Gluttony (Seven Deadly Sins)

by Robin Wasserman

Harper knew she was supposed to be flattered, not grossed out. Fortunately, she was a better actor than Adam. Practice makes perfect, right?

  “That’s so sweet, Carl,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it (and resisting the urge to wipe the grease off on her jeans).

  “You mackin’ on my lady?” Adam asked, wrapping an arm around Harper’s waist. Without warning, he began to tickle her side—she squealed and sprung away. “You know you want me, Mandy,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back against him. “I mean, uh, Sandy. I mean …” Adam gave Carl an exaggerated wink, and then shrugged. “Who can keep track? All I know is, she sure does come in handy!”

  “I can imagine,” Carl said, with a low whistle. “You’re like my hero, man.”

  “That’s why they call me LL-Cool K,” Adam joked. “Ladies Love Cool Kane.”

  Oh. My. God. Harper buried her face in Adam’s shoulder as the giggles burst out of her, hoping Carl would mistake it for a sudden burst of affection for her man. She only wished Kane could be here to see exactly what Adam thought of him.

  And imagining that, she began to laugh even harder.

  Adam patted her heaving shoulders. “Her pet cat died this morning,” he explained. “Her name was Lady. So every time she hears the word, well …” He dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “You know girls.”

  After a moment, Harper regained control of herself and looked up, her face stained with laughter-induced tears. Perfect. “I’ll miss her a lot,” she said, her breath still ragged and torn by the occasional leftover giggle. “But at least I’ve got Kane here to comfort me.” She patted him back. Hard.

  “But there’s only one thing that would really comfort her, Jenkins, you know what I mean?” Adam winked.

  “Oh … uh … I’d give you some privacy, but I can’t leave the booth—but there’s this storage room in the lobby where no one goes and—”

  “Ew—no!” Harper shivered. She didn’t want any part of Carl’s gross fantasies. “I mean, that’s not what he meant. Tell him, Kane.”

  “Tickets,” Adam said, and now he was the one choking back laughter. Harper could feel his body tremble. “For the Crash Burners tomorrow night—they’re her favorite. And when we talked on the phone, you said …?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Carl rubbed the back of his neck. “Look man, I know I owe you, for that other thing you did.”

  “Yeah, uh, that thing. That was rough,” Adam said quickly. “You definitely owe me, Jenkins.”

  “And I thought I could deliver, but turns out these tickets are impossible to get.”

  “There’s nothing you can do?” Harper asked, dropping the damsel-in-distress act. “There’s got to be something.”

  “There’s one person who might be able to help you,” Carl said, giving Harper a shy smile. He tore out a page from his magazine—Guns and Ammo, Harper noted with displeasure—and scrawled down a name and address on the back. “She works at the Stratosphere, up top, on the coaster. Tell her I sent you, and maybe you’ll get what you’re looking for.”

  Adam made another attempt at the lame handshake combo. “Thanks, dude. I’ll remember this.”

  “So next time I need, you know … you’ll … you know?”

  “Oh, totally.” Adam gave him a mock salute. “You’re my guy.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah, yeah, totally awesome,” Harper added, impatient to get going. “Great to meet you and all, but we’ve got to …”

  “Yeah.” Carl checked his watch. “Holy shit, it’s time for the eruption. I’ve gotta kick you guys out. But stick around, you’ll love it.”

  Adam escorted Harper out, and, since the fence unlocked from the inside, they made it back to the tourist zone unscathed.

  “What was that?” Harper asked, bursting into laughter once they were a safe distance away.

  “What?”

  “That! You were supposed to be acting like Kane, not like … like some Saturday Night Live lounge lizard.”

  “He bought it, didn’t he?” Adam asked indignantly.

  “Ladies love cool Kane.” Harper shook with laughter, and soon Adam joined in. “Seriously? LL-Cool K? I mean, seriously?”

  Adam shrugged and gave a gee-whiz smile. “What can I say? The ladies love me.”

