All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 22

"Sue? Are you okay?"

She shook her head and came back into herself. She gave Billy a weak smile. "Sorry." She glanced back over at Heidi, who she could barely make out now down the street. Poor girl, Poor girl, she thought. she thought. I shouldn't have been thinking such bad thoughts about her. I shouldn't have been thinking such bad thoughts about her.

"You okay?" Billy asked.

"Just daydreaming, I guess."

He slipped his right hand over hers. "About me, I hope."

He's never tried to get me to sleep with him, Sue thought.

Why? Is there something wrong with me?

They walked hand in hand for a while without speaking. They pa.s.sed the drugstore and the A&P, and rounded the corner in front of the post office.

"I was afraid you weren't going to show up," Billy said finally.

"Oh. Right." Sue was struggling to get her thoughts under control, to yank them away from images of Billy and Heidi. "I'm sorry I was so late." She brightened. "But I finally heard from Joyce Davenport."

Billy stopped walking. "Well, awesome. Did she tell you anything about your mother?"

Sue shook her head. "It was just a short e-mail, responding to mine from weeks ago. She said she was sorry it took her so long to get back to me, that she's been on tour, but said she would call and we'd set up a time to talk."

"Cool."

Sue sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I was late because I wanted to write her back right away, and I told her I'd been reading her book..." Sue laughed. "And you know what? She must have been online, because this time, she e-mailed me right back! And she was thrilled, of course, that I was reading Smear Smear."

"Obviously, you didn't tell her what you thought of it," Billy said, laughing.

Sue had filled Billy in on what she perceived to be Joyce's prejudices. But she hadn't told him that she had been starting to revise her opinion, at least a little.

"You know," Sue admitted, "I can't figure her out. On the one hand, I think she's horrible. And the other..." Her words trailed off.

"What?" Billy asked.

"On the other," Sue said, "some of what she wrote makes a lot of sense to me. And I told her that, too, in my next e-mail to her. And she e-mailed right back again, saying she couldn't wait wait to talk to me!" to talk to me!"

"Looks like she's found another follower," Billy said.

Sue smiled. Billy was sweet and he was cute, but he just wasn't very bright. He couldn't explain the difference between conservative and liberal to save his life. Completely apolitical. "Well," she said, "I'm not sure I'm a follower. But I just feel maybe...maybe she speaks for some people, and maybe I should listen to what she has to say."

"Sounds reasonable to me."

"That's just it. I can see where Joyce and people like her can be unreasonable. But people on the left can be just as narrow-minded." Sue stopped walking again to make her point. "Take my roommate, for example."

"Malika? But I thought you liked her..."

"I do, but..." Sue's words trailed off again. "Well, you finally met her the other night. What did you think, Billy?"

"She seemed nice."

"No, come on, really."

Billy laughed uncomfortably. "Okay, maybe she was a little...I don't know...my Mom calls it 'crunchy.'"

Sue looked at him intently. "Crunchy?"

"Yeah, you know, like crunchy granola. The type who eats granola and thinks killing animals for food is murder." Billy smirked. "She was wearing those Birkenstock sandals, and she had a that pin on her jacket that read STOP GLOBAL WARMING NOW STOP GLOBAL WARMING NOW."

Sue was nodding. "Yeah. That's Malika."

Malika was so d.a.m.n serious. Their conversations always seemed to veer into world politics. Malika had very little interest in any viewpoint other than her own. Her own way of thinking was the only correct one. Isn't that what she said about Joyce Davenport?

"Americans are so insular," Malika would explain whenever Sue disagreed with her. "You never look at the big picture, because no matter what may happen in the rest of the world, to Americans, it is only of interest if it directly affects your country."

Sue had grown impatient with such talk. Joyce Davenport had several paragraphs lambasting those foreign students who came to this country, took advantage of our great educational system, and then bashed America in turn. In fact, Malika's beliefs could be boiled down to one common denominator: America is bad-America is very, very bad. America is bad-America is very, very bad. And if Sue challenged her, or asked her a question she couldn't answer, she became very superior. "That is just And if Sue challenged her, or asked her a question she couldn't answer, she became very superior. "That is just wrong, wrong," she'd reply.

Malika was, as Sue's grandfather said, the epitome of the "limousine liberal." Her parents were wealthy, and when they came to this country, they acted like those uppity blacks- Sue stopped in mid-thought.

Uppity blacks? How racist can I be?

She was stunned that such a thought could cross her mind. It was exactly the kind of thing that her grandfather would say-and the kind of thing Joyce Davenport would imply. Joyce was far too smart to put it in so many words, but it was there, between the lines of much of what she wrote. the kind of thing Joyce Davenport would imply. Joyce was far too smart to put it in so many words, but it was there, between the lines of much of what she wrote.

Just because I might find some value in Joyce's work, Sue thought, Sue thought, I don't want to become like her. I don't want to become like her.

Or-Sue shuddered-like Granpa.

She'd Googled Joyce's name the night before, and found dozens of Web sites about her. Some were wors.h.i.+pful-but a far greater number attacked her and what they called her "lies." One site was actually called "JoyceLies." There were cartoons with Joyce's face superimposed on an animated jacka.s.s or onto the body of a leather-clad SS guard. All of her extreme views came under attack. She opposed any rights for gay people. She thought most women had proven they didn't deserve the right to vote. And she said that if other races felt discriminated against here in the United States, they were always welcome to migrate back to their ancestral homelands.

