Brilliant

by Lark O'Neal

  Mercedes leans forward as the reporter returns. “I had a chance to speak with Tyler before he headed back to Colorado yesterday. Let’s take a listen.”

  “Stupid phrase,” Mercedes mutters. “’Just listen’ is perfectly good.”

  The reporter says, “Tyler, you’ve been on a rollercoaster with this Grand Prix, and that ankle has been giving you a lot of trouble. Is it going to hold up?”

  Kaleb stalks over, stands watching with his arms crossed tightly. I try not to look at him. If I were in control of the remote, I’d turn it off, but Mercedes has it in her hand, and I’m not sure if it would be better to say, ‘just turn it off,’ or let it go.

  Or what.

  So I don’t do anything, feeling anxiety and heat build in my throat.

  Tyler scratches his eyebrow, taking a breath. “I guess none of us know our fate, Gary—I can only take the chances I’m given and do my best.”

  “Oh, brother.” Mercedes says it a sneer. “That’s vanilla.”

  I glance at her.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s the comeback of the year. Can you tell us what made you decide to get back out there after such a long hiatus?”

  Tyler looks down for a minute, and an instant before he speaks, I know exactly what he’s going to say. He looks at the camera, those aquamarine eyes playing the camera like a lover, and says, “A woman who makes me want to be better than I am.”

  Mercedes looks at me. I can feel her eyes on the side my face. Kaleb’s presence is as loud as a stadium even though he doesn’t say a word.

  Gary is clearly taken aback, but he recovers. “Who is your biggest competition here, Tyler?”

  “Sage is the man to beat,” he says, “but I’m always my own biggest competition.”

  “Well, good luck to you.”

  Tyler salutes him in a careless way and the camera switches back to the guys in the studio, who are onto someone else.

  Kaleb sends me one, long smoldering glance, then stalks back into the bedroom and slams the door.

  Mercedes glances over her shoulder at the slammed door. She speaks quietly. “Did Tyler mean you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, but it’s a lie.

  She looks back at the television, then back at me. I am not sure what to say, but after a little while, she says, “Let’s order food.”

  “Give me a minute.” Taking a deep breath to cool my overheated middle, I go to the door and knock. “Kaleb. I need to talk to you.”

  “No.” The word is muffled.

  I open the door. “Let me talk.”

  He’s stretched out on the bed, one arm over his head. “Better make it fast. I took a sleeping pill.”

  “I just—” I realize I don’t know what to say. “It wasn’t me who was looking for him on television, you know. Mercedes turned it on, and there he was.”

  “Funny that she knew who he was.”

  I swallow. “He was on the news this morning.”

  “Whatever, Jess. Finish it with him or don’t, but I’m not in the middle anymore.”

  I step closer, reaching for his head to see if he’s feverish. He pulls away, angrily. “Don’t.”

  “Why would I even want to be with somebody who can be so cold, Kaleb? I’ve been lonely my whole life and all you’ve been doing is shutting me out.”

  He takes the arm from his face. “I’m too tired for this. Do what you want.”

  Stinging, I whirl away and slam his door behind me. Mercedes is on the phone, ordering food. She raises one finger.

  I nod. My heart is pounding with rejection and hurt. And almost before I know I’m going to do it, I pick up my phone and text Tyler. Just saw you on TV. Is the ankle really bad?

  It’s not good. Can you Skype?

  Not right now. I can talk on the phone, though.

  In a half a second, the phone buzzes. I head for the empty bedroom at the other end of the living room. Closing the door, I say, “Hey.”

  “Hey. How’s it going?”

  I pull open the curtains, revealing the twilight softness falling over the mountains. A line of gold lingers along the edges of the peaks, as if there is nothing on the other side of them but a ball of sunlight. “There have been some complications, but things are okay.”

  “What complications?”

  “You first. Tell me about the ankle. The guy was talking like it was pretty serious. Is it?”

  He sighs. “It’s causing trouble, I won’t lie. It’s just not taking my weight the way I need it to.”

