Angry Jonny

by Joaquin Emiliano

  She had yet to accept any of these requests.

  Simply not prepared to believe that the school pariah could so easily return after so long being banished.

  And now, of course, there was the matter of the latest Angry Jonny letter.

  “So you saw them leaving the meeting,” Al said, getting down to business. He abandoned his post and sat down, motioning for her to do the same. “Detectives Randal and Donahue.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t let you in. Senior staff only. I know the letter technically concerns you, but I’m still trying to keep your connection with the first letter a secret. As are the detectives.”

  Jessica licked her lips, confused. “So my guess is this latest one…?”

  “Doesn’t explicitly refer to you…” Al handed Jessica a Xeroxed copy. “Where would you be without me, my love. No question mark at the end of that, and it goes on… Angry Jonny is not a boy scout. You are all unprepared for the revolution, a celebration of us.”

  Jessica went over each word, capital letters askew. “I almost wish he had mentioned me by name.”

  “There’s nothing says that my love refers to you.”

  “You think it doesn’t?”

  “There was a movie that came out in 1959. It was called Hiroshima Mon Amour. Hiroshima My Love. It details the romance of a French actress and a Japanese architect. There’s a good chance Angry Jonny could simply be making reference to the film.”

  “Think so?”

  “Of course not, are you insane?” Al smiled, little humor to be found in his tired eyes. “No, I think you’re still in it.”

  “That’s sweet,” Jessica said flatly, chill bumps dotting her arms. “Angry Jonny has a crush on me.”

  “Everything else in the letter seems to be on par with the first. Probably a printed Microsoft Paint file. Black on white, freehand. Kind of brilliant if you think about it. Ain’t nobody going to be able to do a handwriting analysis on something done with a virtual paintbrush. The letter he sent was even a Xeroxed copy… no way to trace what kind of printer he used.”

  “Great...” Jessica folded the letter into her pocket. “Now there’s just a matter of what it means.”

  “You look tired.”

  “Haven’t been sleeping well. Then again, take a look at you.”

  Al’s mustache twitched. “Careful.”

  “No, I refuse. You look like hell. Enough to make me worry.”

  “Why am I still talking to you? I brought you in here to tell you about the letter. And now I’ve done that.” His face brightened. “That means this meeting is over.”

  “Thank God. And thanks, Al.”

  Three successive knocks and Ethan Prince burst in, overlooking Jessica in his typical fashion. “I’ve got Jim on the line. He’s all set up for the Tea Party rally in Asheville. Newsletter for the local chapter says they’re planning to attend the fireworks at the stadium tonight. Not an official protest; just looking to bolster their numbers.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got this…” Al groaned, reaching for the phone. “What a bunch of freaks.”

  “A big bunch, though. Got the makings of a serious movement.”

  “My bowels have a serious movement every day. You know what the end result is?”

  “Point taken.”

  “Come next Independence Day, nobody’s going to remember them.” Al cradled the phone in his ear, finger hovering above the buttons. “You can both go.”

  The door closed behind them, and Ethan casually asked. “What was that all about?”

  “I’m getting the Pulitzer.”

  “Yeah, you’re a regular Gary Trudeau.”

  “And what really pisses you off is that I know who that is…” Jessica waved her hand over her head: “That’s where you thought the joke went…” She pointed to her forehead: “Here’s where it landed.”

  “You don’t know who Gary Trudeau is.”

  “It’s hard to be humble, when you’re as great as I am,” Jessica quoted, heading across the room. She turned, did a little back stepping. “And twenty bucks says that’s a reference your white ass couldn’t possibly get.”

  “That’s reverse racism!” Ethan called after her. “What if I told you to get your black ass back here?”

  “My black ass don’t speak loser,” Jessica threw over her shoulder, giving her butt a firm smack.

  Malik trotted up to her, matching her brisk pace. “Were you just flirting with Ethan?”

  “You don’t know me that well, do you?”

  “Jessica –”

  “Was not flirting. I hate that bitch, and that bitch hates this one.”

