“This doesn’t look like the National Black MBA” is the first thing Hunter says when he enters the Sun King suite. Searching the room, squinting, he adds, “Nope, this doesn’t look very impressive at all.”
“And yet you’re here,” Chase says.
“So did the wife call?” Hunter asks. “Are we going to the parties that matter or will we spend the rest of the weekend nursing stray kittens?”
“It’s early, dude.”
“Your fly’s open,” Michele says.
“I like it that way.” Hunter grins and zips it up. “Wait, we’re not staying here all fucking night, are we?”
Michele looks up at Hunter and, barely suppressing a grin, asks, “Chase is taking you to the parties for the Black MBA Conference?”
“We may gamble later,” Chase says, noting and ignoring Michele’s sarcasm. “Julia and a friend or two.” And then to Hunter: “If you have any money left.”
“Why wouldn’t I have any money left?” Hunter asks.
“Did Brandi ever call you?” Michele asks, propping her feet on the glass coffee table, her chin between her knees. She’s giving herself a pedicure.
Hunter nods and looks for somewhere to sit down and does a double take when he notices Rachel silently watching Michele.
Surveying the suite, Hunter finally says, “It’s official: we’re all going to hell.”
“Did Brandi leave me anything?” Michele asks. “She’s not calling me back.”
Hunter reaches into the pocket of his jeans. “Yeah, a wad of sweaty cash and an I.O.U.” Hunter hands Michele the bills.
“I don’t get this,” Michele says. “Why didn’t Brandi give this to me?”
“She actually told me to give it to Bailey.”
As she counts the cash Michele blows on her toes because the brown polish is still wet. “That’s it? This isn’t the rate. Where is she?”
“She said she’ll explain it to you when she calls you back,” Hunter says.
Michele looks at Hunter then loses herself in her Black-Berry and jots something down in a notebook. She repeats the process: sending a two-way and writing down names. Michele does this multiple times until she calls Bailey. Chase hears her say, “We’re set.” Then she says that she will see him later. Michele adds, “About forty or so.” She says, glancing over at Chase. “Yes, he’s here.” Pause. “He’s with Hunter.” Pause. “And they’re leaving.” Pause. “I don’t think so but I’ll ask.” Michele ends the call abruptly and tosses her cell on the table.
“Bailey wants to know if you’re coming back later,” Michele says to Chase.
“No.”
“No?”
Chase realizes something. “I mean, am I?”
“Are you?” Michele grins.
“Is there a particular reason why I should come back later?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“Then call me.”
“But you’re not leaving now.”
“Hunt?” Chase asks.
“I’m cool,” Hunter says, holding up a drink, staring at Rachel. “I’m getting trashed. I’m getting my jollies.” He gestures at the room service cart. “And I even had a pancake.”
But Rachel is staring at Michele: her thin legs held slightly apart, her faded cutoff shorts, the backs of her tan thighs—they all demand attention. Everything in the room is quiet as Rachel’s gaze shifts from Michele’s calves up to her chest and then her face. Michele either doesn’t notice that Rachel is staring or she knows and likes it. Rachel sighs and leans back in her chair, studying Michele’s feet again. Hunter has been watching Rachel watch Michele and he nudges Chase.
“Someone’s in love,” Hunter says in singsong. “I think Rachel has a crush on someone in this suite.”
Rachel’s face is flushed. Michele smiles and keeps blowing on her toenails.
“She’s so digging you,” Hunter says. “I don’t know who she is or where she came from but I know she’s craving your Salvadoran ass.”
“And I’m digging her,” Michele says airily.
“I think she wants to be you,” Hunter says.
“Whatever,” Rachel groans, embarrassed.
“Are you still hungry?” Michele asks Rachel.
Rachel nods and Michele tells her to order something else from room service.
“Should I get some more pancakes?” Rachel asks.
“Perfect.”
“Where’s your momma, little girl?” Hunter asks delicately.
Rachel flashes her middle finger and says, “I’m emaciated, bitch.”
Hunter puzzles over this and cocks his head. He glances over at Chase and then back at Rachel.
“Emancipated,” Michele corrects.
“My mom moved to Salt Lake with her latest boyfriend and I’m all, as if?” She repositions herself on the couch. “So Ronnie and—”
“Who’s Ronnie?” Hunter asks, concerned.
“Her brother,” Chase says.
“Oh. Whew.” Hunter wipes fake sweat from his brow.
“Yeah, so Ronnie and I get the apartment because Linda is all about compromise.” Rachel stares at Hunter’s black T-shirt and then reaches over and plucks something off it.
Hunter purrs like a very large cat.
“You’ve got dandruff,” Rachel says. “It’s all over your shirt.”
“Why don’t you lick it off?” Hunter asks.
Michele tells Rachel in a soft voice, “Come here a sec,” and Rachel moves toward Michele and Michele puts her nail polish down and turns to Rachel and takes her face in her hands and says, “You’re wonderful,” and they kiss, softly at first, but then with an intensity that’s just part of the show.
