Asking For It

by Alyssa Kress

  Quite a denial. Maybe if he hadn't looked so distraught while delivering it, Deirdre might have believed him.

  With a lift of the shoulder, meaning: whatever — she reached for the leather menu set to her side. "Shall we order dinner?"

  Ricky stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "Dinner. That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

  His eyes widened. "You intend to have dinner? Here? With me?"

  "Why not?" Deirdre smiled.

  Ricky looked like he could have listed an encyclopedia of reasons why not. But now that Deirdre hadn't stalked out in a huff, he had little choice. Looking deeply wary, he picked up his own menu. "This is...very weird."

  "Not at all." Cheerily, Deirdre scanned her choices in the elaborate menu. "You invited me to dinner. Here we are. Let's eat. Oh, the steaks look good."

  Utterly disquieted, Ricky glanced at her over his menu.

  Deirdre realized she was enjoying herself. Oh, it was wonderful to have confidence. Here Ricky had thought to come in and direct matters, even end the relationship. Instead, Deirdre was holding the reins. She was! "I'd like the sirloin tip and a glass of red wine," she announced.

  He coughed. "Uh...anything you want, Deed."

  Deirdre set her menu down with a wide, happy smile. Oh, she knew she wasn't at home plate yet. She knew Ricky, gazing over his menu at her with such consternation, wasn't ready to admit his true involvement in this relationship.

  But he hadn't been able to slither out of it, either. He hadn't been able to hide behind his walls completely.

  And if she could continue to hang tough, not give up, believe in herself, she might persuade him to come out from behind his fortress altogether.

