Slipstream

by Leslie Larson

  A tall, big-boned young woman with long chestnut hair and baggy jeans pushed her way up to the bar and grinned at Wylie. He wiped the counter in front of her, set the napkin down, and took her order. Beer. When he asked for her ID, a grin broke out across her face.

  “I can’t believe you don’t recognize me, Uncle Tommy.”

  “Oh my God,” he said. He grinned back at her, at a loss for words. The last time he’d seen Jewell, she’d been a sullen teenager. Now she was magnificent, completely grown up. He could still see a lot of the kid she’d been, though. A tough little brat with a lot of energy, always asking questions.

  “Jeez, you look like your old man,” Wylie said. “Here, let me get you a seat.” He turned to an older man whose luggage was piled on the stool next to him. “Excuse me. Could you move your things, please?” he asked. “The lady here would like to sit down.”

  Jewell apologized to the man and sat down. “That’s why I’m here,” she told Wylie. “I’m supposed to meet my dad.”

  “Yeah, he told me he was coming by. Guess he got lucky again, huh? Your old man specializes in being in the right place at the right time.”

  Wylie stopped, not sure how much he should say about Logan. He was conscious of his paunch and bad skin. The poor kid had gotten dragged around from one place to another her whole life. It was good to see she’d survived. There had been times he’d wondered about her.

  “I haven’t seen him for a couple of years,” Jewell said. “Since I was in high school, I think.” She leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I’m kind of nervous. I don’t know what to expect.”

  Wylie put his hand over hers. “Don’t worry. It’s good you’re seeing him. Here, let me get you that drink. What kind of beer do you want?”

  She raised up on her stool to get a better look at the taps. “Foster’s is fine.”

  He glanced at her while he filled her glass. She was looking around nervously, checking the terminal behind her. A big, strong girl with the assured, easy manner of her dad. She grinned at him as he walked back with the beer.

  “He’s late,” she said, taking a drink. “What a surprise. In fact, I’ll bet he doesn’t show up at all.”

  The bar was packed. Wylie felt customers glaring at him from every direction. Probably thinking he was ignoring all of them while he made time with this youngster.

  “Come on,” he said. “He’ll be here.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t show up.”

  “You got me there,” he laughed. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her sitting alone.

  “Something was going on, though,” Jewell said. “Out in the terminal.”

  She pushed the hair back from her face and frowned so that her eyebrows almost met. If he had a daughter, would she grow up to be like this? Ah, God, Wylie thought. Back to that. He’d actually managed to put the baby out of his brain for five minutes, and here it was again.

  “Some kind of commotion,” Jewell went on. “There were a bunch of cops and military guys near the ticket counter. And out front where you pick people up, the TV station had a van with a big antenna. Newscasters and a bunch of cameras. Maybe he got stuck in that.”

  Wylie wished he could tell her how wonderful she’d been as a kid. She’d lean against your leg as she talked to you, as warm and floppy as a pup. Look right in your face.

  “Could we get a drink over here?” a guy with a goatee shouted from the other side of the bar. Wylie turned and saw a whole line of pissed-off faces.

  “Listen, the natives are restless. I gotta serve these jokers,” he apologized, patting her hand again. “You want a pretzel or a piece of pizza? Something to eat?”

  She shook her head. Who could blame her for wondering if Logan would show up? Wylie had doubts himself. “Okay, hang tight. I’m sure your dad’ll be here any minute. I’ll be right back.”

  Wylie got busy. People were testy, trying to push through the crowd to get to the bar. It was even louder than before, if that was possible. People who had already ordered were sitting there with empty glasses, another army waited for their first drink. The damn company he worked for should have two bartenders on Friday nights, the cheap asses. But Wylie was good. He put his head down and worked his way through, one order at a time. At least it took his mind off his predicament with Carolyn. Now and then he glanced at Jewell, who sipped anxiously, scanning the group for her dad. Wylie filled glasses, sliced limes, speared olives. He watched his own hands: no motion was wasted. The rhythm was comforting. He took money, made change. Glasses piled up in the sink. The Amber Ale sputtered, hissed, and spit foam. Wylie tossed a plastic cup over the handle.

