“You wouldn’t.”
“I might. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d go too far in the other direction. Overprotective, you know. I could see that happening. Not let the kid out of the house. Always worrying. What if something happened to him?”
“Or her.”
“Or her. Whatever. You know, it would really scare me just to watch him play on the jungle gym or something. Jesus. I could see myself going nuts, trying to make sure he didn’t kill himself.” Wylie held a finger over his eyelid to stop it from twitching. “It’s just not the kind of thing you do lightly. I mean, we can’t just say, ‘Oops got pregnant. Okay, let’s go with it.’”
“You worry a lot,” Carolyn said.
Wylie squeezed his lips together to keep from snapping back at her. If she only knew. “I guess so,” he forced himself to admit. “I guess I do.”
“It’s funny,” she said, stroking his calf with her toes. “You seem like such an easygoing guy in so many ways. But at the same time you’re really uptight.” She paused, and Wylie had the feeling she was debating whether or not to ask him the next question. “Is it the war thing?” she finally said.
How easy it would be to say yes. Wylie was tempted. Everybody understood that. It was a syndrome, with its own name. It would explain everything. Except how things really were.
“Part, maybe,” he began. “But you know, I was always uptight. My old man, you never knew what was going to set him off. Might be because I forgot to put the milk away, or the electric bill was too high.”
He ran his hands over his face and tried to imagine a life without fear. Wouldn’t it be amazing? As it was, a large part of his life was frozen into black and white. Stills. That was the only way he could handle it.
“You poor thing,” Carolyn said, stroking his cheek.
“Ah, no,” Wylie said, embarrassed. “That stuff’s all in the past.”
“Come on.”
“Okay, maybe it bothers me once in a while. God, what time is it?” he said, straining to see the clock radio that sat on the table beside the bed. “Not even eleven yet. Jesus, I’m whipped. I feel like it’s three in the morning. All this talking. What do you say we just go to sleep?”
“All right. I’ll let you off the hook.”
They kissed, and Wylie turned on his side, facing the window. All he saw was black, like a churning, inky sea. Carolyn slipped her arm around his waist. It was the first time he’d stayed with her that they didn’t have sex, he realized.
What kind of milestone was that?
14
A tall guy with pale, freckled skin and russet hair that clung to his head like fuzz on a tennis ball walked up to Logan and handed him his suitcase. “Here you go, buddy,” he said.
“Stone party?” Logan asked. He dropped the phone in his pocket. Too bad he had to cut Jewell off like that. He looked Stone over. Not really fat, though he gave that impression. Khaki pants that bagged at the crotch, fly halfway down. Shirt untucked in the back, toes turned inward. Gold-rimmed glasses. Still, you could tell he was a take-charge kind of guy. Two underlings trailed behind him, dragging luggage.
“Jerry Stone,” the guy said, not bothering to hold out his hand. He wore a fat gold wedding band. Probably lived in a big, new house with his wife and kids, the kind of guy who picked up his own Skivvies and washed them, too. Drove his kids around, helped them with their homework. Took his wife to a plush weekend getaway on their anniversary. A nerd.
“Teagle and I will wait out front while you go get the car,” Stone told Logan. “Aaron, go get the bags and bring them out there.”
Logan watched the guy swagger in front of the other two, who stumbled over each other to follow his orders. Mutt and Jeff. Logan smelled money. Free and clear, with no deductions for child support or taxes. He shifted Jerry’s carry-on to his own shoulder, took his laptop. An easy mark. Something clicked on in Logan’s chest, the predatory instinct. He couldn’t help it, it was an animal thing. A wolf chasing down a deer. Fleece the guy and get out of there.
Logan clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a Hollywood smile. “Meet you out front,” he said.
It was raining pretty hard as they headed for the hotel on Wilshire. The asphalt was slippery. Light reflected on the street and the glass sides of the big buildings, silver on black. Mutt, the short, stocky lackey with dark hair, was in front with Logan. Jerry Stone and the willowy lackey with wispy blond hair were in back.
Logan glanced in the rearview mirror. “So, what business are you all in?” he asked.
