by Deb Caletti
A worry gnawed at me, though. I had kissed back so hard, and my hands had been free all over him, and this wasn’t the game you were supposed to play. Not if you were a good girl, not if you wanted love, too. There were two choices, to be the sexy girl or the good girl, and there didn’t seem to be an option to be both. You had to choose your camp, and if you chose good, you’d better hide your desire, because desire said you were lying about your goodness. I hadn’t hidden it very well.
My hunger was seeping through the cracks of the secret vault, because wow. No one else had felt this. This exact thing with this exact person. Our chemical reaction seemed too particular and powerful to be regular. The formula felt epic.
Lila and Jake were sleeping in. It was Sunday. Two Sundays ago, Jake had actually made French toast. He had all that fancy cooking stuff. I liked it so much, that smell in the house. It was a family smell. It sounds stupid, but French toast was another thing that made me forget that bruise on Lila’s arm. Regular, daily stuff can pile up on a terrible thing so you can pretend you never saw it.
On that morning, though, after the concert, Jake wasn’t up, opening kitchen drawers and cracking eggs. Their bedroom door was shut. I ate some cereal. All of the little oat circles kept saying Nicco’s name, and showing Nicco’s face, and Nicco’s hands and mouth. Then, so did the milk carton, and all of those glossy white cabinets, and the ticking White Room clock.
After the night with Nicco, I wanted the whole world, all of life, more than ever. I wanted to eat it like it was a giant sandwich. I wanted to go outside and stick myself into the middle of the city and wrap it around me. I decided to get on my bike and explore, maybe go all the way over to where North Beach connected to Chinatown, where City Lights Bookstore was. Five miles on some serious hills, big deal. That morning, I could conquer anything.
“I wish you could ride a bike,” I told Max. “You could come.” He looked sorry about that too. “I’ll make it up to you, okay, boy?”
I leaned down. I kissed his soft dog head. “I love you,” I told him. He said it back with his eyes. He always said it, like, a hundred times a day.
I mapped my route and filled my water bottle. And on my way out the door, I did something I should have done long before. I dumped R. W. Wright in the trash.
* * *
How had I never really noticed that every day was a new day? What a fabulous, amazing idea that was, whoever decided it. I wheeled my bike out of the garage.
And then I stopped. I stopped cold.
There was that car again. It was definitely the same car.
And Jake was there too. Outside. He wasn’t asleep next to Lila after all. No, he was up, and he was in this white spa robe, the kind Papa Chesterton used to have. His hairy legs stuck out underneath. He looked like he’d just woken up. He was leaning in the driver’s-side window of that vehicle. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could hear the tenor of their voices. And the conversation was heated. He was out on our street, not dressed, arguing, and this was a street, understand, where you just didn’t go out in your robe and show your short temper, the uglier sides of yourself.
His voice got louder. An actual shout. “You’ll hear from my lawyer, asshole!” He flipped a middle finger.
Something was very wrong. Something was off kilter, and it was bad. And I knew it because his feet were bare, and his chest hair was spilling out of his hurriedly tied robe, and because the venetian blinds parted on the neighbor’s house and someone peeked out.
You just didn’t do stuff like that. Not on that street, where there was order and beauty. Not where even a leaf on the ground was a sign that things were out of control.
* * *
I pedaled away fast, so Jake would only see my back retreating. This was supposed to be a happy and brave excursion, but God, what just happened? I tried to steer my thoughts back to the blue sky, my hands gripping the handlebars, the big world, yet all I could see was Jake yelling in his robe. I rode down Lake Street and into fancy Presidio Heights, quiet, tree lined, mansion filled—well, you know.
And then—what was I thinking?—I had to ride up Nob Hill. But it got so steep that I had to get off and walk. I huffed. You’ll hear from my lawyer, asshole! my mind repeated again and again. I didn’t know who exactly was in that car, but it was very clear that Jake was in serious trouble, and that the man was a threat to him and us.
