Wilder

by Andrew Simonet

  “Look, I’m not putting her with you because of your good looks. I’m putting her with you because you know how to handle yourself.” He pulled over and turned off the car. “Now, go get her.”

  I knew how to handle myself? Wow. That was the opposite of what every adult had been telling me since eighth grade.

  Maybe, like so many other things, Manny’s words became too important. I wanted to live up to his idea of me. When the time came, I would handle myself.

  * * *

  The last of the party was sprawled around the waiting room, kids whose families couldn’t be reached or couldn’t be bothered. Meili stood immediately, went not to me but to the cop at the window.

  “When,” she said.

  The cop scanned his list, and she pointed.

  “And you are?” he asked without looking up.

  “Her stepbrother,” I said. That brought a stare from the cop. “Our mom can’t drive at night cause of her eyes.” Simple, convincing stories for people in authority are a specialty of mine. He bought it.

  Meili took some papers from the cop, and we walked out. She was unwell, pale and bleary, squinting at me in an annoyed, distant way.

  A few hours earlier, my face was in her crotch. You wouldn’t have guessed.

  In the parking lot, she asked, “Did Manny send you?”

  “Yeah, he’s here. He drove.”

  “Shit.”

  She slid into the backseat and immediately lay down with her eyes closed. Manny waited till we were back on the road and then started barking at her in Cantonese (I remembered that word from the party). She tried to ignore him, but soon she was yelling back, sitting up. At one point she rolled down the window and dry-heaved, but it barely interrupted their argument. She threw her arrest paperwork at him, and I gathered the four sheets and strained to read them in the dawn light. Meili Wen, not When. That’s who got arrested.

  During a long silence, I said, “Since I’m involved now, could you all speak English? I should probably know what’s going on.”

  Meili said, “What’s going on is Secret Agent Manny here has lost touch with reality.”

  Manny spat some words in Cantonese, and Meili responded.

  “So, that’s still Cantonese, y’all,” I said. “No idea what you’re saying.”

  Manny said, “Melissa has not recognized how serious this is, and she refuses—”

  “He knows my name, for god’s sake. Call me Meili.” Like everything in the past hour, that infuriated Manny. He grimaced, said nothing. Meili said, “We will have to kill you, Jason, now that I’ve told you my name. Sorry, that’s how Manny operates.”

  “Shut up,” Manny said. In English, though. Progress.

  “Gladly,” Meili said, lying back down.

  Ten silent minutes later, we were in my driveway.

  Manny parked on the grass behind my house without asking. I had to go around front and then unlock the back door for them. They stepped into my filthy kitchen as I quickly put as much garbage as possible into the overstuffed trash can.

  “Oh, this is lovely,” Meili said, not venturing past the doorway. “You could’ve left me in jail. At least it’s sanitary.”

  Manny cursed at her in Cantonese (it sounded like a curse, anyway), and Meili gave the “piss off” sign to his back. She walked into the living room, carefully stepping over the moldy towels that were there to soak up the leak from the kitchen sink.

  “Is the guest suite ready? Or should I sleep on the pizza boxes?” she said. I stopped straightening up and walked over to her. She wouldn’t look at me. She tried to defend herself, saying, “Look, I’m drunk and hungover at the same time, and I could use—”

  “You can sleep in there,” I said, pointing to my bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” Mom and Al took their mattress to Florida, so there was only one bed.

  “Fabulous,” Meili said, and slammed the door behind her.

  Manny handed me his car keys and a wad of money. “I’m leaving the car for you. Keep it behind the house. There’s food, water, clothes, and money in the trunk and a spare key under the bumper. If you drive it, keep the tank full, premium gas, OK?” I nodded. “We have a lawyer we work with. I’m going to see if he can do anything. Either way, we’ll know in forty-eight hours. That’s our window.” He picked up my kitchen phone. “Does this work?”

  “Yup.” For the time being.

  He wrote down the number. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. You may need to get her out if I’m not back soon enough.” He headed toward the back door.

  Get her out?

  “That’s it?” I said. “Aren’t you going to explain what’s happening?”

