Divine Vices (13 page)

“Hey,
beautiful,” said Ian, hugging me as I came up to the Saturn after the final
bell.

“Thank
you,” I said, happily returning the gesture. “I needed that.”

“Long
day?”

“That’s
an understatement,” I said just as Gwen approached.

“What
happened?”

“Asides
from a full workload unkindly gifted by Mr. Rothenberg, my Baby being out of
commission, and being threatened with a write-up for my supposedly
inappropriate attire? Not much.”

“What?”

“Yeah,
apparently my neckline is considered indecent,” I said.

“I
don’t see anything wrong with it,” replied Ian.

“Of
course you’d say that,” chuckled Gwen. “You have to admit though, Foster, it is
a little more low-cut than usual for you.”

“And
Stacy and the rest of her clique beat me hands down,” I contested. “Yet, they
don’t get lectured by Oakley.”

“Oakley?
Oh, don’t listen to her,” said Gwen. “That woman’s incapable of smiling. She
just wants everyone else to be as miserable as she is.”

“Speaking
of things that are indecent...” muttered Ian, seeing Jack enter the parking
lot. “You want to get out of here? I’m off of work today.”

“Sorry,
I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got tutoring.”

“And
I’ve got to go with Trish. We’re tracking down a lead on an investigation for
the paper,” said Gwen.

“Not
about-”

“No,
it’s a human interest piece, involving a certain... teacher.”

“I
take it, since you have investigating to do, that this isn’t going to be an
article acknowledging said-person’s achievements?”

“Sorry,
a bit more spicy than that,” she replied. “But I can still drop you two off at
home before I head out.”

“Sounds
good,” I said.

“Actually,
I was wondering if I could drive you,” addressed Jack as he approached. “We can
skip the pretenses for a formal meeting at four.”

“I
don’t know how I feel about you being in the car with him,” said Gwen judgingly
as she looked Jack over. “Bad things seem to happen when he’s around.”

“Well,
firstly, I wasn’t the one driving last night. Secondly, what are her other
options? Being ensnared in your deathtrap as you run your car through one of
her neighbors’ houses?” cracked Jack. “I’ve seen you behind the wheel. Not
promising.”

She
scorned him with a brutal glare. “And what are your intentions with her?”

“Poor,
at best,” he remarked, wrapping his arms around my torso as he perched his chin
on my shoulder from behind.

“Aren’t
you a comedian?” I chirped, giving him a soft hit with my elbow.

“Come
on,” he said, motioning to the Impala. “You know you want a ride. And she
misses you.”

“She?”
scoffed Gwen. “Of course, you’d have to be enough of a misogynist that you’d
refer to your car as a female. We’re all just objects to you, aren’t we?”

“I’m
not a misogynist,” replied Jack. “I love women. And I happen to believe that
comparing two separate classes of American beauty is a compliment.”

He
had hardly won Gwen’s consent.

“Besides,
you have to admit, there are striking similarities between the two,” he
continued.

“Such
as?” Gwen queried, immediately tipping her vote against his favor. “And don’t
say that you can ride in both of them.”

“I
was going to say simply that they both deserve the utmost respect and devotion.
The state of a man’s car says a lot about him. If he puts the attention into
caring for his wheels, he’s more than capable of showing the same dedication to
a woman,” he affirmed. “Not to mention that to have either one at a first rate
measure is gonna gouge a massive hole in your wallet.”

“Funny,”
said Gwen glaringly. “Cassie, you want a ride or not?”

Jack’s
embrace around me tightened. “In other words, do you have a death wish?”

“I’m
good,” I replied. “I’ll give you guys a call when we finish up.”

Ian
and Gwen both deflated at the declaration.

“Good
luck with Mr. Cellophane here,” remarked Gwen as I turned from them.

Jack
and I both cast each other nervous looks.

“Don’t
worry. She didn’t tell me,” said Meyer, sharply. “There are plenty of open ears
around here.”

