The Wild Zone

by Joy Fielding

“It’s kind of weird to think that there’s a whole other world going on under there,” Suzy remarked, stopping to peer out at the ocean, seemingly unaware of Tom lurking nearby.

  “Kind of neat, too,” Will said.

  Jesus, Tom thought. This was pathetic.

  Maybe Suzy thought so, too, Tom realized. Because she suddenly picked up her pace, her thin calves wobbling on the uneven ground. Will ran after her, forcing Tom to follow suit. Which was when Will abruptly stopped and turned around.

  “Shit,” Tom said, dropping his sneakers to the sand and reaching for his gun as Will walked briskly back toward him.

  “Dropped my sock,” Will called back to Suzy, falling to his knees and ferreting through the sand until he found it.

  Suzy was laughing as Will returned to her side, holding the limp, sand-covered sock out in front of him as if it were a dead fish. “My hero,” she said, still laughing.

  I could have been her hero, Tom thought, deciding to go to Brooks Brothers the next morning and help himself to one of those preppy button-down shirts. He quickly retrieved his sneakers from the ground, slapping them against his sides to rid them of sand, and followed after them.

  Will and Suzy continued along the beach for several more miles, mostly in silence, the waves chattering along beside them as they walked, Tom staying a discreet distance behind. Luckily, there were quite a few other people on the beach enjoying the warm night air, so his presence aroused no undue suspicion.

  “Let’s go to a movie,” Suzy announced suddenly.

  “Now?” Will asked.

  A movie? At this hour? Were they crazy?

  “Why not? It’ll be fun. There’s a theater just around the corner that’s open all night.”

  You gotta be kidding me, Tom moaned silently. Instead of going to a motel, they were going to the movies? Lainey was going to be furious.

  “Sure. I’m game,” Will said.

  “Shit,” Tom muttered, trailing after them. Lainey would kill him for sure.

  They stopped briefly at the road to put on their shoes, and Tom did the same. “Shit,” he said again as fresh sand from inside his sneakers attached itself to the underside of his toes, piercing his skin like hundreds of tiny daggers. God, he hated sand.

  He followed them for several blocks, relishing the feel of the hard concrete beneath his rubber soles. Minutes later, he watched from the doorway of an ancient haberdashery store as they approached the box office of an old-fashioned neighborhood theater. Five minutes later, he bought his own ticket and went inside.

  The previews were already under way, and the theater was surprisingly full, considering it was almost midnight. Tom stood at the back, waiting until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. After a few minutes, he located Suzy and Will three rows from the front. Only then did he settle into a free seat on the aisle in the very last row. He wondered what movie they were going to see and hoped it wasn’t a love story. He hated those.

  Happily, the movie turned out to be a violent action flick starring Angelina Jolie. Could she be any hotter? he wondered as she flew across the screen, effortlessly emptying a round of submachine-gun fire at anything that moved. Tom patted the gun tucked inside his waistband in a gesture of solidarity, enjoying the movie so much, he almost forgot about Will and Suzy until he saw them heading up the aisle approximately an hour later. Where were they going? He hunkered down in his seat, hiding his face with his hand. Surely they weren’t leaving. Not before the movie was over.

  Reluctantly, he edged himself out of his seat and slipped into the lobby, hoping to see them at the refreshment counter, loading up on popcorn. But no, they were actually leaving. “Too violent for me,” he heard Suzy say to the ticket taker on their way out the door.

  “Shit,” Tom said, following after them, so pissed off he almost didn’t care whether or not they saw him. Where the hell were they going now?

  “My car’s back at Ninth and Pennsylvania,” he heard Suzy say.

  He considered turning around and admitting defeat, going back into the theater, enjoying the rest of the film before heading home. “Nah,” he said out loud. He couldn’t very well go back to Jeff with nothing. “Can’t do that.” He waited until they turned the corner before resuming his pursuit.

  Twenty minutes later, they were back in the heart of South Beach.

