With a hot glare, I walked off. It was a winning act, but the inner me was tearing his hair out. Miranda had a strong rope to hang me with. All she had to do was bring it to Harmony. The minute those two women connected, the moment Miranda spoke my name, the floor would drop out from under me. Miranda would get her story, and Harmony would get her revenge.
And what a grand revenge it would be. What better way to make me sorry, what sweeter way to make me suffer, than to make me famous?
________________
On my way out of Ralph’s, I bought a box of flu capsules, some vitamin C, and several cans of gourmet chicken soup. My idiotic stint in the ocean was pulling me under the weather. Hopefully, with a little rest and a lot of self-maintenance, I could nip the illness in the bud.
Still, I didn’t feel like going home just yet. I knew Madison was still there, and I couldn’t stand her seeing me all cracked and vulnerable like this. Might as well do the cheap thing and wait her out. And since I was already here in Marina del Rey, I knew just the right person to help me kill the time.
Despite the traffic, it took me only ten minutes to get to the marina. Once again it was the magic hour. Twilight painted the sky in vibrant pink hues. Passing cars turned their headlights on. The lampposts buzzed to life.
It was a beautiful sight, to be sure, but as I walked the docks, I kept my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the wooden boards beneath me. So much for my lifelong resolve to never see the Pacific again. I was back already. Worse, the sound of sea waves slapping against pillars was enough to slap me back into very recent history. The awful things I’d said to Harmony. The bile from my mouth that stained what used to be a sterling silver tongue.
On the plus side, I now had more in common with Ira. The man was a verbal lumberjack whose nasty wit could fell the sturdiest of souls. Next to him, I was about as caustic as skim milk. In fact, if I told him I had called a woman a bitch today, he’d probably only chastise me for being uncreative. Now there was a perspective I could deal with.
I was so busy aiming my gaze at the pier that it wasn’t until I reached the edge that I caught the change in scenery. Had I been even less attentive, I might have boarded the sleek new yacht that bobbed in the Ishtar’s place.
This was a stranger’s ship. Ira didn’t have the capital to upgrade his vessel. And if he had merely taken his old boat out for a jaunt, then he wouldn’t have relinquished his permanent parking spot. I scanned the other yachts within eyeshot, on the off chance that Ira had traded moors with a fellow seaman. There was no Ishtar in sight.
Wearily, I weighed the options. Maybe he moved to a cheaper dock to help support his online role-playing habit. Maybe he sold the boat entirely. Or maybe he found a way to disappear into his digital paradise, never to return.
Whatever it was that triggered the sudden change of address, Ira never saw fit to tell me. I guess we were never really the best of friends. I was never the best of friends.
Whether we reconnected or not, I wished him well in his new life and his new skin. Same went for Miranda. On a better day, in a stronger state, I’d only shake my head at their mad tandem dash to reinvent themselves. But as my body, my soul, and my best-laid plans continued to crumble, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they were onto something.
________________
My efforts to wait out Madison were thwarted by her mother’s slight tardiness. I approached my apartment building at a quarter after six, only to find Jean’s car pulling into its usual spot by the hydrant. Instead of ducking into my garage, I parked along the curb, four cars behind her. I turned off the ignition and the lights.
Within moments Madison popped out of the building and sauntered down my front steps. From a distance, she seemed okay, even though I’d all but abandoned her today. I wasn’t so egocentric to think that her sun rose and set on my actions, but the more I thought about Jean’s sticky note, the stranger Madison’s stability seemed. They had just moved out on Neil. That was a huge thing for an eighth-grader to deal with, but you’d never tell from Madison’s calm young face that she was dealing with it at all.
Damn. Maybe she was a clone of Gracie. I didn’t see the physical resemblance as much as Miranda did, but they were definitely built from the same emotional template. My ex-lover was a brilliant, quirky, and benevolent woman. Sadly, she was also closed to the point of being airtight. At some point she began to suffocate inside herself. Fortunately, she found a man with the right tools to extricate her. Somehow, God knows how, he helped her free.
But what if Madison isn’t so lucky? What if she becomes another Gracie and then doesn’t get rescued? What would that make her, besides a clone of me?
Madison got in the SUV, and Jean drove them away. Finally, I breathed again. I just needed soup. I just needed a little soup and a lot of sleep, and then I’d be myself again, or at least a reasonable facsimile.
________________
In my dream, I flew east, into the sunrise. It welcomed me.
________________
I sat up on the couch. The living room was pitch black. Everything was off, and yet something had beeped me back into the waking world. I turned on the lamp, but nothing happened. If I was indeed awake, I was in the midst of another rolling blackout. I opened up the laptop and made my way in the light of the start-up screen. My gray cell phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I had a new text message.
We need to talk ASAP. Will you meet me at Club Silence? It’s very important.
It was ten-thirty at night, my head was aching worse than ever, and I’d well exceeded my recommended daily allowance for drama. I was in no shape to take on the indomitable Jean Spelling. Still—
Okay.
— it was better than sitting here in the dark, thinking about my nascent cold and my bleak future. If anyone could get me out of the shadow of Harmony Prince, even briefly, it was Jean.
I gathered myself. After retrieving my flashlight from the junk drawer, I went upstairs to my bedroom, changed into clean clothes, and dug out my old eyeglasses. Technically, I was supposed to wear them whenever I drove at night, but they never seemed to make it into my A-squad of accessories. Tonight I definitely needed them. My naked eyes wouldn’t get me to Santa Monica alive.
The Third Street Promenade was dim and virtually deserted. All the stores were closed. Only a handful of souls wandered in and out of the restaurant/bars. At first I went down the wrong alley and up the wrong stairwell, but eventually I traced my way back to Club Silence.
On a late Tuesday night, the lack of noise was downright eerie. There were only six other people scattered throughout the establishment: an elderly couple by the boom box (gesturing), a young couple at the bar (kissing), a middle-aged bartender (signing something incomprehensible to me), and Jean.
She watched me from the far end of a laptop table. She wore a long black T-shirt over jeans. Silver hairband. No makeup or jewelry. The most striking difference, one that almost kept me from recognizing her, was her cat’s-eye glasses. They redefined her entire face. She could have passed for a college student, a wry and eclectic theater major who was into Brecht, Björk, herbal ecstasy, and Vertigo comics. I never wanted to get under her shirt more.
Clearly, the feelings weren’t reciprocated. The look she flashed me was cold and austere. I didn’t get it. Last night she was thumping her head against my chest, wondering what to do about her attraction to me. Now she glared at me like she’d just found child porn on my hard drive.