“All right, what?” Summer demanded angrily.
“I didn’t say anything,” Diana protested. “Did you say anything, Marquez?”
“Not me.”
“Look, what was I supposed to do?” Summer pleaded. “He’s Sean Valletti. He’s the cutest guy in my school. Every girl in school dreams about him. I had a crush on him for years.”
“I can see why,” Diana admitted. “Great body. Great hair. Great face. I’m undecided on the chest hair.”
“I kind of like the chest hair,” Marquez said. “I mean, the way he has it—mostly on his chest, not on his stomach or on his shoulders or anything gross.”
“He’s not exactly a genius,” Diana said.
“But that’s good, not bad,” Marquez said. “You don’t want a guy who’s too smart. J.T. is too smart for his own good. Always analyzing everything and getting all confused. What you want is a guy who’s just good-looking and basically sweet.”
“Like Diver,” Marquez and Diana said at exactly the same moment.
“I mean, like Diver, as one possible example,” Diana said quickly, blushing furiously. “Not necessarily Diver himself. He was just the first example that came to mind.”
“Uh-huh,” Marquez said. She smiled and shook her head. “I’d forget about Mr. Diver. Getting through to the mysterious Mr. Diver is like nailing Jell-O to the wall. Whenever you think maybe something is going on, he’s out of there.”
“You’re probably right,” Diana said neutrally.
“Whereas, say, Sean Valletti is right out front, hairy chest and all,” Marquez said.
“I’m going to tell him no,” Summer said defensively. “I’m not going out with Sean. I am totally committed to Seth. I’m going out with him tonight. It’s just…”
“The end-of-August thing?” Marquez suggested. “Maybe you should think about it. I mean, pretty soon Seth goes one way and you…and Sean…go another way.”
“Ah.” Diana nodded, understanding. “I get it. Either the summer ends with tearful farewells and broken hearts, or it ends with Summer arriving back home with the coolest guy in her school. Wow.”
“Both of you shut up. I’m not even thinking about that,” Summer said, annoyed and impatient, as she often was when she was lying.
Diana felt strangely exhausted by the day spent with Summer and Marquez. She had the feeling she might have talked too much, revealed too much of herself, and that kind of thing always gave her the willies. Sometimes, like the song said, she gave herself the creeps.
There was a surprise waiting for her when she got back home. A very large white van was parked just down the street. As she drove past it and pulled into her driveway, two people literally leaped from the back, followed by a third a few seconds later.
By the time she had turned off the ignition and opened the door of her little Jetta, a camera was in her face, a light brighter than the sun was in her eyes, and a woman seemed to be trying to force-feed her a microphone.
“Diana! Diana!” the woman shouted. “Are you Diana Olan? I’m Wendy Rackman, The Last Word. You are Diana Olan, right?”
Diana squinted into the light and said, “No, I’m Maria Marquez. I’m just a friend of Diana’s.”
The reporter sagged a little. “Oh. Okay, what do you know about this situation between Diana Olan and Senator Merrick?”
Diana shrugged. “Look, I told your producer on the phone I wasn’t sure if I was going to talk to reporters,” she said, abandoning the lame pretense.
“So you are Diana Olan?” The reporter came alive again.
“Yes. Now would you go away?” Diana turned to go inside.
“Diana, Ross Merrick says you’re just an embittered former girlfriend of his brother, Adam, and that you tried to extort money from them with a made-up story about an attempted rape.”
Diana stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Obviously the reporter was simply trying to goad her. And just as obviously it had worked.
“If you don’t talk to us, Diana, we have to go with Ross’s version of events. We’ll have no other choice,” the reporter said.
Diana shrugged. “There’s Ross’s version and there’s my version, and then there’s the videotape. So I guess when the cops release the videotape, the truth will be obvious to everyone.”
“Diana, the Merrick family’s lawyers say they can keep that videotape out of court, if this case even goes to trial.”
“What do you mean?” Diana asked sharply.
