The Beast

by Faye Kellerman

  “You also have to tell her you date other girls.”

  “But I don’t want to date other girls. What I do is my business.”

  “She won’t agree to date other boys unless you date other girls. And you should date other girls. You tell her you go out with other girls and then I do everything with the singing, hokay?”

  The ideas started to coalesce into a plan. He said, “Okay.”

  Sohala looked at him with suspicion. “I don’t know if I trust you.”

  Good call, lady. Gabe said, “Mrs. Nourmand, I know we can’t be together until you accept me. So we have a deal, right?”

  “Hokay.” Sohala was still not convinced, but what could she do. The boy was a snake in the grass. A very cute snake—she understood why Yasmine was blinded—but that wasn’t the point. “Hokay, I bring her here so you can talk to her. She’s waiting for me in the car.”

  “You mean I have to do this now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  His heart started beating. “Can’t you give me a day or two to think about it?”

  “Gabriel, you change your mind if I give you chance to think. I know that. Set her free. It is the right thing to do.”

  He was antsy and edgy. He wanted to work out the details, but now there was no time. He had no choice but to hope for the best. “Okay. I’ll talk to her now.”

  Sohala got up and tried to compose herself. “It is like our sages tell us, if not now, when?”

  Gabe didn’t answer.

  Screw the sages.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  GABE THOUGHT SHE’D be despondent. Instead, Yasmine was furious. She sat opposite him, balled up in a navy blue hoodie, her arms folded across her chest. She glared at her mother and looked at him with suspicion. At that moment Decker walked in, turned around, and went back to the kitchen. To Rina, he said, “Want to go for a ride?”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Yasmine is now in the picture, and it looks like the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral. Ride? Yes or no?”

  Rina put away the last of the dinner dishes. “Shouldn’t one of us stay to make sure the house isn’t burned down?”

  “Good point,” Decker conceded. “I’ll be in the bedroom if anyone needs CPR.”

  “Maybe you should go out and act as a moderator to the parties involved.”

  “No, my dear, I’m done with domestics. If you need the police, call 911.”

  After he left, Rina steeled herself and ambled into the living room. Someone had to be the adult. She sat down on the couch.

  Sohala began by directing the players. “You talk to her, Gabriel. You tell her what we talked about.”

  Gabe felt sick. He didn’t dare look at Yasmine. “Your mother thinks we should break up . . . for a while.”

  Yasmine said, “I know what she thinks. Is that what you think?”

  “Hear me out.” Gabe felt a tic in his eyelids. “Just . . . listen.” Yasmine was silent. “There is this girl that I know in New York—”

  Yasmine had heard enough. She jumped up. “I hate you!” She glared at her mother. “I hate you, too. I hate all of you!” She picked up her purse and stormed out of the house.

  Gabe leaped up and so did Sohala. He clenched his jaw and said, “Will you let me handle this?”

  “I see how you handle it. You break her heart.”

  Rina really should have taken that ride. Instead, she said, “Gabe, take it easy.”

  The boy didn’t heed her. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t interfered!”

  “Of course, I interfere. You were in a motel with my daughter!”

  “Fuck it!” Gabe ran after her, slamming the door behind him. She was already halfway down the block. “Yasmine!”

  “Go away. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  “Yasmine, will you listen—”

  “No.”

  He caught up with her and took her arm. It had stopped raining, but there was a fine mist. He had run out without his jacket and it was cold. “Yasmine—”

  “Do you tell her you love her when you’re with her like you do with me?” She yanked her arm away. “Do you tell her that, Gabe? Do you?” She hit him with her purse and marched off for a couple of steps. “Avazi!” Then she turned around and threw her purse at his head. “You . . . schmuck!”

  He caught the purse with his left hand. “There is no other girl—”

  “Liar!” She reversed directions, intercepting her mother. “Go away and leave me alone for once in my life!”

