by Craig Holden
Justine knew, and she knew that Will thought she did not. Will didn’t believe Justine understood anything except herself. He had it just exactly backwards.
As he stood looking down, watching the flow, Justine could picture the young woman coming onto the bridge as clearly as if she had been there herself.
And now, however improbably, she, the wealthy little American wonder girl, was here—drinking, dancing, bumping, giggling, and watching Justine, even as Justine watched her. She caught the glances, the peeks in the direction of the bar. The girl might have been naive, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew where the power lay. So it was time to move. Justine said ciao to Gianfranco and slid him a little change. When Will and the girl got back to their table, they found her sitting there, acting friendly with Didier, who by that time was so drunk he could barely speak.
“Well, hello,” she said. “I’m Will’s mother.” The girl’s eyes widened. Didier started to laugh, and Will laughed, and Justine smiled at her and said, “Sit, baby girl.”
And just like that the girl was beside her, close to her, leaning in so that their arms brushed, as if the two of them were already fast friends or as if Justine was the one she had really come here to see. That was just how she was, how she felt to people—as if they could lean on her.
“So you found our little Will wandering the streets and bought him some dins.”
The girl nodded.
“That was generous of you.”
“Not at all.”
“She say she knowing him,” said Didier, seeming to wake up. “She say dey go to l’ecole togedder. Den she jus see him on da…qu’est ce que s’avez dire, le pont?”
“Bridge,” the girl said.
“Ah, oui.”
“Really,” Justine said. “Kind of amazing, isn’t it?”
The girl gave a sheepish little smile and looked away. It was all so much goofiness, but Justine understood how delicious it felt. She understood that. Everything, even the stupid parts, were so rich and filling.
“Oui, yes. Amazing,” said Didier. “Ho-lee Gawd.”
“But then lots of things are amazing,” Justine said.
“What do you mean?” the girl asked.
“Just how it works out. How you want something, maybe, but you don’t even know what it is exactly. You just know you want it. You want to find out what it is, and then you want to have it, but you have no idea how to go about it. And then it just comes to you. And there you are.”
She could feel Will watching as the girl stared at her, as she fell into the black pool of Justine’s eyes.
The girl said, “And what do I want?”
“You’re asking me? I just met you.”
“What do you want?” Will asked.
“I don’t know. I know I have to go soon because I have to get up really early, like six, and take a bus to the train station and a train to Florence so I can see even more classic merde and follow the creep of Western civilization across Europe.”
“But—”
“But what I really want is another drink.”
Justine smiled and put her hand alongside the girl’s on the table so that their pinkies overlapped. “Well,” she said, “we can manage that. That’s what we’re here for.”
SO JUSTINE AND THE GIRL had themselves a good old-fashioned chin-wag. And it struck her finally what the girl wanted. It was true what Will had said earlier—one like this, from money and all, having herself flown all over the world to study this or that, was bloody bored with it, hard as that might be to imagine. But that was not the heart of it. She wanted what many of them wanted but didn’t know it: someone to tell her no. Just that. You can’t have that. Can’t go there. Can’t see this. No, no, no. Justine doubted anyone had ever said it to her.
There and then it was not her place to fill the girl’s needs, to satisfy her unacknowledged desires. Rather it was the other way around: She was there to help see to theirs. It was Will who had to be looked after, and this girl was simply another means.
Still, a different thought flickered through Justine’s mind, of the darker possibilities this woman might present. The possibility of salvation for them all. It was too beguiling to imagine. And what it would require, what it would cost, was too frightening. It was altogether too much to contemplate. And anyway, she told herself, the possibilities of its actually playing out, even if she decided to try to turn it that way, were next to nil. So put it away, she told herself. There was no chance.
Justine went to the bar and ordered another round, which, as it happened, the girl had offered to pay for. Nice, that. Beers for Will and Didier, wine for herself and the girl. She made sure to push all the change back at Gianfranco, who gave a wink as he set down the tray and said, “Grazie, Madre.”
She put her hand over one of the wineglasses and held it there for several moments, until the sudden fizzing and bubbling stopped.
The girl had mentioned the early train to Florence she had to be on with her group. That suggested possibilities. And those brought Justine back again to the dark notions brewing in her. She could see it laid out, the way it might play if she steered it just so, how it could end up being more than just the folding in the girl’s wallet and a few pieces of plastic to fence. So much more. But that was a very different game, one she had forsworn when she found Will again.
Back at the table, the girl touched her on the shoulder and leaned in so close that she could feel her breathing.
“I’ve got to get up early.”
“Not to worry,” Justine whispered.
“One more,” said Will. He leaned across and said something into her ear. The girl giggled and maybe even blushed a little. He was turning into a real pro, there was no doubt. But Justine couldn’t help the jealous bite that came with watching it, the feeling that Will was enjoying this in ways that weren’t strictly part of the game.
