of sunlight and coffee.
“May I kiss you, Antoinette Royce?”
I felt his heart beating against my hand. Did I nod as I hiccuped? I wanted to shout, “Yes, yes, and hurry!”
He pulled me into him and wrapped his arms around me, and then Ethan Goldman’s lips touched mine. It started gentle and sweet, like kissing velvet. And then he drew me closer. A soft moan escaped from deep within him—or was that me? We fit perfectly. And then he kissed me harder, and then it was even better, and then he didn’t stop. And then I couldn’t breathe, and it didn’t matter. And then I stopped hiccupping.
And then I kissed Ethan Goldman back.
“People”
(BARBRA STREISAND)
I CRIED NONSTOP. And I felt myself turn pink every single time I remembered Ethan kissing me. Basically, I was a crying, blushing machine. Since the Purple Onion was closed on Mondays, I did most of the caterwauling in my room and a bit with Grady, who insisted I come down for a “drink” in the late afternoon. We dismembered the whole sordid Marcetti/Cassidy story bit by bit. She said it would help me see things more clearly. Maybe, but my eyes were pretty fogged up with humiliation. Grady was wildly relieved, and I was wildly mortified. She tried to explain the whole “party girl” thing to me without corrupting my “innocence” any more than she had to.
“But I don’t understand Cassidy’s part in this,” I said in between sniffles. “I thought he liked me!”
“Well, kid…” She got up as if to get a refreshment, thought better of it and sat right back down. “You said he was a real looker, right? Apparently, Marcetti uses pretty boys to prey on pretty girls, vulnerable girls without any real family or people around.” She examined her manicure. “And then he sort of convinces them to, uh, work for him at parties. Most of them do it, honey. Word is, your guy has flown the coop though. Maybe you were the straw that broke the camel’s back. That’s something.”
Not much.
When I wasn’t crying, wincing or blushing, I reviewed Grady’s description of Marcetti’s targets: vulnerable girls, without any people around. Well, that was me, all right. No people.
I dried up enough to start my shift on Tuesday, but then Rachel teared up as soon as she saw me.
“Rachel, don’t you start! Stop this minute. Why are you crying?”
“It’s called transference,” she sniffled. “I read about it in Cosmopolitan magazine. Let’s face it. I know all about love gone wrong, broken, stomped-on hearts, and every country-and-western-song cliché there is.”
“I didn’t love him, Rachel.”
“Well, praise the Lord for smallish favors.”
“But I liked him a whole lot, and, and I thought he liked me. He made me feel special and made me feel…and, well, he listened and he was so handsome and older and…handsome.” I leaned against the espresso machine as I foamed up the milk. “Grady said that he was grooming me as a Marcetti party girl. I am, bar none, the stupidest girl who ever got off a bus.”
She took the milk container away from me. I had over-foamed. “Nah, sweetie, there’s plenty dumber than you.” Rachel folded her arms, clearly pleased with offering up that revelation.
I finished making my cappuccinos without saying anything more. What would have happened if Ethan hadn’t come after me? I flashed to that sweaty mouth on mine. I was a little unsteady as I headed off to my customers. Rachel stepped in behind me. “The shame bits will get easier, I promise. Eventually, there will be long periods where you don’t even think about it and then boom—you remember it in a hurting flash and you wince. Then it goes away again until the next wince.” She squeezed my shoulder. “We all have ’em, Toni. It’s part of being a woman, sweetie. I promise, there’s not a girl alive who doesn’t have a few.”
If I hadn’t been holding coffee cups, I would have hugged her.
Ethan and I didn’t get much of a chance to talk for the rest of the shift. Big Bob was out of town on a talent search, so Ethan was at front of house and managing the place as well. But he smiled or winked every time he caught my eye. Did he just feel sorry for me? Was it a pity kiss? I bet it was. Maybe not. I don’t know. I no longer trusted my judgment. How could I?
Then, just before the eleven o’clock set, who should walk in but Mr. Kenyatta and the professor! As far as I knew, neither of them had ever set foot in the place. I didn’t know about Mr. Kenyatta, but the professor had always said he’d turn up when the Onion got a liquor license and not a minute before. Ethan directed them to one of my tables. They both seemed a little awkward and more than a bit nervous as I took their orders. That made me so happy. Not that they were nervous, but that I was thinking about something and someone other than myself for a minute. They waved me over after the last set. The weekday crowd had thinned.