Hunter yawns loudly. “How original.”
“It’s not for you,” Michele says.
She kisses Rachel again and then Michele’s cell rings. Michele grabs the remote control and mutes the television.
Michele gets up from the couch and tells whoever has called that they can be there in half an hour. Michele waits, listens, and turns away when she says, “Yes, she really is that young.” Michele pauses. “Can she look even younger? I guess.” Chase realizes that he will take them. Michele guides Rachel to the bathroom where Michele tells Rachel that she’s going to make Rachel look even hotter than she already is.
Chase and Hunter chill in front of the giant plasma TV, the sound off, the voices of the girls carrying into the main room of the suite.
After an innocent back-and-forth there’s a silence and then Rachel’s protest: “I look like I’m in junior high.” Chase closes his eyes when he hears Michele say “Good,” and after another longer silence Rachel apologizes and Michele tells her that she’s so beautiful and Rachel asks, “Honestly? Do you really mean that?” and Michele assures her she does and tells Rachel that she’s going to be great and the guys are so totally going to dig her. When Rachel comes out of the bathroom she has her hair in pigtails and wears a checkered skirt and a thin yellow T-shirt with a cheerleader’s megaphone over the chest.
Michele asks Hunter if he thinks Rachel looks hot.
“I think you should kiss again,” Hunter says.
“I thought you said it was boring.”
“I lied.”
“We should go,” Chase says.
“You’re free to go, dude,” Hunter says. “I think I want to stay.”
Michele turns to Rachel and asks softly, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Rachel says and bites her lower lip. “I am so ready.” She giggles.
Chase has heard this sound before: giggling disconnected from humor.
“I thought I’d be scared, you know?”
“You’re wonderful,” Michele tells her.
“But I’m really not.”
“You look so hot.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“And Cabo next Thursday?” Rachel asks.
“You know it, baby.”
Rachel bobs her head up and down, danc
ing to a song only she can hear.
* * *
The house is in the Lakes.
When Michele tells Rachel this she nods and says, “My stepdad lives in the Lakes.”
“Well, I hope that’s not where we’re going,” Michele sighs.
“As if!” Rachel snaps. But then she frowns worriedly.
The Mustang passes through a security station and a name (“Olivia Rose + two”) is on the clipboard held by the guard. The house is enormous and made of stone with a Spanish tile roof. It lies on top of a mesa at the end of a winding driveway. Sprinklers water the sprawling lawn. Only a porch light glows over a blood-red front door. A shiny pickup truck and a black Navigator are parked in the driveway. When the three of them get out of the Mustang Michele turns to Chase but then changes her mind. Walking to the house Chase notices that Michele has Rachel by the arm. She whispers into her ear as if giving instructions or a warning. Rachel looks at her wonderingly. It takes a moment. But finally Rachel spits her gum into Michele’s open hand.
The man who opens the door is in his late thirties and tan and wears a sheer lime Versace shirt and DSquared2 jeans and too much cologne. Another man stands beyond him, watching. The first thing that occurs to Chase is that these men are past the age of pretending—these guys know precisely what they want. Chase’s presence doesn’t seem to bother them. They smile, holding tumblers of Scotch, and ask them all to come in. They introduce themselves and offer martinis. The house is cool and softly lit and generic jazz pipes in through speakers in the ceiling and drifts through the vast room.
“Can I have an apple one, please?” Rachel sings from the white leather couch where she sits with her legs crossed.
“Of course,” a deep voice says.
The slit in Rachel’s checkered skirt reaches her upper thigh and her leg is smooth and dark and Chase can see the edge of her white panties.
Rachel notices a Ms. Pac-Man machine sitting in the corner of the enormous living room. She gets up and starts fiddling with the joystick and the guy in the lime shirt hands her something neon green in a martini glass and Rachel sips it as he presses the Play button. Chase notices the Ruscha on the wall over the fireplace.
The guys turn their attention to Chase.
“He was my art teacher!” Rachel blurts out.
Her game ends with a theatrical groan of disappointment and Michele says that’s enough for now.
The guy in the lime shirt is named Tanner. The other man is Luke and they recently moved from Sherman Oaks. Chase asks what they do.
“Development,” Tanner says, stretching out the syllables.
“Were you really her teacher?” Luke asks.
They laugh when Chase nods. “Did you keep her after school a lot?”
“He’s an incredible artist,” Michele interjects and then points at the Ruscha, and yes, it’s an original. “Chase’s are better,” Michele says. “He’s really good. Whoever that is.” Michele motions to the Ruscha again. “You’re better,” she says.
Chase sighs, “Thank you.”
“Have you sold anything?” Tanner asks.
Chase hesitates. He hates this part. “I’ve got a show coming up. Hopefully. But no. Not yet.”
“In Vegas?”
Chase nods and feels flushed. He mentions the name of the gallery and loses the guy.