  “Doing okay?” he called across the bar to Jewell.

  She nodded.

  The group of party boys left and the noise notched down a little. He caught a glimpse of the TV. It looked like news crews were there, at the airport. Must be over on the other side, in a different terminal. He didn’t have time to figure out what was going on. Whiskey sour, Bloody Mary, cosmopolitan. He scraped tips off the bar, wiped the counter, tossed out napkins. The next time he glanced over at Jewell, Logan was there, his hands in his pockets, talking to her.

  31

  The sticks taped around Rudy’s waist made him stand up straight and tall and walk in a slow, dignified way that he felt was right for the occasion. As he approached the pavilion in front of the security check, the importance of what he was about to do filled him with a sense that he was on the verge of walking straight into history. The stiff bindings girded him for battle, like a knight in armor. The secret of what was about to happen sang in his heart and a smile played over his lips. He enjoyed looking into the faces of people absorbed with their own petty concerns and knowing that in a few moments everything was going to change.

  There were even more people in the pavilion than he’d expected. The place was hopping: a long line waiting to pay for gum and magazines in the gift shop, people with trays of nachos and enchiladas trying to find an empty table at the Mexican restaurant, a crowd on the black plastic chairs waiting for arriving passengers, drinkers standing three deep at the crowded bar. Noise from the big-screen TVs in the lounge, from the wheels of suitcases skating over the white floor, and from the clamor of hundreds of voices crashed in Rudy’s ears like a waterfall.

  It was hot. Rudy wiped the sweat off his forehead and upper lip with the sleeve of his jacket. It was sweaty under the tape, too. His armpits prickled and itched. Worse, the ends of the sticks had rubbed a raw line across his stomach where the flesh pouched out above the waistband of his pants. It stung like a blister worn on his heel. Next time he should tape them over his T-shirt, he told himself, and giggled.

  “Look, Mommy!” a little girl pulling a pink Hello Kitty suitcase said, pointing at him. “That man.”

  Rudy felt a flash of alarm, but the girl’s mother jerked the girl’s arm impatiently and pulled her along. The little girl’s head swiveled and she looked back, keeping her eyes fixed on Rudy until she disappeared into the crowd. But she was the only one. Everyone else walked by like he didn’t exist, oblivious of the fact that in a few short moments all eyes would be on him. You wait, Rudy thought, enjoying himself. You wait. He worried that the TV crew down by the baggage claim wouldn’t be able to get up here in time, that they might miss getting everything on tape. He thought of the people who might see him on the news. His boss, Glenn Waller. His slacker crew. Maybe a few of the losers from his high school. He imagined them casually watching the news, noticing him, doing a double-take. Could it be? they’d think. Then they’d see. Yes, it was. He chuckled. That’d surprise them. That would really throw them for a loop.

  He paused by the newsstand to get the lay of the land. The moment was so big. Bigger than when he’d walked to the podium to get his high school diploma, bigger than when he’d climbed onto the stage of the converted movie theater and taken Inez to be his lawfully wedded wife. He’d felt like fainting as he looked down at the congregation staring up
at him in his rented powder-blue tuxedo. He’d thought he was going to pitch down headfirst right into the front row of red upholstered chairs. A courtesy cart zipped past. Now it all seemed so long ago, so unimportant.

  Standing near the checkout line at the gift shop, Rudy chose a spot roughly in the middle of the pavilion to make his stand. It was a natural clearing, far enough from the shops and the security check to be seen by everyone. This was it. He took a last look around and noticed the bartender with the bad skin who was moving like lightning, sweeping empty glasses off the bar, setting up full ones. Long lines were threading their way toward the metal detectors. Kids were crawling around on the floor under the black chairs in the waiting area. He felt a surge of nostalgia for all the time he’d spent here at the airport. All the mornings he’d shown up faithfully, bright and early, to clean the planes. All the passengers who had entered the cabin and looked out at the fresh aisles and clean seats, the seatbelts just so. Not that it mattered, when push came to shove. In the end, they’d cut him off without a second thought. All the time and effort he’d given, all the years he’d strived, working in good faith, trusting them to do their part, and then they’d kicked him in the gut. In the groin! Stuck it up his ass! Two weeks notice, after everything he’d done!