Mr. Kenyatta patted the empty seat beside him. “Are you allowed to join us for a moment? It appears that most of your patrons have departed.” I waved at Ethan, who was hel
ping the band with their equipment. He nodded at me from onstage.
Mr. Kenyatta, of course, stood up and pulled out my chair.
“I’ll have to clean up in a few minutes, but hey, I’m just so happy to see you here.”
“And we’re both delighted to see you in your place of employment.” The professor looked stone-cold sober. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen him in that condition before. Then Mr. Kenyatta leaned over to me.
“I have some information, Miss Toni. I have possible dates for a fire that could be your fire. But perhaps this is not the time. Eddy has intimated that you received quite a shock over the weekend.”
Of course Grady would’ve told the professor.
Wait! Eddy?
I tried not to smile.
“The kid’s as tough as nails,” said the professor. “And she’ll get even tougher once she knows what’s what. I’ve heard her have nightmares every night this week.”
I shrank in my chair. I’d thought, since he hadn’t come down and banged on my door, that he hadn’t heard me scream myself awake.
“Toni?”
I nodded at Mr. Kenyatta.
“The newspaper clippings were not that useful in the end, I’m afraid. As you know, there were many fires, and most of them were deliberately set. The papers lost interest, at least when it came to follow-up. There are three significant dates, however, when residents seem to have been involved. The first two involve male occupants. Then there’s one on March 16 that took place in a basement; there was an ambulance present.”
I cringed.
He patted my hand. “I’m not exactly sure how this date will help you, but…”
“I got out of the hospital a month or so later. That must be the date, Mr. Kenyatta. I’m going to go to Toronto General.” I didn’t know that until I said it. But there it was. Rachel had drifted over to our little table, and the gentlemen introduced themselves. Then she plopped herself down, still clutching a dishrag and vinegar cleaner.
“So what are you fellas cooking up? Does it involve my girl here? ’Cause personally, I believe that unless it’s a picnic, she’s been through enough.”
The professor, after checking with me, brought her up to speed. When he finished, Rachel shook her head. “So you’re just going to march into a big-city hospital with a date and demand to see thirteen-year-old records?”
The “gentlemen” turned to me.
“Well, at the party I met the awful…anyway, he was a hospital administrator, a head guy.”
Rachel groaned.
“No, really, and he said if I had a date, I could maybe track down someone who had worked in the burn unit at the time, and they might know the story.”
Mr. Kenyatta and the professor both nodded.
Rachel did not. “Yeah, so what was this hospital administrator’s name?”
All that oozing sweat and stink. I shuddered. “Mr. John Doe.”
Everybody groaned. Rachel hit her head on the table.
“What? What?”
“Sweetie, that’s like a placeholder name, a fake. The police use it when they haven’t identified the suspect or the victim.”
Was there no end to my stupidity?
“Although that is perfectly correct,” said the professor, “it does not negate the value of the idea. The idea is a good one.” Mr. Kenyatta agreed immediately, which was kind of cute.
“Yeah, okay, I guess she could try.” Rachel shrugged. How had she ended up leading this group? “But she’s not going in alone. The kid’s like a hand grenade—prisons, parties, now a hospital.”
“Agreed.” Both men nodded.
“But it’s my story, people!”
“Take Ethan. You’ve both got a late shift on Friday, so you can spend the whole day prancing around hospital corridors.”
Again both gentlemen nodded. They didn’t even know who Ethan was, for God’s sake. “He’s done enough rescuing for one summer, I think,” I said.
“Oh that Ethan!” The professor was grinning now. Yup, Grady had completely filled him in on my Sunday-night adventure. “Is he the tall young man onstage?”
“Yup! And that Ethan”—Rachel was pointing at him, which I felt was completely unnecessary—“is totally, completely smitten with our Toni.”
Face on fire! Face on fire!
“And the only person in all of Yorkville who doesn’t know it is—you guessed it—our Toni. Go ask him!” Rachel crossed her arms. “I’ll clean up your station. You go ask him. Go, before I take back my cleanup offer!”
The professor looked grave. “It would be wiser to be with someone who cares, if and when you receive upsetting information.”
I was outgunned and outmaneuvered.
