It was the first discordant note in a life that had had almost none. So he liked it for that. It seemed to promise a way out. He didn’t quite know what that way was, just that it existed, a thing he hadn’t been sure of before.
What he wanted, what he needed, was to be Matthias, in a world that wanted him to be a Gustafson and do what Gustafsons always did. Practice in a genteel area of the law, give generously to art and cultural institutions, produce perfectly groomed and well-mannered young Gustafsons to carry on the family name.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. It just wasn’t … enough. He had seen his friend Donald find the right woman, and now the two of them were carrying on the Burke tradition, and they both seemed happy enough, but they also seemed more like business colleagues than intimate partners. Matthias’s parents had been that way, too.
For a long time, most of his life, Matthias had mistaken superficial accord for deep emotional connection. Only in the past few years had he come to understand the difference. He had broken up with his last girlfriend when he found himself falling into the same pattern as Donald and his parents. He had wanted to shatter the superficial accord to find the deeper connection, but Olivia hadn’t been interested. She wanted the superficial accord. Many people did, so he could hardly blame her.
It wasn’t just people of his class and background who craved the pretense, but he found it almost impossible to discuss with anyone he knew. Look around you, Donald would say, and tell me again this is not enough? But it wasn’t enough because it was the wrong thing. Matthias had more than enough of what he didn’t want and not enough of what he needed.
He looked at the Maltese Falcon again. He wondered what it would be like to be Sam Spade and to live by a code. A simple code, to be sure, but a code you were true to, no matter what the cost. You didn’t just pay it lip service, or bend the rules to help out your friends. I won’t play the sap for you, sweetheart.
That made him think of the movie and of the Bogart retrospective at the art house, and he logged onto theatre’s webpage to find out if it was still on, and if so, what was playing.
The African Queen at eight. Not Matthias’s favorite, but a pretty good one. And you had to like Katharine Hepburn. He lifted his suit jacket from the back of his chair and went into the kitchen to get the car keys from the panel on the wall. He didn’t have to leave a note for anyone to let them know where he was going. The staff had all left for the day.
• • •
“Want to go to a movie?” Brianna asked Nat as she dried the last dish.
Nat looked up from her books spread all over the kitchen table. “No, I really need to ace this quiz to make up for not getting my homework done.”
“Nat, you missed how many points on the homework?”
“Three.”
“Three. Is that a lot? Did you still get an A on the homework, is what I’m asking?”
“I got a B.”
“Oh my god,” Brianna said, clutching her heart. “How will we ever live it down? A B? How could you disappoint me this way? I won’t be able to hold my head up in this town anymore.”
“Shut up,” Nat said and turned her attention back to her notes.
“I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to lighten up.”
“I’m not the one whose only social life is her little sister.”
“Yeah, your only social life is your big sister,” Brianna countered and put the last dish away. “It’s that Bogart retrospective. It’s The African Queen, Nat.”
“Isn’t that what Netflix is for? Or the late show?” Natalie said.
“You can’t watch The African Queen on a television screen and think you’ve actually experienced The African Queen,” Brianna said.
“Someday, when I have graduated from college and can engage in frivolity,” Natalie said in a very superior way. “But not today. Maybe if it were Casablanca.”
“You’ve never seen Casablanca.”
“Exactly, so then I might want to see it.”
“We missed Casablanca. It was on over the weekend.” Then Brianna wished she hadn’t said anything. They’d spent most of the weekend hardly speaking to each other.
“Mmm,” said Natalie, clearly preoccupied with her studies. “Maybe next time.”
Brianna grabbed her bag and hunted in the hall closet for a sweater. “I’m going to walk. I’ll be home around eleven.”
“Mmm,” Natalie said again.
• • •
Matthias drove the silver Lexus downtown to the art house, trying to remember the last time he’d driven anywhere. It wasn’t that he had a chauffeur, but rather that he hardly ever left the house. He wondered if you could be agoraphobic and simply not realize it.
The problem was that the house had everything he needed and he was never the one who had to go fetch anything and bring it back. He had Beverly for that. He had staff. People came to him, not the other way around. As far as his work was concerned, he was the brains behind the legal wrangling, not the one standing in front of the judge to make a point. He wasn’t even the one who met the clients.
Sometimes he wondered if anyone would even notice if he was gone. The staff was paid through a company that dealt with taxes and paperwork; Matthias just sent that organization a check every quarter. It was possible that Beverly and the others would keep cooking and dusting for months before realizing he wasn’t eating the food or answering the phone.
Maybe he would go somewhere. Take the Lexus, with its full tank of gas, and drive somewhere. Where would he go? He remembered once, when he was just a kid, his buddy Frankie had bought an old Mustang convertible and restored it, and they’d tooled around town one glorious Saturday afternoon. Then he’d gone home and his father had told him it was a bad idea to hang out with the son of a staff member, and after that there’d been a series of formal social engagements with people more like his family.
But he had never forgotten that glorious Saturday afternoon.