  “That’s my car,” Suzy said, pointing to a small, silver BMW parked on the other side of the road. The distinctive chirp of a car’s remote control echoed down the street, accompanied by the flash of headlights.

  So, she’s got money, Tom thought as she and Will crossed the street on the diagonal. Suzy’s high heels clicked against the pavement, her hand outstretched, already reaching for the car door.

  Two men in matching skintight white jeans strolled by, holding hands, and Tom used the opportunity to sneak across the street, then duck behind a black Mercedes.

  “Well, I guess that’s it,” he heard Suzy say. “The end of the line.”

  The end of the line? Tom repeated, having to restrain himself from shouting with glee. He knew it! No way was “little brother” going to score tonight.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Will protested weakly.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid it does.” Suzy angled her face toward Will’s, held his gaze with her own, parting her lips in seeming anticipation. “I’m getting a stiff neck here,” she said after several more seconds.

  And suddenly they were kissing. Shit. What did that mean? Couldn’t she have simply climbed into her car and driven off into the midnight sun?

  “Okay, whoa,” Suzy said, pulling back.

  Good girl, Tom thought. Now, get into your car.

  “I’m sorry,” Will apologized immediately.

  Pussy, Tom sneered.

  “For what? Being such a great kisser? Trust me, no apologies necessary.”

  You call that a great kiss? You picked the wrong guy, sweetheart. I’m the guy you should have picked.

  “Stop grinning,” she told Will. “That still doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

  “Ever?”

  She laughed, opening her car door and climbing inside.

  Finally, Tom thought.

  “Am I going to see you again?” Will asked.

  Shit, how lame could you get?

  Her response was to start the engine. Only as she was pulling away from the curb did she lower her window. “You know where to find me,” she called out, leaving Will standing in a shifting cloud of exhaust.

  “Jerk-off,” Tom muttered, watching her car race down the street, then turn north on Ocean Drive. You don’t even have a car, do you, little brother? You couldn’t go after her if you tried.

  But I can, he realized, impulsively chasing after her, careful to keep his body low and hidden behind the cars parked along the route, smiling as her car became mired in the traffic that was as constant along this strip of roadway as the ocean, even at this late hour. His own car was parked just a couple of blocks away. It was possible he could get to it before she was able to advance much farther, that he might actually be able to pick up her trail, at least find out where she lived. Maybe even persuade her to give him a chance. Some women just needed a little extra persuasion, he thought, remembering that stupid girl in Afghanistan, the one who’d gotten him in all that trouble, resulting in his dishonorable discharge, as if he were the only American soldier to ever get a little carried away. Hell, he’d risked his life every day for those goddamn ingrates. Was it too much to expect a little reward?

  A few minutes later, he was behind the wheel of his ancient mustard-colored Impala, Suzy’s BMW barely half a block ahead, signaling her intention to turn left. He could follow her or he could turn around, he was thinking. Will was probably still wandering the streets of South Beach on foot. He could pull up beside him, offer him a lift back to Jeff’s apartment, let him know the jig was up.

  Or he could keep following Suzy Pomegranate, see where she went, find out where she lived. Who knows? She mig
ht even be expecting him. He’d caught her smile as she exited the bar. He’d seen her eyes searching through the darkness, as if she knew he was there. Had she? Had she known all along? Was she even now checking her rearview mirror to make sure he was still behind her?

  Hell, he thought, turning left when he reached the intersection, her car firmly in his sights. He’d come this far. Lainey was going to be furious with him no matter what. No point in giving up now. “Ready or not,” he whispered, winking at his own reflection, “Suzy Pomegranate, here I come.”

  FOUR

  JEFF’S CELL PHONE WAS ringing as Kristin drove her secondhand green and tan Volvo into the parking garage of the canary-yellow, three-story apartment building on Brimley Avenue, a twenty-minute drive from the Wild Zone. She didn’t have to guess who would be calling at this hour. There were only two people who thought nothing of calling at almost three o’clock in the morning, she noted wearily, glancing over at Jeff, who was snoring drunkenly in the seat beside her, oblivious to the opening bars of “The Star-Spangled Banner” playing repeatedly in his pocket. One was Tom, no doubt phoning to report on the night’s developments; the other was Lainey, calling to find out where the hell Tom was. Kristin had no desire to speak to either of them.