That would certainly show them, Sue found herself thinking again. Really. Like some black person would be better off in Rwanda than here. Sue found herself thinking again. Really. Like some black person would be better off in Rwanda than here.

"It's just so difficult," Sue said.

They had been walking in silence again. Billy looked down at her. "What's difficult?"

"Figuring out how I feel," Sue said. "About Joyce, about her writings, about...myself..."

Part of me believes one thing, Sue thought, and another part of me-a more emotional part-thinks maybe Joyce and Granpa are on to something. It's almost as if my brain is torn in half... and another part of me-a more emotional part-thinks maybe Joyce and Granpa are on to something. It's almost as if my brain is torn in half...

And then she remembered her headache-when it had felt exactly and literally like that, her brain being ripped in half.

"You know what I think it is?" Billy asked. "I think because Joyce was your mother's friend, you want to really like her. That's what it is. You want to like her and find good things about her."

Sue nodded. Billy was right. Maybe he wasn't so dimwitted after all. She smiled up at him, cupped his cheek in her hand.

"I'm glad we met, Billy," she said.

He beamed. "Yeah," he said. "Me, too."

An image once again of him and Heidi flashed through Sue's mind. She pushed it away. But not before she felt the stab of jealousy again.

"You want to go over to the Yellow Bird for a c.o.ke?" Billy asked, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it. "I told Mike we might stop by."

Mike. Billy's best friend, Mike deSalis. Sue's twinge of jealousy faded into one of sadness. She'd only met Mike twice, and briefly. "I don't think Mike likes me," Sue said. "I can just tell." Billy's best friend, Mike deSalis. Sue's twinge of jealousy faded into one of sadness. She'd only met Mike twice, and briefly. "I don't think Mike likes me," Sue said. "I can just tell."

"Sure he does." Billy made a face. "You two just don't know each other very well yet. That's all."

He's lying, Sue thought to herself. Sue thought to herself. Mike doesn't like me and he's told Billy so. Mike doesn't like me and he's told Billy so.

"Mike doesn't like me, Billy." Sue was adamant about it.

"He's just going through some family stuff. His sister is sick."

"Bernadette?"

Billy looked surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know her name?"

"He must have mentioned it..."

Billy shook his head. "No. He won't even say her name anymore."

"Well, then, I don't know how I could possibly know his sister's name," Sue said. "I mean, I barely know Mike."

"Well, come on, let's go. He'll be in a better mood if I buy him a chili burger and fries. Once you guys get to know each other, you'll be best of friends."

Billy was tugging at her hand to get a move on, but Sue stood her ground.

"Did he like Heidi?"

Billy sighed. "Sue, please..."

"He did, didn't he?" Sue asked.

"It doesn't matter."

Once again, jealousy rose up from Sue's belly like bile.

"Please, Sue, let's go," Billy pleaded. Finally, she relented, traipsing alongside him down the street toward the Yellow Bird.

It didn't occur to either of them that Billy had never told Sue his ex-girlfriend's name.

33.

Heidi Swettenham burst through the doors of Martine's Boutique looking as white as a sheet.

"Heidi!" Martine gasped, standing over Rachel Muir, whose head was tipped back into the sink, peroxide cooking away on her gray roots.

"Can I sit down for a minute?" Heidi asked, gripping the back of a chair.

"Yeah, sure, honey. You sick?"

Heidi sat down hard. "I felt like...like I was getting these sharp pains..."

Martine walked around Rachel Muir's outstretched legs. "Here, honey, drink some water." She filled a small conical cup from the cooler and handed it to the girl. "You look pale."

The hairdresser saw that she'd been crying, too. The girl's eyes were red.

"You been having boy problems, I think," Martine said, taking back the empty cup and tossing it into the trash can. "Aren't you dating Billy Honeycutt?"

"I...was..."

"Well, you just sit there, honey, and if you don't feel better, I'll call your mama. She's due in for a cut and curl anyway."

Martine headed back over to Rachel Muir. The two women shook their heads at each other, in sympathy for a teenaged girl and her broken heart.

"When I was your age, Heidi," Martine was saying, "I had this boyfriend just like Billy. A regular Casanova, he was. The girls flocked around him like moths to a flame. But you get over them..."

She looked back in the girl's direction.

Heidi had slipped off her chair and was lying on floor. She wasn't moving.

Martine screamed.

34.

"You want anything else, Mike?" Wally Bingham called from across the counter.

The Yellow Bird was empty, except for Mike deSalis. The supper s.h.i.+ft was finished, and Marjorie was in the back, doing dishes. Everyone else had cleared out except for Mike, who'd been sitting in a booth for over two hours, just staring into his gla.s.s of c.o.ke, which had been refilled at least ten times.

"No," Mike replied. "I'm just waiting on Billy."

Wally looked at his watch. "Well, if he was coming by for supper, I'm getting ready to close up the kitchen."

Mike sighed. "He's with his new girlfriend. They're always having serious conversations."

"You know how guys are with new girls," Wally said.