  “Ask Meili,” he said with a grim smile, the only time he would ever say that name in front of me.

  And he was gone.

  What did I do next? What was most important, given the intense situation we were in?

  I cleaned.

  I frantically cleaned the kitchen and living room. I swept, wiped counters, took out the garbage. I got rid of a broken dresser that Al had trash-picked, saying it was “definitely fixable.” I scrubbed the bathroom, but the linoleum walls were permanently stained. I took everything in the living room and threw it in my mom’s room, already the repository for my unwanted crap. I took a year of old magazines and school papers out to the shed. I considered throwing out the smelly rug in the living room, but the floor underneath had cat-piss stains, so I flipped it over.

  At 8:30, I took a break. I lay down on the couch, certain I couldn’t sleep.

  I woke with a gasp, my face sticking to the fake leather. Meili was climbing onto the couch. She put her head on my chest and curled up next to me.

  I held her like that for four hours and seventeen minutes. I know because I watched the clock the whole time.

  For four hours and seventeen minutes, I was at peace with the world. Meili’s sweet, slow breathing, the smell of cigarettes in her hair. An occasional tremor as she dreamed.

  She was comfortable, trusted me enough to sleep in my arms. That felt magnificent, sexier than sex. A thing I didn’t know I longed for.

  It was massive.

  At one point, my arm fell asleep, and I debated whether to move it for ten minutes because I didn’t want it to end.

  Meili shook awake at 1:39, coughing and quickly rolling off the sofa. She hustled into the bathroom, where she peed and spent a while washing up, hopefully with the fresh bar of hotel soap I’d put out (my mom’s job at the Rodeway Inn two years ago was still paying off).

  She returned and sat on the folding chair, rolling a cigarette, not looking at me.

  “I see the maid’s been in,” she said.

  “I usually have it cleaned before the hostage arrives,” I said. “Didn’t have time.”

  “Does the ashtray mean I can smoke?” I’d put my mom’s red metal ashtray on the coffee table.

  “Yup.”

  “There’s an upside,” Meili said, lighting her cigarette. “Can’t roll out of bed and smoke at Auntie’s house.” She exhaled an astonishing amount of blue smoke into the sunlight of the front window. “Things are getting better and better.”

  She was subdued, troubled in a way I hadn’t seen before.

  “Hungry?” I asked. I was starving.

  “God, no. It’s all I can do not to retch,” she said. “A glass of water’d be nice, though.”

  I stood up into a head rush. No food, almost no sleep, some punches to the face, lots of adrenaline. Not good for a growing boy.

  I poured Meili some water and noticed how nice it was to have a cabinet full of clean dishes rather than the usual wash-it-when-you-need-it pile of dirties.

  I put instant oatmeal in the microwave and brought Meili her glass.

  “Cheers,” she said, forcing a smile. She drank it in one gulp.

  I watched her roll another cigarette. Neither of us spoke. The microwave beeped, and I went to get my oatmeal.

  “Did we have sex last night?” Me
ili said from the living room.

  “Uh, I think you had sex with my face,” I called back. “At the party.”

  “Oh shit, I did.” She laughed. “That’s dead sexy, actually.”

  I sat on the couch and started eating. “It was.”

  She looked at me for real now and laughed. That felt good. “It’s a real shame, that,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I liked you, Bug.” Past tense. “And now it’s all fucked.”

  “Why? What’s gonna happen?”

  A long drag on her cigarette. “Most likely Supermanny will evacuate us to the next shite town. And you won’t be hearing from me. I’ll have a new name and a new haircut. I could go blond. You American boys like that, don’t you?”

  God, I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want any American boys staring at her blond hair. “All because you got a ticket for drinking?”

  “Yeah. And it’s probably not even necessary. It’s all Manny’s paranoia at this point. Who knows if they’re even looking for us.”

  “Who are they?”

  “That’s just it, isn’t it? We don’t really know. Or I don’t, anyway. Manny’s the one who communicates with people, I just hear about it.”

  “Can you explain it? Maybe a little? I’m pretty involved.”

