Show No Fear

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “Hey, Mama, or should I say Grandma?”

  “We had a deal.”

  She almost heard the shrug. “That was then. This is now.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I KNOW I HAVE IT HERE SOMEWHERE,” JACK REPLIED.

  “You lie, McIntyre,” Paul said, smiling. “Took the camera to the shop yesterday after I called, didn’t you?”

  “Damn the world’s detectives.”

  “The light meter always has been a problem.”

  Paul took a seat at the table. Jack brought him a plate piled with steaming scrambled eggs. They were at Jack’s place, a ramshackle cottage with a sunny deck amid a flourishing forest of poison oak, off Fern Way in the Carmel Highlands.

  Paul had arrived the night before, unexpectedly early. While Jack pulled out sheets and blankets for the couch, Paul explained that his boss in San Francisco had told him his replacement, a transfer from Fresno, would be in the next morning. “I hate being redundant,” he explained. “Besides. When you’re done, you’re done. I wasn’t going to limp around the place like a duck for two weeks when somebody was available to take over. So I kissed the women and slapped the guys on the back and went home and packed my duffel. I’ll finish moving when I find a place down here.”

  “Stay as long as you like,” Jack said. “I know about moving on.”

  They’d stayed up late watching a replay of last week’s 49ers game, drinking a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor Jack had found in the fridge.

  In the late-morning light Paul’s eyes had a blasted, staring quality. Unshaven and crusty, he looked to Jack like a hostage stumbling out of a Colombian jungle. He would need some serious rehabilitation.

  Such is love, Jack reminded himself, and resolved to try, even if he couldn’t possibly succeed, to protect himself slightly from its depredations this time around with Remy.

  “So who is it?” Paul asked, tucking in.

  “We are not going to discuss my absolutely fantastic love life over eggs.”

  “You have a new lady. I knew it when you dropped out of touch. Mmm.” Paul ate more.

  “You said you didn’t want to obsess about women. Let’s talk about boar hunting. Season will be starting up soon in the Los Padres Forest.”

  “Have I said how much I love fresh pig meat with my eggs? I’m up for it, but right now it’s all I can do to stuff myself with food and pretend I am a fully viable human.”

  Jack laughed. He picked up the Monterey Herald and read the sports section. While Paul finished up, Jack took a final cup of coffee outside. A couple of early pumpkins decorated the teetering deck that extended out the front door of the wooden cottage. On stilts, the deck hung as sturdily as a leaf in winter.

  He lived up the hill from the Carmel Highlands Inn, a venerable hotel that still entertained its cocktail crowds with piano music. Jack preferred to go down the coast to Esalen for hot baths or to eat an expensive hamburger at Nepenthe in his off-hours. He finished his coffee and considered a drive by the ocean, thinking of Remy, her pale skin, her soft cries while he worked her, worked it, felt it happening—she had said she would be tied up today.

  He should hang out with his old buddy Paul, who no doubt was feeling lonesome as hell and ready to put a six-shooter to his head. But Paul disappeared up the road, promising to meet up later. Jack went back into the house and, not allowing himself to think, called Remy’s place in Carmel. She answered the phone as if she had been waiting.

  “I hoped it was you. You made it home all right?”

  “In one piece. Yesterday: amazing. You’re amazing.”

  “Careful. I cast spells.”

  “Too late.”

  A silence ensued, during which some increasingly heavy breathing came on from one or both of them. Jack imagined her holding the phone—what did she wear to bed? He hadn’t found out yet.

  Finally she said, “See you in a half hour? Your place.”

  Stricken with joy, Jack said nothing.

  “Put your ear close to the phone.”

  “It’s melded to it.”

  “I need you,” she whispered. “Okay?”

  A happy welcoming feeling warmed his scrotum.

  Jack lit a fire in the big stone fireplace, shaved, and changed. Outside, fog drifted through the redwoods.

  He heard Remy’s car crunching leaves in the driveway. He walked out onto the deck as she turned off the motor and stuck her head out the window, blinking up at him through the filtered sun of the forest.

