"I'm paying," I said, glad to change the subject. I pulled him by the waist over to the ticket machine. "I'd rather let the ticket machine get my Sydney's money than the electric company."
It was probably more about my home than I normally would have spewed. But he was quiet as I rolled the dollars into the machine and watched two tickets roll out. As I pulled them out, I realized he wasn't even chomping gum. When I turned around, he was staring straight up into the rafters of the bus terminal.
He only had time to say, "This is bad."
Then Scott, Vince, and Phil jumped down, like three monkeys from the Jungle Book.
17
"Ambush! Ha-ha." Vince landed about three feet from me, laughing like crazy. "How the hell are you, Claire?"
Phil and Scott landed behind him, cracking up in a goofy way. And I laughed, too, though I never felt so spun around in my life. A part of me wanted to say, "Hey," and be glad to see them. The other half suddenly knew what it was like to be some dork, terrified instead of swooning over their sheer size.
"Going somewhere?" Vince said, like he already knew the answer.
"My dad's."
"I don't think so." Scott stepped up and grabbed me by the wrist, and since all my jerking was no contest for him, he just sounded off while he dragged me a few feet. "Your mom called Macy's cell, said she got home, and you had left her a note saying that you're going on a bus to Philadelphia. She's wigging out, and you ain't going, Claire. No girlfriend of mine is getting on a bus to Filthydelphia."
"My dad is meeting me at the other end!" I twisted my arm, but he had my wrist in a vise grip.
"Oh. Is this the same dad who sparked a doobie and got high with his daughter?"
I quit fighting him and froze.
"Macy!" My yell bounced around in the rafters. "Come out, and tell me you did not also tell my mother that secret!"
That wasn't even how the story actually went. After my fifth chemo treatment when I was totally sick, my dad brought home a joint he got off some musician and let me have a few hits. He didn't even have any himself. I was way past desperate, and he was running low on sanity, watching me suffer while nothing else helped. One of his L.A. musician friends swore marijuana stopped chemo nausea when nothing else worked. I brought it up to Macy once, when she got curious about why I waved the smell away when anyone got high around me.
"I didn't tell her, but I could, if you get on that bus." Her form followed her voice out of the ladies' room.
"We're hiding in the bathroom. Great," I muttered, turning my eyes to Scott, because hypocrisy ran supreme here. "And I haven't seen you with any problem sparking a doobie—"
"I'm not your old man! That's disgusting, Claire! Your mom says you ain't going, and you ain't going." He turned and looked coolly over my shoulder. "Some of us care if you get yourself mugged on a bus. Some people don't."
They were all staring at Lani, who was leaning back against the ticket machine, just chewing his gum like mad and finding something on the floor to stare at.
Lani's eyes moved to watch Vince's feet come slowly toward him. He didn't meet Vince's eyes until Vince spoke up. "What are you doing here, sweetheart? What, you learned your lesson from us about hitting on guys, so now you're gonna try Dern's girl?"
I thought of a porno magazine tossed into the middle of Lani's bedroom floor, shaking us up enough to leave the island for a weekend. The unfairness lit me like a torch. I jerked away from Scott, but he caught my other arm and shook it. He said between his teeth, "What did I just see when you guys were coming across the street?"
Because the difference between sex and affection would probably get lost on them I said, "Do not even go there. Anything about me and him is complete bullshit—let me go. You saw nothing resembling anything romantic."
"Yeah, fine, fat nothing, you know what I'm gonna do? I was just gonna take you out and try to talk to you, but if that's all you got to say? Forget your fritzed-out mom. I'm gonna take you down to the docks where my dad's making hull with his crew, and I'm gonna say, 'Pretend this is Maddie, and guess who I just found her hugging on?' You think he wouldn't smack the shit out of you and call your mom for a round of thank-yous?"
Maddie was Scott's fourteen-year-old sister. I was not afraid of Scott or his dad, because this threat was just garbage talk. But I was mad at being bullied.
"You can do whatever you want, but if you don't quit shaking me, I'm going to kick your nuts into your lungs. Back off!"
"That's great, coming from my sweet girlfriend. Don't be so goddamn crude."