  “Do you need to pull out?”

  He makes a noise halfway between despair and laughter. “And go to prison instead? No, thanks.”

  Attempting to lift his spirits, I say, “Well, I guess there’s that.”

  “I’ve got a few days to get some intense rest and treatments—all I can do is my best.”

  “You looked amazing in that clip, Tyler. Like a bird or something, flying. Beautiful.”

  He’s quiet. “It’s odd that you’ve never seen me snowboard. It’s probably the truest, most real thing about me.”

  “Maybe,” I say, tracing the line of the mountain on the window. “I think it might be your painting.”

  “Maybe.” He sounds tired and I think I should let him go. “What are your complications?” he asks.

  “Actually, Kaleb has altitude sickness and we had to bring him down to a lower altitude. I brought him to the Springs so I can see Electra.”

  “Ah. She oughta love him, right?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s not the point. I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

  A pause. “I’m here, too. At home.”

  “What? I thought you were going to Breck?”

  “I had a few days. Just wanted to have a few days outside the craziness.”

  My heart feels thready. Danger, temptation, conflict, worry. What do I do now? “Weird.”

  “Seems fated, doesn’t it? Can you have a cup of coffee or something? Just coffee, nothing else.”

  “I don’t know,” I hear myself say. “Pretending things are right with us isn’t doing any of us any good.” As I say the words, I’m surprised to find tears running down my face.

  “Not today, Jess. Can we not have this conversation today?”

  The tears are heavy, silent, blurring my view of the mountain. “I have to make this movie.”

  “I’m not interfering with the movie.”

  “I know. I just—” I have no idea how to end that sentence. “I have to make it with Kaleb. He’s completely shutting me out right now.”

  He’s quiet. “You still have feelings for me. I know you do, Jess. I felt it when we were in Nelson that day. There is something real and true between us. I won’t fuck up your movie, I swear to God, but give me this chance to prove that I am the man you once thought I had it in me to be.”

  I think of him in his house, where his studio is filled with paintings. I think of his gaunt look on television just now and the pressure of maybe going to prison.

  I think of the way he kisses me, like he’s drowning and I alone can save him. Tears are still flowing over my face because I don’t know what to do, at all, or even what these feelings are, but one thing I can’t do is totally cut him off right this minute. Not when everything is so hard for him. “Okay,” I whisper. “We can talk when you’re done with the Grand Prix.”

  “Thank you. Now can we stop being so serious?”

  I laugh softly. “Fine with me.”

  “How did your hair turn out?”

  And with everything else, I’ve forgotten what I thought would be a big trauma. “It’s great. I keep forgetting and then I reach for it, or look in the mirror and—it’s gone.”

  “I bet you look great.”

  “I’ll send you a picture.”

  “That’s great.” He yawns. “I really should get some sleep, elevate this damned ankle.”

  “Ok. Sweet dreams.”

  “Text me if you change your mind about that coffee
.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Mercedes ordered a selection of foods while I was on the phone and we eat spinach salads and minestrone soup and cheese and crackers along with bottles of beer. Turns out she’s a vegetarian, which makes me laugh because Jules is all into rare red meat. “Wishful thinking?”

  She frowns, a forkful of spinach paused in the air. “No. I think…it’s probably crazy, but I don’t come up with that stuff. Like, I don’t think about what she’d eat, she just comes to me as a person who eats specific things.” She munches the spinach. “I think the stories live somewhere on the other side of a wall or something and it’s my job to get them over on this side of the world as clearly as possible.”

  “How many stories have you written?”

  “I have no idea. A lot. I started writing in notebooks when I was a little kid, like seven or eight.”

  “Are they all as sad as Torches?”

  Her wide mouth stretches into a frown. “Mostly. It’s not like I lived a lot of cupcake moments.”

  The phrase makes me laugh. “I get it.”

  “You’re an optimist, though. I can tell. I’m the ultimate cynic.”

  “I don’t know that I think of myself that way.”