• • •
Brianna paused on the sidewalk just outside the art house, suddenly wondering if she’d remembered her house keys. A car turning into the parking lot briefly blinded her with headlights and she held up her hand against the glare before double-checking her bag again.
Had she locked the door behind her? No, she’d figured Nat would do that. So what had she done with her house keys? She’d used them to unlock the front door after work and then … set them on the counter. Really, why hadn’t she put them back in her purse?
Now she hoped she’d remembered her cell phone so she could call Nat and ask her to wait up for her or else leave the door unlocked. But her phone was … on her desk at work. Dammit. She wasn’t normally this disorganized. What was wrong with her? No wonder Mrs. Curtin was exasperated.
Maybe there’d be a phone at the movie theatre that she could use. She sighed and turned toward the door. She heard the chunk of a car door closing quite nearby, then the little bo-beep of the car’s security system engaging. Her car’s security system consisted of Brianna manually locking the doors.
“Hi, there, Brianna. I thought it was you.”
Brianna slewed around at the sound of that whiskey voice. “Mr. G,” she said, her heart skipping a beat. It was really unfair of him to sneak up on her like that. At least when he called she could take a moment to prepare herself. But there he was, all easy grace, dark good looks, charming smile, very charming smile. Polished, successful, no tattoo anywhere, way, way out of her league. Not even in the same sport.
“Look at you,” she said, rising to the challenge. “Out at the movies and everything.”
He smiled and came to join her on the sidewalk. “I rub shoulders with the masses occasionally.”
“And we do appreciate it,” she said. “Did you happen to bring your cell phone?”
He didn’t blink at what must seem like a total nonsequitur. He patted his suit jacket pocket — he was wearing a suit, despite the fact that no one wore a suit to a Bogart retrospect
ive. Maybe he’d just gotten off work. Although she recalled that he worked mostly from home. If she worked from home, she wouldn’t put a suit on everyday.
“Do you mind if I borrow it to call Nat? I forgot my keys and my phone and … ” Before she could complete the explanation, he had the phone out and handed it over to her.
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” She called Nat, alerted her, and gave Mr. G back his phone, and after that it would be weird not to go into the movie theatre together, so they did, and then it turned out he had forgotten his wallet, which made Brianna feel better about the forgotten keys and cell phone, so she paid for his ticket (“I’ll pay you back.” “You better.”) and after that it would be even weirder not to sit together, so they did, right in the middle of the theatre where Brianna liked it best. Although she wouldn’t have minded being all the way in the back, like in high school, and snuggling with a boy. But Matthias wasn’t a boy and this wasn’t high school, and she needed to remember who he was and who she was, so the middle was great.
“Did you ever read the C. S. Forester novel?” Matthias asked as the lights dimmed.
“The C. S. Forester novel of what?” Brianna asked. He was sitting right next to her, and the art house had narrow seats, so that meant that in addition to sharing the arm rest, their thighs were very very close. And also he was wearing some delicious scent, something citrusy and crisp, not musky like so many men did. She had to make herself lean away from him.
“The C. S. Forester novel The African Queen,” Matthias said.
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
“I’ll loan it to you sometime.”
Then the curtains parted — the theatre was old enough to have curtains that parted — and the movie started.
Afterward, Matthias offered to drive her home but she knew better than to accept, because it was just a kind gesture from someone she knew through work, and it didn’t mean anything, but it was getting hard to remember that he wasn’t her friend. A good brisk walk home — alone! — might help jog her memory.
Chapter Seven
Natalie thought of what she would say to Joe after accounting class. Maybe before, if she had a chance. Then he wouldn’t be running off to his next class. No, after, so she wouldn’t have to sit there and be embarrassed through the entire class if he turned her down. She could run over to the student union and drown her sorrows in ice cream before her marketing class started.
He was on his cell phone when he came down the hall, and he glanced at her but didn’t give his usual goofy smile, but she smiled at him anyway, and then he smiled back, so that was good. She thought about saying something but didn’t, and then went into the classroom and took her usual seat — second row back, not quite in the middle. She could barely pay attention to the lecture as the teacher droned on and on and on. She kept trying out different ways of saying her invitation to Joe.
When Professor Dryasdust finally let them go, Joe had his books and was out the door before Natalie had even zipped up her backpack. Note to self, she thought at his retreating back. Move faster! She grabbed her backpack and made her way out into the hall. Her courage almost failed her then, but she ran after him, catching up to him a little breathless, and nudged his arm.
“Hey.”
He turned to see who it was, then slowed his step a little. “Hey.”
“Listen, after my marketing class, I have to go let the dogs out, but I was going to come back to the library to do some studying.” Which wasn’t true, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Oh,” he said.
“What about you?”
“I’ve gotta work after I’m done with my next class.” He picked up his pace.
“Oh, okay,” she said, and let him go. So, wow, this was what he’d felt like that other day, dumb and embarrassed and disappointed.
Damn that Brianna for making her think it would be easy.
