Girl in the Rearview Mirror Page 12

  “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He reclined, crossing his ankle over a knee, exposing an inch of skin fuzzed with blond hair. He wasn’t wearing socks, and as he jiggled his foot I saw his shoes were golf shoes, spiked with cleats.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m pretty sure you have to be geriatric to be in there. Or a trust fund kid.”

  “Which of those are you accusing me of?”

  He drew from his cigarette and blew the smoke sideways. “So who are you, then?”

  “I work for the Martins,” I said. “Have we met before?”

  He leaned until our foreheads were practically touching. “I’m single, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  A flurry of activity kicked up on the bandstand, the players shrugging into their guitars and adjusting the knobs on amplifiers.

  “So what’s the nanny doing at the fancy party?”

  Before I could reply, the musicians counted off into a song. The ballroom doors opened, and conversation and laughter preceded the guests onto the patio, like little dogs on leashes.

  I took a gulp of the drink in my hand and winced at the medicinal sharpness. I should go find Bryant, or Philip, or a big glass of water. I was too dizzy to stand.

  My companion was still smiling as if he hadn’t noticed my inattention. “When does everyone get drunk and jump into the fountain?”

  “Not in an election year.”

  The band’s oldies tune wasn’t ideal for dancing, but a tall man in shirttails escorted his partner out for a spin.

  “So where are the big shots?”

  “The Martins? Philip is here. You may have heard Marina had a family emergency.”

  He tapped me on the knee. “You can tell me the dirt—I don’t care about politics like everyone else in here. Did she leave him?” He winked, jaws working over another ice cube.

  I crossed my legs. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s not true.”

  “What about the little girl—the one you watch. Is she home snoozing?”

  A vise tightened on my lungs. “Why do you ask that?” He only smiled. I stood, reeling dizzily, trying to spot a security guard in the press on the patio. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  He gallantly took my elbow to steady me. “You really don’t remember me, do you, Finn?”

  I shook free and studied him again. His smirk tripped a wire in my brain, but it wasn’t connected to a particular memory.

  He docked my chin, infuriatingly possessive. “I’ll save you. The Fourth of July party. We had a drink together. I’m Guy.”

  The guy named Guy. I scoured his face. Something was missing: a beard? No—glasses. He’d been wearing cheesy hipster frames. Without them, his eyes were narrow in his square face. Now I remembered that smirk, working his dimple. He’d had some line ready to go then, too.

  “Were you even invited?” I wanted to jar loose his grin.

  But it widened. “Nope. I came here to see you.”

  I backed away. Though I felt panicked, no one seemed to notice. I could hear whole lines of conversations, distinctive laughs, could tell which were fake and which real. And yet no one noticed Guy reaching for me.

  He caught me, grabbing my shoulders and moving his face into mine as if we were intimate friends, drunk and sloppy together. I tried to stand up straight. Every time the string lights came into my field of view, the bulbs spread into dazzling yellow smears.

  “Relax,” he said. “I happen to know you through someone. Iris is my sister.”

  My heels wobbled. Guy didn’t look anything like her. But their style was similar. The careful grooming meant to look good under bar lights. The flashy, inappropriate clothes. And especially the expression, satisfaction laced with bitterness.

  “She’s not here, is she?” I asked, afraid I’d turn and see her dancing with Paul Huff or whispering to Mrs. Feinhorn.

  “Just me, I promise,” he said.

  “What do you want?”

  He held up a palm. “I didn’t come here to make a scene.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “Don’t freak out. I’ve only seen you once before. It was my sister’s idea to talk to you.” He jerked his head at the crowd, his lip curled. “My idea is to stay away from these people. You see what they do to things they want? The art in there? Grabbed from Indians and put behind glass and turned into money and parties and bullshit?” He dropped his voice. “What do you think they do with the things they don’t want?”

  “Iris told me she didn’t have anyone to talk to. She never mentioned a brother.”

  “She doesn’t like what I have to tell her. Philip is dangerous.”

  “Did you come here to confront him?” I took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, where his voice would be muffled by the music.

  “I’m here to confront you. Iris is hysterical. What are you promising her?”

  “Promising? I told her she wouldn’t get anything. Not a marriage proposal, not a father. It will ruin her life.”

  “There are laws. They’ve got a lot to lose.” His gaze swept the patio.

  “They might give her some money, but she won’t get rich. They won’t lose any of this.” I kept my voice calm, but I was lying. The Martins could easily slip. Philip could lose his position as the assumed next senator, and another ambitious man—probably the religious one, Frank Grant—would snatch it.

  “Did she leave him, though?” Guy said. “Marina? She must have taken the kid, or you’d be watching her.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He wasn’t used to dancing to old-fashioned music, and we swayed choppily, spinning too often. I felt sick.

  “What’s he like? Iris says you like him.”

  A loose laugh bleated from my mouth. “I could say the same for her!” People stared. I was making a spectacle of myself.