  “Hey, what are you driving?” he said, leaning dangerously over the railing. “Where’s that ugly Acura you love better than any man?”

  Remy laughed. “In the garage. The heater’s out again. It hasn’t worked well since the day I bought it. Klaus likes me to take his out for a spin now and then anyway.” She stepped out of Klaus’s mint-condition, white Jaguar convertible, a sixties relic with soft curves and the glow of hand wax. “He likes taking care of me.”

  Remy climbed lightly up the stairs. At the top, Jack captured her, hugging her long, lissome body for a long time. She smelled like all the spices of China. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and went limp. He caught her warm lips. The kiss deepened, turned into open-mouth explorations. Neither of them broke away, until it felt to Jack that he had entered a dream during which they had melted into each other, holding tight.

  She rubbed against him, whispering, “We’re alone?”

  He nodded.

  They walked with their arms around each other into the house, stopping to close the curtains and lock the door, getting as far as the pool of warmth in front of the fire, where Jack kicked the chair away and lowered her to the Swedish rug.

  He took her cold hands between his own and held them until she took them away and pulled down her jeans. Her silk camisole was cut low over soft breasts. Her shoulders were so white they seemed to shine in the light filtering through the curtains. Jack slipped the thin straps down and bent his head, kissing her. Her panties were gratuitous, evanescent; easy to push aside whenever. He liked the feel of them and decided to keep them on her. Stroking his hair, she raised his head up and kissed him harder on the mouth, electrocuting him with her lips.

  This sort of mad love doesn’t last, Jack thought, so I’d better enjoy this as hard as I can.

  She unzipped him, slipping her hands inside to touch him, first tentatively, finally with frantic strokes. When she began to strike his chest and push him, he grabbed her hands and took over. Raising them over her head, he pulled the rest of her clothes off while she writhed, eyes closed. He fucked her in several ways with a royal roughness not in his usual style, but Remy wanted it, she wanted him, and every moment felt perfect. If that was her thing, rough was their thing. Whatever she wanted.

  Afterward they faced each other, Jack back in his jeans and Remy nude as a white birch, her light hair shining red in the firelight. She wore a mild expression, a satisfied expression, the kind that makes a man feel as if he’s done his job.

  “You know Botticelli’s Venus? That’s you.”

  “He was gay and never used live models,” she said.

  “You’re too damn smart.” He tried to take her into his arms again, but she murmured protests and wriggled away, heading laughing for the shower.

  Outside, the sky slipped into gray the way it does as the year grows late. The redwood-paneled room with its fireplace now seemed to be drifting into a January night instead of a September afternoon. Right then, in a swift, definitive energy shift, Jack felt the season change from summer to autumn. He smelled winter ahead, feeling the comfort that comes from being part of the rolling parade of life and time.

  Peace overcame him, the peace of balance, when all comes together: Remy’s beauty, their heated lovemaking, that it was still only Saturday and he had almost two free days. He congratulated himself on his luck.

  Used up, replete, simple, he lay on the couch with his hands parked behind his head, awaiting her return.

  Another shift occurre
d, though, when Remy came back into the living room fully dressed. She had slicked her wet hair tightly against her head, and for a moment her face in the shadows had the highlighted look of a skull. She’s too thin, Jack thought.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  He sat up fast.

  “I’m the defense in that real-estate-swindle trial. You remember me describing it at the last partners’ meeting? Trial is next Monday. I have a lot of prep work.” She moved toward him.

  He smelled the soap on her skin and reached up to pull her to him. “Sit down here,” he ordered.

  Sighing, she sat down next to him. Jack slid down onto his knees and knelt in front of her. He took her hand and kissed it.

  “You are my Queen of Sheba.”

  She smiled. “A legend.”

  “Cleopatra. Nefertiti. I will worship you all day in various specific ways we can discuss henceforth if you stay with me.”

  “Oh, Jack.”

