Bad Weather

by Paul Austin Ardoin

Dez nodded again. She barely remembered the unusual bookstore, but she did remember the tequila hangover.

  “On pretty much the first night we spent away from each other since we started dating—there it was, like a beacon leading me back to you.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Dez said, and that was true enough.

  She opened to the first chapter.

  And there was the opening scene of Exodus Nights.

  The grisliness of the murder was, if it was possible, even more graphic and violent and bloody than the Frank Bethany version. The names were different, the body of water was in a different part of the world, but it was definitely the same scene.

  Dez flipped back a couple of pages and checked the copyright date: the year before Exodus Nights was released.

  Frankie hadn’t been telling the truth in a lot of ways, but in a sense she was telling all the truth in the world.

  Dez felt her anxiety shift. Yes, there was still the lie-by-omission about that night with Frankie, but there was something else, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. There were still red flags there, but Dez realized that there was a method to Frankie’s madness. It had been there, staring her in the face, if she had just recognized the truth through the lens of Frankie’s story.

  Dez closed the book and smiled. “This is an incredible surprise,” she said.

  “Do you like it?”

  Dez nodded. “I love it.”

  Audrey looked visibly relieved. “Thank God. I was afraid you’d forgotten about it. But once I found out that book existed, I just had to get it. Too weird that it’s got so much connection to Exodus Nights, right?”

  “Right.” Dez grinned in spite of the gnawing unease. Audrey was prone to this kind of tenacity, but she combined it with a kindness, a gentleness, a sweetness, an empathy, which none of Dez’s previous girlfriends and lovers—especially Frankie—exhibited at all.

  “This is fantastic, Audrey,” Dez said, completely overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture and for the work it took for her to find it.

  Then, in addition to the vague apprehension, Dez felt a pang of guilt. After her dinner with Audrey that first Friday night, Frankie had called and left a message on Dez’s machine. Dez had meant to return it, but didn’t know what she would say. It was the only call Frankie would make. Dez hadn’t been back to Redondo Beach since, nor seen the woman who threw the party in Westwood. Although she was more Rhonda’s friend anyway.

  Audrey was still looking at Dez expectantly.

  “What?”

  “Speaking of Exodus Nights, did you see what else was in there?” Audrey’s voice was excited; she was shaking her foot nervously.

  Dez had turned to the first chapter, but hadn’t seen the envelope tucked into the middle of the book. “What’s this?” she said, determined to put a playful note in her voice. “Oh, it’s like when my gramma would give me a book for Christmas with a five-dollar bill in it. You gave me five dollars?”

  Audrey ignored the bad attempt at a joke, and almost squeaked with excitement. “I think you’ll like it much more than a five-dollar bill.”

  Dez took the envelope; it wasn’t sealed.

  The two tickets inside were for that night.

  An Evening with Frank Bethany. At the Los Angeles Arts Theater.

  Dez looked up, puzzled. “An Evening with Frank Bethany?”

  “Yes, can you believe it? He’s promoting his new novel. I think he’s on Good Day LA tomorrow morning, and he’s being interviewed by that book reviewer on the NPR station.”

  Dez was speechless.

  “I bet you didn’t even know he was coming to town, did you?”

  Dez shook her head. “I had absolutely no idea.”

  “He hasn’t done a book tour in two years. L.A. is his only promotional appearance in the state!”

  “He hasn’t done a book tour in two years?”

  “Nope. I heard something weird happened to him on his last tour, but the rumors among the literati are all over the place. Pregnant mistress, DUI, heroin overdose, stalker, you name it, it’s a rumor.”

  “Stalker?”

  Audrey looked at Dez. “It wasn’t you, was it?” Then she laughed.

  The anxiety in Dez’s stomach took shape. Jennifer Morgenstern was in Los Angeles, a recent transplant from New Hampshire, after having her book stolen. And she wasn’t over it; far from it.

  “Don’t you want to know how I scored those tickets?” Audrey prodded.

  Dez looked up. “What? Oh—these were hard to get?”

  “Tougher than the Lakers courtside.”

  “Wow. How did you manage it?”