  The band crescendoed to the end of a song, and the singer took a pull from a water bottle. The freshness of the night had been smothered. The heat of the patio came through the soles of Marina’s shoes. Moving away from Guy, I reached down to adjust an ankle strap. The evening had become sleazy, the dance floor crowded with old men clinging to pretty girls. I thought I saw Bryant with a woman in black sequins, but it turned out to be a waiter, face fixed in a smile as the woman rubbed his shoulder.

  A slow song started. Under the billow of his shirt, Guy’s torso was warm. His hips slid forward, pressing into mine, and I stepped back, following his rhythm but avoiding his touch. He grinned mockingly and laced his fingers tighter around mine. His palms were calloused. “Will Marina pay Iris, do you think?”

  “Pay her? Why would she?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” he said. “They’re in real shit. If this came out—”

  I stopped, and the couple behind us collided with Guy.

  “I thought you weren’t threatening anyone? I’m done with this. Tell Iris, will you?” I pushed my way off the floor.

  He caught up, snatched my wrist. “You’re going to leave me all alone?”

  “Sure. Don’t break anything.”

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Guy pulled me into him. In my heels, I was his height. Close enough to see the sweat at his hairline, the cracks on his lips, a knot of freckles on his nose. His body was tight against mine, his chest and arms and the hard clip of his belt. His cheek was rough. He hadn’t known to shave before the party.

  “What are you doing?”

  He laughed and kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. Juniper and smoke. For a moment my knees went hollow. Pulling away, I punched him swiftly in the ribs.

  Philip stood a few feet away, talking to a woman with a gold cane. What he said made her laugh, and she turned to her friend to repeat it. Philip cut his eyes over to Guy and me, and I knew he’d seen.

  Philip danced like he spoke, a teasing burst of energy and attention, then a gentle, disinterested waltz to the side of the floor, where he’d leave his partner.
He did this with three or four women—in between greetings with men—before he stopped at the bar.

  Guy and I didn’t speak after the kiss. We returned to our seats like children awaiting punishment. I motioned for him to leave, but he shook his head. Took out a cigarette, filed it behind his ear, and finally pulled out his phone and busied himself.

  When Philip came our way, Guy put on his signature smirk. “You must be Philip. Finn was just telling me about your lovely family.”

  Philip studied Guy as if scanning for weapons. With a wry smile, he shook his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Philip Martin.”

  “This is Guy,” I said. “We knew each other in college.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still here, Finn,” Philip said. “And impressed.” He glanced pointedly at the glasses around our chairs.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” I said.

  “You’ve had a long day.” His gaze was steely. I knew how I looked, drunk, my hair uncoiling down my back, my ankles bending in my heels. “Should I find Bryant to take you home?”

  “I’ll take her,” Guy said. “In fact, we haven’t seen Bryant in a while. I guess we lost track of time.” He stretched and gave Philip his empty glass. “Great to meet you. Best of luck to the museum and all.”

  “Finn, do you want to escort your friend out?” Philip said. He beckoned to a caterer and handed off Guy’s glass, then walked away, a hand sunk deep into his pocket. The first group he passed drew him in, and he gave a boisterous guffaw nothing like his real laugh.

  “Shall we?” Guy said. My purse dangled from his elbow.

  I snatched it. “I’ll walk you out, but only so I know you left.”

  “Again with the manners.” He tutted.

  The ballroom was abandoned. Lipstick-smeared glasses and stained napkins littered the tables. The caterers had gotten sloppy, paying more attention to each other than the guests. I felt a flash of irritation at Bryant for talking me into this only to abandon me the moment it began. This was preferable to my nagging worry that he’d seen me with Guy, and gone. The Senator had certainly left; he never stayed anywhere past ten.

  Guests milled around the galleries, bleary under the lights, presumably sobering up before driving home. The energy had dissipated, burned away like scrap paper.

  In the lobby, a solitary man sat against the wall, shoes kicked off, typing into his phone. His glasses shone in the blue light. Out the windows, the night was black.

  “That didn’t go very well for you, did it?” Guy said. “Though as an old friend of yours, I’m a little insulted at the brush-off from Phil.”

  The elevator doors opened. “Good night,” I said.

  “I think you should come with me. Iris wants to talk to you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint her.”

  Guy shrugged. His dimple cut his cheek. “She could come here instead.”

  I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button for the garage. The dark glass walls reflected my slouching outline. My hair wilted over my forehead.

  In the parking lot, a valet trotted up, but I waved him away. “Where did you park?” I asked Guy.

  “Let’s take your car. You’re in no shape to drive.” He brushed my hair off my face.

  “Don’t.” I flicked him away, my reflexes slow. My phone buzzed. Not Bryant. Iris.

  Where ru guys?

  “Come on,” Guy said. “Let’s get while it’s good.”

  Guy reclined the driver’s seat until he was practically lying down. Leaving the garage, he checked the rearview every two seconds.

  “Expecting to be followed?” I asked.

  For once he didn’t have a smart answer. I remembered his whispered fear of Philip. Of what these people could do.

