But he’s not a bad guy. He’s not an asshole, per se.
“Nathan—”
“It’s cool, Catherine. I know when I’m being dumped.”
“You’re not being dumped, Nathan. You said yourself—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know what I said. Guys say shit, OK? It doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”
“Then why don’t... Why don’t you tell me that?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Tell me,” I repeat. “Do you care for me?”
“I like you, Catherine. I like you a lot. I like our time together.”
“But do you care for me?”
“Define Care.”
“Nathan, I like you, too, OK? But... I need... I need a little more...than what you’re...willing to offer.”
“Someone to snuggle.” His voice is loaded with accusation.
“Don’t be like that, Nathan.”
“Be like what—a fricking man? You call me over, you fuck me when you want to, and then you say you want someone to spoon with or something.”
“Please don’t be mean, Nathan.”
“Or what, you’ll stop sucking my cock?”
“Nathan, please.”
“Fuck you, Catherine. Fuck you. No, on second thought, don’t fuck you. Go fuck yourself.” Click.
I don’t know why the tear springs to my eye when he puts down the phone.
I don’t love him. I didn’t love him. And he didn’t love me.
But what he said still hurts.
-5-
After twenty-four hours, we filed a missing person report at the local precinct. Turns out there was no need. Nic returned one of my texts two days later.
I’m fine, it said. Not I’m sorry or I was kidnapped or thanks so much for worrying, I lost my phone and I was stranded on Route 66 and I couldn’t find a payphone because I was robbed...
No. It said I’m fine.
I was furious when I called, furious.
But she didn’t take my call.
I reported the text to the cops. They said they’d look into it. They said they’d try and track where it came from, to see if she really sent it.
I’m outside on the steps when my phone starts to ring. It’s Nicole.
I almost drop it trying to answer it. “Nicole, where are you?”
She’s weeping.
“Nic, is everything OK? Where are you?”
More weeping.
“Oh, God, Nicole, what happened? Tell me what happened?”
Through sobs, she says, “I got...drunk, Cat. I got drunk and then...” Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.
I’m getting the typical flashes that best friends get in these situations: Raped? Kidnapped? Raped and kidnapped?
“He... He was so good looking, Cat. He... And he smiled and... I hate this fucking baby, Cat. I fucking hate it.”
He was so good looking. “Nic, just tell me this: are you OK?”
“And then he offered me beers and I don’t even look like I’m pregnant, Cat. It was a mistake. A fucking mistake. I told him I was single, Cat. I told him... Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
My chest sinks to my knees.
“Don’t tell Johnny, Cat. Don’t tell him. I just can’t. I can’t. I—”
“Nic.”
“—can’t.”
“Nic, you’re carrying Johnny’s baby inside you. His son or his daughter. You have to stop drinking or you’re gonna lose it. Worse, you might not lose it and it’s gonna be braindead when it’s born.”
“I don’t wanna grow old, Cat. I’m not like that. I’m not.” She’s blabbering, not even listening to what I’m saying. “I can’t have a freaking baby. I’m not even twenty-one yet! It’s almost a frickin teenage pregnancy. Trailer trash!”
“Nic, please, listen to me.”
“I need to stay away, Cat. I need to. I need to.”
“Nic, listen to me!”
“Just leave me alone. I... I... I can’t have kids, Cat. I just can’t. I can’t. I thought it would all work out. I thought...”
“Nic, would you listen to me, goddamnit, this is not your choice to make.”
Silence for a second.
Just a second.
And then, as if coming from an Angel of Death herself, loud and raspy and so angry: “It is my fucking choice!”
Click.
My hands are shaking. Cars whizz by, horns honking. That terrible smoggy smell of New York fills my nostrils. People walk hurriedly on the other side of the street, under scaffolding.
Nic is not a missing person. She left of her own free will. And if I tell the cops, they’ll stop looking for her. What is that, withholding evidence, information?