  She made a grim half smile. “You are, aren’t you? Sorry bout that.” She stubbed out her cigarette and started rolling another. “Let’s see. Starts with my father. My father is … amazing. He basically raised me; Mum died when I was tiny.”

  I knew almost nothing about Meili, but it felt shocking I didn’t know that.

  She stopped rolling and smiled. “Lit’rally everyone who works for him tells me: your dad’s incredible, he saved my life, thank god he exists. Over the top, just adoration. He managed properties, then started developing new buildings. When you do that work, especially where I come from, you have to know the right people and pay the right people. So he did some shady things with construction and bribes, things everybody does, I should think. But he got caught, and he made a deal, testified against some people. Powerful people. That’s who we’re running from.” She struggled to get comfortable on the folding chair. I wanted her to sit next to me. “Didn’t tell you how we left, did I? I’m up at boarding school in Hong Kong, and one day Manny, guy who works for my dad, walks right into my lit’rature class. Big, strapping man with tattoos, everybody’s pointing and giggling. He’d gone to my dorm and packed my suitcase, did a terrible job, too. Like twenty pairs of panties and no socks. Pervy packing, that’s what I called it. We drove to a hotel, and he told me someone burned our apartment.” Was she crying? Almost. “Bastards set it on fire. Nobody was home, thank god. Our housekeeper was there, though, completely beside herself, apparently, but she was OK. Manny and I go to this goofy tourist hotel, all these drunk Australians, and we’re, like, pulling the blinds and ordering room service. My dad was so sweet, he called every day, had books delivered. He was the one in danger, but he only worried about how I was doing. I was like: ‘When can we go home? When’s this gonna be done?’ It got longer and longer. Then he said he couldn’t call for a while, it was too dangerous. One day, we got a package with plane tickets and money, and we flew to America.” She wiped her eyes. “Fourteen months and five days ago.”

  This was the moment to comfort her, right? She might hate it if I tried.

  “Was like a vacation at first. Manny’s obsessed with American cars, so he was in heaven. But that wore off. And we weren’t in New York or Miami, the glamorous places you hear about, we were in New Jersey till Manny got paranoid, then Unionville. Not a top destination for Chinese people.”

  “Yet.”

  “Wait till I go home and tell them.” She stretched, pulled her shoulders back. “So here we are. Manny’s in touch with someone close to my dad. Supposedly. But the story keeps changing. First it was: we’re going home soon. Then it was: Dad’s joining us here in the States. Then he couldn’t get permission. Then he got permission but had to testify first. It’s fucking endless, and I’m not allowed to talk to anyone, so it’s all based on what Manny says, and who knows, Manny acts like this is some spy movie, there’s snipers on every roof, he’s totally off it, paranoid as fuck, and I have to go along with it. It’s like I’m in a cult, a two-person cult.”

  “Three now,” I said, wanting to join.

  “Welcome to the cult. We’ll shave your head, get you a robe,” she said.

  I had one more question. “And Manny said you had … an incident at another school.”

  “Did he? Bit more chatty than I’d have guessed. Incident. S’pose he’s talking about Suyin. She was at boarding school with me, a year ahead. And, look, most of the talk at school, I really can’t be bothered, all the gossip and bullshit. But Suyin started telling people my dad was a crook and my whole family was going to jail. Spoiled little shithead.” She finally lit her cigarette. “Love that word, by the way. You Americans really got something with ‘shithead.’ I’m stealing it.”

  “You did something to Suyin?”

  “I just went to Suyin and told her, look, stop talking about my family or, basically, your life will fucking end.” She took a drag. “Didn’t go over so well.”

  “Really? I’m shocked.”

  “What was it you said? People want to feel safe? At least they didn’t get her a fucking counselor.” She put her cigarette down. “Anyway, does it freak you out, what I said about leaving Hong Kong?”

  “No, I mean, it’s crazy.”

  “But about the fire and, like … your fire and all that?”

  Jeezus, that hadn’t even occurred to me.

