by Rachel Kane
“Marcus destroyed my work. We broke up. I got drunk. I’m sorry it was so badly timed.”
“Marcus destroyed it? Our Marcus? So it wasn’t supposed to look like that? Opinions were divided.”
“He’s no saint, you know,” I said. I felt so bitter, I could almost have told her everything. The way he’d lied to me, the way he’d feigned offense. The things he had hidden.
“Oh for god’s sake,” she said. “Of course he’s not a saint. Who is? But he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.”
“Doesn’t he? Need I remind you of our big fist-fight? He’d worked up enough violence with my sculpture that he hit himself on the head or something.”
“But he--”
“Rhody, you don’t know the whole story, okay? I appreciate that you’re trying to help, here, but you don’t know what went on.”
I started to get up, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my chair.
“You think I don’t know what went on? Are you forgetting that it was your ex-boyfriend who nearly broke up Nat and Owen? Your past nearly destroyed the life of my best friend.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“No? You literally scoffed during their wedding ceremony. You made a fucking ass out of yourself. Tell me how you had nothing to do with that.”
“You don’t understand.”
“We’ve established that. But here’s your big chance to explain,” she said. “You look like you don’t want to explain. You look like you want to walk off in a huff. But let me tell you, if you do that, you’re going to lose all the friends you have.”
“Trust me, I want to tell you everything. I want to explain to you in grisly detail just how Marcus truly is. How you’ve all been tricked by him--the way I’ve been tricked by him. You say I’m going to lose all my friends, but I want you to know, I want everybody to know, I want people to judge him when they saw him walking down the street--”
“Damn, you are still in your cups, as my granddad would say. Drunky Drunk. Did you break up because he destroyed your statue?”
“No, not that. I mean, that was the last straw. But he lied to me, Rhody. He lied all about his past.”
The way she pressed her lips together, I knew I was on dangerous ground. Finally she exhaled, and glanced around as though to make sure nobody was listening. “You’re talking about Xavier?”
“No! Not just Xavier! There were others, too, other rich guys in his past--”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh shit, who have you been talking to?”
I didn’t want to say. The look on her face made me think I’d gotten something really, really wrong. “I better not--”
“No, you better. If you’re going to talk shit about my friend, I want full transparency, bud.”
“Fine, it was Hunter.”
She clicked her tongue. “Yup. That’s what I thought. So Hunter told you some nasty story, and Marcus lied when you talked to him about it? Because that’s not--”
“No, I mean, he didn’t exactly lie about it.”
“You just said he was tricking you. So, he didn’t lie...he fibbed? What’s the accusation, Sergio?”
“I mean, he held back some stuff. Some...I don’t know. Some crucial information.”
“I think I know what that information was, and if you believed what Hunter said about it, you’re a fucking idiot.”
I felt so drained. I didn’t want to go around in circles about this. I didn’t want to know any more. Knowing things was too much trouble. I wanted to be back home, in my studio, carving and carving and not thinking. “It doesn’t matter,” I said finally, echoing the hopelessness I’d heard in Marcus’ voice earlier when he’d said the same words. “Marcus is a gold-digger, and I can’t be around him.”
“Did you just say gold-digger? What is this, the 1940s?”
My cheeks flushed red. “You know what I mean. He cozies up to rich guys--”
“He doesn’t.”
“He cozied up to me--”
“And asked you for money?”
“Well, no.”
“Gifts? We all noticed how nicely he was dressed. Did he ask you for the clothes?”
“You’re missing the point, Rhody, he didn’t ask--”
“So you gave him some clothes without asking, then you offered him a fucking scholarship, and he got furious with you...and that, to you, says that he’s after your money.”
I sighed. “When you put it that way--”
“What other way is there to put it? Marcus doesn’t give a shit about money. If he did, would he still be a waiter in Oceanview of all places? He’s money-phobic. He’s scared to death of rich guys, after the problems he’s had. You have got him so, so wrong.”
“It’s too complicated to explain,” I said. “It just hurts, and I am tired of feeling at fault, like I’ve done something to hurt him, and I want to go home.”
“But you have done something to hurt him.”
“I know. But I’m scared of him, Rhody, don’t you get that? Look, I’m being totally honest with you here. After breaking up with my sociopath ex, I feel like I can’t believe anybody. I feel like everybody in the world is trying to pull one over on me. I’m not even saying Marcus can’t be trusted in general, I’m saying I’m scared he’s going to use me.”
Another long sigh from her. She pulled her chair even closer. “I’m going to tell you something. But it doesn’t leave this courtyard. If I find out you have said a word of this to anyone, I will throw you off the dock. I’m not even kidding, Sergio.”
“I can keep a secret.”
“Obviously not. Thus the threat. But listen. Did Marcus tell you his side of the Xavier saga?”
“Yeah, he said--”
“You don’t have to rehash. We all know. His real friends do. Xavier fucking used him. Marcus doesn’t want to seem like a victim, and I respect that, but Xavier was a monster. He wasn’t the biggest monster of Marcus’ life, though. Are you sure you are going to keep this secret?”
“Jesus, just tell me.”