I think of Johnny. I think of his smile in that photograph I took of the two of them. So proud, so unbelievably proud. I’m gonna be a father, Cat! he had said.
No, I won’t report this.
Nic might not want that baby. But Johnny does.
I pocket the phone inside my jeans.
And I walk away holding this secret close to my chest.
-6-
“I need some advice, Thunder.” Thunder arrived this morning, and I closed him to have a beer with me this afternoon.
“I’m all ears, honey,” he drawls.
“And I’m telling you this because I trust you won’t read anything into it...well, maybe you will. But if you don’t—”
“Stop. Just stop.” He holds a rough hand up, his piercing blue eyes seeming a little annoyed. “You gonna spill the beans or did we meet up here clandestinely in this bar for no good reason?”
Thunder. Always business. I bow my head, not believing I’m about to tell him this. “Nicole’s cheating on Johnny,” I blurt out. Why bother trying to hide it with the ‘hypothetical pregnant friend’ and the other ‘hypothetical male friend.’ Thunder would’ve walked out halfway through the first sentence.
Instead of being shocked, Thunder says, “Uh-huh.” He raises his glass to the bartender (a different bartender, a different bar, Brooklyn) to get it refilled. “Was bound to happen sometime. How-djoo know?”
I tell him the whole story.
After I’m done, all he says is, “That’s rough.” Thunder drains his glass. “So, you’re comin to me because...”
I swallow hard. I’m drinking a soda. It’s four in the afternoon, and I have a televised interview later. Can’t walk in stumbling. I know people are into that whole ‘disturbed artist’ thing in New York. But I’m not going for that. “For two reasons.”
“You want me to find her,” he pre-empts.
“And...”
“You want me to break it to Johnny.”
“No!”
“OK, just checking. But the second reason involves Johnny, doesn’t it?”
I stare at the mirror in front of me, which does no good, because it’s like staring at Thunder himself. “I want to know what I should do, Thunder. Should I tell him—”
“Absolutely.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Yes, you were. Man’s being cuckolded. He’s your best friend.” Thunder lowers his gaze, as well as his voice. “And he was much more than that to you once. It’d be a slight to his pride if you don’t tell him.”
“He’ll think—”
“It don’t matter what he’ll think, Cat. It is what it is. You’re either the friend you say you are, or you’re not. Listen, in all the years me and Rain were together, I ain’t never cheated on her. I looked at some legs, I did. But never more than that.” A weak, reminiscent smile spreads across his face. “She caught me out always, of course. And then she’d whisper in my ear, ‘She might have longer legs, honey boy. But can she do this?’ And then, well, she’d do something I ain’t gonna describe to you in very much detail if you don’t mind...” He looks at his whiskey glass, takes a small sip. “She ain’t never cheated on me either. And Rain was a looker. Almost as good-lookin as your mother, Cat. Almost.” He smiles. I don’t know if he’s being honest, or polite.<
br />
Thunder straightens his shoulders, raises his voice. “No man in my Club screws another woman when he’s committed himself to one, or else he has me to answer to. Some girls, well, they don’t mind that shit. I don’t get in the way. A lotta the boys don’t commit, and a lotta the girls prefer being used as pieces of meat. Not mah business.
“But if they’re committed, it’s the penalty of death if they cheat. You know what that means?”
“Err, death?”
“Death in the Club, Cat. He loses his patch. That’s my rules. He wants to screw around, he can go find another Club.”
“That’s...intense.”
Thunder’s smile reaches his eyes. “It was Rain’s idea. She knew I wanted to ride the road. I never did it when she and I were together. And, well, she said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if gang members’—she called them gang members—‘had nice girls on their arms?’
“‘They wouldn’t want no nice girls,’ I said to her.
“‘Of course they would, deep down, every man wants a nice girl.’
“She told me her whole idea, that if the Club itself enforced the rules of fidelity, nice girls would stream to it.