I was approaching Chinatown. I could tell by the red Chinese lettering on the signs, and by the markets, and the red lanterns on the lampposts. I got glimpses of San Francisco Bay. I was almost there. And then, wow, things got really busy. Traffic, the streets going this way and that, the big triangle of the Transamerica building. I shoved Jake out of my mind; I forced him away, because, you know, look around—I’d gotten my own self right to the center of things. I was proud about that, and it was exciting out there. Lombard, the crookedest street in the world, was to the north, and beyond that, Ghirardelli Square and Alcatraz. And more and more and more. I’d been hanging out at the beach, yet there was all this stuff, too.
And then there it was. The big orange-and-black building on the corner. One of the most important bookstores ever. I was seriously thrilled, because I knew it had been the gathering place for all of those beat poets and writers in the fifties. The street in the back is even called Jack Kerouac Alley. Meredith loved that stuff, so I started taking pictures like mad and texting her, and she was texting back. In the windows, they had all these signs, like STAND UP TO POWER and THERE IS NO PROGRESS WITHOUT STRUGGLE and COURAGE IS THE TRIUMPH OVER FEAR. I felt like, Yes, yes, yes! And when I went in, I was overcome by all those spines and words, because it seemed like I’d entered one of the only places where you could actually find true power.
It was hard not to buy everything, but the ride was hard enough without a heavy pack. I limited myself to two books, even though I went up and down every aisle. I was about to head to the cashier when something caught my eye. A familiar pouf of white, a sun hat tied around a neck.
Agatha.
Agatha! Agatha, Agatha, Agatha! It was so awesome. I was so happy to see her. I almost said, “Hey!” except I remembered that she didn’t know me. It was funny to see her with clothes on. She wore little jeans and an orange T-shirt with a half-risen sun on it. I forgot she’d have to wear clothes at places other than Baker.
She was sort of my lucky person. She had things to tell me, I was sure. So I watched her for a minute. She was in the travel section. She pulled out a book. I crept closer so I could spy on the title. Destination: Oregon Coast. She briefly held it to her chest and then went to pay for it.
It made me so happy. God, I felt great. In spite of Jake and that car, I felt so great. Look at all the beautiful coincidences and adventures and… and… and that life had!
Since I’d just broken up with R. W. Wright, I got an Elena Ferrante novel with rough-cut pages, and that ancient and superthick The Agony and the Ecstasy book that Cora kept talking about. I tucked my treasures into my pack.
Back on the street, I decided to walk my bike for a bit, until I got out of that busy intersection of Broadway and Columbus. I was passing this funny, old-time motor inn, thinking about how it was such a weird place to have a motel, when a man called out.
“Miss! Miss!” he yelled. It was urgent, and my first thought was that he was warning me. Like maybe I’d dropped my wallet, or was walking where I shouldn’t. I was trying to take it all in, this middle-aged white guy in front of me wearing track pants and a T-shirt, when, boom, there it was. His penis, over his waistband, looking more like a mollusk dangling out of its shell than anything else.
“Ew, ick,” I said.
I wasn’t trying to be brave or bold. The words just popped out. I mean, I’d seen plenty of dicks at Baker Beach, and this one was pretty stomach turning. Kind of like when a fast-food ad shows some new disgusting creation, and you’re just… Uh, no. Gross.
When I really realized what was happening, though, what was actua
lly happening, I got scared. I hurried away. I got on my bike and rode. I was speeding, but then all of a sudden, my legs were wobbly. My stomach rose to my throat with nausea, and I pedaled a couple of blocks but then I didn’t want to ride anymore. My eyes darted around, nervous. I was seriously creeped out. I worried other men would spring out at any moment, saying, Miss! Miss!