“I’m only saying this because I think it’ll hurt Marcus worse if you leave him without knowing this. There were these two older guys who used to hang around all the clubs and stuff in Oceanview. They were popular, because they had money and would get you booze or pot or whatever you wanted, but they were always on your radar, you know? They were scary. You never went to them alone, whether you were a boy or girl. We’d joke about the bodies in their basement. I’m pretty sure we were just joking about it...but deep down, we were all afraid of them.
“Except Marcus. Marcus is never afraid of anybody. His home life was shit, and these guys seemed like a way out, right? He started hanging out with them as a kind of vacation from his normal life. We started seeing him less and less, at the same time we were hearing more stories about him, about the stuff the two creeps were into. I don’t want to get into details--and really, Marcus is so secretive about this part of his life, I don’t think he’s talked about it in ages--but it was bad, Sergio. It was gross and sick. If Hunter told you that he was after their money...hell, he might be right. Marcus might’ve waltzed into their lives thinking he could make an easy buck just by being pretty. But he was just a kid. We all were. We didn’t know any better, except to stay away. He learned, though. After they were done with him and had tossed him out, he looked haunted.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “What did they--”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know. I’m sure that from Hunter’s point of view, the real crime was that the creepers didn’t get their money’s worth. But they hurt Marcus. They hurt him badly.”
I stared at her. I couldn’t say anything. When I tried, no words would come.
She broke eye contact eventually, shaking her head and rising from her chair. “Talk to him about it, or don’t talk to him about it, but Sergio, if there’s one thing you need to understand about Marcus, it’s that he never was a danger to rich guys. All his life he’s been
endangered by rich guys like you. Guys who use him up and throw him away. Why don’t you stay here and think about that a while? Think about whether you’re just pissed off that your statue broke and that you heard some bad gossip, and now you’re trying to cut your losses. Think about whether you’re doing the same thing that rich guys always do to him.”
24
Marcus: Return of the Ice Prince
I didn’t have any appetite, just picked at my food. Watched people come up to Nat and Owen to congratulate them. They were so happy. When they’d cast concerned glances my way, I’d smile and raise my champagne glass, trying to look as cheerful as I could. Don’t look at me, guys, don’t let me bring you down. At some point Mr. Thurgood had hopped into my lap, and I fed him bits of chicken and petted him. It made me feel a little safer having him here.
Nat and Owen were staying another couple of days. I was leaving today. Time to pack it in, go home and take my medicine. Find a job, get back to my life, get back to being a guy who didn’t sit around and sulk just because my bad taste in men had led me to someone like Sergio.
Finally the music started, and couples went out onto the dance floor. I figured I’d stayed a socially acceptable amount of time. Not like we were going to throw rice or anything. I looked around the ballroom. Sergio had never showed back up. I was glad, of course, because I couldn’t bear the idea of seeing him again. At the same time, it just made me that much sadder and eager to escape.
Oh, god, what if he was in the room right now? What if I went up there to pack, and he was in there? I couldn’t handle that. Not another fight, not another confrontation.
Shit. I was going to have to stay in here until I was sure it was safe. I didn’t want to stay. Everyone was so happy. Cal and Edgar had made up just after the wedding, and now they were dancing cheek to cheek, resetting the countdown until their next breakup. Why couldn’t it be that easy for me? They shed their relationship like a snake sheds skin, knowing it’ll always grow back.
I slumped back into my chair. I wished I had someone to talk to. Not really, because the idea of talking about all this stuff, and admitting what an idiot I had been, was just too much. Sitting here downing another champagne while everyone else had fun wasn’t much better, though. I looked around for Rhody, but didn’t see her anywhere.
As I watched, people came and wheeled the ice sculpture away. It had begun to melt pretty badly, the legs just smooth glittery stubs, the screaming faces finally laid to rest. I had to laugh about that. I couldn’t have made Sergio feel worse if I’d tried.
Except it wasn’t funny at all, and I hadn’t meant to have any part of that.
Hunter and Josh were dancing. My respect for Josh plummeted, at the same time I was sort of relieved; if Hunter was busy, at least he wouldn’t have time to talk about me behind my back. I had a little shudder of fear, thinking that maybe Hunter would just tell Josh all about me, but then Josh had been here for some of it, and anyway, he knew what Hunter was.
Sitting still was making me antsy. I guess I had sat here waiting for longer than I realized, though, because suddenly the band stopped playing. “All right,” said the man at the microphone, “gather around, they’re about to toss the bouquet!”
That got everyone excited. I watched them gather by the stage. Nat and Owen went up there with the band. Mr. Thurgood hopped out of my lap and went over to join his owners, his little claws going tick-tick-tick on the ballroom floor. Everyone was laughing and hooting, getting in close.
“You can do it,” said Owen.
“You really don’t want me throwing things,” said Nat. “Remember when I threw the ball for Mr. Thurgood, and it went straight into the ocean?”
Owen gasped. “He could have been swept away by a riptide. Yes, you better leave this to me, for the safety of our guests.”
He turned around, facing the band, his back to the room. “Should I count? One! Two! Three!”
I shook my head and turned back around to get another swallow of champagne. I didn’t even realize the bouquet was coming my way until it smacked me in the back of the head. “Hey!” I said, picking it up before it fell.