  “What’s up with you today?” Malik asked.

  “Could be that I’m overtired, and Dinah’s new coffeemaker came with a pack of espresso roast.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, I’m technically insane right now.”

  Malik leaped in front of her, cordoning Jessica off with his arm. He forced a slick smile, though he appeared to be suffering from his own sleep deprivation. Eyes painted in soft focus. Skin several shades lighter, coming just short of an uninspired tan. “Where you headed?”

  “Archives.”

  “You getting off work at five?”

  “Same as you, baby.”

  Malik did a cute double take. “Are you flirting with me, now?”

  “Hell no. Get to the point.”

  “My parents are having a cookout this afternoon.” Malik dropped his arm, very much the nervous child who had first asked her out. “Firing up the grill, doing a little potluck with friends. Thought maybe you’d like –”

  “Your parents hate me.”

  “Yeah, well… might be that ain’t the case no more.”

  “Now that it turns out I’m not just some skanky liar who went out of her way to destroy their friend.”

  “Oh, God, look –”

  “Wait…” Jessica grabbed a hold of his shirt, and pulled him into a supply closet. Flipped the light switch and closed the door. “There. Now… What have you got to say for yourself?”

  “I thought we were talking about my parents.”

  “What have you got to say for themselves?”

  Malik took of his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “All right, first of all, that sentence was just awful…” He replaced his specs, tugged at his collar. Looking for support among the reams of paper, paper clips and toner cartridges. “Second of all, why don’t you just let it go?”

  “Let it go?”

  “Let. It. Go. They were wrong, you were right.”

  “I was always right. What if Angry Jonny hadn’t come along and given it to Davenport? I’d still be the same vindictive, attention starved bitch who tried to steal their little boy away.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Easy for you to say, star child, what did you lose in all of this?”

  “I lost my girlfriend.”

  Hardly a plausible argument, but his sincerity was overwhelming.

  The door opened.

  They turned to find Ethan Prince. “I could really use a highlighter.”

  Malik reached out, picked one off the shelves and handed it over.

  “Also, some paper clips. I seem to be fresh out of paper clips.”

  Once again, Malik loaned a hand.

  “Way to stay ahead of the game, new guy,” Ethan said, before closing the door.

  Jessica and Malik burst out laughing, sounds of mirth hitting their ears like a foreign tongue.

  “May I ask…” Malik politely coughed out the remaining laughter into the crook of his arm. “Is there any reason you haven’t responded to my friend request on Facebook?”

  “It’s Facebook, Malik. Not a grant proposal.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  “To your roast?”

  “Cookout.”

  “Yeah…” Jessica sighed, punched him gently in the shoulder. “I guess I’ll come along.”

  “Good.”

&n
bsp; Jessica reached for the door knob. “Yeah, good.”

  “What were you going to be checking out in archives?”

  “Just a hunch, a guess…” She opened the door and stepped out. Stuck her face back in for one final sting. “Oh, and Mr. Holder needs some staples.”

  Before Malik could fire back, she slammed the door shut.

  Went on down to check on the archives, secretly dreading the possibility of reconciliation.

  Chapter 24: No Parking Anytime.

  As they approached the line of cars parked along the curb, Jessica felt the air conditioning plunge by several degrees. Malik slow-rolled into his parent’s driveway. He cut the engine. Jessica hopped out and took a few steps towards the curb. She stared at the house across the street.

  Yellow police tape encircled the perimeter of the lengthy, two-story brick residence.

  “Look at that, mom’s car ain’t even here,” Malik said, punching the security lock on his key chain. He joined Jessica, gave her a nudge. “What’s up, you all right?”

  Jessica pointed with her chin. “That’s Jason Castle’s house.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I must have seen his place a thousand times,” Jessica mused, eyeing the garage, attached perpendicularly to the side of the house, entrance hidden from view. “How could I have missed it?”

  “All kinds of messed up.”

  “Did you know Jason Castle was your neighbor?”

