The Wild Zone (16 page)

“Are you asking me out?”

Kristin smiled. “Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Against house rules?”

“Against
my
rules.”

“So it’s true you have a boyfriend? It’s not just something you tell guys to keep them at bay?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Kristin said.

“And I actually do have a friend who’s a photographer.” Dave winked.

Kristin laughed.

“Scout’s honor. His name’s Peter Layton. I understand he’s pretty famous.”

Kristin shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

“He does a lot of fashion and magazine work. You should meet him.”

“I probably should.”

“I could set something up, if you’d like.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hey, Kristin,” the man at the end of the bar called out again. “We’re feeling a bit neglected down at this end.”

“I’m coming,” she called back.

“I’m not bullshitting you,” Dave said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “I’m a doctor, remember? And doctors never lie.”

Kristin felt an unwanted jolt of electricity pass from his fingers through hers. She made no attempt to dislodge her hand. “You really have a friend who’s a fashion photographer?”

“I swear.”

“Don’t. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

“She’d like you though. She’d say, ‘Dave, that girl’s a spitfire. Don’t let her get away.’”

“I have a boyfriend,” Kristin said again.

Dave smiled. “Here’s my card. Call me if circumstances change.”

SIXTEEN

“I
’m
TELLING YOU, MAN
. He didn’t score.” Tom took a deep drag off his cigarette, then laughed, long and loud, into his cell phone.

“You’re crazy,” came Jeff’s immediate reply. “How could he not score? I hand-delivered her, gift-wrapped, for Christ’s sake. I did everything but tuck them into bed together.”

“He didn’t score.”

A second’s silence. Then, “How do you know?”

Tom repeated the details of his day, including his encounter with Lainey at Donatello’s and his subsequent visit to Jeff’s apartment. “Looks like I might have gotten there just in the nick of time,” he boasted.

“Well, then, kudos to you, Tommy boy. You saved the day.”

“Not to mention a hundred bucks.”

“You may still lose that hundred,” Jeff said. “Looks like big brother’s back in the hunt.”

Tom forced another laugh from his throat. It was just like Jeff to make it all about him, to turn Tom’s moment of glory into a mere anecdote while, in the same breath, dismissing Tom’s chances for scoring with Suzy himself. No, not dismissing. Negating. Negating utterly and entirely. As if the possibility of Tom’s succeeding with Suzy was too ludicrous to even consider. Worse—as if it had never even crossed Jeff’s mind. Big brother was back in the hunt, after all. There was no need for anyone else to bother showing up. “How come it took you so long to answer the phone?” Tom asked, trying to mask his irritation.

“I thought it might be my sister again,” Jeff said. “She’s trying to get me to come home, see my mother before she dies.”

“You gonna do it?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted after a pause.

“Don’t let her lay a guilt trip on you, man,” Tom said. “You got nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I know that.”

“She deserted you, man. Pawned you off on the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Apparently she wants to apologize.”

“Bullshit. She only wants to see you so she can feel better about herself before she dies.”

“I know that, too.”

“She’s going to hell, man. Hell in a handbasket. What’s that mean anyway?”

Jeff laughed. “Damned if I know.”

“Women,” Tom sneered, sucking on his cigarette, then blowing out a long puff of smoke and watching it circle his head like an angry cloud. “Hold on a minute. I gotta open the window.”

“What window? Where are you?”

“In my car.” Tom took a final drag off his cigarette, opened his window, and tossed the still-burning butt onto the road.

“I don’t hear any traffic.”

“That’s because there isn’t any.”

“Where are you?”

Tom almost laughed at the wariness he heard in Jeff’s voice. “Nowhere special.”

“Please tell me you’re not still following Lainey.”

“I’m not still following Lainey,” Tom repeated dutifully.

“Good man.”

“Don’t have to,” Tom said.

“Meaning what?”

Tom shrugged. “Meaning I already know where she is. She and the kids are staying with her parents,” he continued unbidden. “Bitch came home about an hour ago. Hasn’t budged since. They’re probably finishing up with dinner right about now.”

Another silence. Then, “You’re parked in front of their house,” Jeff said.

Tom could almost see Jeff shaking his head in dismay. “No.” He laughed. “I’m parked three houses down.”

“Shit,” Jeff exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s no big deal. They don’t know I’m here.”

“You’re sure about that?” Jeff’s question made it clear he wasn’t sure at all.

“Sure as shit. You want to bet on it?”

“I want you to get the hell away from there.”

“I’m just looking out for my interests.”

Jeff sighed loudly. “Okay, look. Do what you have to do. I’m heading over to the Wild Zone in about an hour. You want to meet me there, fine.”