  No pension, no party, no nothing.

  Just like that.

  A lump formed in Rudy’s throat. Sweat ran into the raw places where the sticks had chafed him, stinging. All his dreams and hopes, everything he’d wanted to do with his life, it had all brought him here. This moment. He fingered the pull on the zipper of his jacket, unzipped it a few inches for a test run, zipped it back up. His breath was quick and shallow. Sweat ran down his temples and neck, into the collar of his shirt. He was finished talking. That was over. He was ready now to explain in a way that didn’t use words, a way that made people see. That woke them up. That showed everyone.

  Once he started walking, he moved quickly—or at least as quickly as the gear taped to his torso allowed him. It was unbearably hot. As he advanced toward the center of the pavilion, noise was amplified: it bounced off the big windows that looked out onto the runways, off the high ceiling and bare floor. People in a hurry bumped into him, jostled him, practically spun him around. Rudy blinked. Sweat ran into his eyes, almost blinding him. He wiped them frantically, tried to gauge his position. The space seemed to spin with the movement of people around him. Finally he came to what he judged to be the center of the pavilion, equidistant from everything on the outside walls. Ground zero. He closed his eyes and pulled himself together.

  “Now,” he panted. “Now.”

  32

  Jewell spotted Logan walking through the crowd wearing a tatty linen jacket and a pair of shoes that looked like he’d found them at Goodwill. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets, and a big grin on his face.

  “Look at you,” he said, putting his arms around her and touching his lips to her cheek. He smelled like a secondhand store, too, though she caught a whiff of his soap as well—sandalwood or something spicy. When he leaned back to look at her, she saw there was a little gray at his temples, but most of his hair was honey brown streaked with blond highlights, like he’d been out in the sun. It was coming out of the ponytail that hung down his back, curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears. He looked a little worn out, like he’d been tumbled and kicked around, with crinkles under his eyes and a soul patch on his lower lip, but basically he looked good. If you shined him up and gave him some nice clothes he’d be awesome, straight out of the movies.

  “So, you’re going to Mexico?” Jewell said. Lame, but she felt shy, practically tongue-tied.

  “Yeah, I thought I’d go down there, check it out. You ever been?”

  “Just across the border. Down to Tijuana, Ensenada. You know, the usual.”

  “Well, maybe I can take you sometime. Or maybe you can visit me, after I get settled.”

  Jewell started. “You’re staying down there?”

  Logan gave his cool-cat shrug. “Never know. I might. Depends on what happens.”

  They smiled at each other. He was checking her out, too, she could tell. She had to keep reminding herself that this was her father, that she was actually looking at him. There was something likable about him, believe it or not, like you might want to spend time hanging out with him. Not that he wasn’t a fuckup, someone who never should have had kids, but an okay guy, despite everything. The trouble was, she couldn’t think of anything to say. The small talk was getting on her nerves, but she didn’t know him well enough to get into anything heavy. All she could do was grin.

  “So, heard from your mom?” he asked.

  “No, I’m taking a little break from her. She’s just too crazy for me right now, you know? I got enough things going on in my life.”

  Wylie came over and leaned across the bar, clapped Logan on the shoulder.

  “Hey, can you believe this kid?” Logan cried as he pumped Wylie’s hand. “Didn’t I do good, Tommy? Doesn’t she knock you out?”

  “She’s pretty amazing, Logan,” Wylie said, winking at Jewell. “You sure she’s your daughter?”

  “You bet your ass she’s mine,” Logan said proudly.

  He put his arm around her. Jewell was embarrassed, but pleased. She felt strangely proud of Logan, too, like she’d like to show him to someone, Celeste or maybe Eli. Not that he’d done anything fabulous, she just wanted someone to see him.