  Deirdre smiled at Ricky. Yup, it was a definite possibility.

  ~~~

  Ricky was in a helluva mood by the time he maneuvered into a parking place on the narrow street in Venice. It was full dark, nearly an hour since he'd left Deirdre in front of the restaurant in West Hollywood, but some kids were still outside here, playing on the sidewalk under the jacaranda trees. People loitered on porches.

  With his mouth pursed in a scowl, Ricky hauled his briefcase out of the back seat and stalked through the gate that led to a rickety collection of one-bedroom cottages. Each cottage faced a central grassy yard, liberally sprinkled with dandelions. The quaint, homey feel of the place, not to mention the price, had appealed to Ricky four years ago, when he'd started law school. He'd have enough money to afford something better soon, but he wasn't in any hurry to leave.

  He fished out his key, stuck it in the lock and opened his front door.

  The cottage gleamed. The maid had been here, then. Ricky's papers and books had been cleared from the blond wood furniture. There was the smell of recent vacuuming. From a high dresser to Ricky's left, a large gray cat leaped to the floor.

  "You," Ricky growled. "How the hell did you get in?" The cat had showed up a few weeks ago and camped out on Ricky's doorstep. Ricky had fed it to get it to shut up, but he'd been far too wise to let the damn thing inside. Now the scruffy animal waltzed in front of Ricky toward the kitchen, as if it belonged there and Ricky were its servant. It meowed with volume and insistence.

  "Okay, okay. I'll open your dinner." It would be impossible to get the cat out now. Ricky tossed his briefcase onto the futon sofa and followed the cat into the kitchen. He drew a can opener from a drawer and applied it to a can of Purina with a vengeance.

  What nerve Deirdre had. Ricky's disbelief and confusion over the scene at the restaurant were transforming satisfyingly into anger. She should have believed him. She should have done her best to make him feel guilty. She should have cried. Instead, she'd — she'd — fired a counterattack.

  But her attack had no teeth to it. Ricky didn't like her, at least not romantically, relationship-wise. He wasn't involved, not entwined.

  Not needy.

  Ricky used a plastic spoon to dole the cat food into a ceramic bowl. After setting the bowl on the kitchen floor, he rinsed his hands and shrugged out of his jacket. Obviously, it had been stupid to dress up and take Deirdre somewhere fancy. She'd gotten the wrong idea.

  Ricky laid his jacket over the back of the sofa and loosened his tie. After grabbing a Dos Equis from the refrigerator, he plopped onto the sofa, perched the beer on his thigh and glared at the stray cat, who was busily chowing down on high-priced cat food.

  No, Ricky didn't need Deirdre, but he did remember what it was like to lie in bed with her, the smile she'd wear as she turned over to put her hand in the center of his chest. He remembered...the feeling he would get in his gut. A — socked kind of feeling.

  Now, sitting in his cottage with a beer chilling his right hand, he felt socked all over again, and nearly sweating with fear.

  Damn it. Damn it to hell and back.

  Deirdre was wrong. The woman had it all wrong. He wasn't involved.

  He didn't need her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was always a bittersweet hour, seeing the kids off on the bus. The last session of the summer was the most poignant. There was the relief of getting rid of the little devils, and the sorrow of saying goodbye. No doubt the hill was more peaceful once the kids were gone, but the place was also more empty, no longer filled with life and meaning. Oh, there would be weekends of seminars and conferences. Kate would host her well-paying guests with enthusiasm, but the corporate honchos and religious retreaters were not what made her want to live on the hill.

  At ten on Wednesday morning, Kate stood at the edge of the main quad, saying her farewells as her campers filed onto the big yellow school bus. Amid the relief and sorrow of today's farewell swirled a good dose of tension. Any minute now Griffith would appear. He, like the teenage counselors, was taking the bus back to L.A. Kate felt as if someone was stretching her spine.

  Arnie, standing by Kate's side and giving his own gruff goodbyes, was not helping Kate's condition. He'd been trying to corner Kate all morning. So far, she'd avoided a tête-à-tête.

  "I think we're only missing — no, here they come." Arnie took a step back, and peered behind Kate toward something to her right.

  She didn't have to ask who was on their way: Bunkhouse Three, and their counselor, Griffith Blaine. Kate had not seen Griffith since he'd left her office the previous evening. For all she knew, he hadn't even attended breakfast that morning. She'd not once glanced toward the nine-year-old table.

  "Kate — "Arnie began, stepping back into line with her.

  "No."

  "But — "

  "Not now." Kate spoke from between her teeth, determined to wear a smile for the children.