It took something from me. I know that’s what that asshole probably wanted, but it worked. It forcefully grabbed my joy and slammed it down. All the good feelings I was just having about the world and my place in it—they were snuffed out like a lit match under a boot heel. Flame extinguished, made dirty, kicked to the nearest curb. A few years ago, I could put vinegar and baking soda together and make a papier-mâché volcano explode, but I didn’t feel so powerful now.
I tried to talk myself out of what I felt. I was okay. Nothing had happened, really. Nothing terrible. Every dude has one, big deal. I was fine.
I wasn’t, though.
I dialed. “Lila?”
“Baby! What’s wrong? You’re crying! Are you okay?”
“Can you come get me?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Exhibit 45: Photo of master bedroom, floor, facing north, 716 Sea Cliff Drive
Lila sent Jake. He was driving her Land Rover because my bike wouldn’t fit in his car. He got out and manhandled the bike into the back. I took my helmet off, and it looked kind of sad down on the floor, because it had failed to protect me.
“Hey, thanks,” I said. He wasn’t the yelling, raging man from that morning. He was calm and in control, wearing fashionable jeans and a crisp, bright polo shirt. His cologne wafted over, a little too strong, as he settled into the driver’s seat. It almost seemed like I’d imagined it, him in his robe out on the street. “Where’s Lila?”
“She hates driving in this part of the city. I was up anyway. What happened? Some flasher?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t let that stuff get to you, you know?”
I didn’t say anything. He was there to help me. But my distrust of him was sliding back, and it pissed me off, too, what he said. He didn’t have to let that stuff get to him, because it would never happen to him.
“Hey. Look at this day, huh? Blue sky. Summer in California!” He looked over at me. He was trying. “This isn’t the Lam, for sure. But I bet I can still make this baby go fast.” Jake hit the accelerator and we sped up, the engine revving. A biker looked over his shoulder and glared. We were going to end up in that Acura’s back seat.
“Jake!”
He chuckled. Slowed. “I thought you liked speed.”
“I do.”
“You do?” He hit the accelerator again. The light turned red just as we crossed.
“Maybe not now. And not when you’re about to kill us!” I gripped my armrest.
“All right, all right,” he said.
He turned on the stereo for a minute and then turned it off. “Speakers are worthless.”
We sat in awkward silence for a while, and then he finally said, “I saw you in that piece-of-shit van last night. Who was that? You got a new boyfriend?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“Just… Nicco. A boy I met.”
“What do you know about him? Do you know who his friends are? You gotta know who his friends are.”
I remembered what Lila had said about the people Jake used to do business with. His associates. And after that morning, it seemed like we all should know who his enemies were.
“Said from personal experience, huh?” I lifted my eyebrows in accusation.
He gave me a funny look and then drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I saw you, too. By that car this morning. Who was that?”
“What?”
“This morning. You were arguing with some guy. I’ve seen him parked out there before. I mean, why? You were yelling.”
Jake waved his hand. “Forget about it. It’s nothing. Business. One of my guys. You don’t need to worry about it. I got it handled.”
I folded my arms, stared out the window.
“Right? You hear me?”
I kept my mouth shut. It seemed like there were a lot of things I was supposed to overlook or forget.
He drove around the city, assertive and confident. He rolled down his window and stuck his elbow out. He sped through the yellow lights. He spoke like everything he said was fact. He was the one who knew the ultimate truth about Lila’s speakers. And I’m embarrassed to admit it, especially now, but he was big, and intimidating, and powerful, too. He had it handled. And all of those things together made him feel… God, I’m sorry to say this: safe.
But intimidation and power could be used against you as much as for you. And the biggest dangers can start right under your own roof. They spread and stretch like fire, like the multiplying cells of DNA.
Like the generations. Like history.
* * *
That evening, Lila lit a bunch of candles outside, and the doors to the White Room were flung open. The outdoor table was set. She was really trying. We all were. Trying hard to be regular, whatever that was. Artisanal pizzas were warming in the oven. Little glasses of red wine were poured, three of them—one for me, as well. She wanted to be the cool, progressive mom, but I wasn’t sure I liked wine. And I kind of preferred the nerdy mom, like Ellen, who didn’t even let you drink diet soda, let alone alcohol.
