Stealing Candy

by Stewart Lewis

  “Which is?”

  “Another long story. Please, you have to help us.”

  She seems to consider the possibility again but deeper. Then she snaps back. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  As she gets up to leave, I grab her forearm, and I can feel the fist of my heart clenching, my eyesight clouding over with tears. “It’s the right thing to do, Marissa.”

  “What do you know about right and wrong?”

  “We’ve done a lot of wrong to get here,” Levon says. “But I think we all know this is right.”

  She stares at him.

  Is she seeing his father in him? Whatever it is, it’s working.

  Marissa sits back down, sighing loudly.

  “I guess I could do it,” she says. “But I’ll need money. To pay off the loan for my yoga studio. Five grand.”

  “Wait a second. You’re blackmailing us?” I say.

  “Fine,” Levon says, like he was expecting to pay her off.

  I figure she doesn’t know about the million, so five grand is no big deal.

  “As long as I’m not exposed, you know, in the media.”

  “No, it will all be under wraps,” I say. I’ve never said under wraps in my life.

  Marissa turns to Levon. “You know, there were a lot of things I did back then,” she says. “Weeks went by that I couldn’t remember. But I remember your father.” She looks at him, her eyes unwavering. “He was different. He had so much light. That shouldn’t have happened to him. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Levon says.

  The way they are talking to each other, it’s like I’m not even there, and feeling the need to make myself known, I touch Marissa’s arm again, this time softly.

  “I’ll text you, and we’ll come get you tomorrow?”

  “OK,” she says, not taking her eyes off Levon.

  I excuse myself to let whatever needs to play out between them happen and make my way to the tiny but quaint bathroom in the back. There are flowers in a water glass on the sink, like someone just picked them outside and put them there. I look in the mirror, trying to see my mother, trying to see myself as an adult. I splash my face and look again, attempting to see what Levon sees.

  When I get back to the table, Marissa’s gone.

  “She said she’ll see us tomorrow,” Levon says.

  “Great.”

  We don’t say anything for a bit. I finish my hot chocolate, and he drinks Marissa’s water in one long gulp.

  “I’m so glad you came. I was losing big time until you walked in.”

  “I had a feeling,” he says, smiling.

  I smile back but then have to look away. The feeling is too intense, like getting too close to a fire. I breathe deeply without being obvious about it.

  Then I hear my name.

  It’s TMZ, being watched by the bored barista chick.

  They are calling it a hoax and saying I’m no longer in danger.

  “Well, at least we can show up backstage and not cause a scene.”

  Levon nods, but I know he’s still thinking what I’m thinking.

  Jamal.

  When Harvey Levin adds that the suspect is still under scrutiny and both of us are wanted for resisting arrest, Levon winces, gets up, and leaves, and I follow.

  Isn’t the boy supposed to follow the girl?

  “There are no rules,” I say when we get into the truck. “There is only justice. Our plan is working.”

  On the way back to the trailer park, the clouds are low and menacing, threatening to press against the earth. We pass a car wash where teenagers are smearing soap suds on each other. It doesn’t seem like they know life is complicated; they’re living in the moment.

  Inside the trailer, we watch the news and there’s nothing on our story. Now that it’s been labeled a hoax, it’s completely gone. The media are savages, devouring you until your story is just a corpse on the side of the road, left to decay. But wouldn’t they want to know if a certain rock star covered up his role in a major crime? Harvey Levin would take that call.

  “You know, she still may chicken out,” Levon says.

  “Well, what’s plan B then?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We show up and bluff him. Tell him we’ve talked to Whisper and the authorities. We get your money, and we—you—ride off into the sunset and open your movie theater.”

  Levon’s face glazes over a little, as if the dream is possible, but then he turns concerned, like a boy who might lose a friend. “What about you?”

  I don’t think about what I’m going to say. I just look at his handsome, humble, and kind face, and the words come out. “Well, I could come with you.”

  He gives nothing away, just ponders the thought.

  He grabs a stash of whiskey from under the sink and pours us each two fingers. We start watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. We are on our own sides of the bed, but we laugh at the same videos. For the next half hour, there is no absent father, no sick grandmother, no kidnapping, no accidental murder. Just two people, a little lost, sharing a space in the world.

  Chapter 27

  When I wake up, Levon is gone.

  Something about the ruffle of the covers on his side makes me think he has made a getaway. Did he freak out that I wanted to go with him? There’s an indentation on the bed where his body was. I sit up and press my hand on the mattress: still warm. I peek in the bathroom: empty. I look around the trailer, and the infamous green backpack is nowhere to be found. I’m not sure which is sadder, the empty pint of whiskey with the Dixie cup facedown over the top of it or the warm, unmade bed with no one in it.

  I wash my face and put on one of the two outfits I’ve been wearing the whole time. My hair’s starting to grow back a little, but I don’t care. I start to film the trailer, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because sad things can be beautiful.