He let go, and I toppled into Phil, who held me in a death grip while Macy motor-mouthed in my face. The only words I could catch were trying to talk sense to you, because my brain was coming apart. In spite of their caveman routine, these guys thought they were doing something right. Macy was "talking sense" in my face. My only possible way out of here would be to pull some crazed, violent routine and start swinging at people. They were completely caught up in their own insanity, yet if I did anything that would get us out from under them, who would look like the loon?
I tried to pull the same condescending act on Macy that she was pulling on me, all "Macy, back up. Macy, calm down. Macy, don't lecture me," but I finally got silent because Vince had sauntered dangerously close to Lani. I couldn't hear what he was taunting. He got within two feet, and like a snake, he shoved Lani hard enough to make me scream. Fortunately, Lani was only a few inches from the ticket machine, so his pack padded him, and only his neck snapped.
He rolled his gum into his cheek and begged, "Whatever you plan to do, just do me one favor. Don't blow any more smoke in my face. I have allergies."
My mouth formed the O shape as hoots of laughter echoed through the rafters. Give them an irresistible invitation, why don't you... It seemed to me that at one point, he'd said something about being able to think on his feet in situations like this. Right.
"You've. Got. Allergies." Vince backed up to us, laughing his side off. "Well, maybe we can help you out with that. Krilley. Gimme some fire."
Phil let go of me and slapped his pockets in pretend stupidness. "I ain't got any matches. You're the one who smokes."
"Oh, that's right. I'm the one who smokes. But I don't think I got a light. Dern. You got fire?"
Scott looked me up and down, then finally shook his head. "Vince, don't start with that bitch tonight. I wanna hear from Claire what really gives. Let's just bolt out. We know where to find Miss Garver later, if we have to."
But Vince couldn't resist and shoved Lani a second time.
"Just don't blow smoke in my face. I really hate that," Lani said again.
I shut my eyes, less from embarrassment this time, more from fear. He sounded bored, like maybe he was still too depressed to care if these people beat the crap out of him. They could mess him up bad.
Vince turned to me all innocently. "Claire. Got a light?"
I got a clear image in my head of them poking a lit cigarette all over Lani's face, and I screamed, "Leave him alone, Vince!"
"Oh! That's right! I've got fire!" He backed up to us, like he knew he could catch Lani if he decided to run. It was like some game of cat and mouse. Lani just stared at the ground as if he didn't care, didn't even try to run.
Vince pulled open the side of his jacket dramatically, and reached into the bigger, inside pocket. The lighter and a pack of Marlboros fell to the ground, because of something else that came out in his grip.
"What the—" He unfolded the rolled-up magazine until a picture of a guy in a bathing suit flashed on the cover. The magazine Mrs. Garver had tossed at us.
My jaw dropped all the way, and my eyes flew to Lani, who glanced with bored curiosity like he had never seen the thing before in his life. I didn't remember Lani ever touching Vince. Yet he must have planted it. I turned my back to them all, letting them think I was grossed out, because I was scared I would laugh my ass off.
Vince must have heaved it, because the thing landed beside my foot
, opened to a classifieds page with several clusters of guys going at various unmentionable exercises. Then Vince did something that made no sense at all to me at first. He picked it back up, rolled it face inward, and stuck it back in his jacket pocket.
"—the hell was that?" Phil guffawed. "Clementi. Where'd you get a fag mag?"
Vince swiped up his cigarettes and lit one. I noticed his hands and the corners of his mouth were shaking as he smiled. "Somebody planted that on me."
"He didn't even touch you ... You shoved him." Phil's voice trailed off into nothing. The silence was long. I had no clue how Lani had planted it, because it looked impossible. But I got seized with what was going on in Vince's head. This magazine is familiar to him. He's seen it before. He's covering for his brother, keeping the dirty family secret ... thinks his brother somehow left it in his jacket.
He stepped up and blew smoke hard in Lani's face, and if Lani hated smoke so much, it seemed funny he didn't even blink. He just looked over at Phil and Scott.