• • •
Brianna was sitting in her car. It was supposed to be her lunch break, but she wasn’t eating lunch, she was returning phone calls for Once in a Lifetime. Missy had agreed to the contract terms in principle, and then she’d called off the wedding, which, okay, you didn’t go ahead and marry Mr. Wrong just because you didn’t want to inconvenience your event planner, but Brianna had been so close to success! It was bitterly hard to return that call and invite Missy to get in touch with her again if her circumstances changed, but Brianna did it. Fortunately, she was able to leave a message on voicemail instead of talking to Missy personally. Otherwise it would probably have taken an hour to make the call, having to listen to Missy enumerate all of her ex-fiancé’s bad attributes.
Brianna supposed that was how the business went, ups and downs, and you couldn’t count on anything till you had it in your pocket. A lot like life, in fact. But there were a couple of solid leads that might result in business — those were people she would call back right away — plus a few other small clients who had milestone birthday and anniversary celebrations to arrange. Small gatherings weren’t that lucrative, but everything added up, and the important thing at the moment was to get her name out there and to get referrals. So that meant the celebrations had to come off without a hitch.
No pressure, Brianna told herself as she dialed the banquet facility where the Hendersons would be hosting their golden anniversary celebration.
• • •
Richard was watching the door of the museum and thinking maybe he ought to go back home if he couldn’t get his courage up. Maybe he needed a plan. Maybe he needed —
And then he spotted her, her red hair brilliant in the fall sunlight as she climbed out of her car, apparently coming back from lunch. Although he hadn’t seen her pull into the parking lot. So maybe she’d just been sitting in her car, eating a sandwich. He swung out of his rental before he could think about it and went after her.
“Brianna!” he called, and his throat ached, not from the shouting.
She halted on the sidewalk outside the museum door. She turned to look at him, saw who it was, and pivoted on her heel. From this distance he couldn’t see her expression but he didn’t need to see her expression to guess that she wasn’t delighted that he was here.
He darted after her, catching her arm as she pulled open the door. She shook off his hand and spun to face him, and he supposed he was lucky she didn’t punch him; thirteen-year-old Brianna would have socked him in the gut.
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling like he’d run a damned marathon. “That’s it. That’s what I came to say. I’m sorry. I know it was hard for you. You deserved better than what you got. And I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him, and for a moment he saw the thirteen-year-old she had been. Thirteen years since he had seen her. Thirteen years. It hit him hard and he made a sound, but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of Brianna. Thirteen years.
“You’re on step nine?” she said coolly. “Congratulations. I’m guessing you’ve never made it past four before.” She turned and, okay, he had said what he came to say. So maybe he would just let her go inside the damned museum and he would go back home.
L.A. had never been home, it would never be home, there was no home anymore for a man like him.
And then she stopped, and she turned back to face him, and he wasn’t glad about that because she had the look on her face that meant he was in for hard times.
“No,” she said. “You know what? No. Hell, no. All those years I was in Al-Anon, trying to figure out why my parents loved alcohol more than they loved me, I know what the damned twelve steps are. Number nine: ‘We made amends to the people we harmed.’ That’s not, ‘I’m sorry,’ Richard. That’s reparation. That’s repayment. You still owe me, you bastard.”
With that she flung the door open and went inside.
• • •
“So we’ll proceed with the patent application,” Matthias said. “The changes the client made to the production process are sufficien
t to make it unique, so I don’t anticipate any problems.” That was what people paid him for, to not have problems.
“Great,” Donald said. “Marigold wants to go to dinner on Friday.”
Matthias repressed a sigh. Marigold was Donald’s wife. He should have guessed that Donald had an ulterior motive for wanting to meet in person. They could have accomplished this update over the phone or by email.
“I’m sure you’ll think of someplace delightful to take her,” Matthias said. Despite knowing he wouldn’t win, he was not going down without a fight. He gathered his folders together and tucked them in his briefcase.
“Dinner with you,” Donald clarified.
“Friday?” Matthias echoed. He could think up an excuse, but then Marigold would want to do it on Saturday or next Friday. There was no chance of getting out of something once Marigold had set her mind to it.
“She has someone she wants you to meet.”
As if that might entice Matthias. “I’ve met her friends,” he said and diplomatically did not add They’re all as plastic as she is. Maybe he shouldn’t criticize. Maybe he was as plastic as the rest of them.
“You haven’t met all her friends,” Donald said. “I haven’t met all her friends.”
She makes them in molds, Matthias guessed.
“She just wants you to be happy,” Donald added.
“I am happy.”
“She doesn’t think so. And if Marigold makes you her mission … ” Donald shuddered and Matthias felt a slight stab of alarm. “You need to get out more,” Donald suggested.
“I’m hosting a party,” Matthias said quickly, and where that idea had come from he did not know.
“Really?”
“Yes. A gathering … after the holidays. Early spring.”
“So you haven’t given up on social life after Olivia.”
Matthias had always suspected his Olivia did not break my heart protests had fallen on deaf ears and now he knew he’d been right. “So just tell Marigold she doesn’t have to worry about me.”
Catch a Falling Star Page 5