  Something about the line stopped her cold, and her smile faded away. “We should get going,” she said, already feeling the distance beginning to grow between them. “We don’t have all day.”

  “Wait.” He reached for her arm, but pulled back just as his fingers grazed her skin. “Wait,” he said again. “Let’s at least stay for the show.”

  As he spoke, a loud rumbling began, deep inside the volcano, which looked even faker now that Harper had seen the switches, dials, and the guy who made it run. But it couldn’t hurt to stay for just a few minutes and see what the big deal was.

  They inched closer to the front of the crowd, stealing a spot on the guardrail at the edge of the fountain pool, and waited. Soon the volcano began bubbling and burbling, and then a huge plume of flame burst out of the top, followed by a geyser of red water, arcing out of the crater mouth and out toward the crowd.

  Harper leaped back. Adam, too slow on the uptake, merely stared slack-jawed at the sky as a wall of bloodred water crashed down on him.

  Another burst of flame, a puff of smoke, and the eruption had ended. Adam rubbed the water out of his eyes and began wringing out his sopping T-shirt. “That was …” He looked down at himself, soaked to the skin. “… unexpected.”

  Harper felt another surge of giggles rippling through her. It felt good to laugh again. “I don’t know why you didn’t see it coming,” she sputtered. “You said it yourself, LL-Cool Kane. Lava Loves Cool Kane!”

  “Very funny,” Adam growled. “You know what’s even funnier?” He lunged toward her and gave himself a mighty shake. Water flew everywhere.

  “Watch it!” she cried, twisting away.

  “I think you mean, watch out.” He chuckled, and lunged toward her again, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her against his soaking body. She struggled playfully for a moment, but these were arms that regularly shot fifty free throws a day. They didn’t give. “Thanks for helping me dry off,” he teased, rubbing his wet arms up and down her back.

  “Thanks for ruining my outfit,” she complained, but she stopped struggling. He didn’t understand how hard it was for her, having him so near, touching her, holding her, and knowing that he didn’t mean it, didn’t want her.

  Knowing that he didn’t think she was worthy of him—and that he was right.

  The moment she let down her guard and let him in, just a little, waves of pain came along for the ride.

  Let go of me, she thought, but couldn’t force herself to say, even though it would be for her own good.

  Adam held on tight.

  Reed slammed his hand down on the guitar strings in disgust. “Fish, you’re still coming in a beat too late after the bridge!”

  Fish snorted and pointed at Hale. “If this dude would actually follow my cues, I wouldn’t have to—”

  “If you picked up the tempo and—”

  “At least I’m not playing in the wrong key,” Fish shot back.

  “At least I’m playing—a monkey could bang sticks together. What I do takes talent,” Hale argued.

  “You’re right,” Fish agreed, slamming his stick against the cymbal. “Too bad you don’t have any.”

  Bah-dum-bum. Beth shifted in the folding chair, searching for some position that wouldn’t leave the metal bar digging into her lower back. Starla had squeezed them into a rehearsal room in the basement of the Fantasia for some last-minute fine-tuning—but so far, the band had barely managed to make it through a single song.

  “Maybe you guys should take a break?” Beth suggested.

  Fish and Hale exchanged a glance. “Dude, can you tell your girlfriend to chill?” Fish said quietly to Reed—but not quietly enough.

  “S
he’s kind of freaking me out, just staring at us like that,” Hale added.

  “She’s right here, guys,” Beth said loudly. “She can hear everything you say.”

  “Dude, it’s just that—”

  “Forget it.” Beth stood up, realizing that her left foot had fallen asleep. She stamped it against the ground, trying to get rid of the pins and needles. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  Reed hurried over to her and tipped his head against hers so that their foreheads met. “You don’t have to go,” he said softly. “They’re just … we kinda suck right now, and—”

  She ran her hand lightly up the back of his neck, playing with some loose strands of curly hair. “You guys are great,” she assured him. “You just need practice. And you don’t need me throwing things off.”

  Reed kissed her on the cheek. “I need you.”

