by Kris Ripper
That wasn’t exactly what he wanted, either. Emery allowed his gaze to scan the worktable and pick out the most likely location. She’d have the photo out, but she’d have covered it up.
He shifted a few notebooks until he found it.
“That’s the bitch of the whole thing. It’s a fantastic picture. The dominatrix knew what she was looking at and captured it on film.” He held it out. “What do you see?”
“You and two friends of Will’s who make me uncomfortable.” But Carey took the four-by-six and studied it. “Tell me their names?”
“The black one is Eddie. The white one is Leo.”
“Right. This is good. I’ll eventually see them again, so it’ll be good to know their names.” He studied the photograph. “This was after you did your scene, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you pick that out?” In the photo Eddie was nude, though the shot only showed his upper body. It could have just as easily been taken before.
Carey shot him a raised eyebrow. “I’m familiar with blissed-out-from-ropes face, and this kid is wearing it. And the way you’re looking at Leo is not your normal expression, Em.”
He took the picture back. “That’s what pisses me off. And it’s exactly what she was talking a picture of: his mastery and my desire.”
“Your desire to be mastered?”
“No. My desire to be seen. Which Alice wants to paint so the entire world can—” He broke off. “This would be easier if she was a lousy painter.”
“And she has her teeth into this one. Would it be trite of me to ask how things are going with Lisa?”
Emery replaced the photo beneath the notebooks and resumed a more casual perusal. “Good, I think. We have fun. And it seems like she can relax around me, even when we’re alone, which I worried about at first.”
“She always put on a good show, back in school. I remember wondering how much energy that took out of her, because putting on a merely mediocre show took a lot out of me.”
When Alice had first introduced him to Carey, he’d seen that side. The one he was most likely to show his brother and cousins. Oldest cousin Carey, who had it all together, who could be relied upon to save the day. Who’d fled across the country to escape the obligations of the role, and inevitably brought them with him.
Now, leaning up against the wall of Alice’s studio, Emery could see the man underneath. The Carey who struggled more, but didn’t flinch if you told him how you really felt.
“I just don’t want to pressure her. Or influence her.”
“What makes you think you can?”
“C’mon, Carey. Last time she liked a guy, she joined a cult for him.”
Carey shrugged. “She joined a cult because it felt like a place she could call home. When it stopped feeling that way, she left. Lisa’s arguably demonstrated more backbone in the last three months than I have in the last three years.”
“You’re in a committed relationship with Alice; nobody worries you lack backbone.” Emery smiled to show he was teasing, but Carey’s expression remained serious.
“Alice might have said the same things about me that you’re saying about Lisa. Did she?”
Alice had said a lot of things, had probably shared a hell of a lot more than Carey would have wanted her to, but never did she act like he didn’t know his own mind, or needed her to safeguard his ability to speak it.
“You know she didn’t.” He let his weight rest on the table and turned the whole thing over in his head. “But I—I don’t want to be yet another jerk in her life who only sticks around when she’s happy and doesn’t want her otherwise.”
“So you decided you’d be the jerk who only wants what’s best for her and decides he’s the conservator of that? Or am I missing the nuances of your position?”
“You should have some sort of handicap for domestic arguments. Fighting with a lawyer is obnoxious.”
“I haven’t passed the bar in California yet. I think right now you’re just fighting with a friend.”
Emery crossed one leg over the other and refrained from crossing his arms as well. Then, almost an afterthought, he pulled that photo out again, staring down at his own face as if it could tell him something.
“Em, what’re you trying to protect her from?”
“This.” He tapped his face. “That I … need things. Want things. Not—you know. Not sex. That’s so far from the point it’s unrelated. But when we’re together I want to take it to deeper places, and maybe she doesn’t.”
“Or maybe she wants to be with a man who trusts her enough to let her see that. Vulnerability can be a gift, and if it only goes one way you’re doing it wrong. That’s a direct quote, by the way. Alice is far more persuasive than I will ever be.”
“I don’t want to burden her.” He met Carey’s eyes across the room. “You never feel that way?”
“What, that I don’t want to pour all my neuroses on Alice? All the time. I feel that way all the time, but I don’t act on it.” His lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Mostly. I try not to act on it. Because, as she’s pointed out to me at length, it’s her choice to be with me, and she chose freely. Do you think Lisa’s doing anything less?”
“No. And Singer still likes me, so clearly he doesn’t think I’m taking advantage of her.”
“Lisa doesn’t need saving. Or at least no more than the rest of us.” Carey gestured at the photograph. “You should show her that. I don’t know, Emery, maybe consider letting her see you.”
“You’re kind of an ass. I have no idea why Al likes you so much.”
“Asked and answered. Anyway, I’m making more coffee, if you want any.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Carey left, and Emery only looked at the photo for another moment before tossing it carelessly on the top of the stack. Alice would find it that way and know he’d been looking, and if she felt a twinge of guilt for using an image he specifically disliked, well, good. A little guilt wouldn’t hurt.