"Oh, somebody absolutely could have planted that." Lani nodded as he spoke, like he was on Vince's side and was somehow missing all the hatred. "I've got an uncle on the New York police force ... and that's a harassment crime. Cops can find out who's harassing you really easy these days. Usually somebody sick enough to do that will leave fingerprints on it ... or something worse... Cops can find out in a heartbeat who did that to you if they have the person's fingerprints on file. Let me use your cell phone."
He held a hand out toward Macy, who had stopped about six feet short of all the action. She glanced, confused, over at Vince, while pulling her cell slowly out of her pocket. I think she was morbidly curious to know who the pervert was or she wouldn't have touched her cell phone. But Vince shook his head slowly. Cops around here would have Tony's fingerprints on file, I realized. He'd been busted for drugs and DWIs a few times.
"I don't ... want no cops," Vince stumbled in a way that made me want to turn my back again and scream, Ha-hAAAAAAAAAAA-ha-ha-hAAAAAA. I bit my lip.
"But some old schlep with a gun or a knife could be stalking you." Lani studied him, completely stumped. "Don't you even want to know who it is? Why let a pervert run loose, when he could be locked up?"
He held out his hand to Macy, who had been watching me bite my lip, soaking this whole thing up. Her cell phone dangled in her hand.
"Wait!" She pointed it at Lani as her usual sharpness struck finally. "He's just a fast little street punk! He planted it on you! Can't you see that?"
Lani snatched the phone from her hand with such superhuman speed, it made me see a slight possibility of how he planted that mag. "If that's what you really think, then we should call the police. Yes, let's all find out whose prints are all over that. It's completely easy—"
He hit 9-1-1. Vince came out of his shock freeze and swiped for the phone. But Lani stepped back. "Hi, I'm at the bus station? Someone's been stalking a—"
Vince swung and knocked the cell phone from his hands, and it went zipping across the floor.
"Vince, Jesus!" Macy yelled. "You don't have to break my phone! What the hell is wrong with you? A cop could prove it was him!" She jerked her thumb hard at Lani, but Vince seemed to know his brother's fingerprints would be all over it.
My suspicion got stronger when Vince said, "We don't need no cops. Let's get outta here. Let's just go!"
Macy chased after her cell phone, and I couldn't stand it any longer. I snorted out a laugh and cracked up totally with my hand over my mouth. I thought it would be okay because they were backing slowly toward the car, but Vince's eyes shot to me. He must have taken my laugh to mean I thought he was homo.
With a bull-elephant yell, he rushed Lani. He balled up his fist and slammed it into Lani's face, sending Lani flying into the ticket machine. He slithered down to the ground, and Vince jumped on him.
"Vince! He hit nine-one-one! Said he's at the bus station!" Phil yelled.
In his rage Vince had fallen too close to Lani's head, so he could do little more than lay meaningless little punches in his sides.
Phil and Scott dragged Macy off to the car, while she screamed, "I'm not scared of any cop! I'll talk to any damn cop!" But Vince had joints in the car, or something I couldn't make out of their mumbling.
I looked at Lani's face, half hidden by the back of Vince's head. He had blood streaming out of one nostril, over his whole chin. Even with that, Mr. Blunt couldn't stop himself. He said off to the side, where only Vince and I could hear, "The family always knows, doesn't it? Those filthy little secrets are kept so well, aren't they? He didn't fool you last night, did he? You knew it was your brother the whole time, yet you helped him set me up for the—"
Vince found his way to his knees really fast, and he brought his fist up over the back of his head. Maybe the truth is supposed to set you free. Hearing it from Lani made me react in a way I would not have predicted in a hundred years.
Something snapped in me—something I had not seen in myself before, and yet, somehow, I knew had always been there. I grabbed a clump of Vince's hair, and with the strength of twelve years of guitar playing, I almost jerked him to his feet. I knew of no words for what he was—someone who covers a lie by inflicting pain on others. There was nothing to say. His fist whizzed the air in front of Lani when I jerked him. He glanced at me—like I was some buzzing fly, some annoyance, something that had temporarily interrupted him from getting something he wanted. I screamed, suddenly way insane, sick of people looking at me and always seeing somebody else. Behind this scream came my balled-up fists, and I whaled on Vince's face over and over, not knowing what was crunching, my knuckles or his skull. I saw blood rush from his mouth, but in the thrill of the moment, it felt good. I kept screaming, "Liar, fucking hypocrite, liar!" and someone was pulling me off from behind.