“Software,” Stone barked. “R&D.”
Logan nodded, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “How’s life in Atlanta?”
Stone scooted up on the seat. “It’s fine.”
The windshield wipers thwacked back and forth. Water sprayed under the tires. Logan could feel Stone thinking. He wondered if his hair felt like it looked, rough and springy.
“So,” Stone said, looking out the side window. “Los An-gel-eese. You know the area?”
“Grew up here.”
“Uh-huh.” Stone sucked his teeth.
“Great place,” Logan said. “Lots to do.”
Logan could feel Mutt and Jeff getting nervous. Stone scraped his fingers on his chin stubble. “Listen, you know where we can have some fun around here?” he said. “Get a little action?”
Stone talked like he’d been in cold storage for forty years. The guys inside would eat him for breakfast. “Sure,” Logan answered. “What’re you looking for?”
The lackeys looked at Stone, who choked. Logan smirked. Stone wanted to act up but didn’t know how. Logan knew the type. Once he got him tight, he’d make a killing. And Stone would be too embarrassed the next day to make a stink about it.
“I’ve got to tell you, though,” Logan said. “This isn’t really my car. I’m an actor, you know. I just do this between gigs. I rent the car by the hour, and I was planning to take it back once I’d dropped you off. And then there’s my time, too. You understand, right?” He looked at Stone in the rearview mirror.
“Sure, no prob,” Stone said, acting tough in front of the lackeys. “Don’t worry about the money. We’ll take care of you. Tell me your name again.”
“Logan.”
“Logan. Kind of unusual, isn’t it? How’d you get that name?”
“My grandma gave it to me, Jerry. It’s some kind of rock or something. A rock that moves, something like that. I forget exactly. Druids or something.” Carte blanche, he thought. A big haul. “Okay, so I’ll take you around. Show you a few places.”
He held his open palm over his shoulder. It took Stone a minute to figure out he was supposed to slap it. Once he did, he relaxed. The lackeys took it easier, too.
“You guys hungry?” Logan asked. “Want to get something to eat? Maybe a little surf and turf, with a view of the ocean?”
They did.
Logan took them to a place near Malibu where they got a table close to the window. Not that they could see anything in the dark with the rain streaking down, but the guys seemed impressed that the ocean was just there, outside. Logan had the full steak-and-lobster treatment with a big baked potato. His own bottle of fancy mineral water. Jesus H. Christ, it was good. It sure as hell beat the Chinese noodle place. The others started with cocktails, then ordered a bottle of red wine. Then another. They got frisky as the meal progressed, talking and laughing like boys. Stone warmed up. By the time he picked up the tab he was ignoring the other two, treating Logan like his best buddy. As they walked back to the car, Mutt and Jeff trailed behind like two sulky kids. Stone slid into the front seat.
“Where to, James?” he said, laughing up a storm.
They stopped at a bar in Santa Monica that Logan had heard about. Lanterns made of handmade paper cast a golden glow on the crowd of slim young women wearing short, tight dresses and unshaven men with strategically rumpled clothes. The women showed a lot of tan, toned flesh. The Atlanta gang looked out of place, dowdy and pale.
“So, this is the real L.A.?” Stone asked.
“The real deal,” Logan replied. You had to yell over the noise. The women were hot. He hadn’t seen anything like this for a long time. He wondered if his Bogart jacket and Italian shoes were cutting it.
“What’ll you have?” Logan asked before a waitress could make her way over. Stone pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his money clip. Money clip.
“You choose,” Stone said.
The thing to do was get them sauced without spending too much of the hundred Stone had handed over, since he was probably feeling too buddy-buddy to ask for change. Logan pushed through the crowd, ordered a beer and a shooter for each of them, and got a glass of water for himself. That ate up more than half the money, but he figured his investment would pay off later. Waiters carried tiny servings of sushi on giant platters. He could smell the beer, sweet as nectar. This was the first time he’d been in a bar since he’d been out. If you don’t want to fall, don’t go where it’s slippery, someone in his program had said. But Logan had it hammered. There was no way. Besides, this was work, not play.