  I put on my gas station sunglasses, take a deep breath, and walk outside. My heart swells when I see the truck. Levon is sitting in the driver’s seat, patiently waiting for me. I run toward the truck like it’s my newborn child. I get in and look over at him, but his expression is grim.

  “What’s up?”

  “Leeza just came over. You missed her.”

  “That’s her name? Leeza?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Anyway, she said there’s a video of us in some restaurant that’s gone viral.”

  “What? I’m not even on social media. Are you?”

  “She put me on Facebook and Twitter. I don’t even check them.”

  “That’s kind of weird.”

  “I know.”

  “You never really told me. Is she your girlfriend or—”

  “Candy, the point is she’s going to take the video down, untag it or whatever the hell. In the meantime, we’ve got to work fast.”

  “OK.”

  We drive to Marissa’s little, pink house that sits on one of the canals. There’s a big palm tree in front of it, and unbeknownst to her, I film her leaving, gathering her hair in one hand, throwing it over her shoulder. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and still looks stunning. I will file the shot under ex-stripper yoga teacher who blackmailed us.

  She gets in, and I slide into the middle. She hands Levon a plastic bag, and he pulls out a black jacket. Levon holds it up in front of him like it’s some kind of miracle, which it kind of is.

  “My dad’s jacket.”

  “I didn’t think I still had it, but I checked the back of my closet and there it was. He gave it to me ’cause it was chilly that night.”

  “Thank you,” Levon says, his eyes shining.

  “All right, let’s do this,” I say.

  They both look at each other, sharing another moment I’m not going to pretend to
know anything about. When we pull up behind a Dumpster near the precinct, I quickly brief her before she gets out.

  “OK, his name is Colin Price. What you need to do is go with the rock-star angle. If you told him Joe Schmo was driving the car, he wouldn’t care, but if you lead with Wade Rex, he’ll be all over it. Tell him it’s been bugging you for a while, that you feel like the truth needs to come out.”

  Marissa looks skeptical, like she might bail on the whole endeavor.

  “Listen, just because my father’s a rock star doesn’t mean he can get away with murder. Justice needs to be served, Marissa.” That sounded like a line from a TV show, so I go for a more personal approach. “For Duke, Marissa.”

  She raises her hands and sighs. “How can I be sure I won’t get dragged in—as an accessory or something?”

  “I already researched it,” I tell her. “It was vehicular manslaughter, so as long as you weren’t driving, you’ll be fine.”

  “OK.”

  She gets out and heads toward the precinct, and I notice Levon checking out her backside. Really? I could never hold up to someone like Marissa. She is beautiful. Me, I’m cute if anything. A sinking feeling overcomes me.

  “Candy, what’s wrong?” Levon asks.

  It’s gotten to the point where neither of us can have a dark thought without the other one noticing.

  “Nothing. I don’t want this to end.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I want you to get your money and help your family, and I want my father to go to jail, but then what? I go back to school? This trip has made me feel more alive than ever. This is going to sound stupid, but I think I have an adventurous spirit.”

  Levon laughs. “That doesn’t sound stupid. And it doesn’t mean you won’t have other adventures. Just, hopefully, legal ones…”

  “I really, really wish my mother were alive. Everything was an adventure for her. She’d help me figure this out.”

  He puts his hand on mine.

  “Sorry, Candy. You know that I brought you into this mess.”

  I look at his eyes, those bright pools of green.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  He smiles, and I can sense a weight lifting off him, like he’s finally believing me, like my plan might work. As he kisses me, I pray to whatever God is up there that it does.

  When Marissa gets back, she seems a little shaken. She gets in and tells Levon to start driving. After a minute, she starts talking.

  “You’re right. His whole demeanor changed at your father’s name. He asked me if I knew where you two were. I said I saw you, and you seemed fine, but I didn’t know where you were staying.”

  “Great. OK, what else?”

  “He made a call and found out the angle of the surveillance cameras. There are two—one outside the bank and another in a streetlight. He ordered the footage. He said it was cut and dry, that the tapes will tell him everything. If it shows your father driving, he will reopen the case. He said he would call me as soon as he knew anything.”

  “I knew it.”

  I can feel blood rush to my head and my fingertips, my whole body filling with endorphins. It’s happening. All three of us are smiling as we turn onto Collins Avenue.

  “I’m curious though,” Marissa says to me as we pull up to her house. “How bad could your father have been that you want him in jail?”

  “He’s never really been a father. Honestly, it might even be good for him.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, Wade was always nice to me.”

  As she gets out and walks away, I think about the truck crash, the whipped cream in the desert, the giant peace sign. The one time I ever shared a real moment with him. His eyes were wild, and he picked me up when we finished, held me as he spun in circles. It was like this dormant person had finally woken up. But what about all the time we missed? How many more fun things could we have done together? Why did he abandon me? What the hell was so wrong with me? I’ve spent my whole life asking that question, and maybe, just maybe, putting him away will make all those questions disappear for good.

