Nasty Cutter

by Tim O'Mara

  ‘Does she get out at all?’ Allison asked.

  ‘Yeah. We go out to dinner once in a while, catch a movie. She has her therapy. She still loves the beach,’ he said, ‘but not during the summer. We go during the fall and winter when there’s hardly anybody there.’

  From the back region of my brain came the memory that Melissa Miller had been attacked after a high school beach party. A bunch of jocks with matching cheerleaders and some of their hanger-on friends went to Jones Beach just before graduation. Melissa was part of the latter group. The party eventually ended up back at the Taylor boys’ home and that’s where the assault took place. Most of the guests were too drunk to know anything had happened until Melissa went to the police later that week. It was like a bad TV movie come to life.

  ‘Allison,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave Chris alone and head inside.’ It wasn’t a request.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Allison said. ‘Occupational hazard, I guess. Too many years doing what I do. I hear an idea for a story and I can’t help but pursue it.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Chris said. ‘It’s not like you’re the first. The first in about fifteen years maybe, but when the story was still fresh, lots of reporters came around looking for Missy’s side of the story.’ He took one last drag of his smoke and added it to the collection on the street. ‘That’s what we used to call her: Missy.’ His eyes were on the cigarette butts; his mind was in the past. ‘Since the attack, she goes by Melissa. “Missy” takes her too much back to high school.’

  The three of us stood there in silence on the quiet suburban street. After a while, I said, ‘We need to go inside, Chris. It was nice meeting you.’

  ‘You, too,’ he said. This time he did shake our hands. To Allison, he said, ‘I’ll talk to Melissa about your idea. Maybe it is time for her to talk about what happened.’

  ‘It’s completely up to her,’ Allison said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Not too many things fall into that category these days.’ He looked over our shoulders at Marty’s house. ‘Give my regards to Mrs Stover, will you? Tell her what I said about Marty being a good man. I meant it.’

  ‘I will,’ I said. ‘Take it easy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  As we walked across the street to Marty’s, Allison said, ‘I probably shouldn’t have done that, right?’

  Now she asks? ‘If you had used the word “cathartic,” I would have yanked you away,’ I said. ‘Sometimes you just can’t help yourself.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Like you can? How many times have you been told not to get involved in other people’s business and you just ignored it?’

  ‘That’s different,’ I said. ‘Just as many people ask me to get involved. You just pulled out your business card and put that guy on the spot.’

  ‘He’s an adult, Raymond. He could’ve just said no.’

  I stopped her before we got to the front steps. ‘I think he just did, Allison.’

  She thought about that and said, ‘I thought I heard a maybe in there.’

  I gave her a half-grin. ‘Now you know how I feel.’ I squeezed her hand tighter and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You ready to go in?’

  She kissed me back. An argument for another day, perhaps. ‘I’m following you, tough guy.’

  The front door was open, and there was the hum of muffled chatter from inside. We went into the house without knocking. The first room we came to was the living room, packed with mourners. It had been years since I’d been in this house, but there was a sense of familiarity to it. When my dad and Marty were partners, our families would have each other over for dinner once a year. And my parents used to come here for parties without Rachel and me many times. Most people were dressed as if just returning from church, many of them holding plates of food or drinks. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought we’d stumbled into a first communion or confirmation party. Nobody paid us much attention as Allison and I snaked our way through the room.

  The next room we came to was the kitchen. This group of people, crammed into the smaller space, looked identical to the one we just passed through. The countertops were filled with bottles of wine, liquor, and beer. This was the bar area and, therefore, a popular gathering place. I grabbed a couple of Bud Lights, handed one to Allison, and we excused ourselves as we squeezed through the crowd into the next room.

  The dining room was also jammed with people. The room was huge, just as I remembered it, and memories of past meals came flooding back. Helaine Stover had been quite the hostess back in the day. My mother used to speak of the Stovers’ dining room with envy, somehow trying to get us to believe that she’d host more events if only she had a bigger space. The truth was, as I recalled, my mother always stressed out when the hosting duties fell on her.