The painting, when she was eventually done, would hurt. But maybe it was the good kind of hurt, the kind that revealed something important. Emery wasn’t convinced yet, but since there was no stopping Alice once she got rolling on a project, he should probably figure it out.
Vulnerability. The trick was letting someone see you and not hating them for whatever they saw. Since he couldn’t imagine ever hating Lisa, that might be a good place to start.
50
Singer
89 days with Miles
“I now call this official Thurman House meeting to order.” Jake raised the bottle, which caught the back porch light and glittered. “Wine, anyone?”
Singer’s phone vibrated. Frankie. I can’t believe you jerks are having a house meeting without me. “Is it strange that Frankie’s annoyed that she’s not here?”
Jake handed a glass of wine to Lisa. “Is it strange that it wouldn’t be strange to me if she was?”
“That’s weirdly true.” Lisa glanced between them. “I thought you guys weren’t drinking with Miles around?”
“We’re not getting drunk with Miles around. Big difference. Plus, we have church tomorrow.”
Singer seesawed his hand. “And we’re using Thurman standards for drunk.”
“What’s the difference?”
Jake grinned. “Well, Lisa, since you ask, Derries basically consider everything this side of belligerent to be ‘slightly intoxicated.’ And ‘I’ve only had four beers’ is how we express a desire to be the designated driver.”
“That seems … juvenile.”
“Oh yeah. These days it’s all a big joke, but we’re lucky we all survived to adulthood. I mean, I don’t want to talk shit, but you weren’t exactly pure as the driven snow in high school either, right?”
“Ha. No. I, um, once puked in the side yard.”
Singer swiveled s
o fast that his wine sloshed against the sides of the glass. “That was you? Dad thought it was me! And I didn’t even drink back then.”
“Sorry, Singer. I told him it was the cat from down the street.”
“He gave me an entire lecture about honesty and owning up to my mistakes.” He sat back, feeling the injustice of it slide into the past. “I can’t believe that was you.”
Jake shook his head. “If it wasn’t you, who did you think it was?”
“I didn’t even think about it in those terms, to be honest. I just felt … wronged.” He blinked away the memory—they’d been in the living room, and he’d fought waves of guilt and embarrassment, which was hardly fair since he really hadn’t puked in the side yard.
“You want me to call Dad and tell him it was me?” Lisa was smirking, which also wasn’t fair.
“Oh, hush. And anyway, of course he believed you and not me. It makes perfect sense, even though I was always the more reliable one.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Wait. Am I the favorite? Do they have a favorite?”
“Well, they wouldn’t have moved to Southern California to rescue me.” He’d made his voice light enough to fool Lisa, but Jake shot him a distinctly not-fooled look.
“Okay, and what’s the deal with that? When I, you know, moved to the farm, they were these normal retired people who like … traveled, or whatever. Now Dad is working again—part-time, but they clearly don’t need the money—and Mother sits in the house, only leaving it to go shopping for things she doesn’t need. What happened?”
Singer topped up his wine, thinking about it. “I think it was like, they started taking those trips because that’s what people who could retire early with all the money they’d ever need kind of … were supposed to do. But can you imagine spending that much time with either one of them?”
Both Lisa and Jake shook their heads, Jake with feeling.
“And then you moved to the, uh, farm, and suddenly they had a goal, a reason to go places and do things. When you were inside, Mother went to a lot of support groups and—actually, I’m not sure exactly what all of it was, but she seemed busy. I guess maybe when you came out she stopped.”
“Wow,” Jake whispered. “That’s kind of tragic.”
Lisa raised her hand. “Speaking as the obsession she replaced all that with, I want it noted for the record that it wasn’t a cakewalk for any of us.”
“No, but still. It’s sad, don’t you think?” He swirled his wine and stared through the glass.
Singer would have given anything to know what he was thinking. “What is?”
“I don’t know. Like, it’s easy to look at Viv and think, That lady has everything. And maybe she kind of does. But since she’s not even a little bit happy, I guess I feel sorry for her.”
“No one on earth has ever felt sorry for Mother,” Singer said.
Lisa tentatively raised her hand.
“You have not.”
“You didn’t go to therapy with her! It was sad, Singer. She cried.”
“If Mother is a pitiable figure, it’s due to her own actions.”
Jake reached for the wine. “That’s pretty much true of everyone, though, isn’t it? I mean, when it comes to people like us, who were born with advantages. When we fuck it up, it’s our fault. Doesn’t mean it can’t also be kind of sad.”
That was an opening. Singer could feel it slipping through his fingers as he sat there, thinking about Mother and responsibility.
“Anyway, Singer, you called this house meeting. What’s the agenda?”
