The Fury - Jason Pinter [15]
Amanda laughed. Darcy Lapore was her coworker,
48
Jason Pinter
a professional socialite-in-training. And considering
how much value was inherent in that job title, especially
in New York where the title socialite was practically a
blank check, it was likely only a matter of time before
Darcy's obsession with jewelry, makeup and shoes that
cost more than my rent were bound to find the printed
word, or more likely, a reality series. It was no doubt
that vacuousness and superficiality were the country's
drug of choice, and self-promotion was the new black.
"Tell you what, Darcy's husband has enough money
that they could pay you to ghostwrite it and you
wouldn't have to work at the Gazette until your midthir
ties."
"Hmm...that's an intriguing possibility. Provided I
can get past the whole 'crying myself to sleep every
night' problem that would come with that."
"Would leaving your job really do that to do?"
Amanda asked with a mixture of rhetoric and actual cu
riosity.
"I think so," I said. "I mean I believe, really believe,
this is what I was meant to do."
"Must be a great feeling to know what you're meant
to do at your age," Amanda said. She reached into her
purse, took out a stick of gum and popped it into her
mouth. The plane began to back up, then we turned and
approached the runway. Amanda began to chew her
gum with a fury rarely seen outside of nature videos
where a gang of lions rip a poor gazelle limb from limb.
She looked at me, saw I was staring. "My ears pop,"
she explained. I nodded, smiling. "Come on, we both
know you snore like a chain saw. We both have our little
things. "
The Fury
49
"I wasn't judging, but thanks for bringing up a sore
subject. You know I got tested for apnea a while back.
It came back negative."
"Maybe you should get a second opinion before I
'accidentally' smother you one night," she said, settling
back into her seat, closing her eyes. "Okay, I'm going
to sleep now. If you're going to snore, it'd be sweet if
you wouldn't mind sitting in the bathroom."
"It's reassuring to know you always have my safety
in mind."
"Oh, come on," Amanda said. She sat up, leaning
over and gave me a long kiss on the lips. I tasted her
ChapStick. Cherry. Delicious.
When she finished we were both smiling. And the
old woman across the aisle was grimacing. "If you two
are even thinking about joining that so-called MileHigh Club," she said, "I'll call the flight attendant and
have you ejected at 30,000 feet. Don't think I won't be
watching you."
We both nodded, embarrassed. Actually, the thought
had crossed my mind, but with Mother Teresa sitting
there I wouldn't want to be banned from the airline
before the trip back.
"Have a good nap, babe," I said, squeezing Amanda's
hand. "See you in Bend."
"I hope we find out more about Stephen Gaines," she
said through a yawn.
I nodded, watching Amanda drift off to sleep, not
knowing just how much there was to learn.
6
We landed in Portland at five o'clock, or eight o'clock
New York time. We'd both slept a good portion of the
flights. While Amanda was awake, she tore through
Jack O'Donnell's book with incredible zeal. It thrilled
me to see that she was clearly enjoying the book. It
brought back memories of the first time I'd read it, in
junior high. I spent the next week plowing through
every O'Donnell book I could find at the Deschutes
County Library. My teachers were less than impressed,
since I'd read the books in lieu of completing my actual
schoolwork. Safe to say O'Donnell's tomes taught me
more about myself and what I wanted to be than years
of school could ever do.
After landing, we rented a car, a nice little compact
that probably got twenty-eight miles to the gallon.
Given how you practically had to sell a kidney to fill up
a tank of gas these days, I would have seriously consid
ered a motorized skateboard if Hertz had one available.
The drive to Bend took just about three hours. Once
we merged onto US-20, I began to feel my stomach
rumbling and beginning to churn.