“Honestly, I thought it was stupid.
“But, well, after she died, I held on to every little bit I had of her. Even this stupid idea. Turns out, she had a point. We get some nice girls coming by the Club. Like Alice.” He grins, toasts his glass to me. “So I’ll look for your friend, on condition you tell Johnny what’s going on.”
“She asked me not to tell him.”
Thunder stands, straightens his jacket. “She’s also killing his child, Cat. You make the call.”
He pats me on the back before he leaves.
The bartender comes over and asks me if I want anything else. Damn, I’d love a beer.
I tell him No, I’m doing a show on TV later.
On TV? he asks.
Yeah, TV...
And then we start talking.
He’s got sweet gray eyes, a disarming grin, strong arms. He tells me he likes my hair, that he’s always liked...what is that?
I tell him it’s mahogany, dyed. But really, I’m blond underneath.
Blond? Oh... His eyes brighten up.
Before I leave, he also gives me his card.
-7-
I stare at my phone for a long while before calling Johnny. I’m still not convinced I should tell him Nicole was with someone else.
Johnny can’t find her. He can’t. Thunder can (and Thunder will.) What good would it do to tell Johnny now? He’ll flip out, go nuts.
I understand Thunder’s point of view. What are friends for? That’s the point. As Johnny’s friend (more, as Thunder pointed out), I can’t put him through this.
It’s not my place to tell Johnny. It’s her place.
I send him a text. She’s OK, J. Don’t know where she is, but she’s OK.
And then he calls, almost instantly after I sent him the message.
“Cat.” His voice is desperate.
“Johnny, she’s...fine,” I lie. “She needed some space.”
“Tell me where she is.”
“She wouldn’t tell me, Johnny.”
“What is she doing?”
Screwing another guy, hopefully one that isn’t diseased. “I...I don’t know.”
Silence. Then: “Cat, what is she doing?” His tone is more serious now.
“Johnny... She...she didn’t tell me.”
Silence again. Christ, he kills me with that. “She’s OK?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“And...” I hear his voice catch. “The...baby, Cat. Is everything—”
“The baby’s fine, Johnny.” I hope.
“Oh, thank fucking Christ. Jesus. Jesus. Jeezuss. But she was drinking, wasn’t she?”
Shit. “Yes.”
“How much?”
Who can tell? “Uhm, well, more than a pregnant woman should be.”
“Fucking bitch. I’ll kill her. I’ll fucking kill her if anything happens to that baby!”
“Johnny...” I’m about to ask him if he’s asked her how she feels about the child, but I can’t. It would freak him out. He’d think she was off getting an abortion or something. Although, she’s virtually doing that anyway. “Look, I have Thunder out looking for her. And I didn’t tell the cops she called. That means she’ll still be considered a missing person.”
“You could get in shit for that.”
“So? We need to find her, Johnny.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“No. Thunder’s looking for her.”
“But without anything to go on...”
“He’ll find her, Johnny.” Part of me hopes he doesn’t find the guy she slept with.
“OK. OK. Good. Good. God. Thanks, Cat. Thanks.”
For lying? “Sure.”
Silence. Awkward silence.
“You doing that show tonight?”
“Uhm, yeah, I’m...headed there now.”
“Cat, would you mind...would you mind leaving your phone with Alice or...someone. In case... In case Nic calls you?”
“Sure.”
-8-
Thunder did find Nicole.
He found her two days later.
He calls me. “Cat, it...it doesn’t look good.”
“Where are you?”
“In Wisconsin.”
“Wisconsin? How’s Nic, Thunder?”
“Cat...” He sighs. “Cat, it’s not good.”
I grip the phone tighter. “Thunder?”
“We found her in a cabin, Cat. She...”
I feel my lips trembling. “Just tell me she’s alive, Thunder. Before you say anything else, just tell me she’s alive.”
“She’s alive.”