  As we drive back to the trailer, I watch people on Rollerblades, tourists with wide-brimmed hats, vagabonds with elaborate signs. The world goes on. But what does that mean for me and Levon? And where is Jamal? Is he out of the hospital? Does he have a posse that will come after us?

  All I know is that, for the first time since my mother died, I feel needed and like I’m affecting change. All those movies I’ve watched have come in handy. I’m not sure where that will leave me. Hopefully not in jail with my father.

  Levon glances over at me, and I almost can’t take it. The magnet is stronger than ever. I look out the window but immediately am pulled back toward him. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he lifts his arm up and over me. I fit perfectly.

  I breathe in his scent and close my eyes, trusting him to steer.

  This was not an accident.

  I am in the right place.

  Chapter 28

  I call Rena from the front porch of Levon’s trailer, which is more like a large step. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Hi, Rena. It’s me. How are you feeling?”

  She says something in Russian and lets out her weary sigh. Although it’s slightly annoying, I’m happy to know she’s behaving like herself.

  “They say it is hoax now.”

  “Yes. I’ll be back to school when break is over, so don’t worry about me.”

  “Your little friend, he comes here now, every day. We play cards.”

  “Billy Ray?”

  “Yes. He is good boy.”

  I think about Billy Ray and Rena playing cards, and I can’t help but smile. Still, it’s like looking at an old photograph, faded at the edges. For all of her shortcomings, Rena did raise me. And Billy Ray gave my heart a test drive. But now they both seem parts of a different life, a picture I barely recognize. I feel like this whole adventure has propelled me into a different chapter. I don’t know how it will end, but who ever does?

  “There’s something else I need to tell you, Rena.”

  “What is it, child?”

  How do I tell her that her son is basically a murderer and going to jail?

  “Not that we ever see him, but your son, Wade, is going away for a while. He’s done something terribly wrong.”

  Again, she mumbles something in Russian.

  “What?”

  “He’s not my son.”

  I shake my head to make sure I heard her correctly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, I think.”

  What the hell is she talking about? I know my mom’s parents died when she was young, and my grandfather on Wade’s side was killed in the war, but…

  “So what does that make you exactly then, Rena?”

  “I’m still grandmother, just not with blood.”

  “Were you planning on keeping this from me forever? It’s kind of information that’s relevant. This is crazy. Where’s my real grandmother?”

  “She was my sister.”

  That actually makes sense. Rena’s sister was a documentary filmmaker in Russia. I’ve seen her films. They were not translated, so I couldn’t understand anything, but they were shot beautifully.

  “Is she still alive?”

  “No. That’s why I took you in.”

  “Well, nothing like a real heart-to-heart chat.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I always wondered why you didn’t really care that Wade never came to see you. And why you had no baby pictures of him. It makes sense. But why tell me now?”

  “Because you are old enough. You’re becoming adult.”

  “Yeah, whatever that is.”

  “Strong girl. You don’t need me a
nymore.”

  Maybe she’s right.

  “Now, Candy, Wade is not saint, but you be careful. Stay away trouble.”

  “I’ll try to, Rena.”

  “And call Billy. He is good boy. Misses you.”

  “I’m glad he’s keeping you company.”

  “I’m OK. I’m old but OK.”

  “Good.”

  This is where she usually hangs up without saying good-bye, but instead I hear her say my name softly.

  “Candy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Blood, it does not matter.”

  “I know, I know.”

  But I don’t know. I really don’t.

  • • •

  On our way to the Fillmore, where the Black Angels are playing tonight, I fill Levon in on what I’m calling a little tidbit of info.

  “So, I officially have no family, besides Wade. Great prospects, huh?”

  “Yes, but your grandmother is—”

  “Still my grandmother, but not. Technically my great-aunt. You know the weird part?”

  “What?”

  “I’m kind of happy about it. I know I can be dark, but that woman is like a black hole.”

  “But she said she loved you.”

  “She does, in her way, I guess. But get this… My real grandmother? She’s dead, but she was a documentary filmmaker. Maybe that’s where that gene comes from.”

  “Makes sense.”

  We pull up to the art deco facade of the venue, the words Black Angels—Sold Out in lights. The A on Angel is crooked. I tell Levon it’s metaphoric, but I don’t think he knows the word. We pull into the alley around back, where the trash cans are ripe and the asphalt is pocked with potholes and covered with oil stains and random bits of trash. Out front—the Easter egg–blue columns and the bored teenager in the miniscule ticket booth—that’s what the Fillmore looks like to the world. Back here is the real story. The roadies are loading in, and all of it, even the smell of the Dumpsters, makes me yearn for my childhood. The crew is dressed mostly in black. They have beards and bandanas, sweat patches in the armpits of their T-shirts, and probably girlfriends at home they can’t commit to. The band is nowhere to be seen.