“Diana,” the reporter said, affecting a sincere tone, “evidence can be suppressed by smart lawyers sometimes. But no one can stop the free press from showing the world the truth. If you give us a copy of the tape, we can have it on the air by tonight. After that, no one will ever be able to suppress the truth.”
“I’m not going to let you have the tape,” Diana said firmly. “I told the police I wouldn’t.” She had also promised Adam.
Just then the door opened. Mallory came out, hurriedly made up but camera-ready. “Diana, why don’t you come inside?”
“Ms. Olan, your daughter’s story needs to be told,” the reporter said.
“I’ll handle this,” Diana told her mother, making no attempt to hide her annoyance at the intrusion.
“I think you should talk to me first,” Mallory said.
Diana looked uncertainly from the predatory reporter to her mother. “What, you’re offering to help me? Why?”
“Excuse us a moment,” Mallory told the reporter. She pulled Diana inside and closed the door.
“You don’t really understand what you’ve unleashed, do you?” Mallory asked. “All you’re thinking about now is lashing out. You want to hurt the Merricks, fine, but they won’t just lie down and play dead.”
“What can they do to me?” Diana asked.
“There’s an old saying, Diana, something like, ‘If you strike at a king, make sure you kill him.’ The point being, make sure you don’t leave him a chance to hit back.”
“Are you telling me I should let them see the videotape?” Diana asked, incredulous.
Mallory nodded, her face grim. “It’s about who gets to write the story, Diana. The Merricks know how to use the media. They are professionals. Either the Merricks write the story, or you write the story. The tape will destroy them.”
“I don’t get this. Why are you suddenly on my side?”
“I’ve always been on your side,” her mother said wearily. “Whatever you may think about me. I was—I am—afraid of the Merricks. Afraid for me, true, but also for you.” She smiled crookedly. “I’m sorry if that isn’t pure enough for you. I know a perfect mother would never think of herself at all, but I’m not a perfect mother. I had to think of what this could do to my career. And I also had to think about what all this could mean for you. Wanting to hurt people, even those who hurt you, is a bad thing.”
“How else can you keep them from hurting someone else?” Diana demanded.
Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just that when I saw my only daughter about to get into a fight, I wanted to stop it. But now it’s too late. It’s already begun, so now you have no choice but to try your best to win.”
Diana hesitated. “I…Adam. You remember when he came to see me? I promised him I wouldn’t give the tape to the media.”
“Look, it’s your choice, Diana,” her mother said. She smiled ruefully. “This is a bad time for me to suddenly realize that you’re an adult, but this is an adult choice. The tape will hurt them very badly.”
Diana considered this for a moment. The image that came to mind was of the pills she had, again and again, counted out into her hand. The pills she had planned to take to end her life.
“I want to hurt them,” she said at last.
9
Video Blog
So in any case, Jennifer, now you can see why I haven’t posted a video lately. Like I said, this whole summer vacation keeps going off in one unusual direction after another. I thought I’d be down here
all summer and have nothing to tell you except how my tan was doing. It’s good, by the way. I have achieved major, definite tan lines.
But, see, I figured that would be all I’d have to tell you about. That, and maybe I’d meet a guy or something. Instead, I keep meeting additional guys, which brings me to the one thing I haven’t told you yet. Guess who is down here on Crab Claw Key? If I gave you a week to guess, you’d never get it right.
Sean Valletti. Yes, the Sean Valletti. He’s down here with his uncle, who has this huge boat. But the amazing thing is that he asked me out.
Yes, Sean Valletti asked me out, and he even kissed me.
I will pause for a moment while you pick yourself back up off the floor, since I bet you fainted.
He wants me to go to this big festival of a dead pirate called the Bacchanal. They say it’s like Mardi Gras, kind of. Anyway, Sean actually asked me to go to it with him.
Not that I’m going, of course. I mean, I am totally and completely in love with Seth. Really.
The only reason I didn’t tell Sean no right away is because…well, he is Sean Valletti, right? Liz Block and Annie Bashears and that Elise girl, all those supposedly popular girls, all those cheerleader creatures, would totally have to die if I showed up back in Bloomington with Sean. Summer Smith and Sean Valletti? No one would even believe it if they didn’t see it.
