“Left for where?”
Rese shrugged. “She didn’t say.” She never did. It was part of the punishment to make them wonder, worry and wait.
Rico looked from her to Lance as it dawned that she hadn’t simply stalked off to sulk.
“She does this, Rico.” Lance hooked his thumbs in his jeans.
“What do you mean, does it? She hasn’t done it at all.”
Rese walked to the window and looked out. “She goes along fine for a while, then takes off.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
“She never does.” Rese turned. Not where or why or with whom, but it was certain she’d find someone to commiserate with her. The first few times Star had disappeared, Rese had tried to find out where she’d been, tried to tell her it wasn’t safe to go off alone. Star wouldn’t hear it. Maybe it was danger she craved, or the worry it created for those who cared. There were never apologies or excuses. She neither explained nor acknowledged, only expected to be accepted back without question.
Rese had learned the pattern, but Rico hadn’t. Looking at him, she regretted her part in it, but there was never any telling what would set Star off. “She might be back tonight.” But not likely. Kissing Lance had been a parting shot. Star would let it sink in.
Anger stirred. What had she done? What had Rico done? Yet Star was off in New York City somewhere, had probably already picked someone up. She might say she’d had enough of old almighty men, but she sought the situation again and again.
Rico turned and headed for the door, pausing just long enough to tell Lance, “Call if she gets back.”
Lance had to know Star wasn’t likely to walk in any time soon. If she hadn’t found a lift out of the neighborhood, Rico might cross her path, but not if she didn’t want him to. Star was elusive in more ways than one. Even so, he handed over his cell phone. “Rico’s keyed in.”
She nodded as he went after his friend. Lance would share the exercise in futility. He had to. It was Rico.
She sat down and flipped open his phone, scrolling through hundreds of names to Rico’s. Did Lance know everyone? She closed the phone and dropped her head back. What were the chances they’d go back to Sonoma if Star didn’t turn up? In the next few days? Slim. After that? Possible. Depending on Rico’s frame of mind.
Maybe he would realize she was too high maintenance. Sure she was dazzling, fearless, and fun. And she’d plugged right into his musical aspirations. Maybe they were even good together. But Star was … Star. Rico just hadn’t seen it yet.
Rese flipped around on the TV channels. After about an hour the guys came back. No Star. They had combed the neighborhood, but there were not that many places to look at night.
“Where would she go?” Rico said, almost to himself.
“Is there somewhere you hung out that she might have gone?” Lance asked.
Rico spread his hands. “We’ve been all over, man.”
Rese looked up. “The theater district?” She wasn’t sure why it came to her, but Times Square was the kind of place Star would lose herself. She’d been there to sing with Rico at the Java Cabana. And she would recognize its potential for companions and camouflage.
Rico focused on her. “You think she went into the city?”
She could be halfway to Canada, but Rico didn’t think in Star terms. He thought the magical nymph she played was the real thing. “She could have.”
Rico swore. Manhattan was, after all, a big place, lots of people. There wasn’t much chance he’d see Star if she didn’t want him to, but he obviously wouldn’t quit looking.
Lance pulled his leather jacket back on. “Let’s go.” There was only concern for Rico in his voice.
Why didn’t she feel it for Star? “I’ll come too.” It was better than sitting there alone, and the guys must realize it was unnecessary to have someone stay home. Lance waved her out, then led the way down to his parents’ apartment.
She waited in the living room with Rico as Lance borrowed his mother’s Fiat. Rico’s eyes darted everywhere, as if he might find Star sitting on a shelf like a figurine. Seeing his anxiety, she wished there was some way to change the reality, but he was probably far from Star’s thoughts. She was making a point and didn’t care who fell along the way. “Star won’t realize she’s hurt you, Rico.”
He turned onyx eyes on her and grew perfectly still. “She will know, chiquita.” Something cold passed through her. Had Star tapped the part of Rico that knew violence, the part Lance had tamed by sharing the blows? But then she realized it was bare hope she saw, Rico’s heart uncloaked.