I kept swinging at the air, because swinging felt good. Vince hadn't even fought back, he'd been so stunned. He stared like he really saw me for the first time in his life. Regret already started backing up, making me feel half electrocuted, but my mouth wouldn't stop shouting horrible things, like I was possessed. I heard the echo of Macy screaming, "But he's stealing her! He's taking her on that bus that just pulled in! Get her!" And that's the last thing I remember before Lani tossed me down into a bus seat and threw my bag on top of me.
He babbled about something as he climbed over me, like did I have to roll around in the sewer, too? The bus had looked empty, save one silver-haired lady two rows behind us. Her arm reached up and knocked me in the shoulder with a handkerchief in it. Lani thanked her, and I flopped down in a stunned stupor, looking back and forth between Vince's taillights disappearing into the blackness of the night, and my own bloody hands.
18
I finally shoved my hands, sticky with blood, between my legs and sat completely frozen in the dark aisle seat. Lights passed—on Hackett Boulevard, the toll bridge, the mainland—but it was all a blur. I didn't know which I was more amazed at—Lani coming through with that brilliant magazine plant, or my ability to ball up a fist and go berserk. Claire. You got mad. You got way mad. You are going mad...
Lani accidentally kept knocking my arm. He had started to wipe blood off his face with the lady's handkerchief until he got a better idea. Out of his pack he pulled something like those moist towelettes you get by the handful down at The Sand Bar after you've eaten a lobster or blue crabs.
Always come prepared?
I smelled lemons, though I was afraid to look. My neck would have snapped off, for one thing, but my eyes moved slightly, and it was enough to see that lacy handkerchief he'd left draped over his knee. It had a bloody splotch on it, shaped kind of like a running rabbit. It still smelled like the lady's perfume. I rolled my eyes in the other direction, but I could still hear him fussing, like he had fifty thousand of these towelettes that he kept tearing and cleaning up with.
He was trembling enough to make me seasick, so when he finally spoke up, I was surprised at how even his voice was. "Gimme your
hands."
I watched him pull one hand from between my legs, and I tried to say, "Stop fussing over me," but my voice had disappeared also, and it came out, "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
He wiped blood from between my fingers, like my parents used to do at the Dairy Queen a thousand years ago. I noticed my fingers would work without cracking off. But then he dug in for my other hand, and laid the towelette onto the knuckles I'd split open on the Tony Clementi ride and had just re-split on Vince.
Out of my mouth spilled something like "Gad-zuck-ta-shit-urn-ya," and my whole body started working, like a crab on its belly.
"It's just lemon juice and alcohol; it won't kill you."
"Oh my god, I just punched somebody."
"Yeah."
"A guy. Tell me I'm dreaming."
"You're wide-awake."
I snatched my knuckles away, my eyeballs falling out of my head as I stared at the seat in front of me. "You could lie to me once in a while. Just to ease into the facts."
He grabbed my bloody hand back, and I watched in awe as he pulled that towelette thing from each knuckle down over my fingertips. "Those first couple shots would have been nice. Defending us. But I got scared you were going to kill him."
"Tell me I didn't ... actually break his nose."
"... think it was his eye more than his nose. He'll have a good shiner. You gotta work on your anger, Claire. Man. There's this charming thing called middle ground."
I got the full impact of him washing me off like a dad and lecturing me like a shrink. I guessed I wasn't through being mad, because I grabbed the towelette thing and flung it at the window. I grabbed the lace hankie off his knee, which I was sick of looking at, and flung it into his gut.
"Stop touching me! And for somebody who needs me to defend the both of us, you sure are high-and-mighty. Where do you get off saying that load of shit to Vince Clementi about family secrets? Did you have to tell him the truth? Sometimes a lie is a really good thing. He could have killed you!"
What Happened to Lani Garver Page 16