My grip eases. “And...” Oh, God, I don’t even want to ask the question. “And...the...”
“It’s not good, Cat.”
Tears sting my eyes.
“We found her in a cabin,” he repeats. “We found her... She had a needle in her arm. She...” I hear a long, painful sigh.
It takes all the air from my lungs to say the next words: “Just...what...Thunder?”
“There was... There was blood...running down her legs, Cat. There was blood—”
My knees crash to the ground, hit the grass of the park I’m standing in.
I can’t help the sobs which come from me, even though I’m doing my best to hold them in.
On the phone: “I found the guy, Cat. I found the guy who sold her the shit. He didn’t sell it to her as such. He...”
I hear wails, loud, screaming wails of agony, and I realize they’re mine.
Someone runs to me, someone I don’t know, someone else in this park which looks out over the beauty of the East River. The stranger asks me, “Miss, are you OK? Are you OK, Miss?”
“Fucker knew she was pregnant, Cat. That fucker knew she was pregnant.”
The world spins. The stranger in front of me, a sweet old black lady with white hair and huge glasses, holds me by the shoulders.
“Oh, no, Thunder.”
“Motherfucker knew, Cat. He knew.”
I shake my head. Denying it. Denying everything.
“We’re bringin her home, Cat. We’re bringin her home.”
Through the greatest force I’ve ever had to muster, even when my father died two-and-a-half years ago, I manage to get the sobbing under control. I grasp the old lady’s wrist for stability. She seems to understand, and puts her other hand over my own, holding me steady. Stopping the world from rocking.
“Cat, it’s a fuck-up. It’s not good for anybody. Not easy for anybody. What we have to do in situations like these—”
“You don’t need to justify what you did, Thunder.”
“I’m not talking about me, Cat. I’m proud-a what I done. I’d do it again. I’m talkin about you, Cat. I’m talkin about what you need to do.”
I know it already, I know the answer...already.
And the thought of it crushes what force I have left in my body.
I almost drop the phone.
“You gotta tell Johnny, Cat. You gotta tell him.”
I nod, as if Thunder can see me.
“You understand me, Cat? You hear what I’m saying? You gotta tell him. He’s gonna need someone. And Nicole ain’t that person. Neither am I. Neither is his father, his mother. No one. He needs someone close to him, Cat. Someone he trusts. Someone...” Pause. “Someone he loves.”
-9-
I don’t call first. I’ll break down on the phone.
I head on over to Johnny’s place, the penthouse above Club Abre. I have a key, thanks to Thunder. But I only let myself into the nightclub itself.
It feels like walking into a cave. Dark and cold and smelling of smoke and liquor.
It was right here, right here, a month ago, when Nic broke the news to me. When they broke the news to everyone, on opening night, after she and Johnny had disappeared upstairs while people partied downstairs.
Johnny was so happy he pulled out champagne for everyone (except Nicole), on the house.
I can almost hear the flurry of congratulations, the clinging of glasses, Thunder slapping Johnny on the back.
And then Thunder’s look, toward me. Nodding, understanding.
I make my way to the elevator, get up to the top.
Knock on the door.
No answer.
I knock again.
No answer.
I call.
No answer.
I have a key to Johnny’s place as well, but I don’t let myself in.
I slide down the wall near his door, and allow myself to weep. I let myself weep as much as I can, because when he gets home, I can’t be the one crying.
It takes three or four hours before I hear the elevator ping and realize Johnny’s arrived. I wipe the tears from my cheeks unsuccessfully.
I’m the worst choice of people to bring this news to him, but I’m doing it.
When the elevator door opens, I do my best to stay strong, to hide what I’m feeling, to hide what I know he’ll soon be feeling too.
But it all fails. Miserably.
“Johnny,” I say, my lips trembling.
Johnny just stands there, in the elevator, looking at my swollen eyes. “Johnny,” I say again.
Claiming Johnny: A New-Adult Novel Page 2