“So, what do you think of the ladies?” Logan shouted.
He’d managed to get another round down them, to get another hundred and keep the change.
Stone’s forehead was moist. “Nice,” he nodded. “Top grade.”
After that they headed toward The I-Beam, where one of the residents at the Morningstar worked as a sometime bouncer, but first they stopped at an ATM for Stone to get more cash, then at a liquor store for a bottle of Scotch. Stone and the lackeys passed it around in the car. The smell of the booze started to get under Logan’s skin. Things sure looked different when you were straight, especially when you were with people who were in the process of getting loaded. Logan clenched his jaw. If he was lit, this would be different. It was easy to hang out with anybody then, to have a good time. Sober, it was grim work, a job like any other.
The parking lot at The I-Beam was full of cars; a few people were standing around smoking joints or making out. The place looked like a warehouse. You could hear the music booming a block away.
Logan cut the engine and turned toward Stone.
“Listen, this place has a cover, plus they don’t let just anyone in. I know the doorman, but you got to make it worth his while. It’s a great place, but they’re pretty selective. You’ll have fun once you’re there, but it’s going to cost a little. The women here are righteous. Are you up for it?”
Logan had never been to the place before. He kept his fingers crossed that there was some truth to what he was saying. He was getting a jumpy, tweaky feeling. The skin on his elbows and shins itched. The backs of his knees ached. He wanted to move his toes, to stretch his legs, to—
“Sure,” Stone said, taking out his money. “No problem. How much?” His speech was starting to slur. The other two were giggling in the back, wrestling over the Scotch bottle.
Logan told himself to take it easy. Fleece the lugnuts and go home flush. “About fifty for each of you,” he said. “I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry, it’ll be worth it.”
“No, no. I’ll pay for you. How much for all of us? We’re all in this together. I insist.”
Near the corner of the building, Logan spotted two men with a crack pipe. The lighter flared, they bent over the flame. He could almost smell it. “You know, I think I’ll wait this one out,” he said. “I’m feeling a little tired. I’ll get you guys in and wait for you out here. You take your time. I’ll just wait for you in the car. Maybe catch a few winks.”
Stone affectionately grabbed the back of Logan’s neck. “Are you kidding? There’s absolutely no way. It wouldn’t be the same. Come on. Don’t poop out on us now.” He took a handful of bills from his wallet and shook them in Logan’s face. “Come on, just tell me. Tell me how much.”
The bills were twenties, fresh from the machine. Stone must have gotten the max. “Okay, okay,” Logan said. Stone fumbled with the money, trying to count it out. “Here, just take it,” he said, pushing a wad at Logan. “You’re a good guy, you know it?” He patted him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“Same here,” Logan said, taking the money. “How’re you doing back there?” he said, turning to the other two. “You guys ready to tear it up?”
“Let us at ’em!” the stocky one yelled. He was further gone than Logan had thought. He slumped against the wispy one, who sat with a bewildered look on his face, the bottle still in his hand.
“Okay, wait here.”
The rain had dwindled to a mist. The fresh air felt good. It was a relief to be away from the others, if only for a minute. Hands in his pockets, Logan crossed the parking lot to the door, where a bouncer sat on a tall stool. His lips and ears sported heavy hardware.
“How’s it going?” Logan said.
“Not bad.”
“What’s the cover?”
“Ten.”
“Got some friends in the car back there, three of them. Here’s for all of us.” He peeled two twenties off the stack Stone had given him. “You know a guy named Patterson? Works here?”
“Bartender?”
“No. Works the door, I think.”
“I don’t know. He must be here the nights I’m off.”
“Probably.”
Chances were the others were watching him from the car. Logan made a show of slapping the guy on the shoulder. “Listen, these guys I’m with are from out of town,” he said, leaning close and peeling off another twenty. “Do you mind doing it up a little with the royal treatment? Just a little?”
“Sure. No problem.”
Logan walked back to the car. “Okay, we’re all set,” he said, opening Stone’s door.
“Let’s roll,” Stone said, stumbling out of the car.