It would be like, “Hah, so there!” Like I was magically transported from the level of “Oh, she’s not bad, but she’s kind of into getting good grades” to “Whoa, she’s going with Sean Valletti.”
Actually, though, I’m not sure I like Sean that much. He’s cute, but that’s about all he is. So even if we broke up after we got back to Bloomington, it would be okay.
Seth is a whole different story, Jen. I mean, Seth makes me sick. No, wait, that came out wrong. What I meant was, sometimes I’m lying in bed at night and I can’t go right to sleep and I start thinking about Seth…and I just really wish he were there. I mean, in this powerful way. Like if I think about him ever breaking up with me, I get a sick feeling.
That’s what I meant by making me sick. I feel that way right now, talking to you about it, even thinking about it. Kind of like really bad cramps combined with running too much in gym.
Marquez…I’ve told you how Marquez isn’t exactly subtle…anyway, she keeps reminding me about the end of summer, when I have to go home. What am I supposed to do then? Seth and I are going to be at the airport, right where we met and where he first kissed me, and I’m going to get on one plane, and he’s going to get on another, and it’s going to be the worst day of my life.
See? I’m starting to get all weepy just thinking about it.
I should have just stayed home for the summer. I would have been miserable, but not that miserable. Not to be all psychological or anything, but maybe that’s why I haven’t told Sean to go away. I mean, maybe part of me wants to keep Seth at arm’s length. It’s just so totally superficial with Sean it’s almost a relief…. I don’t know. It’s stupid. Because in the end I’m in love with Seth, and summer’s almost over, and I am going to be totally destroyed.
Still, the thing I keep thinking is, how can I really be sure what’s going to happen in the future? I mean, did I think I was suddenly going to run into Jonathan? A guy who might be my own brother reappears from nowhere. That’s practically a miracle. So who knows, right? Who knows what could happen by the end of summer? Maybe it will be something I haven’t even thought about.
10
A Little Night Music
Toward the end of the shift, when the orders from the waitresses had slowed to a trickle and the cleaning up of the kitchen had begun, J.T. picked a CD and slipped it into the CD player the cooks kept on top of a reach-in refrigerator.
He cranked the volume to seven and hit Play. Offspring doing “Bad Habit.” It was one of the kitchen staff’s standards. They favored seriously hard-edged rock at the end of a tough night. The worse the night, the wilder the music.
Skeet, one of the other cooks, heard the opening bars and gave J.T. a wink. “It wasn’t that bad a night,” she said.
“Oh, Skeet, you think every night is a Melissa Etheridge night,” J.T. teased. He waltzed over, took Skeet by the waist, and drew her into a completely incongruous dance, as if they were keeping time to a different piece of music. “First time you’ve danced with a guy, Skeet?”
“No, only I prefer guys with some idea of rhythm,” Skeet said.
J.T. released her, laughing. “Come on, Tom,” he said, inviting the fry cook to dance. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah, when pigs fly,” Tom said.
“No one wants to dance,” J.T. complained. Then he spotted Lianne coming through the swinging doors. “Lianne! Dance with me.” He snapped his fingers. “I got dancin’ feet.”
“Dance to this?” Lianne said, turning up her nose.
“Skeet! Stick in Rihanna,” J.T. ordered. Seconds later Rihanna came on. But still Lianne refused.
“J.T., we’re at work,” she said. She gave him a peck on the cheek and went back to the dining room just as Marquez passed through the door.
J.T. retreated a bit, stepping back behind the line and pretending to go back to work. Marquez started to do side work, dipping tartar sauce into little plastic cups, but J.T. knew her too well to think she could ignore the music. Within seconds he could see the effect—a motion beginning with her head, swaying just slightly at first, translated down her neck to her shoulders, her bottom, her legs, topped off by a little twirl with the tartar sauce spoon still in her hand.
J.T. smiled ruefully. The future Harvard girl. The future corporate lawyer.