  She pulled the car into the first available space and turned off the engine, then sat there, staring at the gray concrete wall in front of her, the national anthem playing beside her, and wishing, not for the first time, that the building had an elevator. Or that they didn’t live on the third floor. Or that they lived in a newer building. In another part of town. A nicer part of town. That’s what she’d ask for, she decided, if a magic genie ever materialized to offer her one wish.

  No point in setting her sights any higher than that, she decided. What was the point in dreaming big when such dreams invariably turned into nightmares? She’d already had more than her share of those.

  It wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford a better apartment, or maybe even a small house. Between bartending and the occasional modeling assignment, she made pretty good money, and Jeff was doing well as a personal trainer. Assuming he didn’t quit this gym as abruptly as he’d left the last two. Oh, well, she thought, as she thought whenever she found herself wishing things were other than the way they were. At least this place was preferable to where she’d grown up.

  Hell, anything was better than that.

  “Hell” being the operative word.

  “Jeff,” she said, poking at him gently. “Jeff, honey, come on. Wake up.”

  Jeff made the kind of sound—a kind of half grunt, half groan—that begged to be left alone.

  “Does that mean you’re awake?” Kristin pressed.

  This time the groan was longer, more purposeful. Go away, it said.

  “Sorry, but if you don’t wake up, I’m going to have to leave you here.” Kristin didn’t want to do that. Jeff always insisted on carrying a lot of cash. Someone could stumble upon him and rob him, maybe even beat him up, or worse. Just for kicks. Like those teenage boys she’d read about in the Miami Herald a few weeks back. They’d come across a homeless man huddled in the underground garage of their parents’ condo during a recent storm, and when the poor man had explained that he was just trying to stay dry, they’d responded by setting him on fire. “Just wanted to keep him warm,” one of the boys had been quoted as saying to the arresting officer. So, no, she couldn’t very well just leave him there.

  Kristin climbed out of the car, marched to the passenger door, opened it, and began pulling on Jeff’s arm. “Come on, Jeff. Time to wake up and go to bed.” Now that makes a lot of sense, she thought, pulling harder.

  “What’s happening?”

  “We’re home. You need to get up.”

  “Where’s Will?”

  “I have no idea.” Kristin felt movement at her breasts and looked down to see Jeff’s head buried between them, his eyes still closed, his mouth reflexively searching for the nipples beneath her leopard-print blouse. “I don’t believe you. You’re unconscious, and you’re still at it.” She pulled out of his reach, watching his head roll back against the seat, a silly smile on his handsome face that somehow managed to be simultaneously smug and endearing. “Come on, Jeff,” she urged. “It’s late. I’m tired. I’ve been on my feet all night.”

  It took Kristin another five minutes to coax Jeff out of the car, another ten for them to reach the top of the stairwell, another two for Kristin to half carry, half drag Jeff along the exterior hallway to their apartment door. “If you’re going to throw up, please do it before we get inside,” she said, glancing toward the ledge that ran along the side of the building. Like many low-rise complexes in Florida, the building looked more like a motel, its thirty units—ten per floor—overlooking a small in-ground pool, each apartment accessible only from an outside corridor. Still holding on to Jeff, Kristin fished in her purse for her keys, ignoring the three-quarter moon winking at her from between a nearby cluster of palm trees. The majestic old palms made everything look better, she was thinking as she opened the door and pushed Jeff inside. They hid a multitude of sins.

  Would that they could do the same for the interior of the apartment, she thought as they entered the rectangular living room, notable primarily for its lack of anything notable. There were no picturesque nooks or crannies, no crown molding to interrupt the plain white walls, no pot lights or decorative details in the low ceiling. Even the large picture window that took up most of the west wall was uninviting, looking out, as it did, at a similar building across the way.