Logan steadied him with one hand. “Your zipper,” he said, pointing to his fly.
Stone grinned and swayed as he retucked his shirt and zipped up.
“Glad to see you here tonight, gentlemen,” the bouncer said as he opened the door with a flourish. “You’re all taken care of. Enjoy yourselves.” He winked at Logan.
The place was like an airplane hanger, with catwalks overhead and scaffolding against the walls. Noise and lights bounced in all directions. Go-go dancers shimmied on the scaffolding, the dance floor was packed body to body. There was a kidney-shaped bar in the center of the room where people stood three deep and another bar along the far wall.
Logan wondered what in the hell he was doing there. The bass boomed in his chest like a too-big heart. The Atlanta group clung to him like kids on a field trip. They trailed him to the bar, where he slid between the bodies and got them their drinks. They followed him over to a corner where Logan sipped his mineral water as he looked up at two dancers dressed only in the briefest of cutoff jeans. Thank God it was too loud to talk. The women danced athletically, twining their bodies around each other, dipping to their knees, arching against the poles of the scaffolding.
Jesus God, Logan thought. It had been a long time. Ten months inside and two more since he’d been released. A whole fucking year, he realized with a shock, since he’d even touched a woman. The song changed and the tempo slowed. The tune was familiar; something in Logan’s stomach leaped up and grabbed him by the throat. He watched the dancer nearest the bar, a woman with tawny skin and plush thighs who danced with her eyes closed like she was there just for her own enjoyment. To wake up next to that, Logan thought, to feel her body next to him in the bed. God, she was fine. You could melt right into her. His throat burned and his eyes started to smart. He was lonely, he realized, desperately lonely, and he’d been that way for a long time. The beat pumped up, and he had to look down to hide the tears that filled his eyes. Everything, everything that he’d lost. He went down the list again, as he’d done countless times when he was inside. His mother, who’d died just a few days after her sixtieth birthday. She’d always been his best defender, his biggest fan. No matter what he’d done—c
ome home drunk, been suspended from school, or gotten hauled in by the law—she was always on his side. He’d been inside when she passed on, just six weeks after they’d diagnosed her with cancer. And his own kids, growing up on their own. Jewell’s mother, who still came to him in his dreams, giving him the same warm rush of joy that he’d felt when they were first married. The women after her who’d accompanied him on camping trips, drug buys, nights on the town, breakfasts in bed. Cletus, best man at his second wedding, who was found OD’d in the parking lot down at the beach in Malibu. Gone, he thought bitterly. All gone. The first bike he’d ever had, stolen out of his own garage by a bunch of hellraisers up the street. The canyons he’d played in as a kid. Even his fucking fox terrier Mitch, who ate rat poison. What was left? Nothing, just him standing there in a place he didn’t want to be with three dick-weeds, trying to scrounge a few bucks.
The number changed and the dancer sauntered away across the scaffolding. That was it. Logan was having a drink. What difference did it make? Just a beer, because alcohol wasn’t his real problem, or at least not his main problem. As long as he stayed away from the other stuff, especially the speed, he’d be okay. Big fucking deal. He could taste it already.
The bar was a zoo. People with sweaty hair clinging to their necks, trying to get drinks. Bartenders with bare, shapely arms moving as fast as they could, but not fast enough. He could call his sponsor. He could just walk out of the place, get in the car, and drive away. Leave those three asswipes here. He had the keys, the cash. Women in midriff tops, men in sleeveless tees. The smell of bodies and cosmetics. Lots of them high, he could tell. The thump of music. Man, he was sick of it. Of people like them, not a care in the world, who had all the breaks. Not a clue what it feels like to be in the hole without one person giving a damn. Parents to pay for their school or buy them a car, set them up for good. He pushed his way forward, finally got a piece of the bar. The bartender closest to him, a young woman with an elaborate necklace tattooed on her neck, was lining up a long row of shots. Logan was determined now, no matter what. Just get it over with because he was sick of fighting it off. It would be a relief to feel the moment of no return. Then he would know where he stood. Then things would be easy.
Slipstream Page 15