  “Yasmini—”

  “Can you just let us break up without spying on me? You go through my mail, you go through my phone, you go through my computer, you go through my diary. For God’s sake, Mommy, can you give me a little privacy for once in my entire life?”

  Sohala was wounded. “I give you privacy. You have your own room.”

  “Oh, please!” She shook her head. “Just forget it! Let’s go home!”

  “Can I please talk to you?” Gabe implored. He turned to Sohala. “Could you please leave us alone for a few minutes?”

  Rina had come out. “This is my house, guys. Take it inside or everyone goes home.”

  No one moved.

  Yasmine lowered her voice. “Give me a few minutes, Mommy. Alone!”

  Rina took Sohala’s arm. “We’ll wait in the house. Keep it down or I’ll call the police. Nobody wants Peter out here, right?”

  Silence.

  Sohala said, “Don’t be long.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” She glared at Gabe. “I hate you!” She opened the door to her mother’s Mercedes and sat in the passenger seat. “You know what? Go away! I’m done with you.” She slammed the door and locked it.

  Gabe knocked on the window, trying to keep his voice down. “Can you open the door? I’m cold.”

  “Freeze to death for all I care.”

  Gabe showed her the handbag. “I’ve still got your purse.”

  “Go away!”

  “Fine.” He began to walk toward the house. “Suit yourself.”

  She opened the car door. “Give me back my purse, you . . . !” When he kept walking, she said, “Gabriel, I’m serious!”

  He heard the tears in her voice. He came back to the car and spoke through a closed window. “Can we talk now?”

  “Give me my purse first.”

  Gabe clenched his jaw. “Fine.”

  She rolled down the passenger window. He thought about sticking his hand in the open window and trying to force open the lock, but in her frame of mind, she’d probably roll up the glass up on his fingers. He threw her handbag onto the driver’s seat and waited.

  A moment passed. Then she grabbed her purse, unlocked the door, and he went inside, hitting his knee on the steering wheel. “Ouch!” He pushed the seat back. “Your mother must be a dwarf or something.”

  “I hate you!”

  His teeth were chattering. “Yasmine, there is no other girl.”

  “You told me your dad’s a compulsive liar. You’re a liar, too!”

  “I’ve been faithful to you, body and soul. There is no other girl.”

  She turned to him. “Then why say such an awful, hurtful thing to me?”

  “Yasmine, your mom sprung this breakup thing on me and I had to think of something. That’s why I told you to hear me out. You didn’t let me finish. Man, you have a temper!” He raised his eyebrows. “I like it!”

  She hit him again with her purse.

  “Stop it! There is no other girl!”

  “Then why did you say that to me, especially after this afternoon.” She started to cry. “Why did you say that?”

  “Because I wanted to get your mom off my back. I was trying to convince her that I was breaking up with you. I could tell she was suspicious. I knew she’d be more likely to believe me if there was someone else waiting in the wings. She insists that both of us date other people. Not just you. Me, too.”

  “Is there someone else?”

/>   “No! No one! When your mom popped this on me, I came up with an idea. It might not be the best idea, but considering I had about two minutes, it was the only thing I could think of.”

  “So the other girl is a total lie?”

  “As a girlfriend, yes, it’s a lie. I’ll explain my idea if you’ll listen.” No response. Gabe blew out air. “Remember a girl named Anna Benton? You met her—”

  “The blond, blue-eyed pianist with the long legs who swears like an HBO program. She must be about twenty, twenty-one by now.”

  “Twenty-one.” Gabe was amazed. “Boy, you remembered everything. That was like two years ago.”

  “You don’t forget someone that gorgeous who was giving me the stink-eye.”

  “She was not.”

  “Yes, she was.” She squinted at Gabe. “You told me she’s a lesbian.”

  “She is.” When Yasmine gave him that look, he said, “Can I go on?”

  “Not really.” A pause. “What?”

  “Look, Yasmine, Anna is a good friend of mine but she’s crazy. She’s on more psychotropic medicine than my entire class at Juilliard, and that’s saying something because we’re all on something. She’s bipolar. For real. She’s mostly manic. When she doesn’t take her lithium, she’s totally out of control. Even when she does take her medicine, sometimes instead of making her calm, she falls into a deep depression.”