  “An optimist is always thinking the best of people. That’s why you keep giving that guy—” she points to the television, so I guess she means Tyler “—second chances. You think people can change.”

  “You don’t think any of us can change?”

  Her big, clear eyes have a truly painful depth of disappointment in them when she says, “No, I don’t. We are born with a certain set of good and bad traits, and basically we just try to get through with them.”

  I take a sip of beer—it’s a lager, which I haven’t had for awhile, and it’s cool and strangely bitter. “So, for example—you.”

  “Okay. I’m very smart, in all kinds of ways people don’t expect—very verbal, but I’m a good observer and a good imitator, and I pick up almost anything very fast. I’m a survivor because I’m so adaptable.” She leans forward. “My flaw is that I’m also a romantic. That’s the thing I have to guard against. It’ll kill you if you live the kind of life I have.”

  “The life you used to have,” I say in protest. “You’re creating a whole new life for yourself. Why not let the romantic out and see what happens?”

  Her mouth twists. “Nope. I’ll leave that to women like you, dreaming the big dream.”

  “I’m hardly a big dreamer,” I say, shaking my head, unoffended.

  “What are your qualities, Jess? And your flaws?”

  I have to think about it. “I’m curious about everything, I guess. And I’m smart. And adaptable, too, like you. I’m shy, that’s a flaw, and I’m not sophisticated.”

  “That’s something that can be learned. You are a wise old thing, though. I see that in you. Something calm and knowing about you.”

  “Thank you.” I incline my head. “What makes you think there’s something broken in Tyler?”

  She raises a brow sardonically. “He’s trying to win your attention, so he must have done something wrong.” Her phone blinks and she stands up. “Excuse me.” As she walks away, she answers the phone and heads into the other room, closing the door behind her.

  Much as I did a little while ago with Tyler.

  Tyler, Kaleb. Kaleb, Tyler. Why is this so freaking hard?

  But before I can fall into my whole idiot brooding thing, there’s a strong rap at the door and I leap up with a squeak, flying across the room to open the door. She’s wearing dark blue scrubs and her hair is severe and very short. “Electra!”

  “Hey, baby,” she says and pulls me into a bear hug. Her coat smells like the hospital, faintly of rubbing alcohol and some kind of cleaning product. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

  “You, too.”

  “Wait one minute.” She pushes me back to arm’s length and her mouth opens, closes. “Your hair!”

  I touch the feathered ends. “It’s not really short or anything. It’s just that there was so much before.”

  “It looks wonderful.”

  Just then, Mercedes swings out of the bedroom, bringing an almost orange energy with her, an energy that slams down instantly upon seeing Electra.

  “Hi,” she says with a funny expression on her face.

  “This is Electra,” I say. “Electra, my friend Mercedes. She’s the writer who wrote the book they’re making the movie from.”

  “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” Electra says. They’re eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder.

  “Thanks.” Mercedes gives me a confused look. “How are you two related? You’re her stepmother or something?”

  Ah. I grin. “We were neighbors, and Electra showed me all kinds of things, like how to cook and garden and stuff like that.”

  “Okay.” She tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear but it falls right back out, the curls springing over her cheek. “I always think I can spot biracial kids at a hundred yards and you so do not fit the bill, but what do I know?”

  “Biracial covers a lot of ground these days,” Electra says.

  “Come sit down,” I say, pulling her toward the couch. And she sits. We all make polite chitchat for awhile, or what passes for chitchat. I explain that Kaleb is sleeping off the altitude sickness. Mercedes checks her text messages every five seconds.

  “Let’s go across the street for a minute,” Electra says. “You don’t mind if I whisk her off for awhile, do you?”

  “Nope.” Mercedes sets her phone aside, feet falling to the floor. “I’ll hang out here in case he wakes up, but if it’s anything like I had, he’ll be gone till morning.”

  “Okay. I guess I’ll see you guys later, then.” But it’s wildly uncomfortable to leave them, even with Kaleb out cold. He’s furious with me, and I’m leaving him alone with one of the richest, smartest women I’ve ever met.