  The Russian accent was back. “Oh, darlink, I have my connections,” Audrey cooed.

  “Oh, fine, Natasha, don’t tell me. It’s almost like you don’t want to get as good of a gift for your birthday.”

  Audrey laughed.

  Dez laughed with her, but the dread in the pit of her stomach made her feel nauseated. Those few days she had spent with Exodus Nights and with Frankie represented a strange, surreal time for her. She remembered how restless she had been, how strong her thirst was to figure out what was going on. She remembered the discussion with Dr. Gallows, she remembered how Rhonda had to talk her off the ledge so that she could get her brain concentrating on something besides Frankie. And Audrey—beautiful, grounded, sane Audrey—had gotten her brain to break the vacuum seal of the Frankie mystery. And now, with the theft still raw and the thief in town, Dez worried that this book tour might be why Frankie had moved to Los Angeles.

  “Do you know how long Frank Bethany is in town?” Dez asked, as casually as she could.

  Audrey narrowed her eyes. “Not really. Maybe a few days. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “You don’t like the tickets?”

  Dez realized her smile had faltered. “No, no, I love the tickets!” she said, her voice sounding as enthusiastic as she could make it. “It’s just such a mind trip! I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you got these tickets. I mean, they’re so impossible to get.”

  The effervescent brunette server came with their food. Dez pulled the wrapping paper out of the way. “Oh, is it somebody’s birthday?” the server said brightly.

  “That would be Desirée,” Audrey giggled.

  “Desirée, happy birthday,” the server said.

  “It’s her fiftieth birthday today,” Audrey said. “Doesn’t she look wonderful?”

  The server looked at Dez, half-questioning, half-shocked.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Dez said. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Doing anything exciting tonight?”

  “We’re going to see one of her favorite authors do a reading,” Audrey said. “Well, I assume it’s a reading. There’s a new book out.”

  “Oh! Which author?”

  “You heard of Frank Bethany?”

  “Does he write romance?”

  Audrey smiled. “Afraid not.”

  “I’m strictly a romance reader. I thought it might be Nora Roberts or Danielle Steel someone like that.” The server put her hands on her hips. “You two need anything else right now?”

  Dez shook her head.

  “All right, holler if you need anything.” She turned and was gone.

  Dez looked at her plate of French toast, and the little plastic syrup pitcher balanced next to the sphere of butter. She remembered the criminal evidence class she had taken the year before, when they did the unit on blood evidence. She had to memorize a chart on coagulation. She looked at the syrup again, then picked the pitcher up and set it off the plate. Cutting a corner off the French toast, she forced herself to put it in her mouth and chew it. It was delicious, and still it could barely go down.

  Dez looked across the table. Audrey was beaming.

  10

  They walked back to Audrey’s apartment. Halfway there, Audrey took Dez’s hand. Dez felt herself tense up.

  “Don’t worry about it, Dez,” Audrey breath
ed. “To everyone else, we’re just two college girls. We’re friends, having a good time on a Saturday morning. Straight girls hold hands all the time. No one has any idea that we’re going back to my apartment to have fantastic sex.”

  Dez smiled and took a deep breath.

  Dez was used to talking to her girlfriends the way Audrey was talking to her. Her girlfriends in the past had been giggly, tentative, raw. For many of them, if they had kissed other girls it had been under the pretense of making their boyfriends jealous—or horny. Her previous girlfriends were used to fantasizing about other women when their boyfriends were on top of them.

  Dez told herself she was just being paranoid about the author reading. Nothing was going to happen; it was just her criminal justice classes putting crazy thoughts in her head.

  And besides, it was her birthday, and there was a beautiful woman walking next to her, holding her hand, and she wanted to enjoy the rest of the day.

  Audrey took her keys out before her front door was in view, and unlocked the door quickly, smoothly, with none of the nervousness that Dez was trying to quell. She unbuttoned Dez’s shirt before they were halfway across the living room and Dez soon found herself face down on the bed, Audrey on top of her, biting her ear, her hand between Dez’s legs. She lost herself.

  Afterward, they held each other, Dez snuggling into the crook of Audrey’s shoulder, still trying to catch her breath.