The guy examines the wet-looking scratches on Chase’s neck and winces and says they look infected. But then everyone turns their attention to Rachel, who is now transfixed by a wave-shaped copper waterfall mounted on the wall as she downs the apple martini. The only sound is the continuous cascade of water until, unaware that everyone is watching, Rachel sticks both hands under the wall of water and sprays herself and jumps back and the guys laugh and Rachel glares at them.
“Are you guys gay?” Rachel asks.
“No, we’re not gay.” Tanner says. “It’s just a very faggy house.”
“Have another martini,” Luke says.
“I need to pee.”
“Down the hall and to the right.”
Rachel struts past the men and flips her skirt and bobs her head side to side then disappears into the darkness of the hall. Michele starts to apologize (“I told you—it’s her first night”) but the guys wave her off (they’re thrilled) and turn their attention back to Chase.
“So where do you go?” Tanner asks.
“Outside.”
“In the car?” Tanner asks. “That’s got to get old. Just sitting around.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“You can always stay.” Tanner grins.
“We’ve got a home theater downstairs,” Luke says. “You can watch a movie.”
“Or us,” Tanner suggests, shrugging.
“I’ll be fine outside,” Chase says.
Tanner seems disappointed. He nods. His smile disappears.
“Then maybe it’s time for you to go sit in the car,” he says.
Chase turns the radio on when he gets tired of listening to the sound of the sprinklers above the wind. Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” is on KKLZ and Chase turns it up, loud. Michele left a bag in the car filled with underwear and bras and other things and inside he finds a pack of cigarettes. He lights one and puts the seat back as far as it will go and watches the sky. He knows he will be on this canvas in Rachel’s mind forever: her first time, Michele and two dudes with teeth that are too white in a rad house in the Lakes and a Ms. Pac-Man machine and a waterfall and Rachel getting drunk on apple martinis and Chase—her old art teacher—playing sentinel. Whatever cash Michele hands Chase is now his only income. His relationship with Julia keeps what Chase is doing now from defining him. Soon they’ll be somewhere else entirely and here won’t matter anymore. The sudden irrelevance of this place is a revelation. He takes a long drag off the cigarette and slowly exhales, watching the gray smoke dissipate in the moonlight.
“Let’s go to Dad’s,” Chase said to Carly on a hot gray morning in July after he picked her up at an apartment complex near UNLV.
Michele had called Chase early that Saturday morning and told him where his sister was. Michele apologized for not being there but she had to leave the party early. (Alone? Chase thought, but didn’t ask.) Michele said Carly was “probably” fine, that she was with the guy she was seeing from the UNLV baseball team. Michele gave Chase the address and apartment number. When Chase got there he found the door to the apartment open. Carly was lying in a fetal position on a black leather couch next to a guy passed out in boxer shorts and a mirror misted with coke residue. Chase carried her down four flights of stairs to the Mustang.
“Will Dad be there?” Carly asked, mumbling.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”
“I don’t want to go if he’s there.”
“Don’t you miss the beach?” Chase asked her.
She was crumpled in the backseat. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
“Why do you want to go?” Carly asked. “It’s nice here.”
“No, it isn’t,” Chase said.
“You go,” Carly said. “I have things to do.”
“Just come with me,” Chase said.
There was a long pause. Chase looked at Carly in the rearview mirror again. She had turned away.
“I have plans,” Carly said. “I have things to do.”
“Change them.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“You’re sixteen. You don’t have plans you can’t change.”
Carly finally looked at Chase. “I can’t.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because I made plans,” she screamed. “I have plans.”
“And you can’t change them?” Chase was yelling.
“No, Chase. I can’t. I have plans I can’t change,” she said. Chase put something together and asked, “To fuck who?”
While waiting in the Mustang in front of the house in the Lakes, Chase calls Julia. She tells him she’s playing
roulette with her friend Monique and that there’s an adult film star sitting next to them and they were invited to a party at the Bellagio.
Julia asks Chase where he is.
“Male or female?” he asks, ignoring her question.
“Does it matter?”
“Do you want to go?”
“Definitely,” she says teasingly, the casino roaring behind her. “But I want you to be there, too.”
Chase has been sitting in the Mustang for close to two hours. Neither girl says anything when they get in, which isn’t unusual for Michele (who never says anything afterward), but Rachel seems like she has been stunned by something. Chase starts the car and begins the drive back to Summerlin Parkway and the city. Michele is staring out at the darkness. In the rearview Chase notices that Rachel looks pale.
“You just should never say something like that.” Michele is shaking her head.
Rachel runs the back of her hand across her mouth as if trying to clean it.
Michele turns around in her seat. “What possessed you to say that?”
“It was the truth.”
“You spent an hour in their bathroom because you drank too much.”
“You told me to.”
“No, I told you to have one drink if you were nervous,” Michele says. “I did not tell you to drink enough apple martinis to make you throw up half the night.”
“It doesn’t always,” Rachel protests meekly.
“What happened?” Chase asks.
Michele points at Rachel. “You owe me big-time. I don’t ever do that. It’s just not safe. But that’s the position you put me in tonight. You’re lucky they’re into that.”
The Delivery Man Page 8