Tom looked out the car’s front windshield toward the sprawling, vine-covered bungalow where Lainey’s parents lived. All the lights in the place seemed to be on, he noted, even though it was still quite bright outside. He snorted derisively. Lainey was always on his back about conserving energy, trailing after him from room to room, turning off the lights he’d left on, unplugging appliances that weren’t in use, quoting various experts on global warming. What a hypocrite, he thought, grabbing another cigarette from the front pocket of his blue plaid shirt and lighting up.

The bungalow’s front door suddenly opened, and a man—short, barrel chested, full head of black hair graying at the temples—emerged. He stood motionless in the doorway for several seconds and only moved when he was grabbed around the knees by his young grandson. “Cody,” Tom whispered.

“What?” Jeff asked in his ear.

“Grandpa, come on,” Cody squealed. “It’s your turn to hide.”

“Tom,” Jeff said, “are you still there? What’s going on?”

“Sam, what are you doing out there?” a woman’s voice called from inside the house, her voice skipping effortlessly down the street.

“Come on, Grandpa. Let’s play.”

“Tom?” Jeff asked. “Tom? Talk to me.”

“No way I’m letting that bitch take my kids away from me,” Tom said as Lainey’s father retreated back into the house with Cody, closing the door after him.

“Tom, listen to me. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“See you in an hour,” Tom said, clicking off.

“
SO, I SPOKE
to Jeff,” Ellie was saying.

Will leaned back into the park bench on which he’d been sitting for the better part of an hour trying to calm his nerves after the shocking events of the late afternoon. One minute Suzy was in his arms, the next minute Tom was waving a gun in his face. What the hell had happened? Had he actually dared Tom to shoot him? Will stretched his legs full out in front of him and switched his cell phone from his left ear to his right, realizing his hands were still shaking.

“When did you speak to him?”

“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago.”

“And?” Will heard small children squabbling in the background. He pictured Ellie in her tiny kitchen, her light brown hair falling past her chin in a succession of loose waves, a faint trace of blush staining her cheeks, her two children running in circles around her.

“He says he won’t come.”

“And you’re surprised because . . . ?”

“I’m not surprised. I’m disappointed.”

“Can you really blame him?” Will asked.

“It’s not that I blame him. Taylor, stop hitting Max.”

Will chuckled, picturing the little firebrand that was his two-year-old niece laying into her more sedate five-year-old brother.

“I just think it’s really important for his mental health that he sees our mother before she dies.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Jeff’s mental health.”

“He has to come to terms with his feelings,” Ellie said.

“I think Jeff knows exactly how he feels,” Will stated. “He hates his mother’s guts.”

“Adults don’t hate each other’s guts,” Ellie said.

Will shrugged. Ellie had majored in psychology in college. There was no point arguing with her. Especially when she was right.

“You have to talk to him,” Ellie urged.

“I did,” Will argued. “He’s not buying it.”

“You have to convince him.”

“Give it up, Ellie. He’s not going back.”

“What if you talk to Kirsten?”

“Kristin,” Will corrected her.

“Whatever,” Ellie said impatiently. “Maybe she can persuade him.”

“Trust me,” Will said. “She knows better than to try.”

“It’s in her own best interests,” Ellie insisted.

“Meaning?” The word was out of Will’s mouth before he had time to stop it. The last thing he wanted to do was prolong this conversation any more than he had already.

“Until he resolves things with our mother,” Ellie stated emphatically, “he’s always going to have issues with women. He’ll keep putting her face on theirs, revisiting old wounds. . . .”

“Somebody’s been watching too much Oprah,” Will said, hearing Tom’s sneer in his voice. He softened it immediately. “Listen, I’ve really gotta go.”

“Why? What are you doing?” Ellie asked.

“Getting ready to go out,” Will lied, his eyes scanning the park. Across the way, a young father was pushing his child on a swing, and a man was tossing a Frisbee toward a large black Lab.

“Do you have a date?”

Will could hear the hope in her voice. “Ellie,” he began, “you’re only my half sister. Do you think you could dial down the concern half a notch?”

She laughed. “Not a chance. Where are you off to?”

He sighed. “Nowhere special. Probably just over to the Wild Zone for a drink.”

“That’s that bar where Kirsten works?”

“Kristin,” Will said.

“You’re not drinking too much, are you?” Ellie asked, ignoring his correction.

Will laughed, said nothing.

“Your mom called this morning,” Ellie said, abruptly shifting gears. “She’s worried about you, said she hadn’t heard from you in almost a week. You might want to give her a call, reassure her you’re still alive and, well, that Jeff hasn’t done something terrible to you.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And you’ll talk to him again?” she added. “Try to impress on him that there’s not a lot of time?”