  Bunkhouse Three arrived in a military line, the same way they'd been walking into meals. Elroy, at the head of the line, walked up to Kate with a grave expression that soon transformed into a broad smile. "It was a pleasure," he intoned, and held out his hand.

  "Ah, the pleasure was all mine," Kate replied, and shook the boy's hand. Could this have been Griffith's idea? Elroy peeled off for the bus and Kane, next in line, shook her hand and paid his respects. It would be like Griffith to have choreographed such a formal farewell: chivalrous, gallant, and with a flair.

  For an insane moment Kate wondered if she'd made a colossal mistake. Maybe Griffith really was the man he seemed to be, the one who'd come to care for the kids, the one who'd done his best to earn her heart. Maybe by some miraculous chance he actually wasn't going to build that housing project at the bottom of the hill or divert the water from Wild Tail Creek.

  But then she saw Griffith. In a different set of new clothes, and with a big, arrogant stride, he arrived at the tail of the line. His eyes met hers over the heads of the kids. One side of his mouth curved up. In amusement. In mockery. Mocking her, and her...credulity.

  Kate stiffened. Yes, part of the blame was hers, for believing in him. But the rest belonged to him. He was a cold-hearted, money-hungry businessman.

  "Oh, Mr. Griffith, are you coming with u
s?" a boy asked, sticking his head out of one of the bus windows.

  "On the bus?" asked another boy, also yelling out a window.

  "I'm comin' with you." Griffith raised a hand. "Save a seat for me, wouldja?"

  The boys at the window disappeared, apparently scrambling to save a seat for the beloved Griffith. Little did they know! If Griffith got his way, those boys wouldn't even have the camp to come to next summer.

  But Griffith was still smiling — smug — as he strolled up behind the last kid in line. "Kate," he said, jauntily. She thought he was going to stick out his hand, as if she would take it, but instead he lifted it to his temple, tapping there with his forefingers in a salute. His eyes were alight with deviltry.

  Incredulous at his gall, Kate simply turned to look at the bus, which now held all the kids. With lips that ached at the effort of keeping a smile, she waved. "Have a good trip! Have a good year!"

  "'Bye, Miss Kate!"

  "See you next summer, Miss Kate."

  "Or at winter break!"

  "What," Arnie asked, low, "is going on?"

  "Later," Kate murmured, from between her teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Griffith step onto the bus. The boys' attention turned from bidding her goodbye to greeting his fantastic presence. Oh, how Kate wished she could have disabused those poor children! Instead, she just smiled and waved.

  The driver kicked up the motor, the bus began to rumble and, after a last head count, started slowly toward the road down the hill.

  "Okay," Arnie said, once the bus had taken off. "What gives?"

  Kate turned to him. "I assume you're talking about...that man?"

  "Huh." Arnie squinted at her. "He doesn't have a name now?"

  "He does not."

  Arnie sighed and closed his eyes. "Don't tell me he blew it."

  "You could call it Mount Vesuvius."

  "What?" Arnie opened his eyes again. "How?" His gaze narrowed. "Or is this still about that idiot, Eric?"

  "In a way it is." Turning from the disappearing bus, Kate began to walk. "Griffith is just like him."

  "Oh, come on." Arnie kept pace with Kate's quick strides. "What could Griffith possibly have done that's as bad as Eric?"

  "It's not what he did, but what he's going to do."

  "Hello?"

  Kate stopped to face Arnie. "Griffith was not dumped at Camp Wild Hills by accident. He's our landlord now."

  "What?!"

  "You heard me." Kate gave a bitter laugh. "Griffith's our landlord. He didn't say so for obvious reasons. You see, he's building a housing project down on Mineral Road. A big one. To service it, he's diverting Wild Tail Creek. He's taking our water."

  Arnie looked like she'd just speared him with a samurai sword. "What?"

  "That business rival of his knew what he was doing. He dumped Griffith in the most...awkward spot possible. But he didn't take into account the absolute slitheriness of the man. Griffith had us all fooled. Everyone thought he was some sort of hero." Bitterly, Kate added, "Me most of all."

  "No," Arnie said.

  "Yes."

  "No." Arnie took a step back, his eyebrows diving. "Griffith is...okay."

  "He seemed okay." Better than okay, Kate added silently. He'd seemed like a real hero. "But he's a snake. By next year this time, unless we stop him, Camp Wild Hills won't exist."

  Arnie was shaking his head. "I don't believe it."

  "Believe it."

  Arnie turned to peer in the direction the bus had taken, the only sign of the vehicle a trail of dust. "No," he muttered.

  Kate looked at her friend pityingly. He wasn't willing to admit they'd been deceived by Griffith, that their reluctant counselor hadn't been what he'd seemed, not what they'd wished he could be.

  Kate looked over the empty fields. Oh, what a lovely man she'd made him out to be. So wonderful she should have known it was too good to be true.

  One side of Kate's mouth curled into a dry smile. She should have known.