  “All of me will need all of you in a few minutes. Keep looking at me like that and we’re talking a few seconds.”

  “You’re so different from the man I practice law with at work. So—ardent.”

  “You’re different, too.”

  “No.”

  “Glorious in the sack. I need say no more.”

  “We’re well matched. I like your body, how you are compact but strong. I like to be the one to lie back and take it, and I know you like to be the one who gives it.” She gave him a sideways look. Her eyelashes swept across her eyes.

  Jack grabbed her, saying, “That does it. Now we’ll go to the bedroom.”

  “No, no. Back to work.” She stood up, straightened her clothes, and left.

  Jack finished dressing, had a beer, collected the pumpkins on the deck, and began carving them into salacious, leering faces.

  They would be rotten long before Halloween. The moment of bliss had passed and he felt lonely for Remy already. Oh, shit, he was falling in love. He saw it coming on like a disaster that cost lives, a freight-train flu.

  When he finished with the pumpkins, he set them on a chair by the door to greet Paul and drove down to Nepenthe. He drank more Coors as the Big Sur sky clouded and unclouded and watched the waves hundreds of feet below, water to the edge of the world as far as he could see, water too cold to touch.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE NEXT DAY, BOB STOOD AT THE WINDOW OF THE KELP forest, his nose pressed to the glass. “Look! That fish has sharp teeth.” Nina hauled him back behind the railing. “They put this here so little boys will stay safe behind it,” she said as he took off for the next exhibit. She pushed through the crowds, straining to keep him in sight.

  The Monterey Bay Aquarium overwhelmed what was left of Cannery Row. The building was designed to recall the old canneries that had sat on this site for many years, in the early part of this century busy and productive, and since then abandoned and derelict. Now a huge attraction, it extracted local sea life from the bay to amuse the masses. Bob loved everything about it, especially the jellyfish tank. Nina tolerated the crowds for a glimpse of the sharks in the central tank.

  They didn’t have time this foggy afternoon for a grand tour. Sundays, she usually studied while Bob played with a neighborhood friend. She hadn’t slept long enough, but this morning was important.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said in the big, busy lobby.

  “Hello, Nina-pinto.” Harlan Reilly kissed her cheek and looked her over. “You look tired, sweetheart.” At least he had refrained from commenting on her unhemmed jeans, which he could not usually resist doing. “Where’s our boy?” he asked, locating Bob a few feet away. Her father wore a casual golf shirt and slacks, perfectly pressed. He placed the grubby boy on his shoulders and began trotting in a circle. “Whew! You’re one hefty muscleman!”

  Other mothers watched and nodded approvingly. Had he done those things with Matt when he was little? Nina was sure he had never put her on his shoulders, yet it appeared so natural. She remembered the lulling charm, that social glow that made him such a pleasure to be around. She recalled the verbal gymnastics at the dinner table. Harlan loved to argue. He always won, too.

  As she grew older, Nina realized her father’s talent lay in making the most incredible story entirely plausible. He made up facts to support his arguments that she could not trace and therefore refute. He was a master confabulator, a perfect preparation for the blusterers in law school.

  “Our young man has a technical mind,” Harlan pronounced, watching as Bob fingered his current favorite toy, a plastic sub from their latest fast-food meal. Harlan himself was solid corporate management for a media firm, but he had never finished college. He had worked his way up and told who would ever know what lies to land a lucrative, respectable position. He had waited in vain for Nina, then Matt, to exhibit an interest in business. He reveled in the political connections he had gained through local social clubs and personal magnetism.

  Nina steered them to an outside deck that hung over the water. Bob circled the perimeter, settling on the ground near a concrete bench, pulling out his sub, making noises.

  “You said you had something important to talk about, Dad, and I do want to hear why. But I need to get back to study.”

  Her father looked at her, his face serious, then a corner of his mouth turned up. “How was the party yesterday?”

  “Party?”

  “Your mom wouldn’t miss Matt’s birthday, would she? She loves a party.”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s Matt?”