She handed out the beers and set one of the wineglasses in front of the girl, who said, “Oh, gosh.”
“One for the road, sweet,” Justine said. “Come on then, tip it up.”
She sipped again, and Justine could see that she was on the edge anyway, that point where, if she were to let it go, she’d just keep drinking until she was stupid. But Justine also saw that the girl knew that. She had gotten good at getting very close without slipping over. Well, this would be something new for her then.
She took another sip. She knew where she was. That was why her first reaction, upon standing to go to the bathroom, was more surprise than anything. She looked as if someone had just hit her across the back of the knees with a cricket bat. They let go, and she caught herself on the table. The crowd around them let go a loud whoop in honor of someone else who couldn’t handle the plonk, didn’t know how to control herself. But it wasn’t that, she seemed to want to tell them. It wasn’t that, Justine almost wanted to say to her, to assuage her.
The girl sat for perhaps a full minute, watching. She took another sip. I’m okay, her face said. Okay. She stood again. And then, as if that invisible someone had moved the target higher, the bat came down across the back of her head this time. Justine could see the room swimming and swirling in her eyes. For a moment she panicked and seemed to struggle to draw breath. She opened her mouth and looked at Justine, who thought that in her own eyes the girl could perhaps see what it was. Justine saw, for just an instant, a realization, a dawning. The girl felt frightened, but that moment passed. It became an abstraction, a distant part of something else that was not now and not here. The crowd shouted again, but Justine did not think she heard it. Or, rather, she probably did hear it but would not remember, and so it would be as if it had never happened.
Now the girl no longer struggled to breathe. It was all that was left for her—breathing and looking blankly at the world and at Justine before her. La Madre. Always there to help.
Venice
Four
I N THE END, THE HARDEST part was just the making up of her mind—stepping back into an evil she ha
d abandoned when she rediscovered Will. It was an enterprise she’d sworn off, though it had paid her well for years. And yet, she found, the opportunity was so perfect, so laid out, so irresistible that the decision had already made itself. There was nothing difficult about it after all. The whole thing seemed to have been fated. She barely had to do anything beyond simply setting it in motion.
After the GHB had kicked in and the girl went all vacant, Justine led her to a cot in an empty women’s dorm and posted Will in the doorway to make sure it stayed that way.
He said, “What the hell?”
“What the hell what?”
“You had to do this?”
“What’re you talking about? You brought her in. You did well, Will. I take it all back, what I said earlier. You are learning. Developing a sense.”
As she spoke, she was already in the wallet. She plucked out a nice fat wad composed mostly of liras and American dollars, with some emergency deutsche marks and francs mixed in. The wallet wad was more than she had even expected.
“You couldn’t’ve just lifted it?” he said. “You had to knock her out?”
“She’s not out.”
The girl was looking at them. Just looking. No expression.
When Justine put the wallet back, Will said, “She doesn’t have any cards?”
“AmEx, Diners Club, and two Visas.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know. I have an idea.”
“Oh, tell. Please.”
“Don’t be nasty. Think about it. Fencing plastic is a onetime shot, and a pretty small one at that. No? You’ve done it enough to know that. Even if you’re stupid enough to use the bloody things, you can only do that a couple of quick times.”
“What’s your point?”
“Cards are worth much more attached to their rightful owner.”
“What?”
“Besides,” she added, “it’s not going to break your heart to have her along for a bit of a ride, is it? You can’t bear looking at her for a few more days?”
“Whatever,” he said. “You still didn’t need to do this.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re feeling protective. You care.”
“Justine—”
“Maybe I should slip out and leave you two alone for a little while?”
“What?”
“She won’t complain.”
He looked at her a moment, then said, “That’s sick.”
“Oh, come on, baby. I understand. It wouldn’t mean anything.”
“Justine,” he said, “stop it.”
She undid the girl’s blouse and removed it, and slipped off the jeans. Will stepped into the room, closer.
“It’s some body she has,” Justine said. She had a sudden image of herself pulling down the bra and squeezing one of those great charlies until it was long and pointed.
“Justine,” said Will.
“So leave,” she told him.
He did not leave.
“You know you’re gagging for it.”
“Please stop.”
She looked at him, at the hurt on him, the confusion. Where was the jealous bitchy control freak he’d grown accustomed to? In the past she had spanked him for as much as looking at another woman’s behind.
“Well,” she said, “good for you. You not only bring us back some nice pickings but exercise admirable restraint and honor on top of it. I must’ve raised you right.” She laughed at his scowling and then covered the girl, stood up, and put her hand on his trousers.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” she said. “This hasn’t been the place for it. But I’ve been remiss. I haven’t been myself—”
“Justine—” he said, though he barely had the breath for it.
“Shall we find a private spot somewhere?”
He breathed again and nodded.