She looked away. It was hard to fathom Star’s utter lack of conscience or compassion or whatever the hole inside her was. Maybe her mother’s drugs had destroyed that capacity in utero; or abuse had driven it so deep she could no longer access those feelings. She was utterly self-absorbed. Rico hoped in vain.
Following Lance in, his mother came to Rico and caught his face in her hands. “You be careful.” She must see the tension gripping him.
“S, Mamacita.”
“No trouble.” Doria’s concern was probably based on history, and it could get ugly if Rico found Star in any of the situations Rese imagined. He might even believe it the other guy’s fault. Rese knew better. They responded to what was offered.
“We’ll be okay, Momma.” Lance patted her arm and she released Rico, then gave Rese a look as though she alone might avert disaster. Rese drew herself up. She had no intention of doing something stupid. Lance maneuvered the Fiat through the traffic in much the same way he handled Rico’s bike or his Harley. It was now evident he drove like a New Yorker. Rese sat back to endure it. She had given Rico the passenger seat so that he and Lance could plan their strategy, and they discussed likely hot spots and possible low spots to look for Star. Though he had to realize how useless it was, Lance was there for Rico, engaged and determined.
Belmont had been dark and closed up, but the city that never sleeps was wide awake. Times Square dazzled the eye; white and multicolored lights everywhere, massive electronic billboards flashing females and fashion, teeming sidewalks, restaurants, theaters, stores. Rese shook her head, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
But it was definitely Star’s kind of place. She stared out the window. Star could absorb this block alone for weeks, sucking energy from unsuspecting strangers instead of her friends for a change. Rese frowned. She was angrier than she’d realized.
The kiss hadn’t mattered to Lance. It was what it said to her that counted. You have nothing I can’t spoil. Or take, maybe. Or desecrate. Lance being the bearer of faith. Maybe it was Lance whom Star wanted to defile. But ultimately it was all to hurt her. She was the only person Star lashed out at, the only one she came back to again and again.
Relationships like the one she had with Maury followed the pattern to a point, but once she’d severed the tie, it stayed severed. Rese had learned long ago that Star lived life on her terms, but for some reason those terms included the one friend she could walk on again and again and again. Her rock.
“Let me out here,” Rico said at the intersection, unable to sit still any longer. “You’ll never park.”
“I’ll find something.” Lance looked at his watch. “Meet us back at this corner in half an hour. We’ll make a plan from there.”
Rico climbed out as the taxi behind them blared its horn. Lance moved on. God didn’t seem to owe him parking in this district. Rese kept her eyes sharp, but even so she missed the spot Lance darted into almost before it was vacated. Sighing, she got out and waited on the sidewalk.
Lance joined her. “Ready?”
“For what?”
He cocked his head, taking her measure. “It might be pointless, but it matters to Rico.”
And at this moment Rico meant nothing to Star. Nobody did. She was the only thing shining in her sky. Rese seethed.
“Is it the kiss?”
She scowled. “It’s pretty much everything.”
He looked down the street, waiting for her to decide. Why had she come, anyway? Had she thought there’d be anything she could do that would matter?
She clenched her hands and said, “Star could be distraught. She could be in danger, dying in an alley. But she’s not. She’s off dancing, or acting, or making out in a corner, and if she knew we were here searching the streets for her? She’d laugh.” Rese could not contain the bitterness. Where had it come from? Why did all her emotions suddenly emerge in the presence of Lance Michelli? “I’m tired of being what she needs. Giving and forgiving with nothing in return.” When he didn’t answer, she turned on him. “I’m wrong, aren’t I?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Then what?”
“There’s a name for what you give Star. Unconditional love.”
Rese did not want to hear it. Anger so rarely had the chance to vent, it seemed to ooze from her very pores at the thought of Star’s parting kiss. She groaned. “It was so absurd and spiteful.”
