Catherine

by April Lindner

  As I paced Riptide’s smelly crash pad, I couldn’t stop obsessing about the one thing I should already have done. While I’d been frantically packing my things, I’d thought to shove my acceptance letters into the bottom of my duffel bag. Now I needed to pull them out and pick a New York school. But before I did that, I needed to make an X in the little box on the form that would tell Harvard I wasn’t coming.

  One little X. And yet I couldn’t seem to make myself do it. The response deadlines were looming. If Harvard didn’t hear from me, I supposed they would give my space away to someone else, so what was the big deal about sending in the form? Besides, it would give me something to do: take a walk to the nearest mailbox. Pretty pathetic when that’s the day’s big event.

  Sitting cross-legged on the lumpy pullout bed, I spread the letters in front of me. Maybe if I chose a school, it would be easier to check off the no box on the Harvard form. I could spend the day wandering the campuses of NYU and Fordham, trying to make up my mind. I’d heard good things about both schools, and their glossy catalogs didn’t make my decision any easier. Maybe actually going to each one would help me choose; maybe some sign from God would help me get over my stupid, pointless attachment to the idea of Harvard. Nothing could have been as perfect as my fantasy of strolling through Harvard Yard in October and engaging in long, deep conversations at Café Algiers. So why couldn’t I get over it?

  The more I thought about it, the sound of Riptide’s guitars and drums rising up to me through the floorboards, the more I knew what I needed to do: catch a train to Boston and visit Cambridge again. The last time I’d been there, I’d seen it through a little girl’s dreamy eyes. I needed to see it again so I could know—not just in my head, but in my heart—that it really wasn’t superior to Fordham or NYU. Then I could get on with my life. There wasn’t anything stopping me. I wouldn’t even have to pack; everything I owned was already in my duffel bag.

  But I couldn’t miss Riptide’s show that night. They would be headlining at the Trocadero, and I knew it was a big deal to Hence. He’d be hurt if I wasn’t there. And how could I explain my absence when I hadn’t told him I was applying to Harvard, much less that I was accepted? How could I make him understand that I needed to make one last trip, to say good-bye to my dream of what college should be? I knew he would think the opposite was true—that I was secretly thinking about saying yes to Harvard. But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.

  Was I?

  I folded up my acceptance letters and tucked them into the duffel bag, putting off my big decision for another day. I couldn’t go to Boston; I couldn’t risk hurting Hence, as bruised and battered as he still was by his life before we met. It was a big responsibility knowing how broken he was, because what if I was the one who hurt him next?

  When the rain finally petered out to a drizzle, I went prowling for bookstores and bought myself a stack of paperbacks to replace the books I’d abandoned. That should have put me in a better mood, but it didn’t. When I met up with Hence and the guys at Gennaio’s Pizza, they were all so giddy, joking and cracking up over the stupidest things, that it set my teeth on edge. Rehearsal had gone really well, and they were so excited about getting to play the Troc that none of them seemed to notice that I was quieter than usual. Andy and Stan were especially obnoxious, going on and on about a pair of sisters they’d invited to the show. “You two had better stay out late,” Andy warned Hence and me. “I’ll be needing that pullout couch.”

  “Otherwise we’ll be forced to have a foursome in our bedroom,” Stan chimed in.

  “Dude! Like I want to see your hairy ass in action!”

  Stan, Ruben, and Hence laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, but I could tell Andy really wanted us to give him the couch. It was only our second night in the apartment, and already the guys were letting us know how in the way we were. And where exactly were Hence and I supposed to go until morning?

  The pizza at Gennaio’s was cheap. Feeling queasy, I patted my slice with a paper napkin to mop up the extra grease. Until that moment, I hadn’t given much thought to the way Andy and Stan treated the girls they went out with—like Kleenex to be used once and tossed into a corner.

  “I’m spending the night at Drew’s,” Ruben offered, patting my hand. “So you don’t need to worry, chica.”