  “And she’s in college, Tommy. College,” Logan gushed. “What do you think about that?”

  “I think you got lucky, all things considered,” Wylie said. “You want something to drink, Logan? Jewell, another beer?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have another one,” Jewell said quickly. The whole deal was giving her the jitters.

  “What’re you drinking?” Logan asked her.

  “Foster’s.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have one of those,” he said casually.

  So much for the clean-and-sober routine, Jewell thought, meeting her uncle’s eye. Wylie paused a minute, apparently decided to keep quiet, and went for the drinks. The couple next to Jewell left, and Logan grabbed a seat.

  “You look so much like my mother,” Logan said. “I just can’t get over it.”

  He laid his hand over hers. A small x was tattooed between his thumb and first finger, like the x marks the spot on a treasure map. It was homemade, like he’d scratched it there himself. Jewell wondered where the treasure trail came from, what it led to. She imagined a dotted line winding up his arm and across his chest, to his heart.

  Wylie brought the beers.

  “Hey, Tommy. Did you ever see my mother?” Logan asked. “You remember what she looked like?”

  “Kind of,” Wylie said. “I think so.”

  “Don’t you think Jewell looks just like her? When she was young, I mean.”

  “That would have been when Dad was still married to my mom, so yours was probably a little bit of a secret,” Wylie said. “Plus I was still a kid. I don’t think I knew her then.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Logan admitted.

  “Listen, you two,” Wylie said. “I feel real bad that I can’t stand here and chew the fat, but you see how crazy it is in here. Plus I know you have a lot of catching up to do. So I’m going to leave you alone. Be sure you call me over to say good-bye before you take off, Logan.”

  “Will do, bro. Go on. I know you’re busy. We’re just getting reacquainted here. We can take care of ourselves.”

  Jewell wished she could do something other than sit there mute, but it didn’t seem to matter because her father was such a chatterbox. He turned to her and started in again about his mother.

  “Yeah, I sure wish you could have known your grandma. Or I wish she could have known you. That she could see you now. Man, oh man. She would have loved the living daylights out of you. She would have really thought you were something.”

  Jewell nodded and stared for a minute at her
lap. Logan had almost knocked off his beer already.

  “I’ve thought about you,” she said quietly. “I’ve wondered, lots of times, how you were doing.”

  Logan finally shut up. He seemed surprised by what she said. He leaned back on his stool and looked at her.

  “So, how’re you doing?” he said slowly, once he recovered. “You with somebody? Are you happy?”

  Jewell choked. “I, ah—I’m actually in the process of breaking up with someone,” she said. Her throat constricted. “I guess I’m pretty miserable right now.”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  Might as well go for it, Jewell thought. God knows when she’d see him again.

  “It’s not a guy, it’s a girl.”

  “Whoa! I didn’t see that one coming,” Logan exclaimed. He braced himself against the bar. “Hold on a minute. Just give me a little time. This has to sink in.” He stared at the foam sliding down the inside of his glass, nodding like he was having a conversation with himself. “Okay, okay,” he nodded, and finished the beer. “Guess there’s no chance we’re going to get another one of these with this crowd,” he said, inspecting the empty glass. He huffed a few times, like he was recovering his breath after a long run, rolled his head, and shook out his shoulders. “Okay, I think I’m getting it. All right. Okay, so what’s the story?” he said, turning back to her.

  She had to laugh. So did he. It felt good to laugh together.

  “I guess I’m in love with her,” she said with a shrug. “The funny thing is, she doesn’t love me. At least not enough.”

  “Well, nothing you can do about that.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Nope. Someone wants to leave you, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Don’t you believe in working on things, working them out?”

  “Nope.”

  Jewell laughed again. She couldn’t believe that she was having this conversation with her father. But she was beginning to feel strangely at ease with him.

  “But in advice columns they always say that you have to work on a relationship, on staying together. It doesn’t just happen by itself,” she said.