“I’ll try,” Will said, understanding there was no point in saying anything else.

“You’re a good boy,” Ellie told him before hanging up.

“
HELLO, MOM?” TOM
asked, thinking, Moron, of course it’s your mother. Who else would it be?

“Alan,” she exclaimed happily. “How are you, darling? Everybody,” she called out, “it’s Alan.”

“It’s not Alan. It’s Tom.”

“Tom?”

“Your son, Tom. The black sheep in the middle,” he added bitterly.

“Tom,” his mother repeated, as if trying to comprehend a word in a foreign language. “It’s Tom,” she relayed to whomever else was in the room. Then, back to him, “Is there something wrong? Are you in trouble?”

“Do I have to be in trouble to call home?”

“Are you?” his mother asked again.

“No.”

His mother’s relief was audible, although she said nothing. Tom pictured her standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, her sad brown eyes appealing for help from those gathered around the dining room table, her mouth pinched into a worried pout, as if she were sucking on a piece of sour candy.

“Am I interrupting something?” Tom asked.

“We were just sitting down to dinner. Vic and Sara are here with the kids.”

Tom tried conjuring up an image of his brother, older by a year and a half, but since he’d seen him less than half a dozen times in twice as many years, it was difficult. When Tom and his brothers were younger, people used to have trouble telling them apart, so similar were they in appearance and stature. But as the years progressed, Tom grew taller, Alan wider, Vic handsomer. By the time they were in their late teens, no one had trouble distinguishing one from the other, especially since they were rarely together. “How is everyone?”

“Great. Lorne and Lisa are growing like weeds.”

“Carole, get off the phone,” Tom heard his father say. “Your dinner’s getting cold.”

“What kind of mess has he gotten himself into now?” Vic’s wife, Sara, muttered in the background, although her voice was loud enough for Tom to make out every word.

“Is there a reason you’re calling?” his mother asked warily.

“Do I need one?” Tom asked in return, lighting a fresh cigarette with the end of the one he was currently smoking, then flicking the butt out the car window to join the growing pile.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“For God’s sake, Carole,” Tom’s father said. “He’s fine.”

“Let me talk to him,” Vic said.

“I don’t want to talk to Vic,” Tom protested.

“Tom, how are you doing, buddy?” his brother asked, coming on the line, his deep voice radiating confidence and success.

“I’m fine, Vic. You?”

“Fantastic. Sara’s terrific, the kids are doing great, I love my work—”

“How can you love crunching numbers all day?”

“—I’ve got my health,” Vic continued, as if Tom hadn’t spoken.

“What are you—eighty years old? You sound like an old man with this ‘I’ve got my health’ shit.”

“You don’t have anything if you don’t have your health. Trust me on that one.”

“Why should I trust you? You’re a fucking accountant, for shit’s sake. Who trusts an accountant?”

“Ever the smart-ass, I see.”

“You don’t see a goddamn thing.”

“Then you better spell it out,” Vic said. “What is it, Tom? You need money? Is that why you’re calling?”

“What are you doing?” Sara hissed. “We’re not giving your brother any more money. He didn’t repay us the last time.”

“You lent your brother money?” Tom’s father asked incredulously.

“It wasn’t much,” Vic said dismissively. “Just a few thousand . . .”

“Hey, if you’re offering,” Tom said.

“How much do you need?”

“Vic, for God’s sake,” Sara said, closer to the phone now than before.

“A few thousand sounds pretty good.”

“I can’t do that,” Vic said quietly.

“Damn right you can’t,” Sara said.

“You’re the one who offered.”

“I can maybe spare a couple hundred. That’s it.”

“What are you doing?” Sara demanded angrily. “You’re not giving your brother another dime.”

“Mommy, what’s wrong? Why are you yelling at Daddy?” a child asked in the background.

“What’s going on, Tom? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Lainey and I split up,” Tom admitted after a pause.

“You’re kidding! Lainey left him,” Vic shouted to the others.

“What?” His mother.

“Big surprise.” His father.

“What took her so long?” Sara.

“She’s threatening to take my kids away,” Tom said.

“Sounds like you need a lawyer.”

“I need
money
for a lawyer,” Tom barked. “And a few hundred bucks isn’t going to do it.”

“Sorry, Tom. I really am. I’d help you if I could.”

“You are not giving your brother any more money,” Sara said.

“Tell that stupid cunt to shut the fuck up,” Tom yelled.

“Hey,” Vic warned him, “watch it.”