  Now, when you think about it, it’s totally different. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I was defending myself. These people, whoever they were, were sick. Still. “Oh. That’s … that’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”

  “No, but it’s not really. It’s coincidence. It’s not a thing.” She thought about it, taking the final drag on her cigarette. “Freaked me out a bit at first, to be honest, but no, I’m not like: ‘God, is Jason going to burn me up in a fire?’” She stamped it out in the ashtray. “Have you got breakfast? I’m suddenly starving.”

  Swerve. God. “Uh, yeah,” I said, standing up. “Want some oatmeal?”

  “Mmmm. Have you got anything else?”

  “Not exactly. Not breakfast.”

  “No cold macaroni and cheese?”

  Cruel joke? “I could make you mac and cheese, but it would be hot.”

  “Would you, though? I know it’s weird, but that sounds amazing right now.” Meili followed me into the kitchen and refilled her glass. “I remember the first time I saw macaroni and cheese, thinking: Who the hell would eat that? Turns out, I would. Love that shit.” She took a long sip of water. “God, you did straighten up, didn’t you? You’re a treasure, Bug. Seriously.” Maybe this was the moment we would hug and make out? She sat at the kitchen table. Nope. “Shame I’ll never see you again.”

  I sat on the other chair, the slightly broken one. “You’re really leaving? It’s that dangerous?”

  “Who knows? The paranoia means I can’t talk to anyone, can’t get information. It’s all a bit circular.”

  “You’re talking to me,” I said.

  “Because I’m leaving, to be honest. You don’t matter anymore.”

  Thanks.

  “Who would you want to talk to?” I said.

  “Anybody. My friends, my dad’s friends.” She was thinking about it now. “Bloke who used to drive my dad around. My dad’s old business partner. I have a friend, Rina, she’s from India, her mother does some kind of white-collar crime work, I bet she’d know plenty.” She took a sip of water and belched. “Ooh, sorry, that was nasty. Anyway, that’s the whole point, I’m not allowed to. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But it doesn’t matter anymore. Like you said, you’re leaving. Call who you want. By the time they figure out you’re in Unionville, you’ll be gone.”

 
She thought about that, then noticed me staring. “Look at you, Bug. You’re not just funny clever, you’re clever clever, aren’t you? I can’t believe I thought you were mental when I met you. So judgey.” I laughed and almost spit out my water. “But even if I found out something, Manny wouldn’t believe it. He’s got his own story, y’know?” But she was thinking it over. The water boiled, and I poured in the macaroni.

  BRAAAAAAAAANNNNNG.

  “Oh, shit!” Meili jumped up. It was the phone. “Jeezus, I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

  “It wasn’t working, but then the bill got paid,” I said, reaching past her, certain that it would be Manny.

  It was a woman.

  “Hello, is this Jason?”

  “Who’s calling?” My heart pounded. I remembered my assignment was to protect Meili at all costs.

  “This is Sophie Jenkins, Melissa’s aunt.” Shit. “Melissa never came home last night, have you seen her?”

  “No. I mean, I saw her last night.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “At her DJ thing. The VFW.”

  Meili mouthed, “Who is it?”

  “Where did she go after that?” her aunt asked.

  “I don’t know.” I pointed at Meili and mouthed, “Your aunt.”

  She said a silent “fuck” and walked into the living room.

  “I’m told you were at the party in Kendall that Melissa was seen at,” Aunt Sophie said.

  Damn. “Oh, yeah, I stopped by that party. I think she was there. But I went home. I don’t know where she is, ma’am.”

  “Have you heard from Manny?” she asked.

  “Who’s Manny?” God, I was lying a lot.

  “You don’t know Manny? Melissa’s friend?”

  “No.”

  “Well.” She didn’t believe me. Tough shit. “If you have any contact with Melissa or Manny, please have them call. We’re very worried.”

  “I definitely will.”

  Meili walked back in, rolling a cigarette, listening intently.

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Jenkins.”

  I hung the phone back on the wall. “That was fun,” I said.

  “Welcome to my world. Lie to fucking everyone. Do it so much you can’t remember which lies you’ve told.” She sat down but didn’t light her cigarette. “How’s Aunt Soph? Worried?”