  I hoped to see someone behind us. Philip, making sure I was all right. Bryant in his BMW, geared up to fight Guy. But no one followed, of course. Even as I’d walked past the guests I’d greeted at the start of the party, people who’d kissed me on the cheek or shaken my hand, no one had acknowledged me. Some of the men had glanced at my body, a quick assessing ogle, and turned blankly away. No one recognized me as the hostess I’d imagined myself to be, hours before.

  16

  On the road, Guy didn’t stop moving. Now raking his hand through his hair, now drumming the wheel to some internal beat. At a red light, he lifted a hip and dug a cigarette from his pocket to hold, unlit, in his lips. If I were sixteen, I might have been intrigued by his bored bad-boy act, the careless grace of his movements, the angry twitch in his cheek.

  I lowered my window and drank gulps of air like coffee.

  We met Iris at a sake bar in downtown Scottsdale. The trendier the bar, the thinner the hostess, and ours had elbows sharp as knives. Diners with shiny hair and shiny clothes clustered around the high tables as though they were life rafts.

  Iris waved us over. Her pleated dress flared around her hips so I couldn’t see her stomach. Eight weeks along now. When would it be too late to do anything? Twelve weeks? A topknot hovered over her face like a mushroom cloud.

  She tilted her head at me in mock concern. “Feeling okay?”

  I volleyed a fake smile back at her. “You didn’t tell me you had a brother.”

  “How was the party? I hope he didn’t ruin it for you.” Guy punched her in the arm, and she hit him back. “Asshole.”

  A waitress appeared and set three porcelain shot glasses and three mugs of dark, foamy beer on the table.

  “I don’t want anything,” I protested.

  Guy dropped the shot into his beer and tipped it back in one long swallow, belching. Iris laughed at him and drank just as quickly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, blurring her lipstick.

  I pushed my mug away. “What do you want, Iris?”

  She licked her teeth. “How is dear Philip? Since Marina left him, I mean.”

  “I didn’t get to speak to him, thanks to your brother.”

  “Are you so sure he’d have confided in you? ‘Oh, Finn, I need you,’” she moaned.

  Guy smirked, standing stiff as a cardboard cutout.

  “What do you want?” I said again.

  “You have to talk to him for me.”

  Her intensity made me roll my eyes. “Talk to him yourself. Go over there tonight. Marina’s gone. He’s in love with you, remember? He’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  Iris shook her head. “As if I’d go over there alone.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”

  Her artificial shock lifted her eyebrows a few inches. “He’ll be so mad, Finn. I’d be crazy to be alone with him. Guy talked me out of it.”

  At this point I assumed everything she did was an act. Tired, I said, “Why did you tell Marina, then?”

  Iris played with the pendant on her necklace, an elephant with red crystals for eyes. “I thought she’d help me.”

  I laughed, exasperated. “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head quickly. “It doesn’t matter. Tell Philip he has to come see me, somewhere public. Tomorrow.”

  “He won’t do it.”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll publish the ultrasounds online. I’ll tell everyone what he did.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing. You’re going to ruin lives.”

  “How can you hate me and not him? It’s his baby, too.”

  “Oh, shut up. You know you’re going to get rid of it.”

  The words fell to the table. Guy whistled under his breath.

  Iris curled her lip. “They told you to say that.”

  “Would you be surprised? No one’s happy about it. Not even you. You’re drinking, smoking. Why pretend? The longer you wait the worse it will be.”

  “Speaking from experience, Finn?” Her smile was sweet.

  Guy upset the shot of sake into my beer, splashing the table. “Drink up.”

  I took a sip. The warm sake mixed with cold beer made me want to vomit. I pushed it
away. “I’m leaving. Good luck with everything.”

  Iris grabbed my wrist, hard. “If I don’t hear from you by Sunday night, I’m not going to keep it secret anymore.”

  I yanked away, jarring her off balance. She bit her lip, surprised. It might have been the first genuine reaction I’d ever seen from her.

  “I won’t see him before Sunday. You scared Marina away and she took Amabel, remember? I won’t be going to work for a while.”

  She recovered her composure and sneered. “I know you’ll think of something. You’re probably even more desperate to talk to him now that he’s seen you with Guy.”

  Guy had finished my drink and was tossing two of the shot glasses into the air, trying to juggle. He winked.

  I drove myself home. It wasn’t too far.

  At my apartment I showered and braided my hair into a wet rope. Somehow it was after one. I felt a jetlagged wakefulness and summoned an Uber.

  Bryant’s condo was frigid and dark. I tripped over his briefcase on my way to the stairs. As I stood it back up I felt his suitcase, too. He hadn’t mentioned a trip.

  I climbed the stairs, took off my jeans, and got into bed with him. After a moment, I could see by the green glow of his alarm clock. I held down the button; he’d set an alarm for four.

  “Tell me you didn’t drive here.” His voice was clear.

  “Good, you’re awake,” I said.

  “Did you drive?”

  “Of course not.” I shifted over to lie beside him. He faced the wall. He was naked except for boxers. I traced his ribs.

  He recoiled. “Your hair is soaked.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He didn’t budge. “I have to get up early, Finn.”