  I mustered a smile in his direction. Ruben wasn’t a playboy like the others. At least he had a steady boyfriend. Not all that long ago, he’d been almost as bad as Andy and Stan, with a new guy every weekend. As for Hence, he beamed all through dinner, squeezing my hand whenever he spoke, clearly pleased to be out with his band and me, one big jolly family.

  That night was worse than usual, too. The pink-haired girl, Nina, and her bleached-blond friend were at the Troc, of course—did they ever miss a show?—in tube tops as tight as sausage casings. As she always did, Nina hugged the stage right in front of Hence’s microphone stand and shrieked whenever he came close to the edge. She was almost impossible to ignore, but Hence usually managed it. That night, though, when he was singing a ballad—not one of his, but one of Stan’s—he was looking right at her the whole time. She certainly noticed; I could see it on her rapt, wide-eyed face, and in the way she grabbed and squeezed her friend’s hand, as if to keep herself from swooning like some Victorian lady. If the Victorian lady was dressed like a skank.

  You’re being paranoid, I scolded myself. Usually Hence sang directly to me, but that night I was at the side of the stage, not directly in his sight line; I hadn’t felt like standing in the thick of things, in part because I was feeling so cranky. So his eyes had to go somewhere, and why not to the girl right up front who had been killing herself to get his attention for a month’s worth of gigs? She was there. And I wasn’t. So what?

  Still, it rankled. After the song ended, I saw Nina scream something into her girlfriend’s ear, and the two of them ducked out of the crowd together—a highly unusual move. I don’t think Nina had ever left the stage during a set before; what if she missed a chance to wave her breasts in Hence’s face? I don’t know what made me do it exactly, but I decided to follow them through the shifting crowd. They were most likely headed toward the ladies’ room. For once, there wasn’t a line; by the time I caught up, two of the three stalls were occupied. I ducked into the third and listened. I’d never heard Nina speak before, but I knew without a doubt the first voice I heard—husky and drunk-sounding—was hers.

  “Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God. Tell me you saw that. Tell me I wasn’t imagining it.” She was screaming to be heard over the band.

  “You totally weren’t imagining it. He was looking right at you. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second!”

  “I know!”

  “I guess that girlfriend of his isn’t here tonight. Maybe they broke up?”

  “Oh, she’s here all right,” Nina said. “I saw her off to the side of the stage, looking all pissed off about something. Maybe they had a fight?”

  “Could be. You’d better get ready to pounce.”

  “Honey, I was born ready. You should have seen what she was wearing tonight. Baggy jeans and a flannel shirt. Who wears that to the Troc?”

  I looked down at myself. I’d grabbed the first clothes I’d come across in my duffel bag. Not that it was any of their business.

  “I’ll bet she’s still beautiful, even dressed like that. Some people have all the luck and don’t even know it. I wish I had skin like hers. Not to mention that body…”

  Nina made a hissing noise. “I know her type—taking everything for granted. So she’s got nice skin and a good body. She doesn’t have any idea how to work it. That hair of hers. Blow-dry it once in a while, right? She doesn’t dress like she’s trying to hang on to her ultrahot boyfriend….” The rest of whatever she was saying was drowned out by the sound of flushing, but when the noise died down the two of them were laughing.

  “… Girl, you crack me up.”

  I thought about stepping out
of my stall to confront Nina, or at least to give her the evil eye and let her know I’d been listening, but what good would that do? Better to stay put, listen, and learn everything I could about the enemy, because that’s what she had become.

  “I’ll get my chance. Sooner or later, she’ll be out of the picture, and I’ll swoop in.”

  “I know you will. Can I use some of your lipstick? I forgot mine. Thanks. I love this color. What’s it called?”

  “Mata Hari. And once I’ve got him, I’ll make sure he’s good and satisfied. I’ll handcuff him to my bed and take him places that little girlfriend of his has never even heard of.”