  “Don’t you talk?”

  “I sent him a present. A fancy shirt.”

  “If you care about Matt, I guess you would have called and found out.”

  “That’s not fair. I love you and Matt. You know that much. You’re a smart girl, for God’s sake!”

  Nina sighed. “You know I have to study on Sunday, Dad. I’m glad to see you, but you said we had to talk. Why?”

  “This isn’t easy.”

  Nina didn’t say, Poor you. She didn’t want to hurt her father. When she drove near bicyclists, she had the same thought. Don’t hit that poor guy on his bike, even though he’s in your lane, acting arrogant. His headgear looks weird and he reminds you of a certain unpleasant person.

  “I hope you can understand,” he said, timid and persuasive at the same time. “It’s about Angela.”

  Nina remembered her mother’s pain about Angie, oh, yeah.

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, God, it’s probably been six months since you met. You remember her from the night we had dinner? At Casa Maria’s.” He trilled the Spanish r.

  Angie, a divorcée in her thirties, only a few years older than Nina, had laughed, smoked, and acted entirely awkward with Nina and Matt. Nina reddened at the memory of how Angie had kissed her father, long, red fingernails scratching his neck.

  “Yeah, at your wedding celebration.”

  “Right!” Harlan said with the false enthusiasm of a teacher encouraging a dumb student. They had flown off to Vegas several months before the dinner party. Nina had first learned the news from her mother, who relayed it matter-of-factly.

  “So here’s the thing.”

  “Spit it out, Dad.”

  “Well, looks like I’m going to be a father again.”

  Nina blinked. Her father was fifty-eight years old. She didn’t like to think he had sex, and even less did she like thinking he contained live sperm.

  Oh. A second wave of realization almost drowned her. This meant a tiny baby sister for Nina or, worse, another brother. No, no, no.

  He beamed. “I’ve got twenty years on her. Not bad for an old man like me, eh?”

  More like twenty-five years, but Nina didn’t correct him. “What do you want me to say?” She wanted not to care, to wish him the best, but she couldn’t say it; she could only think badly of him and wish that life had some objective gauges.

  “Try, ‘I’m glad for you. I want you to be happy.’” He poked her on the arm. “I don’t expect y
ou to dance a jig, babe, but I sure as hell don’t want you dancing on my grave yet either.”

  “Don’t call me babe.”

  He laughed. “You know what you want, Nina? Because I do.”

  “Really. What?”

  “You want us to be perfect. Sorry. Wish I was for your sake.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “Naturally, you worry about her.”

  “I just asked a question.”

  “Your mother is stronger than you imagine. You baby her.”

  “She’s sick, Dad!”

  “You think I’ve failed her, don’t you, Nina? I didn’t know she was sick when we broke up. I swear I didn’t.”

  “Matt and I just want Mom treated fairly. You should know I told her about a lawyer from my firm. She was thinking about getting further advice about your financial agreement.” Not true exactly, but she couldn’t resist hurting him a little.

  Harlan lifted his chin and Nina looked into icy blue eyes. “She wants more money. That’s natural.” He squeezed Nina’s shoulder. “And of course you want the best for her. From my point of view, this is not just about money, though I admit alimony has become a hell of a burden. I want a fresh start. I deserve it. I can’t have her hanging over my life forever—”

  He scrutinized Nina’s face. “I’ve always done what’s right for your mother, but can’t you see my changed situation affects things? Please talk to her for me. Feel her out. She called me, you know. She’s pressing hard on the support issue.”

  “Let me remind you about spousal support in California, Dad. After such a long marriage, you are obliged to take care of Mom for life.”

  “I don’t necessarily object. The question is whether she’s going to make it impossible for me to take care of the rest of my own life. I think of myself as more than just the man bringing home the money. That’s all I ever was to her. Someone to complain to. Someone to gripe about, who tracked mud in, who dirtied up the place. I’m going to be a lot happier now, Nina-pinto, and I hope my happiness means something to you. You’re my daughter, too.”