  “Nah. Not till after the incident. Used to belong to the Inverso family, back in the nineties. These days, nobody knows who their neighbor is.”

  “The cops must have come by, looking for eyewitnesses.”

  Malik nodded. “They did.”

  “And when were you going to tell me about this?”

  “Shortly after you and I started talking again, some three weeks after it happened. Now can we leave this at the office? It’s the Fourth of July, let’s have some fun.”

  “Yeah…” Jessica gave the house one last look. “Let’s have some fun.”

  ***

  Malik slid the glass door open and ushered Jessica out onto the wooden deck.

  His parents had a nice little turnout going on. There looked to be about thirty or so guests; university colleagues of Malik’s father, health care specialists representing his mother’s defunct clinics. Lively conversations mingled in the air along with the excited cries of children running circles in the yard, wreaking havoc on a game of horseshoes.

  Their entrance was met with enthusiastic shout-outs, some noticeably tempered upon pegging Malik’s date as the infamous Jessica Kinkaid. Jessica recognized confusion, guilt, resentment, and trepidation before zeroing in on one embarrassed smile in particular.

  Malik’s father was at the grill, spatula trapped halfway beneath a dormant burger. Caught unawares, a teenager whose parents weren’t supposed to have come home until Sunday.

  He slid back into host mode, waving them over.

  “Malik,” Jessica muttered through tightened lips, “did you forget to have me cleared with security?”

  “I don’t need their permission to bring a friend home.”

  “Right. Throw that out the window, see if it’ll fly.”

  “Relax… after all that’s happened, they got to accept you.” He led her past a stretch table crammed with fried chicken, barbeque, potato salad, collards, slaw, biscuits, hushpuppies and cornbread.

  “Hey, Jessica.” Malik’s father broadsided her with a warm smile. He made as though to shake, then checked himself. Began to wipe his hands on his apron without much success.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Council,” Jessica assured him. “It’s cool.”

  “Good to have you here. You want a drink? Malik, grab the lady something to drink.”

  Malik left Jessica by the fire, smoke swirling with the thick aroma of grease.

  “Jessica…” Malik’s father motioned to a pair of middle aged men beside him. “This is George Samuels, head of African-American Studies, and Stan Henderson, visiting professor of Education.”

  Professor Samuels greeted her with an overbite smile, his light-brown cheeks dotted with dark, summertime freckles. “Jessica Kincaid. I read your piece for the Observing the Observer contest. Matter of fact, I actually used it in one of my classes this semester.”

  “Thank you. I read your book a couple times over. The Surrogate Culture.”

  “Oh.” He put a humble hand over his heart. “I actually teach that one in both my classes.”

  The three professors had themselves a laugh, and Jessica smiled along.

  “Well, your piece gave us all a good deal to talk about,” Samuels told her. “Personally, I liked it. Thought you were a little hard on brother West and Dyson, though.”

  “I’m sure they’ve heard worse.”

  “You know that’s right…” He nudged Malik’s father. “Hey, Phillip. You never told me your boy was friends with sister Kincaid.”

  Malik’s dad laughed uneasily, concentrating on his grilling. “Well, Patricia and I got into a bit of discussion at the time it was published. Things got a little heated.”

  “Well, Patty’s a tough sell on anything.”

  “And, admittedly, I may have taken the article a little… personally.”

  “Nobody likes to wake up one day and discover they’re old guard.”

  Malik bounded back into the conversation, emphatically sticking a bottle of water out for all to see. “There you go, Jessica.”

  “Just water?” Malik’s father wasn’t done playing nice. “We’re all adults here, one beer won’t hurt. Jessica, if you want a real drink, it’s –” Whatever look his son was flashing, it was a good reminder. “No. No beer, then… Why don’t you two go grab some plates. Load up, there’s plenty.”

  Samuels gave her a wink. “You come back and talk to me once you’ve got some food in you.”

  “To both of us,” Professor Henderson added, clearing thin strands of red hair from his sunburned face. “Think they might like to have you up at Princeton.”