  “So are you excited for the reading?” Audrey said.

  “Not nearly as excited as I was a few minutes ago,” Dez said.

  “I think we should get dressed up tonight,” Audrey said. “I think we should put on evening dresses and makeup and pretend we’re ingénues.”

  Dez laughed. “Oh, honey, you can do that, maybe, but I haven’t had a dress on since I moved to California.”

  “Why not?” Audrey said. “You’ve got fantastic legs. You should show them off.”

  “I pretended to be all girly-girl in front of my mom for too long. I don’t need my girlfriend—my girlfriend, of all people—telling me I need to dress more like a girly-girl.”

  “Not because I want you to be girly,” Audrey said. “Because I want to dress up with you.”

  “Maybe I should go in a tux,” Dez said.

  “Do you have a tux?”

  Dez paused. “No.”

  “Maybe a suit and tie?”

  “No,” Dez admitted. “I don’t know how to tie a tie anyway.”

  “You’ve got a little black dress, though, right? I know, I’ve seen it in your closet.”

  “Hah. There’s something in my closet, for sure.”

  “The irony is killing me,” Audrey deadpanned. “So, when you go back to your place to get ready, you can put on that little black dress, and you can show off your fantastic legs, and your runner’s butt, and I’ll come pick you up in that black-and-red floral dress that you like so much, and we can go be debutantes at the Frank Bethany ball.”

  Dez pictured Audrey in the floral dress and felt her defenses weaken, but still protested. “I don’t even know if that little black dress fits anymore.”

  Audrey scoffed. “You’re still wearing those tight jeans that you owned when you were sixteen. Of course that little black dress will still fit you.”

  They both got out of bed and lazily started to get dressed.

  Dez looked out the window. The rain had started again.

  “It just started to rain,” Dez said. “Guess we’re not going to be doing the walk on the beach today.”

  “That’s okay,” Audrey said. “What we just did was pretty good too.”

  Dez smiled. “So what do you want to do instead?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that.”

  Audrey had a 1985 Toyota Corolla that was parked around the corner on Pine and Seventh. Dez tried not to get her book too wet on the way to the car. The tickets were tucked safely inside the front bookflap.

  They drove a few blocks to Ocean Boulevard, then crossed over the Los Angeles River to the Seaside Freeway. The traffic was stop-and-go most of the way.

  “Start reading the book to me, Desirée,” Audrey said.

  “Oh, no,” Dez said. “It’s super violent and kind of messed up. Definitely not driving material.”

  She thought about telling Audrey, right then and there, about Frankie and Frank Bethany and Jennifer Morgenstern and the plagiarism and her misgivings about the evening. She opened her mouth but didn’t know where to begin. And then the moment passed.

  “If you want music,” Audrey said, “all I’ve got in the car is Indigo Girls and that new Nirvana album.”

  “You can’t even bring yourself to throw a little Madonna in with that? For listening to depressing music, you sure are an upbeat person.”

  “I get all the negative feelings out when I’m listening to music so I’m not a bitch when I talk to real people,” Audrey said, then stuck her tongue out at Dez.

  “Don’t be sticking that out at me unless you intend to use it,” Dez said.

  Audrey shot her a dirty look.

  The freeway crossed the Vincent Thomas bridge and Audrey got over to exit the freeway. They passed a sign that said, “Cruise Ships — Next Exit.”

  “Oh, my word, you’re taking me on a cruise!” Dez said. “A cruise for spring break! My friends will be so jealous.”

  Audrey giggled. “Not on my salary, I’m not.”

  They drove past the harbor, past 22nd Street Park, and pulled into a parking lot near the Cabrillo Marina.

  “Are we going where I think we’re going?” Dez said.

  Audrey pulled into a parking space. “If you think we’re going to the aquarium, then yes.”

  Dez playfully slapped Audrey’s shoulder. “How did you know I love this aquarium?”

  “Uh, because I pay attention, Desirée. You practically broadcast it whenever any marine-related subject comes up. Jellyfish. Manta rays. Dolphin-safe tuna.”