  “Then why in the world are you friends with someone like that?” When Gabe tapped the steering wheel, she said, “Did you sleep with her?”

  “You mean sex and the answer is a resounding no. Technically, I slept in the same bed with her, but we never came even close. Couldn’t have done it if I wanted to.”

  “What happened?” This time Yasmine’s voice was sincere.

  “I will tell you.” He let out a breath. It was frosty because of the cold. “When I first got to Juilliard, I was in a real bad funk. I thought I lost you forever. My mom was gone. The Deckers were three thousand miles away. My dad was God only knows where. I couldn’t exactly burden Hannah or any of the other Decker siblings with my problems. I tried to cope, but I was sinking. Eventually I took a leave of absence. I got a doctor to say that I had mono, but really, what I had was a breakdown.”

  Yasmine’s eyes watered up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t get hold of you, remember?”

  Yasmine became furious. “I hate my mom.”

  “Don’t hate your mom.” He took her hand. “I’m serious. Don’t hate her. I refuse to be that wedge between you and your parents. Moms are important . . . to boys, yes, but especially to girls. Even I don’t hate your mom. I know she’s just fighting for you. But I’m fighting for you, too. And we both know that I’m going to win, so let’s have pity on the old lady.”

  She smiled as tears leaked onto her face. “I should have been there for you.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t. I probably should have contacted my shrink, but I was trying to muscle it through without help. Terrible idea. I just . . . crumpled.”

  Silence. Yasmine said, “What happened?”

  “I dunno, really. It came on so suddenly. I was having coffee with Anna. I bumped into her at one of those Sunday church concerts in Manhattan when I first got to New York. I was so low and she was this ball of energy. We started to meet for late night coffee after she finished work.”

  “What does she do?”

  “Anna? She plays piano at a bar Sunday through Thursday in Brooklyn—some hipster place. On weekends, she waitresses at Hooters.”

  “Hooters?”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “I’m not being a snob, I’m just surprised. She’s a classical pianist.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the world of starving artists. Her apartment is a studio with barely enough room for a piano and a bed.”

  “Which you’ve slept in, but didn’t have sex.”

  “Yasmine, stop it.”

  Her tone softened. “Go on, Gabe. Really. I want to know.”

  He said, “When we met up, we talked shop mostly . . . when she wasn’t ranting about her love life. Anna rants a lot. That’s the trouble with her playing. It’s all passion and no finesse. Anyway, one night when she was walking me back to school—her apartment is a couple of blocks from Juilliard—I suddenly grabbed my chest and fell to my knees. I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe.”

  Yasmine looked stricken. “Oh God!”

  “I thought I was going to die. Anna called 911. Turns out it was a panic attack—the first of many. To make a boring long story short, I moved into Anna’s apartment while on my leave of absence. She took care of me, Yasmine. She made me eat and made me practice at the expense of her own playing. She took long walks with me. She’d prattle on constantly while I was mute. After much cajoling, just to shut her up really, I finally agreed to see my shrink. He put me on meds, and I slowly started to function again.”

  Yasmine was crying. “That should have been me.”

  “No, no, no. You had your own issues. That’s why I’m not mad at your mom. She took care of you. And as far as Anna is concerned, I’ve paid her back by helping her through her crises, which have way outnumbered mine. That girl survives on drama.”

  “She should have called me.”

  “How can I say this any clearer? I didn’t want you to know. It’s not only emasculating for me, I didn’t want to scare you. It’s over and done. I’m okay.” She still looked worried. “Really, I’m fine. Before, I was in limbo. Now I know that even if it takes a while, we’ll eventually be together.”

  He kissed her cheek.

  “You should never doubt my love and fidelity. And I promise I will never let you down.” He let out a whoosh of air. “What I was thinking when I brought up Anna is that she would be a perfect fake girlfriend for me. I could post pictures of us on Facebook like we’re in a relationship because I know your mom will check up on me.”