  “Better watch yourself, Stanley. Doe hunting in our back yard, shame on you.”

  “Let’s get you someplace safe,” Malik said, putting an arm around Jessica and leading her away. “You all right?”

  “So far, so weird.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t let my mom catch you not eating,” Malik warned, picking up two paper plates. “Don’t know where she’s at, but you can bet she’ll show at the most inconvenient moment.”

  Jessica’s nerves groaned in protest. “I know. And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Having me over.”

  “Ain’t no thang,” Malik smiled, as the two of them made their way down the table.

  Jessica’s options were limited. Faced with a spread of numerous dead animals, she made do with potato salad, hush puppies, and collard greens. Malik took a bit of everything, humming quietly. He finally topped himself off with a precariously balanced wedge of cornbread. “Got a clearing on the bench, right over there…”

  “Malik!” Someone called out from the crowd. “Get over here, son! Let me look at you!”

  “Shit.” Malik motioned for her to keep on without him. “Be with you soon as I can.”

  Jessica found a spot on the wooden bench encircling the deck. Gave a polite nod to her neighbors and opened her water. She glanced out towards the yard. The sun had become a blood orange, half hidden by surrounding trees. A pair of citronella Tiki torches burned brightly, keeping mosquitoes at bay. From inside, the stereo softly trumpeted swing from a bygone era, bygone city.

  Jessica thought maybe she was within her rights to relax and enjoy herself.

  She impaled a pair of hush puppies, savoring the deep-fried goodness.

  Was about to try the slaw, when the back door slid open.

  Malik’s mother stepped out, left hand gripping her cane, fresh glass of white wine in the other. Pearl
buttons glinted delicately against a loose-fitting turquoise blouse. A pair of fitted black slacks told the world there wasn’t a car accident out there could stop her from showing off the contours of her legs. Endless pride trading in her sneakers for a pair of beige, tassel-strap heels. Hair cut in a Michelle Obama, above-the-shoulder bob.

  Her eyes zeroed in on Jessica’s.

  She politely made fast time with the small talk, zigzagging from one person to the next, steadily drifting towards the uninvited.

  Jessica put her fork down in preparation.

  Malik’s mother refilled her glass, then took a seat next to Jessica.

  “Welcome to our party,” she said, smiling broadly. “Glad you could make it.”

  Jessica engaged in the customary matching of smiles. “Thanks for having me.”

  “Mm…” She took a sip of white wine, leaving dark-red lipstick to rest on the rim. “Sorry we don’t have more vegetarian selections.”

  “Not a problem, Mrs. Council. I’m good with the hush puppies, slaw and collards. All I need.”

  “Collards were cooked with ham.”

  “Didn’t catch those,” Jessica said, taking a closer look. There were the tiny, pink cubes resting comfortably in their wet, leafy bed. Without thinking, she added, “Sorry.”

  “Hope you plan to eat what’s on your plate. I don’t like to waste food.”

  “Don’t plan to.

  “Malik’s been eating meat again.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I know he gave the whole vegetarian thing a shot while you and him were going together.” Patricia said. “Guess it didn’t stick.”

  “Wasn’t my plan.”

  “What wasn’t?”

  Jessica knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Knew it, knew it, knew it. “I think he was just giving it a try.”

  “You know, being a vegetarian is a privilege of the privileged.”

  Again, another loaded statement with no appropriate response. So is living in Forrest Hills, might have been a reasonable comeback, but it wouldn’t have landed. Patricia had a severe disconnect between Queens and her current life in the suburbs. You don’t have any friends who are vegetarian? Lots of luck with that; Jessica wasn’t a friend, and Patricia Council would have no problems hammering that particular argument home. Jessica forced some slaw into her mouth, food tasting no different from the plastic spoon. Stomach warning of a nervous uprising.

  “I would be the first to agree,” Jessica managed. “It’s a first world honor.”

  “Don’t know about honor…” She took another sip of wine, a rather large one. “If you’re fortunate enough to get your hands on food, whatever it may be, you should thank God, then eat it.”