There wasn’t anything wrong in dancing with his former girlfriend, was there? After all, a moment earlier he’d been dancing with Skeet. He’d even asked Tom, although the fry cook was unlikely to be seen as a threat by Lianne. No, he should stick to his work.
Marquez was now dancing far more than she was filling cups of tartar sauce.
J.T. whipped off his apron. Screw it. He had dancin’ feet. What was he supposed to do?
He took the spoon from Marquez and set it down.
“Crank it, Skeet,” he said.
By the time Lianne reappeared in the kitchen, Marquez was up on the stainless steel counter, hands in the air over her head, hips thrusting, hair loose and flying, doing death-defying moves. J.T. was dancing more sedately below her, choosing to keep his feet on the ground.
“Is this really—” Lianne began, but the music drowned her out.
She caught J.T.’s eye. He gave her a wan grin and tried to draw her into the moment. But Lianne just looked angry and hurt.
Skeet, sensing the mood, turned the music down. Marquez opened her eyes, annoyed. “What are you—Oh,” she said, spotting Lianne. She hopped down from the counter, flushed and perspiring. “Why, Lianne. Thank goodness you got here in time. We were all in danger of having fun.”
“Well, that’s so you, isn’t it?” Lianne said. “Always there for the fun, and out the door anytime things get serious.”
“Oh, shut up, Lianne,” Marquez said dismissively.
“Hey, that’s not called for, Marquez,” J.T. said, quietly but firmly.
“What? You’re defending little Miss Mood-killer?” Marquez demanded.
J.T. told himself just to let it go. Marquez could be volatile when embarrassed, and she had quite a mean tongue when she was mad. But by the same token, he couldn’t stand by and let her dump on Lianne.
“Marquez, look, we had some fun, let’s not start something,” J.T. said.
“I’m not starting anything,” Marquez fired back. “It’s this life-size Barbie here—”
“Come on, Marquez,” J.T. began.
Lianne put a hand on his arm. “Let her say whatever she wants,” she said, looking at Marquez with contempt. “It’s all she can do—flirt and party and be a witch. It doesn’t bother me. I feel sorry for her. She has to put on a big show for everyone to distract them
from the fact that she’s a cold, selfish person with nothing inside.”
“You know nothing about me, Lianne,” Marquez said scornfully.
“I know one thing. J.T. is with me now because you couldn’t be bothered to be there for him.”
“I think everyone has said enough,” J.T. said.
“Everyone but you, J.T.,” Lianne said, suddenly turning on him.
He realized with a shock that there were tears in her eyes. It had never occurred to him that Lianne could cry. A quiver had appeared in her voice. “You haven’t said the thing you need to say, J.T. You need to tell Marquez it’s over, for good, forever. You need to give her up.”
J.T. felt stunned. The entire room was quiet. Even the dishwasher was between cycles. “Marquez knows I’m with you, Lianne,” he said.
“Yeah. That’s why I come in and find you dancing with her,” Lianne sneered. “And when you see me you get this bad-little-boy look on your face, like I’m the teacher who caught you throwing spit wads.”
“That’s not it at all,” J.T. protested.
“Then tell her it’s over, J.T., because she knows she still has a hold on you,” Lianne said sadly. “Marquez isn’t stupid. But neither am I.”
“I think it’s pretty clear, given everything,” J.T. tried again.
“I’m out of here,” Lianne said suddenly. She bit her lip. “I’ll get someone to do my side work for me. I’ll be at home, J.T. I guess you’ll either come over or you won’t.”
“Oh, I don’t even believe that,” Seth said, disgusted. “That’s pathetic. They call him out? That was out? He was so safe.” He pointed the remote control and clicked off the TV.
“We lost, right?” Summer said, playing dumb. Seth was sitting on her bed. Summer was lying back, her head in his lap.
“Only by three runs,” Seth said glumly.
“And we care deeply about this because…”
“Because Milwaukee is my team,” Seth said.
“But you live in Eau Claire, and isn’t Eau Claire actually closer to Minneapolis than Milwaukee?”
Beach Blondes: June Dreams / July's Promise / August Magic Page 38