WHEN THE GIRL STUMBLED INTO the great room, which in the new morning had transformed itself from a rocking club into a plain bland cafeteria, Justine was sitting with Will. Justine leaped up and went over to take the girl’s arm and help her sit.
“Poor little pussy,” she said.
After the girl took a few sips of the coffee Will had fetched her, Justine said, “Well, that was some pisser you put on, girlfriend. Bet your head’s banging.”
“It isn’t,” she said. “I didn’t drink that much.”
“Right,” Justine said.
“I really didn’t,” she insisted. “Not for something like that to happen.” She drank some more of the thick coffee and then said, “What did happen?”
“You got blitzed,” Will told her.
“You just went over,” said Justine, “like you were bloody knackered. I put you to bed.”
“Thank you.”
“So you feel all right now?”
“I’m okay. I just…Oh, no. Oh, merde!”
“What is it?”
“My bus. We’re leaving. What time is it?”
“A bit after eight.”
“Oh, my God, you’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?”
“No, dear. When did you say it leaves?”
“Left,” she said. “Already. The bus was at seven. We had a seven-forty train.”
“Well,” said Justine, “don’t get all wobbly. You should call the hotel. I’d guess someone stayed behind. They may even have called in the police. Where did you tell them you were going?”
“I didn’t. I snuck out.”
“That’s brilliant. But I’m sure they’re all waiting for you, worried sick.”
“I don’t think so. Mrs. Abignale is always saying, you know, ‘If you can’t be on time, you get left behind.’”
“They always say that, don’t they? But they never do. Not really.”
“You don’t know her.”
“You have the number? The hotel?”
She lifted her purse and had begun to root through it when she made another nasty discovery.
“Oh!” she said again. “My money’s gone.”
“It can’t be,” Justine said.
“It is. Someone stole it. I had a lot of cash.”
“Lowlifes,” said Will. “You can’t believe the trash that hangs out in these kinds of places.”
Justine said, “What’re you going to do, dear?”
“I don’t have any idea. I’m so screwed. I’m in so much trouble.”
“What trouble? It’s your bloody trip. It’s not like you’re a schoolgirl or something.”
The girl looked at her then, and Justine could see it dawn on her that this was so. She was as free as any other adult.
“Of course,” Justine continued, “the thing to do really is call. Let them know so they can collect you. Unless…”
She let it hang there between them until the girl said, “What?”
“I don’t know. It’s—I’m sure they’ll want to just pick you up or something.”
“Unless what?”
“Well, we could ride you up.”
“You have a car?”
“No. Afraid not. I meant by train. We’re checking out today anyway. Heading north. Getting on with things.”
“You’re going to Florence?”
“Well, we could do. We’re sort of headed in that direction. The problem is we don’t actually have enough money for tickets quite yet. There’s a place we can give blood plasma, which should be enough.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“No. It’s all right.”
“But what were you saying? About me?”
Justine shrugged. “We know our way ’round pretty well. We could just take you there, make sure you meet up with your group, find the hotel and all that. We could leave this morning except, well, we’re all three of us flipping potless, aren’t we?”
The girl looked at her, not understanding at first. Then the bulb went on. “No,” she said. “Oh, no. I can get it. God. It’s not that.”
“I’m afraid you’d
have to buy all three tickets.”
“I don’t care.”
“I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll want to send someone round.”
“‘They’ being whom?”
Who Justine thought, and glanced at Will. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
The girl said, “I’d rather just go with you guys.”
“Rock ’n’ roll,” said Will.
“First,” Justine said, “you really will have to call someone. Let them know you’re alive. I don’t want the police coming after us for kidnapping or something. And then you’ll have to go round and collect your luggage. You’ll—We’ll need a taxi.”
“First,” the girl said, “I have to find an American Express.”
“Ah. Right. Well, believe it or not, I know where one is. Not far from here, really.”
“Will you take me?”
“Will can. You know where it is?”
He said, “Sure.”
“I really must finish my own packing.”
“We’ll get a cab then and come back for you,” the girl said.
“Wonderful,” said Justine. “That sounds really perfect.”
In the end, after Darcy had wadded up again courtesy of AmEx, and after a wine-soaked lunch (on that same lovely gold card), and after getting her packed up and out of the hotel (where, Justine discovered, someone from the tour had in fact been waiting until Darcy called), and a few last-minute errands that mostly involved seeing some people and settling some things, it took the entire day to finally get to the station, and then they had to hustle. This was, of course, by design. They had made sure they arrived moments before the train was to leave. So they ran, the girl between them, explaining to her that they didn’t have to buy tickets in the station. They could just pay the conductor when he came around. They made the platform just as the doors were beginning to close. Darcy tried to stop and ask a question, but they hurried her on board, somehow found an empty set of facing seats, and collapsed into them.
They were half an hour out of Rome when the announcements came over the tinny speaker. Justine could see the girl listening. It was hard to make out, but she did because she looked at them and said, “We’re on the wrong train.”