  She laughed and, for a moment, was tempted to stay—but she knew better. “Yes—but you don’t need me right now. You need to practice.”

  Reed crinkled his nose, the way he always did when he was surprised. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  His answer was a kiss.

  Beth left—reluctantly—and wandered through the cavernous lobby, barely noticing the people she passed by. She still saw Reed’s face in front of her, looking at her like she could do no wrong. He was the first person she’d ever been with who didn’t judge, didn’t impose, didn’t expect. It wasn’t even that he wanted her to be happy—which was something she couldn’t do, not even for him—it was enough that she did what she wanted, and that she wanted to be with him.

  It made her feel like a fraud. She could hear the clock ticking in the back of her mind, and time was running out. Eventually, she would be exposed. When his arms were around her, she could relax. But every time she left his side, the fear descended like a black curtain. Would he be there when she came back?

  She knew it was crazy to wonder.

  But maybe it was even crazier not to prepare herself for the inevitable. Because one day, he wouldn’t.

  She needed some fresh air. But the hotel was like a maze, hallways leading to stairways leading to more hallways, all of which seemed to lead directly back to the gaping mouth of the casino.

  “Didn’t think you were the gambling type,” someone said from behind her.

  She didn’t have to turn around to put a face to the voice—and didn’t want to turn around, since it was a face she never wanted to see again.

  “Of course, I didn’t think you were the druggie type either, not after that whole Just Say No lecture on New Year’s Eve,” Kane sneered. “So I guess nothing should surprise me now.”

  Beth braced herself for attack. Since their breakup several months before, she and Kane had been at war—and things had only gotten worse since Kaia’s accident. He always looked at her suspiciously, as if he could see her guilt. So, just in case, she tried not to look at him at all. “Leave me alone, Kane,” she said wearily. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Maybe I can help with that.” Until he spoke, she hadn’t even noticed the guy standing next to Kane. Maybe because he looked about as un-Kane-like as you could get, from his baggy patchwork jeans to the henna tattoo crawling across his neck. “Guaranteed mood enhancement,” the guy said, handing her a chocolate bar. “Instant happiness, or your money back.”

  It would take more than chocolate to guarantee her happiness, especially with Kane on the prowl. Beth waved the candy away. “Thanks, but—”

  “Don’t waste your time,” Kane sneered. “She’s morally opposed to … well, pretty much all of life’s pleasure’s, wouldn’t you say?”

  The guy pressed the candy bar into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it, holding on for several moments too long. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he said, and something about his tone made Beth uneasy. She pulled her hand away.

  “No, it’s true,” she assured him. “Kane’s right. You’re always right, aren’t you?” she asked, aiming for sarcasm but achieving only fear.

  “I was wrong about you,” he pointed out.

  Not wrong enough. He’d been right to think that she was naive enough, stupid enough to fall for his sympathetic act, straight into his arms. And he’d been right to think that he could string her along for weeks, charming her with smiles and kisses and extravagant gifts and suckering her into trusting him.

  He’d just been wrong to think that when the truth came out, she’d slink away peacefully, never to be heard from again.

  “Turns out this little holier-than-thou act is just a pose,” Kane said. “Turns out she’s just as selfish, weak, and indulgent as the rest of us—she’s just not as good at it.”

  Beth thought about her single-minded pursuit of revenge against the people who’d ruined her life: Harper. Kane. Adam. Kaia. She’d indulged her rage, overruled the weak protests of her conscience, selfishly ignored the consequences. She’d done it all incompetently—and someone had died.

  Kane didn’t know it, but he was right yet again.

  Reed wished he hadn’t let her leave. The music still sucked, Fish and Hale still bugged—nothing was different without her there.

  Except him, and not for the better.

  He let Fish and Hale take off, and then he wandered off, half hoping he would find her, knowing it was unlikely. There were too many people, a crowd of strangers crushing past him. And she wasn’t answering her cell.

  Eventually Reed headed back to the practice room, knowing she would show up eventually. And for a second, when he opened the door and saw a figure inside cleaning things up, he thought he wouldn’t have to wait.