Everyone was watching me. The crowd was cheering. Nat and Owen looked worried, as though I might toss the flowers to the ground.
I gave them the best smile I had. “Thanks, guys. Hope this means good luck to me.”
After that, the party broke up. Nat and Owen went up to their room to continue their celebrations. There were still plenty of people lingering at the bar, some having cake, some getting in a last bit of shrimp cocktail.
I’d surely done my part now. I’d stayed for the whole thing, caught a bouquet, given Sergio all the time he needed to get out. I hoped he was out. To be on the safe side, after changing out of my tux down in the changing room, I stopped by the hotel desk on my way up.
“Oh, lucky you, sir,” said the clerk, seeing the bouquet.
“Yeah...uh...can you tell me if my roommate is up in our room?”
“Mr. Taylor? No, I’m sorry to say he has already checked out! And after all the trouble with his tools and bags! We’d offered to comp him a few more nights, to make it up to him.”
I felt oddly sad about that. I mean, I didn’t want to see him, not at all. But the idea that he’d just packed up and left seemed so strange to me.
He must have really hated me after all.
I didn’t bring much with me. I didn’t have much. It all fit into a single suitcase. I walked around the room one last time. It felt so weird. To have gone through so much in this brief time. I glanced at the bed we’d shared. It was so clean, freshly made. Like no one had ever lain on it at all. I checked one more time to be sure I hadn’t left anything behind, and carried my bag to the door.
No, wait. I had to leave. I had to. But it would be a shame to leave without seeing the cliff one more time. Wasn’t that strange? I had been so certain I was going to dive off that thing, and I never had.
Don’t do it, part of me said. The longer you stay here, the more likely it is something horrible will happen. Just go home and start forgetting this whole week ever happened.
But Sergio was gone, and of all the things that had happened, the cliff was the one thing that hadn’t hurt me. There was no way I was ever coming back here. I might never get to take another vacation again, let alone come to an island resort.
I changed back into my hiking clothes. One last time. But before I left the room, I picked up the bouquet. Maybe I’d throw it off the cliff. Nice and symbolic.
My secret shortcut was quiet. I was grateful to have discovered it early on. No way did I want to run into anybody I knew right now. Everyone would be merrily drunk, or concerned, or mad at me, and I didn’t want to talk. Pretty soon I was going to have to paste a smile on my face to try to get a job, and a job just involved more fake-smiling, so for right now, for just a little longer, I wanted silence and honesty about how I felt.
They’d already cleared out the ballroom. A couple of janitors were sweeping up. The stage was empty; the tables and chairs were racked and ready to roll out. No sign at all that anything had just happened here. I slid into the corridor and kept going.
This might be the quiet way, but it was still full of memories. The first time I’d come this way, I wound up on the loading dock talking to Sergio. The freezer was down here, too. I was going to try to ignore all that. If I could’ve closed my eyes, I would’ve, just to avoid these memories. Think about the cliff, I told myself, trying to forget that Sergio had been at the cliff too.
When I reached the freezer, my heart stopped.
I thought Sergio had checked out? Then why were his tool crates stacked here by the freezer? Why was the door open?
Keep walking, I told myself. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Not even for a second.
My eyes fixed forward, holding my breath, I began to hurry past the freezer.
That’s when I heard his voice. “Marcus?”
Sergio stepped out of the freezer. His cheek
s and bare hands were red from the cold. There were ice crystals in his dark hair.
Maybe I should have made a sarcastic remark. I certainly had thought of enough of them in the past few hours. Maybe I should have yelled, or slugged him, or ignored him and kept on going past.
Instead, scowling in puzzlement, I said, “I thought you were gone.”
“I was hoping you weren’t,” he said. He looked at my bouquet. “Why do you have flowers?”
“Dude, you can’t just make casual conversation with me.”
“I...I know that,” he said. He looked defeated. Sober, but defeated. “I just didn’t expect to see you like this. I was trying to plan what to say--”
“Say about what? Haven’t we said enough, Sergio? I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want to point fingers or try to defend myself or anything. Whatever it is you want to accuse me of, just consider it already done, okay?”
I started to turn and walk off, but he said, “Wait,” in a voice so broken I paused.
Without saying anything, I turned around, and watched him walk into the freezer.
“Come here,” he said from inside, his voice muffled.
I didn’t want to. What was he going to do, make me face the sculpture I’d destroyed? Maybe he’d just come after me with the chainsaw.
I stepped in and saw...me.
It was almost eerie. As the fog separated, I moved closer. A block of ice, carved with my face. I looked from the ice to Sergio, then back. “This is me?”
“It’s rough,” he said. “I was trying to be quick. If I had more time--”
I reached out a finger and touched it. The ice burned against my finger. It looked so much like me. He was right, it was rough, but there was my jaw, my cheekbones, the way my eyes looked when I was scowling. Like a sketch made of ice.
In our age we see a million photographs of ourselves. Selfies, family pictures, posts of when we’re out with friends. But to see a sculpture of yourself...it’s an entirely different thing. Even though it lacked detail, it felt real in a way no photograph ever had.