  The blond whooped with laughter. “Nina, you are way, way too much.”

  After they left the bathroom, I just stood in the stall, sputtering, too mad to even move. I stayed there for the rest of the show, listening to women come and go, unready to face another human being.

  When I finally got back to the main stage, I found Hence searching for me. He took one look at my face and knew something was wrong. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  Over his shoulder, I could see Nina and her friend, pretending to be chatting with each other, not taking their eyes off us for a single moment.

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “It’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” Hence’s eyes were dark with worry. “When I didn’t see you out in the audience…”

  Was I crazy, or had Nina and her sidekick moved in for a better look? If they got any closer to us, they could eavesdrop on our conversation. A rush of anger flooded my brain, and before I could think better of it, I grabbed Hence’s hands and wrapped them around my waist.

  “You’re amazing,” I told him. And I kissed him, good and hard, as though no one was watching. He made a surprised sound, a happy little gasp, and I released him. “Let’s get home before the guys so we can be alone together.”

  And we did. Going home with him should have made me happy. It was me with Hence, after all, and I’d make sure that it would always be me and never Nina. Still, as we kissed that night on the creaky pull-out couch, as I ran my lips down his throat and pulled the T-shirt over his head, I couldn’t help feeling like I was making love to Hence not because I felt like it, but because I had something to prove. Even worse, he didn’t seem to notice the difference.

  Chelsea

  A sleepy-eyed man in horn-rimmed glasses answered Jackie’s door. “She’s putting the twins to bed,” he said. “I’m Craig, her husband.” He took my backpack without a word, carried it into the living room, and slipped away. I’d phoned Jackie on my way to the subway, saying I needed a place to sleep, but I hadn’t said why. Now she hurried into the room, a worried look in her eyes. “What happened? Oh, honey, you look exhausted.” Her tone changed. “Hence kicked you out?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “He confused a wall with my head and punched a hole in it.”

  Jackie started making up the couch. “I shouldn’t have let you go back there.” Then she asked the exact question I’d been hoping she wouldn’t. “After you left yesterday, I started wondering: Your dad doesn’t really know where you are, does he?”

  I didn’t want to lie, so I didn’t answer.

  “The man must be frantic. You could use my phone….”

  What choice did I have but to make up a story on the spot? It came out all jumbled. “He knows I’m in New York. He thinks I’m staying with a friend of mine, whose family moved here.” I scrambled for specifics. “Her name’s Lisa. Her father works in television. Please don’t tell Dad I was at The Underground. I’ll only stay a few more days, then I’ll take a bus right back to Marblehead.” Then a chilling thought occurred to me. “He didn’t try to get in touch with you, did he?”

  “I never met your father,” she said. “He and Cathy got married at city hall, and she didn’t invite me. For all I know, he’s never even heard my name.”

  Had my mother really shared so little of her past with my father? At least that meant Dad was unlikely to track me here. I sat down on the made-up couch, and Jackie joined me there. We sat awhile in silence.

  “Please don’t call my dad,” I said finally. “He wouldn’t want me to be looking for my mom, and I’ve got to. I can’t stand it that she might be out there waiting for me to find her.”

  Jackie sighed.

  I took that as a good sign. “I promise I’ll get on a bus and head to Massachusetts the day my father expects me.” I spoke fast, hoping she wouldn’t ask when that day was.

  “I can’t even be around to look out for you,” Jackie said. “I’ve got an all-day meeting tomorrow, and Craig has to be at the office.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt. “I’ll stay away from Hence. I promise.”

  Jackie jumped to her feet and walked into the next room. “Since you’re here…” she called, returning with a heavy photo album. She riffled through it and set it on my lap. “Look what I found.”

  I gazed down at a photograph I’d never seen before, of my mom and Jackie as teenagers, perched on the lip of a fountain, arms around each other’s shoulders, heads thrown back in laughter. I turned the page and found myself confronted by the lazy smile of a guy with blond hair and eyes the same bright-blue shade as his polo shirt.