  Today, the dining table was overloaded with food; some of it obviously catered, and the rest was a mix of homemade items that guests had brought. I noticed two college-aged kids – one male, one female – dressed in identical white shirts, black vests, and pants, walking around the room picking up stray plates and cups. Marty Junior or his mother had hired some help. Smart idea on a day like today. I found myself amazed at how someone could put together a function like this in less than forty-eight hours.

  As Allison and I made our way past the food table, I noticed Bobby Taylor holding a green beer bottle. He was in a dark blue suit that didn’t quite fit him like the one I’d seen him in two days ago. He also looked tired, not the sharp guy I’d seen at The Tippler on Friday. I went up to him and touched him on the elbow.

  ‘Bobby,’ I said. ‘This is my girlfriend, Allison Rogers.’

  Allison offered her hand, and Bobby gave us both an uncomfortable look. It took me about five seconds to realize why. I felt like an idiot when it came to me.

  ‘I’m Billy,’ he said. He looked around the room. ‘Bobby’s around here talking to some people if that’s who you were hoping to see.’ He said that as if he were used to the idea of people realizing he was the ‘Other Brother.’

  ‘No,’ I said, trying to hide my mistake. ‘I’m Raymond Donne. My dad used to work with Marty.’

  He thought about that. ‘Oh, yeah. I remember him. He was nice.’

  I had the feeling he was going to say more. When he didn’t, I spoke again. ‘I saw Bobby the other night at the benefit. He said you’ve been doing pretty well for yourself since … these past ten years.’

  He nodded and shrugged. ‘I guess.’ Now he looked at Allison and said, ‘I’m Billy. Nice to meet you.’

  Allison hesitated now to take his offered hand. When she did, she gave him a quick handshake. ‘Same here,’ she said, but not like she meant it. She slipped her hand back into mine very quickly. She was nervous. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen her this uncomfortable.

  ‘It’s good you could make it,’ I said, unable to think of anything else and looking for an exit line. ‘I’m sure Helaine and Marty appreciate it.’

  That seemed to confuse him for a bit, and then he said, ‘Oh. Martin Junior.’ I watched as he processed that. ‘Yeah, I thought I should … pay my respects.’

  He said that last part as though he’d rehearsed it. His natural slowness and, I had to imagine, the ten years he’d spent in prison, made this an awkward occasion for him. Now that I thought of it, I was surprised he had chosen to come. He must have known that a good number of the guests would know who he was. I can’t imagine most people would welcome a convicted sex offender at a function like this. I could tell by the way Allison was holding my hand that she fell into that group. So she surprised me by what she did next.

  ‘Billy,’ she said, pulling another card out of her pocket while still holding on to my hand. ‘I’m a reporter and would love to hear your story of how you put your life back together after serving your sentence.’ She got over her nervousness quickly.

  Billy looked at the card like he was going to be quizzed on it. For some reason, he turned it over and looked at the other side. When he turned
it back to the front, he said, ‘I don’t know, Ms Rogers. The newspapers said a lot of bad stuff about me a while ago. I don’t think I want to go through that again.’

  ‘You have a different story this time, Billy. Twenty years ago it was about what you had done. Why you went to jail. The story I want to write is what your life is like now. How you’ve become a productive, successful member of society.’

  He half-smiled. ‘You sound like my old social worker.’

  To me, she was starting to sound a bit cold. Ten minutes ago, she was making the same offer to the brother of the victim. I was sure when we talked about this later, Allison would explain to me how she had to remain objective when telling a story, and she’d be right. I just didn’t get how she could do it so effortlessly. Or at that time.

  ‘Allison,’ I said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t put Billy on the spot right now.’ Didn’t we just have this conversation? I wasn’t sure she was picking up on his developmental delays, but I couldn’t come right out and say that in front of him. ‘How about you give him some time to think about it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said, as much for me as for Billy. ‘Of course. Why don’t you take a few days to think about it, Billy, and give me a call?’