Jake was there too, wearing one of those expensive Hawaiian shirts guys over forty wear. He thought he saw a blue whale. He could have, but maybe he didn’t. He kept saying they migrated that time of year, and we were making fun of him, but he might have been right. He kept insisting he was right, ticked off that we’d doubt him.
“Come on, girls! Let’s have a look!” He had the binoculars. He was heading down the stairs to the beach. I followed, but Lila protested. “My shoes!” She had her platform sandals on. “I hate getting all messy!”
Down there on the sand, Jake and I handed the binoculars back and forth. He had his shoes off, feet in the water. Nothing. It was maybe a log. Or a sea lion. “We lost him,” he said finally.
“Bummer,” I said.
My own dad—the last time I saw him was at his house the year before. He kept saying I should come for a visit, so I finally did. He had a new girlfriend. She was young and walked around in her bikini, and it wouldn’t last. He liked women as if he wanted all of them. He’d flirt with baristas and department store clerks, girls on his staff, women on street corners. The first day I was there, he was all bright and interested, asking me questions, taking me out to restaurants, introducing me to people he knew. But by the third day, his eyes would stray when I talked to him. He wasn’t listening to anything I was saying. He went out with the girlfriend on the fourth night, even though I was leaving in the morning. I felt like the Christmas toy you asked for, were all excited to get, but that was actually kind of boring.
A shot of water hit me in the cheek. It was Jake, squirting me, doing that cool trick with both hands cupped together.
“Hey!” I protested. Then, “I always wanted to know how to do that.”
“Like this.” He showed me. “Try it.”
I did. I managed a little burble.
“You gotta practice.” He laughed. “Aw, shit. I sounded just like my old man right then.”
“Did he teach you how to do that?”
“Yeah, like, when I was seven. He was an asshole otherwise.”
“Too bad.”
“The ladies loved him, even though he was a mean motherfucker.”
Lila leaned over the edge of the wall. “Guys! Guys!” she yelled. “Guys, come on!”
At least, that’s what I thought she was saying. All I could hear was Eyes, eyes, eyes.
* * *
“We’ve got to talk about the boy!” Lila said. The sun was setting. The candles flickered, and there was all that ocean and orange sky, the Golden Gate Bridge glittering and majes
tic in the distance. It was really beautiful. We had so much.
“Noooo,” I said.
“He was so nervous! He was a deer in the headlights!”
“Well, Lila…,” Jake said. He refilled their glasses. Drank from his. “What do you expect?”
“Confidence. A firm handshake.”
My stomach twisted. I felt protective of Nicco, but there was an awful knot of shame, too.
“You gotta see who his friends are,” Jake said again.
Lila sipped her drink. “I’m sure Syd can take care of herself.”
Jake laughed a little heh-heh-heh. I’d heard that laugh before. He used it when Lila tried to order the wine when we went out to dinner once. But my father used it too, when his girlfriend said something about the stock market, and heck, even Meredith’s dad used it whenever Ellen talked sports. It was a superior laugh, meant to imply that no words were even needed to convey how silly you were.
“She’s right. I can,” I said.
“I wouldn’t let that one date until she was twenty-one. At least.” He waggled his finger in my direction.
“Oh really.” Lila’s voice had an edge.
“Look at her! I know how boys are.”
“You certainly are protective.”
Just like that, the evening took an abrupt turn.
“Damn right I am,” Jake said.
“Wow, even her father isn’t that involved in her love life.”
“Gee, thanks a lot,” I said. But no one heard me, because right then, Lila and I both reached for our glasses at the same time, and I knocked mine over. It fell against the plate of breadsticks with a crash, soaking them. The glass was full, and the red liquid gushed, rapidly covering the table.
“Shit,” Lila said. “Shit!”
“I’m sorry!” I said.
