Struck By Lightning: Slow Satisfaction Part 3

Again there was silence from Stefan.

"Stefan," I pressed. "What does she want? Money?"

He snorted. "I think if money could make the problem go away, it would already be gone. No, Karina. I think she, uh, she wants him." I could hear Stefan blus.h.i.+ng through the phone, I swear.

"Well, she can't have him." I sat down on the concrete bench next to some bushes with a thump.

"Karina? What did you say? I couldn't make that out."

d.a.m.n it. If I was going to fight Ferrara Huntington, I needed to forgive James.

Stefan made a sudden noise. "Karina-"

"Stefan?"

I heard a brief rustling, then a voice I longed to hear, even if I was angry at him all over again. "Karina." James sounded out of breath.

"Mr. LeStrange," I said, as calmly and coldly as I could. "Don't you know it's rude to interrupt a conversation?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. G.o.d, Karina, I have no excuse other than my desperation to hear your voice. Are you all right? Paulina said your mother-?"

"Don't change the subject. You don't deserve to know about my mother. You don't deserve to know anything after everything you've done!" I stood up again and I was shouting. Some people walking to the parking lot glanced at me nervously. I didn't care.

"You're right. You're right. Please let me make it up to you, Karina. Please let me explain."

"Fine. Explain."

"In person. Somewhere secure-"

"Oh, bulls.h.i.+t, James!" I could picture how it would go. He'd invite me to a penthouse somewhere, and fill the place with long-stemmed roses with I'm sorry handwritten in gold ink on every one, and I'd roll over and let him have me before I knew what I was doing. "You don't get to set the terms anymore. Do you understand? If you can't get that, then we have nothing to talk about."

He was silent, but I could hear his breathing. It sounded like he was still out of breath. I wondered if he was shocked. I wondered if he was crying.

When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and subdued. "I'm sorry. I... I'll wait. I'll come there if you want. Whatever you want. You're in control, Karina."

I sank down to the bench again. My knees had gone weak. I never thought I'd hear him say something like that.

An idea came to me then. "Find out everything you can about a Phil Betancourt from Xenia, Ohio. Then maybe we can talk again."

I hung up before he could respond. As I hit the "end call" b.u.t.ton, it felt like a knife going through my chest, but there was also something deeply satisfying about it. I stared at the phone in my hand for a long moment before I got up and went back inside.

We hung around the hospital for another hour or two. After Mom dozed off again, Jill drove us into town to the luncheonette that I was surprised was still there. "Let's eat quickly," Jill suggested, as we sat down. "Then I'll drop you back at the hospital and I'll go meet the locksmith at the house."

"Sounds like a plan."

"You want to split a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of soup?"

"We could each get the half sandwich and cup of soup combo," I pointed out.

"It's cheaper if we just share a whole one, plus the soup's bigger."

"Get tomato in the grilled cheese and I'm there."

"Deal."

It was after the lunch crowd and before dinner so there were only a few other customers in the place.

"She seems pretty cheerful today," Jill said.

"Well, that's good, right?"

"When have you ever known Mom to be cheerful? That worries me."

"Jill, of course she's being cheerful. All she's ever wanted is for everyone to treat her like a queen. In the hospital they do."

"Hmm, true." She looked around. Most of the seats at the Formica-topped counter were empty. "Karina, I'm going to have to go back soon."

"How soon? Can't the bar deal without you?"

"From what I can tell, all h.e.l.l is breaking loose without me there."

"They'll survive."

"That's what I have to tell you. 'They' is 'we' now."

"What do you mean?"

"I bought into part-owners.h.i.+p. The chef's been wanting his own place for a while. He got a rich friend to pony up some cash, and me and the head bartender each bought in for a quarter. So the old owner is gone and I'm the full-time house manager now. We're in the middle of the changeover." Her eyes were very round and exposed under her super-short haircut.

"Jill! That's great! How did I miss this?"

"Um, you were in England all summer?"

Right. "That's fantastic, though."

"It is if we can make it fly. I mean, the money could be a lot better, but that's if the place is successful enough to keep up with our salaries."

"That place was always packed."

"No, it wasn't. You mostly worked the weekend nights." She paused while the waiter, a kid who couldn't be more than eighteen, put the food down in front of us. "But we'll make it work. We're upscaling. Chef's snazzing up the menu. Small plates are all the rage, and a new c.o.c.ktail menu's coming, too, but all the changes mean retraining the waitstaff. We're trying to take it up a notch and get on the hip foodie map. A gastro-pub."

"And you need to be there to train the staff."

"Yeah. This is killing me. My partners are depending on me. But, you know, this is Mom we're talking about."

"I know." We ate for a bit while I mulled over my options. "I still haven't checked in with the university to see what I have to do next. I might not need to be there at all if they haven't reinstated me..."

"I thought you were going to fight for reinstatement?"

"Well, I am, but maybe I could shoot for January." I shrugged. My case might look weak if I stayed away too long, but... "This is Mom we're talking about." I repeated her words.