  “Probably . . .” Yasmine tapped her toe. “Definitely.”

  “Anna would do it for me. Surely you know some boy in your community who could be a fake boyfriend . . . someone who needs a girl but doesn’t want one.”

  “You mean someone gay?”

  “Yeah. Someone who’s still in the closet and doesn’t want to come out yet but everyone knows he’s gay.”

  “That would be my cousin. And that would be weird.”

  “Yeah, it sounds stupid, now that I say it out loud. Your mom wants me to stop seeing you. She’s going to check up on us. I don’t know how we can keep in contact. I sure don’t want a repeat of what happened this afternoon. I’m open to any suggestions.”

  “So . . . you slept with Anna but didn’t sleep with Anna.”

  “Yes. Exactly.” A pause. “Yasmine, I love you. If we could be together for the rest of our lives, I’d be the happiest boy alive. All this drama saps my energy. It’s good in fiction. It’s lousy in real life.”

  “I want to be with you, too.” Yasmine’s voice broke.

  Gabe licked his lips. “That being said . . . I am forced to think that just maybe your mom has a point.” When she stared with watery eyes, he said, “You’ll always be number one. But I can’t fight who I am. I need my music. It’s my fix. And I will be traveling a lot. Maybe your mom is right. You should go have fun in college. Go to parties and spring break and get drunk and have blackouts.”

  “Does that sound even remotely like me?” Yasmine rolled her eyes. “You know, even if I liked parties, who has time for them? Gabe, I’m busy. My parents weren’t educated here. Neither of them knows what I go through, all this pressure to get into a good college. They don’t even understand why I want to go to a good college. Community college is good enough for them. So I’m left by myself working my tail off, trying to convince them why I need an SAT tutor. Not all of us can waltz into Harvard and turn it down to go to Juilliard.”

  “I didn’t waltz into anywhere when you’ve figured I’ve been banging away at the piano
my entire life. It took over my entire childhood.”

  “C’mon, Gabe, you know what I mean. You’re exceptional. And for the tiny percentage that’s exceptional, everyone wants you.”

  “You’re gifted, Yasmine. I made your mom promise to give you singing lessons again if I break up with you. If you want that, it’ll happen.”

  “Gabriel, I don’t have time for singing lessons.” She got misty eyed. “I’m too busy learning stuff that I’ll probably never use. My father tells me to be a doctor . . . like it’s that easy. If I’m lucky enough to get into a good university, I’ll have to work like a demon to get into medical school. And if I’m lucky enough to get into medical school, there’s internship, then there’s residency, then fellowship, then postfellowship, then a job, then partnership. And after all that, if I’m lucky enough for you to still want me, I’ll probably give birth to our grandchildren, I’ll be so old.”

  Gabe put his arm around her shoulders. “I know it’s hard. I’m very proud of you.”

  Her lip trembled. She burst into tears. “I hate my life! I suck at everything!”

  “No, you don’t!”

  “Yes, I do!” She was sobbing.

  “Are you failing or something?”

  “Of course not!” She was insulted.

  Gabe rolled his eyes. Girls were so damn confusing. “Cuckoo bird, listen to me. And this time, really listen. This is what we’re gonna do, okay?”

  A pause. “What?”

  “Your mom is . . . a little hotheaded.” Like mother, like daughter. “I probably won’t be in your life until you’re eighteen. But once you’re eighteen, we’re home free. By then, I promise I will have converted. That’s number one. I’m also determined to learn enough Farsi to understand your family . . . and your curses. What did you call me?”

  “Avazi.”

  “I know that’s what you called me. What does it mean?”

  “Asshole.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You don’t have to learn Farsi. I’ll teach you all the cuss words.”

  He laughed. “Look, if you do happen to find a gay guy to play along with the charade, I guarantee you that your mom will thank God that I’m heterosexual, okay?”