Lunar Park - Bret Easton Ellis [58]
“That always happens on Saturdays, doesn’t it?” I grinned and then, trying to keep everything on a light note, I asked the following in a manner as casual as possible: “Did you know that someone wrote my father’s name on that headstone?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“When I came back last night—wait, you’re not mad at me because I got tired and had to skip out on trick-or-treating . . . are you?”
She sighed. “Look, it’s the first of the month. Let’s forget everything that’s been happening and let’s try to start over. How’s that? Let’s just start over. New beginnings.”
The hangover vanished. The fear was gone. This could all work out, I thought.
“I love your recovery time,” I said.
“Yeah, fast to get pissed, faster to forgive.”
“That’s what I love and admire about you.”
She flinched. “What—that I’m a total enabler?”
Behind her, Omar was on his cell, pacing and gesturing at the wall, which I couldn’t help looking up at again. How could something get up there? I wondered. What if it could fly? came back in response.
“What about the gravestone?” Jayne was asking. “Bret—hello?”
I made the effort and focused away from the wall and back on Jayne. “Yeah, when I came home last night I noticed it was left over from the party and when I went down to take a look at it I saw that somebody had written my dad’s name on it . . . and they also knew his birth date and, um, the year he died.”
Jayne’s expression darkened. “Well, it wasn’t there this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I took the guys out there when they removed it.” She paused. “And there was nothing on it.”
“Do . . . you think it rained last night?” I cocked my head.
“Do . . . you think you had too much to drink last night?” She also cocked her head, mimicking me.
“I’m not drinking, Jayne—” I stopped myself.
We studied each other for a long time. She won. I settled. I rose up to it.
“Okay,” I said. “New beginnings.”
I placed my hands on her shoulders, which caused her to smile ruefully at me.
“Hey—what’s going on today?” I asked. “Where are the kids?”
“Sarah’s upstairs doing homework and Robby’s at soccer practice and when he returns you shall be taking them to the movies at the mall,” she said in her “theatrical” voice.
“And of course you’ll be accompanying us.”
“Unfortunately, I will be with my trainer for most of the day at his small and lovely gymnasium downtown rehearsing for the reshoots. So, alas, you’re on your own.” She paused. “Think you can handle it?”
“Ah yes,” I said. “You need to learn how to be flung around the top of a skyscraper at midnight. I forgot.”
I swallowed hard. There was a slight tremor and then I accepted the reality of my Saturday. I involuntarily glanced at the side of the house Omar was pacing beneath and the paint was the color of salmon and it was touching something in me, taking me back somewhere. Jayne spoke again.
“Yeah, sure, the mall . . .” I murmured reassuringly.
“I’m going to ask you something and don’t get mad.” The smile was no longer there.
“Honey, I’m always furious so you can’t make me mad.”
“Have you had anything to drink today?”
An intake of breath on my part. This lack of trust was a horrible realization. It was such a pure and concerned question that I could not possibly be offended by it.
“No,” I said in a small voice. “I just got up.”
“You promise?” she asked.
My eyes started tearing. I felt awful. I hugged her. She let me and then gently broke away.
“I promise.”
“Because you’re driving the kids to the mall and, well . . .” The implication was strong enough that she didn’t need to finish the sentence. She saw my reaction and tried to ask in a playful way, “Can I make sure?”
I decided to be playful too. “This is a very easy test to pass.” I exhaled and then kissed her. Against me she felt soft and small.
The smile returned as I pulled back, yet she still seemed worried (would that ever leave?) when she asked, “And nothing else?”
“Honey, look, I wouldn’t put myself behind the wheel of a car under the influence, let alone our kids, okay?”