  “You know I’ve worked here as a docent in the summers.”

  “No,” Audrey said, in a mocking tone. “I have absolutely never heard any of the hundreds of stories about you working here in the summers. I also didn’t hear any of the carefully crafted tales about the trouble you had with the colony of blue-banded gobies.”

  Dez elbowed Audrey. “School of blue-banded gobies, Audrey. Get it right.”

  Once they had purchased their tickets and were inside, Dez turned into a tour guide. The aquarium was small, but Dez was inspired by the Frank Gehry-designed building. “I like to start at the open ocean exhibit and work backwards,” Dez said.

  “You’re such a rebel.”

  “I know. Look, here’s the fish diversity tank.”

  “Fish diversity tank. It’s like a metaphor for our relationship,” Audrey teased. “I think Jesse Jackson would be incredibly inspired by us.”

  “Yeah,” Dez said, “a true rainbow trout coalition.”

  Audrey rolled her eyes.

  Dez led them through most of the exhibits, spending a few minutes talking about the basking sharks. Audrey pretended to be interested in the facts as Dez presented them. Did you know basking sharks are the second largest fish in the world? Many people are frightened of basking sharks, but they don’t eat surfers; they’re filter-feeders, eating only plankton and fish eggs. Basking sharks are slow, swimming no faster than three miles per hour.

  “Fascinating,” said Audrey.

  They turned the corner to the mudflats. “I think the mudflats are my favorite part of the aquarium,” Dez said, a little moonily. “I like the worlds colliding, where the birds meet the fish, where the animals live in both the water and the sand. It makes me kind of wish for that kind of life.”

  “You think you’ll always live by the ocean?” asked Audrey.

  Dez shrugged. “I don’t know. My favorite place when I was growing up was going by the riverbank. You ever heard of the Calcasieu River?”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind, it’s not an import
ant river or anything. It’s just the main river in Lake Charles. And there are a million little fingers of the Calcasieu. It’s kind of like the mudflats. Water birds and crawfish and these little fish. Thousands and thousands of these little sunfish, some of them only six inches long. We had a riverbank just down maybe a thousand yards from our house. When I got out of school for the summer, I’d go down there with my fishing pole and some tackle and find a nice quiet secluded place.” Dez watched an orange-pink bird land and clean itself with its long, slightly upturned bill. “I had an older brother who wasn’t very nice to me. But he didn’t like the water.”

  “Afraid of alligators?”

  Dez scoffed. “Y’all think gators are everywhere in Louisiana.”

  “You don’t have alligators in Lake Charles?”

  Dez paused sheepishly. “Uh, I guess we do, but I never saw any on my part of the river. No, one of his friends just wouldn’t leave him alone one day. I don’t know, it’s like he was hell-bent on making my brother’s life miserable that day. Well, this jackass friend of his tackled him when he was standing on the riverbank, and they both fell in. I guess my brother was eight or nine. Anyway, my brother smacked his face on a stump sticking out of the water. Broke his nose. Kinda lucky that was all. The other kid got his foot all tangled up in some roots and cut his leg open pretty badly. My brother’s hated the river ever since. But I loved it—I actually think part of me loved it because he hated it. I made sure nobody knew where I was pretty much the whole summer.”

  “Your mom didn’t care?”

  “Not when I came home with dinner,” Dez said. “I’d catch crawfish if the fish weren’t biting. But they usually were biting pretty good. I got a twenty-pound catfish one day. I must have been thirteen or fourteen. I think that was just before I started high school.”

  “You know your cute little Louisiana drawl has gotten way more pronounced since you’ve been talking.” Audrey rubbed Dez on the arm. “Kind of like how you get when you talk to your mamma on the phone.”

  “Mamma says I’m starting to talk like I’m putting on airs,” Dez said.

  “I guess. Not that I think that’s a bad thing.”

  Dez decided not to ruin this day by telling Audrey about Frankie. Dez promised herself she’d bring it up tomorrow. After they woke up, maybe after breakfast. It would be better to tell Audrey without the anxiety that Frankie would do something at the author event that night. They’d probably even laugh about it.