“Fine.” I got up and dragged my feet across the club and over to the stage. I felt like one of Napoleon’s troops on the forced march across the Russian steppes. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Ethan smiled and extended his hand to help me up onto the stage. It dawned on me that Ethan was always turning up and extending his hand. It couldn’t always be out of pity, could it? Was there any truth to what Rachel said? I felt myself light up from tip to toe the moment he touched me.
Why did it happen every time he touched me? It was nerve-wracking.
“What’s up?” He put down some sheet music and smiled at me. “You guys looked like you were plotting to overthrow the government or something.”
“We were, sort of. They—no, I think it’s time to finally put all the pieces together about my mom. Find out whether she was crazy or whether she tried to hurt me, why she gave me up and, I guess most important, whether she’s out there somewhere. I need to know if I have any people, you know?”
Ethan stepped toward me. “That’s a hell of list. How are you going to find any of that out?”
“There was a fire where my mother and I were living when I was about three. Mr. Kenyatta figured out the date. I believe we were both taken to Toronto General. I think if I go to the burn unit, there may be someone there who would have been around thirteen years ago and maybe they would tell me…I need to know what happened.”
What would they tell me? Would they know that she had tried to kill me? Did she start the fire?
“Whoa!” Ethan reached for me. “Are you okay? Look, are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I am. Look, I know I’ve been a lot of trouble. I’ve always been a lot of trouble, even back home, Miss Webster always said so, but would you, I mean, I’ll fill you in on everything I know, but if you wouldn’t mind, on Friday, do you think that—”
“I’ll pick you up at Grady’s at ten.”
I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath. “Thank you.” I exhaled so deeply that the stage spun.
“And Toni.” He pulled me into him. “You are a lot of trouble, but you’re worth it. You’re worth it and every bit more.” He swept a strand of hair out of my eyes. I needed to kiss him. “And I, for one, would do anything for you, Toni Royce.”
Kiss me, kiss me.
He traced my cheek with his fingers. Please, just…Ethan folded me into him with a strength and tenderness that I didn’t know was possible as a combination. He reached up and into the back of my hair, tilting my head just before he put his mouth on mine. I threw my arms around him, hard. His kiss was gentler, sweeter and deeper than the last time. But it was just as long, just as forever, and somewhere in the midst of all of that, I swear I heard clapping.
“Don’t Let the Rain Come Down”
(THE SERENDIPITY SINGERS)
WE WENT INTO the emergency entrance by mistake and got yelled at by everyone. Hospitals are very, very scary places.
And they stink.
And I wanted to run.
And Ethan wouldn’t let me.
After we got thrown out of emergency, we walked all the way around to the other side, to the main entrance. That looked even scarier than the emergency entrance. I didn’t want to go in.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be with you.”
We were on the outside of doors that whooshed open and shut all by themselves. Okay, not all by themselves. Apparently, you had to stand in a certain spot and then they just opened and shut by themselves. We made that discovery when we figured out that where we were standing was causing all the whooshing. Weird, scary, scary place.
Ethan pulled me away from the crazy doors. “Toni, look, are you maybe remembering stuff from when you were three, from when they brought you here, and, well, they wouldn’t be good memories, right?”
“No.” I started vibrating. “No, I don’t remember anything.” But that was a lie. It was like scenes from a movie started playing in my head the moment I stepped into emergency. All that screaming, the pain, so much screaming. Was that me?
“Mommy, I want my Mommy! MOMMY!”
“Hold her down.”
“Mommy!”
“Restrain her, damn it! IV fluids stat! We have to extract this…”
“MOMMY!”
“Ketamine stat.”
“Why would I call out for her?”
Ethan drew me closer. “What? You do remember something, don’t you?”
“Ethan, I was screaming for my mother. My mother, for God’s sake! It hurt so bad. Glass shards stuck all over me, blood everywhere. Doctors and nurses rushing all around, poking me, yelling. But why would I call out for her? She’s the one that hurt me. I remember that clearly now. It’s not a dream.”
“I don’t know, Toni.” He put his arms around me. We must’ve looked like a grieving couple. I didn’t stop shaking even as he held me. “We don’t have to do this.” He kissed the top of my head.
“And you wouldn’t think worse of me?”
He kissed my forehead. “Look, I’m a goner. I was the moment I saw you mooning over Ian Tyson’s playbill outside the club.”
I smacked him.