“I know.”
And selfish and overly dramatic. She wanted to swing a sledge hammer, the ring of steel on steel, the reverberation charging up her arms. She blew out her breath. “So where do you think she is?”
“I’d guess making out in a corner.”
It broke the spine of her anger, and she dropped her head back with another groan. “We won’t find her.”
“Let’s hope for Rico’s sake that’s true. And mine.”
She faced him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
His mouth pulled.
“I mean it, Lance. I will not write to you.”
Laughing, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not so tough, Theresa.”
It was true. She’d write, she’d visit, she’d bail him out. Unconditional love.
————
Rico wanted something to beat on; Lance could read it in his eyes. He hadn’t anticipated Star’s flight, hadn’t known at the first provocation their idyll would end; no word of explanation, no consideration for him. Through the subway tunnels where goth and punked-up kids loitered, past homeless people and downtown suits, they searched. Rico prowled the bars and restaurants and theater hangouts, his own desertion issues growling inside him.
Fiercely loyal, he expected the same—in spite of all the people who had proved otherwise. He had no claim to Star, except that of consideration. Fear for her safety and emotional condition was foremost in his mind as they searched, but Lance knew there was also the sting of yet another potential rejection.
Momma opened her door in her nightgown when they came back sometime after three in the morning. He had intended to sneak by without disturbing her, but she had a second sense that woke her any time one of her offspring came in late. And she’d have been fitful at best.
“No luck?” The relief in her expression did not mean a lack of concern for Star, but an overabundance for him and Rico.
He shook his head. Rico was ready to ignite, but they’d seen not a shadow of Star. There would have been fireworks if they had.
Momma trained her gaze on Rese as the guardian angel who must have kept him and Rico from the fall. Rese showed none of the anger and hurt she’d expressed before giving in and looking for a friend who used her up and wanted more.
“Thanks.” Lance dropped the car keys into her palm. Rico was already climbing the stairs.
“You want some milk?”
He leaned in and kissed her. “Go back to sleep, Momma. We’re fine.”
She turned to Rese. “When you get up, come down for coffee. We’ll chat.”
“Okay.” Rese nodded. They climbed the stairs without speaking, but at the door, she said, “She means both of us, right?”
Rico had left the door touching but not closed. Lance pushed it open. “She means you.” By the light of the single lamp inside, he glimpsed something close to horror on her face.
“I don’t chat.”
“Sure you do.”
“Lance, you know … you’ve seen …”
“That was with strangers. Momma’s family.” He stretched. Rico must have gone straight to bed. Chaz was probably home from work and sleeping already. Worrying about Nonna all day and Rico all evening, Lance had expended enough energy to sleep for a year, but not Rese. He reached for her hand. “Want to make out in a corner?”
She raised her jaw. “I don’t appreciate the comparison.”
So she was still stung. “How about the couch in the middle of the room?”
“Lance.”
He took her into his arms, felt her stiffness. She was far from sleep, as he’d guessed. “Neck rub?”
“You need one?” She meant it as a taunt, reversing his offer, asserting her self-sufficiency.
But he tipped his head. “Sure.” His answer took her by surprise, but he headed for the couch anyway. The cushions sighed as he sat sideways and waited.
Chaz’s sonorous snores seeped through the closed door as Rese dropped reluctantly. “I won’t be any good at it.”
“Close your eyes.” He closed his too. “Now grip my neck and feel the muscles.”
Her hand was cold.
“Just work your thumb and fingers into what you feel.” Her hands had carved beauty into wood, and he felt the strength of that now as she rubbed, not just his neck, but after a time moving down his back, using both hands. The fact that she would go beyond his instructions said a lot. He hadn’t needed sore muscles rubbed, but he reveled in her touch.
So many times he’d worked out her knots and she’d never reciprocated. But her hands were ungrudging now, working up and down the long muscles of his back, her breath warming his neck as she rubbed his shoulders. Something wet struck his shoulder, and he turned.