  Then he took in the dark dreads, the tattoo, the wicked smile. “Hey, Starla,” he said, leaning in the doorway. “Thanks again for the space.”

  “You remembered.” She turned to face him, and caught him staring at the pale purple snake tattoo that twisted around her waist and climbed upward, disappearing beneath the tight black shirt.

  “Tough to forget a name like that,” Reed told her, his face growing a little warm. Did she realize that they didn’t make girls like her back home? That if someone had asked him, last year, to describe his ideal woman, she would have looked like the front-woman of some rock funk punk band, moved like someone born onstage, spoke like music was pounding in her brain, and smiled like she knew a secret that was too good not to spill and too dangerous not to keep?

  He’d thought girls like that only existed in magazines and wannabe rock star fantasies. But here she was, in the tattoo-covered, multipierced flesh.

  It didn’t matter what he’d wanted a year ago, he reminded himself. He’d been a kid, and now … a lot had changed.

  But it didn’t stop him from staring at her as if she were some mythical creature he’d brought to life with the power of his mind. Maybe anything was possible. Dragons. Giants. Centaurs.

  And Starlas.

  “I was looking for you, actually,” Starla said.

  “Yeah?” Had his voice just cracked? She was surely only a year or two older than him; but he suddenly felt like he was thirteen again, covered in zits and begging his father for a real guitar.

  “I just downloaded this new song and I thought you might like it,” she said.

  “Why?” Shit, that was rude. “I mean, what made you think that I’d …?”

  “I was standing outside listening to you guys practice. Does that bother you?” she asked defiantly.

  Only because they sucked. “Whatever. What did you think?” Bad idea, he told himself. This girl was obviously totally into the music scene here—and here was about as far as you could get from home, where the Blind Monkeys were the only rock band in thirty miles, which meant they played every gig from birthday parties to funerals, despite their general level of suckitude. Starla, clearly, would have higher standards.

  She laughed. “I thought you might like this song I just downloaded. So … wanna hear it?” She pulled an iPod Nano out of her pocket—exactly the model he’d been c
raving but couldn’t afford, not when all his extra cash went to fixing the van and helping his dad with the never-ending stack of bills.

  Reed nodded, not wanting to risk another humiliating falsetto moment. He reached out for the iPod, but instead she just gave him one earbud and stuck the other in her own ear. Tethered together, they sat down on the floor, backs pressed against the wall, legs pulled up to their chests, and arms just barely touching. She pressed play.

  A scorching chord blasted through the buds. A sharp, syncopated beat charged after it, overlain by a twangy acoustic guitar solo—and then, without warning, the band plugged in. And the song took off. Reed closed his eyes, letting the music storm through him, banging his head lightly back against the wall in time with the drums, his fingers flickering as if plucking and strumming invisible strings.

  Everything disappeared but the music—and then the music stopped.

  The first thing he registered, as the song came to an end: He and Starla had leaned in toward each other, their cheeks and temples pressing together as they lost themselves in sound.

  The second thing: Beth’s face in the doorway.

  She just looked lost.

  chapter

  5

  “We’re going to die.” Harper gripped the bar until her knuckles turned white. One loose screw was all it would take to send her plummeting. She looked down—despite every instinct in her body screaming not to. The people were the size of pinheads. She wondered which one she would land on. “We are so going to die.”

  “It’s just a ride,” Adam pointed out, stretching back in the roller-coaster seat as if it were a lounge chair and grinning up at the sky. (The clouds seemed—to Harper, at least—unnaturally close.) “Enjoy it.”

  “I was enjoying standing flat on the ground,” Harper snapped, as the car continued its slow, terrifying creep up the track. They were tilted back at nearly a right angle, and the ascent seemed to last forever. Which would have been okay with Harper, except for one little problem: What goes up, must come down. Fast. “I was enjoying the view from nine hundred feet up without feeling the asinine desire to get on a roller coaster that some idiot thought it would be neat to build on top of a building.” She closed her eyes.