  The furniture was only slightly more interesting, consisting of a blue and green print sofa that currently doubled as Will’s bed, a navy leather ottoman, a few mismatched standing lamps, a couple of plastic, white stacking tables, and an oversize beige leather chair, all decidedly more functional than fashionable.

  A surprisingly large eat-in kitchen stood at a right angle to the living room, while a small hallway led from the living area to the bedroom at the back of the apartment. There was one bathroom.

  “The Star-Spangled Banner” began playing as soon as Kristin closed the door, as if heralding their arrival. Kristin watched Jeff’s shoulders straighten instinctively. “Don’t answer that,” she said as he began fumbling for the phone in his pocket.

  A second later, Lainey’s voice was running along the dark blue, sixties-style shag carpeting and climbing up the walls, like toxic fumes. “Where is he?” Kristin heard her demand as Jeff held the phone an arm’s length away from his ear.

  “Told you not to answer it,” Kristin couldn’t help but whisper.

  “Don’t lie to me, Jeff,” Lainey continued. “If Tom’s with you, you better tell me.”

  “Who is this?” Jeff asked, smiling playfully at Kristin and letting the phone slide from his hands.

  Kristin caught it before it hit the floor. “Tom’s not here,” she told Lainey.

  “I’ve had as much crap as I’m going to take from that man,” Lainey cried. “I mean it, Kristin. I’ve had it.”

  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  Her response was the phone going dead in her ear.

  “Always a pleasure talking to you.” Kristin tossed the phone onto the sofa.

  “Hey!” came a startled cry. “What the hell . . . ?”

  Kristin gasped as a figure bolted upright on the couch, rubbing the side of his head and looking thoroughly confused.

  “Will?” Kristin asked, flipping on the overhead light.

  “Shit,” Jeff said. “What are you doing home?”

  “Trying to sleep?” Will asked, shielding his eyes from the sudden intrusion of light.

  “Anybody else under those covers?” Jeff lunged toward him, pulled the blanket off the makeshift bed, threw it to the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Where is she?”

  The veil of sleep slid abruptly from Will’s pale face. He took a deep breath, released it slowly. “If you’re referring to Suzy, obvio
usly she’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” Jeff repeated.

  “I assume she went home.”

  “You assume? You didn’t go with her?”

  “No,” Will said. “She had her car. I grabbed a cab. . . .”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What are you asking?”

  “Did you fuck her or didn’t you?” Jeff demanded, suddenly very sober and alert.

  Will looked to Kristin, hoping she’d intervene. She didn’t. In fact, her eyes told Will she was as interested as Jeff in the answer. “No,” he said finally.

  “What did you do?”

  “Walked on the beach, went to a movie.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Jeff said incredulously.

  Will shook his head, releasing another deep breath as he fell back against the sofa’s soft cushions. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You walked the beach, went to a movie, she went home, you didn’t fuck her,” Jeff reiterated, as if trying to force the words to make sense. “What the hell happened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Yeah, I get that. What I don’t get is why. It was a done deal, little brother. How could you blow it?”

  “I didn’t blow it.”

  “You didn’t fuck her.”

  “You think you could stop saying that?”

  “Did you or didn’t you fuck her?”

  Again Will’s eyes traveled toward Kristin. “I didn’t.”

  “Okay, Jeff,” Kristin said, responding to Will’s silent plea. “Why don’t you go to bed? You can find out all the gory details in the morning.”

  Jeff shook his head and laughed. “Doesn’t sound like there were any.” He turned around and walked toward the bedroom down the hall, still shaking his head and chuckling. “You coming?” he called to Kristin.

  “Be right there.” Kristin waited until Jeff turned the corner to their bedroom before sitting down next to Will and covering his hand with hers. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I think you pretty much know everything,” he told her, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Considering you set it up.”