  What is wrong with me?

  * * *

  At the pub across the street, Electra and I tuck into a booth and she orders a beer. My fake id is long gone, somewhere back in New Zealand, so I order a coke. “How’s everything going?” she asks. “You look wonderful.”

  I flip my hand through my hair. “I love this haircut. I was so worried about it.”

  “It suits you.”

  We talk about everything and nothing. I tell her about my dad and the winery and worrying about it disappearing when I left. She talks about a boy in the neighborhood who has been showing up on her doorstep to cook with her, and the unfriendly backyard neighbor. “I tried to give him a bag of vegetables at the end of the season and he just said, ‘no thank you,’ in his sour little voice.”

  “Sorry I had to move.”

  “Oh, I’m not. Not for one second.” She sips her ale and settles the glass back down on the table. “I’m looking forward to meeting Kaleb in the morning.”

  I nod. “He’s pretty mad at me right now.”

  “Is that right?”

  I think of him waking up, then rehearsing scenes from the movie with Mercedes. My stomach feels very uncomfortable. “When Tyler came to New Zealand to visit me, he decided he didn’t want to compete or whatever, and he broke up with me.”

  “Kaleb did.”

  “Yes, Kaleb. I guess that was a confusing sentence.” I stir my drink with the straw.

  “Mmm. How do you feel about that?”

  “I hate it! He told me I need to finish things with Tyler before we have a chance, and you know, he might be right, but I also feel some loyalty to Tyler because he’s making this bid for the Olympics, and having some trouble. Like, I don’t want to let him down.”

  “Sounds rough.”

  “I just don’t know what I want to do. I have to figure this out. It’s screwing up my life in big ways.” I take a breath, realizing it’s a long speech for me. “How do you decide somebody is right for you?”

  “It’s a hard question. I guess all of us figure it out in different way
s.”

  “Like what ways?”

  “Character, for one thing. Who makes a better father, a better husband? Who would you trust?”

  That’s easy. “Kaleb.”

  “But that’s not all, is it? Who stimulates your mind? Who makes you more of yourself? Who is going to drive you to be a better person that you are?”

  I think about Tyler and the books and the way we talk about the world of the mind, art, music. With Kaleb, I feel more steady, whole, connected to the world of—my heart? My spirit? “Hmm. Different answers to all of those. I sometimes think Tyler needs me more than Kaleb, like Kaleb’s going to land on his feet no matter what. He just has that steady nature.” Chewing my lip, I say, “Kaleb is my best friend. I really don’t want to lose that, and maybe the only way I can keep that part is to lose the other part, you know?”

  She nods. “You know I am not crazy about Tyler. All that violence. But I know you have strong feelings for him. I look forward to meeting Kaleb, see what I think.”

  I make a face, half-smiling. “I already know you’ll love him. You will.”

  “Why is that, Jess? What will I love?”

  I think of him, the feeling of him in my heart. “He’s steady. And wise. And really, really, really hot.”

  She smiles. Tilts her head. “What are you afraid of, Jess?”

  Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I look into her knowing brown eyes. A thousand things run through my head—being alone, being with the wrong person, making the wrong choices, never getting to go back to New Zealand, never seeing my dad again—

  “A lot of things,” I tell her, then duck my head and whisper, “What if there’s something wrong with me and I’m never happy for the rest of my life? What if all the things that happened broke something inside of me?”

  “No,” she says fiercely. “You are not broken, Jess. And your happiness doesn’t hang on which of these men you choose, but on how well you make decisions for yourself every day.”

  “Is that really true?” A knot sits in my gut. I think of Kaleb laughing in the rain, kissing me under the whale bones in Kaikoura, helping me graft plants in the greenhouse. I think of Tyler feeding me, and giving me books. I think of his bedroom, bathed in pale green light, and how right it felt to be there with him. I groan. “How do you separate the guy stuff from the rest of your life?”