  He looked at the card again and nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I really should talk to my social worker about it. And maybe my brother. He’s kinda my boss now, and I usually have to run things past him. Big things like this, I mean.’

  ‘I understand completely,’ Allison said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We’re going to go mingle now, Billy,’ I said. ‘My sister and mother are around here somewhere, I think. And we haven’t seen Mrs Stover yet.’

  Billy shook our hands again. ‘It was nice to meet you,’ he said.

  Allison and I nodded and turned to go deeper into the dining room. I could feel Allison’s grip on my hand tighten again. There was some aggression behind it this time.

  ‘Don’t do that, Raymond.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘You shut me down back there,’ she said. ‘Like I don’t know when to stop.’

  ‘Did you pick up,’ I said, lowering my voice, ‘that he’s a little delayed, Ally? He’s always been that way, and the past twenty years haven’t helped.’

  ‘At least he’s been able to move on with his life, Ray. Unlike Melissa.’

  ‘Is that why you were pushing him?’ I let go of her hand. ‘I thought you just couldn’t resist the story, but now …’

  ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  ‘What story do you want to write? The one where two people involved in a horrible event end up two decades later, or the one where the perpetrator makes out better than his victim?’

  ‘Be careful, Ray,’ she said just above a whisper. ‘You’re either questioning my objectivity or my integrity, and I don’t think you want to go to either of those places.’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t.’ I took a pull from my beer. ‘Just no more today, OK? We’re here to support the Stovers. Not for you to get a story.’

  She held my glance for a few seconds then gave the room a quick look.

  ‘How about we just agree to disagree?’

  ‘How about we just agree that I’m right?’

  The look she gave me told me everything she thought about that idea.

  ‘Why don’t you go see if you can find Rachel and your mother,’ she said. ‘I need to find a bathroom.’

  I watched as she made her way back through the dining room. Part of me wanted to go after her, and the other part knew it was better if we both had a little time to cool off. Maybe she knew I was right. Or maybe we were back where we were six months ago. Neither one of us wanted that, and this was not the time and place to figure that out.

  I took another sip of beer and noticed a familiar face across the room. It took me a few seconds to place it. Joshua Stern, Hector’s mentor from the store. I made my way over to him. When I was about five feet away, I realized he was standing next to a junior version of himself. They both wore dark suits and yarmulkes.

  ‘Mr Donne,’ he said as I approached. He put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. ‘This is my son, Daniel. Daniel, this is Mr Donne. Hector’s teacher.’

  We shook hands all around. The son seemed about the same age as Hector. A shame, I thought, that because of the cultural divide they’d probably never get the chance to be friends.

  ‘It was nice of you to come all the way out to the Island, Mr Stern,’ I said. ‘It’s a long drive from your home.’ Just as long as mine, I remembered, but I had a driver.

  ‘We were at the store today,’ he explained. ‘I left my manager in charge. Daniel works with me on Sundays to learn the business. The way I did from my father.’

  From where I stood, Daniel didn’t seem all that thrilled about the idea of learning the business like his father had or, for that matter, attending a shiva on Long Island for a person he had probably barely known. Nice to see that teenagers are teenagers no matter what their background. I’m sure if he had his way, he’d be back in Williamsburg playing with his friends on one of the first warm weekend days after a long winter.

  ‘I’m actually not Hector’s teacher,’ I said to Daniel. ‘I’m his dean.’

  Daniel looked at me with bored, brown eyes and said, ‘Are you the boss?’

  I laughed. ‘Just the dean. When things go wrong at the school, I deal with the kids and try to fix the situation before it gets worse.’

  ‘Does Hector get in trouble a lot?’ His eyes lit up a little at that thought. ‘Is that how he got stuck working with my grandfather and father?’