She ran her fingers over her hair. "And I really don't like the idea of you home alone if Phil comes creeping around again."

"Me either. Even with the locks changed. I mean, if he isn't a criminal, he-" I was interrupted by a text. Stefan had sent a photograph.

On the screen was a mug shot of Phil Betancourt. He had a black eye and disheveled hair, but it was unmistakably him. The sign he was holding showed he'd been arrested in St. Paul, Minnesota. I showed it to Jill. "So much for the idea he might not be a criminal."

"Who's that from?"

"A friend," I said, which was true.

"A friend?" Jill said, suspicious.

Another text came: If this is your man, he appears to operate under the alias Ernest Klugman. Or perhaps Betancourt is the alias. This arrest was for robbery, aggravated a.s.sault, and s.e.xual misconduct. The injuries were sustained in a scuffle with police. Still researching, but I would advise you not to get mixed up with this fellow. I showed it to her, too.

"A friend," she pressed.

"He's... a security professional," I said.

"That sounds a whole lot like a euphemism."

"Okay, he's a bodyguard and a limo driver."

"How did you meet him?" Her hackles were up.

"Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake, Jill. He works for a guy I met while waitressing for you!"

"Keep your voice down!" Jill yell-whispered at me. "What guy? What guy!"

I yell-whispered back. "The guy I went all the way to England to track down!"

She rolled her eyes and then forced herself to take a deep breath. "Okay. Could he come here to be with you while I go back to New York?"

"You're a.s.suming I would want him here."

"Karina. Whoever he is, he's obviously someone you trusted enough to tell about Mom's abuser."

"Um, yeah." This was the problem with all the secrets, all the hiding. It made my relations.h.i.+p with James-and with Stefan-impossible to explain.

Jill sighed. "If you've got some kind of drama with him, fine, but a 'security expert' might be just what we need if Betancourt is as sketchy as this makes him out to be."

I wondered if James was serious about doing anything I said to try to get back in my good graces. If I wanted him to keep watch from a distance, would he? For that matter, would he send Stefan alone if I asked? Was there some other way James could solve this problem? "I'll... ask if it's possible," I said, hating that I wasn't ready to explain everything to Jill yet.

Gee, like James wasn't ready to explain everything to me? Look how waiting too long had hurt us.

Jill was clearly waiting for me to say more. I resolved I wouldn't let keeping secrets be what drove us apart. I forced myself to look her right in the eye. "I need to tell you something."

She looked at me right back. "Is this going to be one of those family secrets kind of moments?"

"I hope not. Listen. I was seeing this guy in the city for a while. Then we had a kind of... falling out, and I went to London to try to get him back. Only we had another big blowup, and now I'm not sure I want him back after all."

"Oh, KayKay, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He... He wants a chance to make it up to me. I don't know whether to hope it works out or to hope he blows it terribly so I can move on. I'm still really... attracted to him. But I don't want to let him into my life until I'm sure I'm taking him back. Do you know what I mean?"

"You mean you don't want another Brad situation. Where Mom liked him better than you did."

"Exactly. This guy is nothing like Brad, though."

"An art-world type?"

"A rich art-world type and that doesn't even begin to describe him," I said. "Can we not talk about him right now? If I make up with him, I want you to like him. But right now all I want to do is rant about him."

"I understand," she said. "Love's complicated, KayKay. But we better figure something out and soon, because I need to get back to the city."

A funny thing happened after we left the luncheonette. The young waiter who had served us came running out behind us as we were unlocking the car. "Ma'am? Miss?" He seemed unsure how to address Jill. "I think you made a mistake. You left way too big a tip."

He had a twenty in his hand and some loose change.

Jill cuffed him on the shoulder with her hand. "That's for you. For good service."

"But-"

"But nothing. I waited tables a long time. I know. Someday when you're making more money, remember what it was like and you'll tip big, too."

His smile showed a crooked tooth and his sandy bangs fell into his eyes. "Aw, thanks!"

She took her wallet out of her back pocket and for a second I thought she was going to give him more. Instead, she handed him a business card. "When you get out of school, if you want a job waiting tables in New York, call me."

"Awesome! Thank you! I better get back now, though!" He ran toward the luncheonette.

Once we were in the car, I asked, "I wasn't paying attention. Was he that good?"

"Come on, Karina. You know the drill as well as I do. He brought water, refilled it before we asked, brought all the correct food, stayed out of the way, asked if we needed anything, didn't spill anything. The fact that you didn't notice him is a sign of a great waiter."

"I don't think I was ever that good. You'd really hire him?"

"Look at how honest the kid is. Besides, if he's anything like me, he wants to get out of here and move to a big city." She started the engine and pulled out.

"You think he's gay?"

"I'm sure of it."

"How could you tell?"

"What other kind of boy has a tiny safety pin with rainbow beads pinned to his shoelace?"

"I didn't even notice that."