  ~~~

  Nothing could touch him. No. A bubble enclosed Griffith as he sat on the bus amid fifty-three boys. Their shouts and laughter were deafening, but he didn't care. Nothing hurt. Nothing...felt.

  With a grinding roar of the gears, the bus slowed to make yet another turn on the narrow road down the mountain. Griffith noted it was a left turn this time. What a maze. At the very least, this trip was assuring him he could never have made it down the hill by himself without getting hopelessly lost. He truly had been stuck at Camp Wild Hills.

  For an instant, the bubble around Griffith went dangerously thin. For two weeks he'd been stuck at the place, removed from everything and everybody he knew, forced to rely on skills he hadn't known he possessed, qualities he hadn't realized he owned.

  And, ultimately, failing. Kate wouldn't even say goodbye to him.

  Oh, the bubble was so thin now, it might as well pop. Griffith could no longer avoid remembering that Kate didn't the least bit like him. She never had. How could she have liked him when she'd jumped immediately to the worst possible conclusion. She'd refused even to listen. Why she'd called him a —

  Looking out the window of the bus, Griffith hastily pulled himself back from the edge of the bubble. He forced the surface to thicken over again. It didn't matter. What Kate had called him wasn't important.

  As if to emphasize the thought, Wild Tail Creek came into view, a shining glimpse of water through the brush. By this time next year that water would be gone, its course in life changed, splashing around on the other side of the mountain. No, actually it wouldn't be splashing, but flowing tamely in a concrete ditch, broken to the task of satisfying the thirst of the future residents of Wildwood.

  "Hey, there's Bert!" a boy shouted, pointing out the window.

  "Look, he actually has friends," another boy remarked, prompting a smattering of laughter.

  Idly, Griffith looked in the direction the first boy had pointed. In front of a ramshackle shack, three men posed in varying shades of sloth; one in a rusty beach chair, another leaning against a roof post, and the third, possibly drunk, sprawled flat on the dry grass in front.

  As Griffith watched, the man in the rusty beach chair jumped to his feet. "No!" he shouted, in a voice of mingled fear and anger. "Not yet. You can't leave yet!"

  Every occupant of the bus burst into laughter. Griffith squinted at the yelling man outside the bus, thinking he looked familiar. Elroy, seated beside Griffith explained, "He probably figured he could sneak another meal before the end of camp, but he missed it."

  "It's a bitch when you don't know how to count to fourteen," another boy said. More laughter followed.

  Now Griffith remembered where he'd seen the man before. He'd been hunched over a plate at the edge of a table in the dining room. He was, in fact, a pathetic specimen of humanity, obviously able-bodied but too lazy to work. On the other hand, something about the boys' laughter grated.

  Griffith cleared his throat, and then spoke at a volume to rise above the laughter. "Take a good look," he told them all. "Look at who you might be, but for the grace of God."

  Jeers faded. Heads turned to look at Griffith, either expectant or already sheepish. It was strange, given Griffith's true intentions, to receive their respect.

  Ill at ease, he nevertheless went on. "And besides, we all have our handicaps." He chuckled bitterly. "We're only lucky if our handicaps are the kind nobody can see."

  If that wasn't the truth. Some people, like Bert, had handicaps that were visible in glaring technicolor.

  Others, like Griffith, had handicaps far less visible, though no less repelling.

  Griffith's last view of Bert was of him standing by the roadside, together with the man who'd been leaning against the post and even the one who'd appeared stuporously drunk. All three gazed after the bus with dopey longing.

  Griffith wished he couldn't relate.

  ~~~

  When Deirdre left Ricky at the fancy restaurant, her spirits soared above the clouds. It was inevi
table she would descend from such heights. The next morning she woke up wondering if she weren't totally delusional.

  She'd told Ricky his own emotions? She'd informed the man he was in love with her? What gall.

  After a morning spent visiting job sites, she walked into her glass-walled office at Blaine Development, swung her briefcase onto her cluttered desk, and glared at all the work waiting for her. While it was true she'd been keeping the office open in the absence of its true leader, that was only by dint of juggling. She hadn't actually resolved or accomplished anything.

  Perhaps the same was true of her relationship with Ricky. Perhaps what she'd seen as success was only illusion. Maybe she'd made a colossal fool of herself the night before.

  Deirdre leaned forward to squint at one of the many post-it notes she'd left herself on the edge of the desk. Water flow for Wild Tail Creek. Her mouth twisted. It was the question that had set everything rolling downhill. Or perhaps the question had simply exposed things for what they really were. She still wasn't quite sure.

  She did know she felt zero motivation to continue researching an answer to the bank's question. It was hard to know which would be worse: discovering Ricky was correct in his accusations of Griffith's skullduggery, or discovering that Griffith had every legal right to ruin the camp Ricky claimed had done so much for him.

  "That s.o.b.," Deirdre muttered, thinking of her boss. The police didn't think there'd been foul play. "So where on earth did he go?"

  The phone on her desk rang, the land line. At the same time her cell phone, buried in her briefcase, buzzed.

  Deirdre's heart jumped. The receptionist could field the call on the land line. The cell phone, however, would be a personal call...

  Perhaps Ricky.

  Come to his senses.

  Deirdre wrenched open her briefcase and dug out her phone. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and hummed, "Hello?"

  Thanks to the receptionist, the land line stopped ringing. Meanwhile, from the cell phone spoke a man who was not Ricky. "Good to hear your voice, Deirdre."