  ‘Daniel,’ his father said. ‘We do not ask questions like that. It is rude to be nosy.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mr Stern. No, Daniel. Hector’s a pretty good kid. Mr Stover and I just thought he’d benefit from another perspective in his neighborhood. Your dad and your grandfather were nice enough to agree.’

  If Daniel liked that answer, or even believed it, he gave no sign. He did give off the signal that he was done with this conversation. Fine with me. I didn’t come all the way out here to try and charm a teenage boy. I had all week for that if I wanted.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Stern,’ I said. ‘I have to go find my family.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And perhaps I will see you at the store sometime. We have an educator’s discount.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’ I looked at his kid. ‘Good-bye, Daniel.’

  He looked at me with blank eyes and said, ‘Goodbye, Mr Donne.’

  His father gave him a look of disapproval and said, ‘Shake his hand, Daniel. Mr Donne deserves your respect. He’s an adult and a teacher.’

  Daniel reluctantly stuck out his hand like he was testing the temperature of a shower. There was something we had in common: we both hated forced handshakes. The grip he gave me wouldn’t have crumpled a piece of paper. As I suspected, the boy was not charmed. I shook the father’s hand and waved as I stepped farther into the dining area.

  I went for another beer to replace the almost-empty one I was holding when someone grabbed my elbow.

  ‘You’re not sneaking out are you, Raymond?’ my sister asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But the thought crossed my mind.’

  She looked around. ‘Where’s Allison?’ She was holding a fresh beer of her own.

  ‘Looking for a bathroom, the last I saw her.’ I looked at her beer.

  ‘There’s a cooler on the back deck.’

  ‘Then let’s go to the back deck.’

  ‘Problems with the girlfriend?’

  How do women know this shit?

  ‘I’ll tell you about it when I have a new beer.’

  I placed my empty down on the dining table and headed toward the sliding glass door that led outside. I opened the cooler, grabbed another Bud Light and took a long draw.

  ‘So,’ Rachel said. ‘You and Allison. What’s up?’

  I told her about Allison giving her business card to both Chris Mille
r and Billy Taylor. How she was acting more like a reporter than my girlfriend. How she had turned this shiva into a story opportunity. Rachel didn’t seem surprised.

  ‘It’s who she is, Ray. It’s what she does.’

  ‘Does it have to be all the time? Marty’s been dead less than forty-eight hours.’

  Rachel gave me that look she’d been giving me ever since she got the idea in her head that I should have already asked Allison to marry me. It’s the look that tells me I’m just too thick to see something so obvious.

  ‘What do you want me to say, Ray?’ she asked. ‘That you’re right and she’s wrong and how dare she act that way?’

  I thought about that and said, ‘Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to say.’

  ‘OK. You’re right, she’s wrong, and how dare she act that way?’ She took a sip of beer. ‘Feel better now?’

  ‘Don’t be flip about this, Rache. We went through the same thing last year. It almost ended our relationship.’

  ‘From what you told me,’ she said, ‘that was a little different than this.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You told me – and so did she, by the way – that last year’s thing was because you knew stuff you couldn’t tell her, and the two of you had to work that out. Although, again, at the risk of sounding like Uncle Ray, why you get involved in shit you can’t tell your reporter girlfriend continues to astound those of us who love you.’

  I let that last part slide. ‘And this is different how?’

  ‘She’s trying to find out things on her own,’ she said. ‘Maybe she really thinks there’s a good story here. I gotta tell ya – and not just because I usually side with her – I agree. There are lots of people out there who would want to read about Melissa Miller and where she is now. Same for Billy Taylor, especially because his brother’s famous.’

  If a sip of beer could be taken in anger, I just did it. ‘So I’m wrong?’

  She smiled and shook her head. My silly older brother.

  ‘You do that all the time, Ray. Someone has to be wrong when you and Allison argue. Maybe there’s a middle ground. Maybe that’s what’s keeping you from throwing all your chips in and asking her to marry you. For a guy who sees gray where others see only black and white, you’re kinda monochromatic on this relationship thing.’