She sniffed, angry at being discovered. “Is there such a thing as emotional anorexia?”
He half smiled. “Starved emotions?”
“More like refusing to feel until it’s hard to know what to feel.”
He rested his wrist on her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with how you feel.”
“But I don’t, Lance. I care about Star, but I’m not worried. I’m sorry for Rico, but there’s no … ache. Even when you left—”
“When you kicked me out.”
“It hurt so much that I … felt nothing.”
“That’s how you cope. You had a lot of junk at a very young age, emotional expectations no child is equipped to handle.”
“What if it’s just broken?”
He cupped her face. “You’re not broken. Why do you think there are tears in your eyes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you care.”
She pulled away and slid back on the couch. “As we were looking for Star I kept imagining finding her in a really bad way. Killed, even. And Lance, I wondered how I would feel. I wondered.”
“It’s a protection. You shut yourself off.”
She sat silent a long time, then turned. “Why can’t Star? Why would she keep putting herself in danger and degradation again and again when that’s what messed her up in the first place?”
“Ever heard of cutting? Burning?”
Rese’s brow pinched.
“Using physical pain to self-medicate emotional wounds.”
“But …”
“Sofie could explain it better. She’s got the science. But it’s basically that injury triggers something in the brain that anesthetizes. You said Star doesn’t use drugs, but she’s finding a way to numb herself.”
“So sex is a drug for her?”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing.”
“Like stomping your toe when you’ve hammered your thumb.”
He smiled. “Sure. If what you told her triggered memories, her reaction makes sense.”
Rese shook her head. “But Rico …”
“Rico is safe, like you. She needed pain.”
She leaned her head back. “How do you stop it all?”
“I don’t know.” He slid his a
rm around and nestled her into his shoulder. “Pain has a life of its own and comes out in ways you never expect. Even when you think it’s over.”
“Then what hope is there?”
He caressed her upper arm. “I keep trying to find out.”
————
“I can’t do this.” Rese paced the living room the next morning in the beige rayon shell and cargo shorts she had debated over far longer than her few choices required.
Lance showed no sympathy whatsoever. Perched on the arm of the couch, he looked annoyingly amused. “It’s just Momma, Rese. She’ll do all the talking anyway.”
Chaz came out of the bathroom, shower fresh and smiling. She did not need his cheerfulness on top of Lance’s assurances. If she hadn’t been dazed at three in the morning, she might have said no, or at least made sure Lance was included. Why should she have to face his mother alone?
“ ‘This is the day the Lord has made.’ ” Chaz beamed. “ ‘Let us rejoice and be glad in it.’ ” He had obviously overheard their argument. “She’s waiting.” Lance’s tone was gentle but insistent. He was not going to get her out of it, or help in any way besides pushing her out the door.
Fine. She didn’t need him. She stalked to the door and went out, then drew a long breath and went down to his parents’ door. She knocked.
“It’s open. Come in.” Doria was dressed in a burgundy leotard and wrap skirt. “I’m teaching in an hour.”
Rese nodded. Should she apologize for being late? “What do you teach? I mean, what kind of dance?” Not that she would know one from another.
“Oh, some of everything. Except the break dancing. We have a man for that.”
Rese nodded again. “Oh.”
“Sit down. You want cream … sugar?” Doria set a cup before her with biscotti on the saucer.
“Yes. Thank you.” Rese sat. The kitchen was cluttered with knickknacks, the refrigerator papered with photographs. Children and grandchildren, Rese guessed, recognizing many without being able to name them.
Noticing her gaze, Doria touched a photo. “This one’s Lance.”
A little boy with large brown eyes, an impish smile, and baseball mitt. Rese wanted to reach out and hold him. Something was happening to her, something she hadn’t expected when Lance said they needed to “square things away with his grandmother.”
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