He cleared his throat, banishing any rash ideas of confession and forgiveness. “I hereby propose we move. As soon as possible.” Since both of them were staring at him and Miles was apparently sleeping peacefully, he began an in-depth study of the wood grain on the top of the table. Then, when that wasn’t diverting enough, he added, “Lisa, I know that things will be a little up in the air for you until you settle in more, but I’m sure you can stay with us as long as you need to.” He glanced at Jake.
Who was watching him enigmatically, no longer the transparent young man he’d been when they ran into each other as adults. “Of course she can stay with us, though I don’t know how Brandi will feel about that.” He shrugged. “I think it’s only important that Miles has a room, and I’m not sure we can afford a three-bedroom. But yeah, of course you can stay with us, Lisa. You’re family.”
Family was such a tricky thing. Singer had no idea if that was a passive aggressive dig at him or a genuine expression of support for Lisa. Or both.
After a pause, Lisa nodded. “I definitely think we should move. And if you guys don’t mind me hanging out a little while longer, that’s … really good. I don’t think I could live with Mother and Dad again, even if they were here.” She shuddered, tugging her sweater in around her shoulders.
Jake reached out, clamping down on her arm. “Seriously, that’s never gonna happen if you don’t want it to. Carey and Alice have a nice sofa bed, and you just know Emery would find all kinds of excuses to show up if you were there.”
“Shut up.” They grinned at each other, and Singer looked away.
He’d meant this to be … something. An olive branch. A move in the right direction. A sign he understood Jake’s fears, that he wasn’t willing to wait for the next time Mother decided to invade. He was taking the bull by the horns, dammit, so why was Jake smiling at Lisa right now? Why had he seemed so … unimpressed with Singer?
He cleared his throat again. “I’m glad that’s settled.”
“So which one of you is gonna call your parents to tell them they’ll have to take over the mortgage?” Jake’s raised eyebrows were clearly a challenge.
“Must we?” Lisa seemed to be considering the idea of just abandoning the house and letting the late fees pile up until Mother and Dad noticed.
“Fine.” He hoped his tone of grievous self-sacrifice wasn’t lost on them. “I will call them tomorrow.”
“Call Dad’s phone in the morning when he’s at work,” his sister advised. “Straight to voicemail.”
“Did you just set me up?”
“Hey, you’re the reliable one, right?” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “You said it, not me.”
He sighed.
Jake nudged him. “Do you want me to defend your honor? I’m pretty sure Lisa just got over on you.”
I want you to do more than nudge me with your elbow when I thought we were going to have a serious conversation. “No. I can handle leaving Dad a voicemail while he’s at work all by myself, thank you.”
A fleeting smile in response. “That’s cool. I wasn’t actually gonna fight Lisa, anyway. More wine?”
They finished the bottle, though Jake lagged a little behind, which was unexpected.
Silent commentary on Singer’s own willingness to numb his senses? Or just the prudent action of a parent who didn’t mind drinking a little less in order to be a little more aware? Singer didn’t know, and tried to drink enough so he didn’t care.
51
Lisa
17 days since finding grace
As far as first dates went, Lisa thought this one was probably going to be good.
“There’s one more thing.” Emery glanced at her in the passenger seat. “We have to stop by Alice’s for a minute.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
“I had to print off a few photographs for her, so I told her I’d drop them by when I was on my way to your place, but then I was running late—”
“It’s fine. Emery, really, I don’t mind.”
“I mind. I don’t want to be one more guy in your life who prioritizes everything else before you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Guess we’ll find out. But you already went out of your way to install a lock on my door, so you’re starting with some credit.”
Lisa couldn’t decide if he was trying to hide how stressed out he was or if he was trying to display it so she’d ask why. Not that it mattered. She was pretty much done with trying to anticipate and meet other people’s expectations. “You don’t like these pictures?”
He tapped the steering wheel. “She’s using my least favorite one. I didn’t print it because I don’t like it, but she wants to paint the damn thing. Sorry. I just said I’d stop whining.”
“Why don’t you like it?”
“Because I’m in it and I didn’t take it.”
“You didn’t take it?”
“No. The dominatrix I was doing the shoot for grabbed one of my cameras and took a picture of me talking with her boys. I didn’t even realize she’d taken it until I developed the roll.”
“And it’s a bad picture?”
They reached Carey and Alice’s house and pulled up outside.
“I’ll show you.”
He pulled his big portfolio into his lap and searched through for a second, then handed her a picture, larger than normal.
And wow. She’d seen Emery and the black guy on his knees in a different picture, but there was a white guy, too, skinny and pale and tall. In the picture he was standing with one hand on the black guy’s head and one hand holding onto Emery’s forearm. Emery’s head was slightly tilted, and his lips were soft, like he was just beginning to smile, or like he was waiting to be kissed.
“It’s not a bad picture,” she said.
“No.”
“But you don’t want Alice to paint it.”
“She wants me. Only me.”
Lisa looked up, trying to find clues in his face. “It’s a beautiful picture of you. Why do you hate it?”
“It was an unguarded moment. I don’t like being caught on film when I don’t know I’m being watched.”