  “Wasn’t he gorgeous?” Jackie asked. “I used to stare at that photo every night before I went to sleep, hoping I would dream about him.”

  “Is that my uncle?” An electric tingle went through me; why hadn’t I thought to ask Jackie about him?

  “You’ve never met Q?” Jackie clucked her tongue. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Are you still in touch with him? Where does he live now?”

  “The last I heard, he’d moved upstate, to some little town. It started with a C, I think.” She shut her eyes. “Coxsackie. That was it.”

  “Do you have his phone number? Or maybe an e-mail address?”

  “Heavens, no. I saw him just before he sold The Underground to Hence. In the days before e-mail, if you can imagine that. I dropped by to see how he was doing, but he’d changed.”

  I turned the page, but the next pictures were of strangers. “Changed? How?”

  “The spark had gone out of him. He’d tried to turn the club into an expensive steak house, and the whole thing had been a flop. All he could talk about was how badly he wanted to sell it and move upstate. He’d already bought himself a cabin in the mountains, and he had this fantasy of moving up there and spending all his time hunting.”

  “Do you at least have his address?” I asked.

  Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, Chelsea. I wouldn’t want you to get in touch with him. That last time he seemed… I don’t know. A little bit off. Not himself. Angry. He kept mentioning his gun collection. He said something about having enemies, and how they’d better watch out.” She took the album from me, her expression suddenly sharp. “Promise me you won’t go looking for him.”

  “I promise,” I lied.

  That night, after Jackie and Craig had gone to bed, I got out my laptop and searched for Quentin Eversole in Coxsackie, New York. I figured that if my mom had called Jackie when she came back to Manhattan, she might have gotten in touch with her brother as well; maybe she’d even told him where she was headed next. But I couldn’t find a single Q. Eversole in upstate New York. Of course, he’d moved up there a long time ago; he might be living somewhere else by now. There had to be a way to track my Uncle Quentin down. Jackie’s warnings aside, I needed to find him.

  The next morning I woke up alone in Jackie’s apartment. She’d left a note on the kitchen table: We’ll be back tonight. Help yourself to anything you can find in the fridge. She’d even left a key to her apartment so I could come and go as I pleased. As soon as I knew for sure that she and Craig were out, I set to work. Jackie had said she didn’t have my uncle’s phone number, but she hadn’t said anything about not having his address.

  Okay, ransacking her drawers wa
sn’t the most upstanding act of my life. But, honestly, I didn’t have to look very hard; the address book was in almost the first place I looked, a writing desk in the master bedroom. I scribbled my uncle’s address on a piece of scrap paper and tucked the book carefully back, covering my tracks. Then I called The Underground, hoping Hence wouldn’t pick up. I got lucky; Cooper answered on the first ring, like he’d been waiting for my call.

  “Where are you? I’ve been picturing you sleeping on a park bench, or riding the subway all night. And what did you do to put Hence in such a foul mood?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I could fill Cooper in on Hence’s blowup later; for now I had more urgent business to take care of. I told him about my latest discovery. “So I’m thinking about going up to Coxsackie. What’s the best way to get upstate? There’s got to be a bus, right?”

  Coop didn’t sound all that excited for me. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Chelsea,” he said. “Seriously. I’ve heard a lot about your uncle….”

  “From Hence,” I said. “They hated each other. I wouldn’t expect him to say nice things.”

  “But the guns…”

  “I’m his niece. He’s not going to shoot me. And it’s not like I have any other way of tracking down my mom. Never mind, I can look up the bus information myself.”

  “Wait!” Coop was practically shouting into the phone. “Don’t go alone.” There was a long pause. “I’ll take you.”

  “You’d do that?” I asked. “Really?” Did Coop care what happened to me after all?

  “It can’t be today. There’s a show tonight, an important one. Rat Behavior. You know who that is, right?”