“The
session shouldn’t take too long,” I assured, trying to bail out of there as
quickly as possible before something uglier ignited.

“But
we can’t make any promises,” said Jack, guiding me over to the Impala and
opening the passenger door. “Lady, your chariot awaits.”

I
climbed in and he joined me a few seconds later.

“You’re
a dead man,” I chuckled.

He
shrugged, looking at Gwen’s severe glare in the reflection of the rearview mirror.
“People have been telling me that for years.”

“Wait,
we just passed up my street,” I said, seeing the sign for Avery Lane shrinking
in the distance behind us.

“Today’s
lesson has been cancelled on behalf of the weather,” said Jack. “Time to show
you a different side of town.”

“What?
Your sleazy, gambling, roughneck part of town? No thank you. I prefer to not
get stabbed in a bar fight today.”

“Just
hold off judgment till we get there, okay?”

“Well,
if I die, you’re the one who’s gonna have to tell my dad what happened,” I
said. “So be prepared for your own private, unlawful burial.”

“Deal.”

Jack
took us past the harbor and down to New Haven’s boondocks where the quaint,
kempt colonial subdivisions devolved into neglected shacks. I was about one
more suspected crack house away from commandeering the steering wheel and
taking us back to civilization when Jack turned the car onto a gravel road that
had a large, inky farmhouse resting at the end of the stretch.

“Is
this the part where the axe murderer comes out to greet us?” I said.

He
simply smiled as he spun into an open space between the other cars parked out
front.

We
climbed out and headed up to the porch where there were several old-fashioned
whiskey barrels stacked up beside the door, along with the sign that read
“Capone’s Hideaway.” He pulled the door open and we were greeted with the
mouth-watering aroma of succulent steaks cooking on a grill as we headed down a
long narrow hallway decorated by dozens of 1920s jazz photographs.

“Welcome
to the Hideaway,” said a young hostess donned in a cobalt blue flapper dress.
“Party of two?”

Jack
nodded, and she took us to a dimly lit dining hall full of lush leather
furniture, cherry oak tables, elegant red velvet couches, gleaming hardwood
floors, and white and black damask floral wallpaper.

“Your
waitress will be with you shortly,” said the hostess, handing us our menus as
we parked a seat at a booth. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank
you,” we both said before her departure.

“Well,
surprise, surprise. Look who the cat dragged in,” said another woman not a
moment later.

“Hello,
Doris,” Jack replied grinningly, peering up at a fortysomething-year-old blonde
in a black dress.

“Hey,
sweetie. See you’ve brought company with you today,” she said, smiling at me as
I took notice to her nametag. “What can I start you two off with?”

“Dr.
Pepper,” I said.

“Same.”

“Okay,
coming right up,” she said, leaving us with a cheerful pep in her step.

“I
take it you come here often?” I asked, scanning over the menu.

“Yep.”

“Kinda
curious since you’ve only just moved here.”

“I’ve
been in the area plenty of times before, and I have business not far from here
that I’ve been attending to for a couple of months now, so I find myself in
these parts frequently. Since moving here though, I guess you could say I’ve
become a bit of a regular at the Hideaway,” he replied. “So what do you think?”

“It’s
different.”

“Well,
you should love it then.”

“Meaning?”

“You
seem to have an admiration for the peculiar.”

“Oh,
really?”

“Uh-huh,”
he grunted with a soft chuckle. “Your manner of speaking, thinking, dressing,
your peculiar choice in friends...”

“What
can I say? I have deep appreciation for proper English. My analytical mindset
comes courtesy of my father. I’m free to wear whatever I please. And my friends
are good people. Simple as that.”

“Simple,
yes. Standard, hardly.”

“And
what grief do you have in regard to Ian and Gwen?”

“It’s
not grief. You’re just a baffling trio is all.”

“Why?”

Jack
laughed. “Come on. The rocker chick, the magician, and the Nancy Drew
cheerleader? How does that happen?”

“Coming
from a guy who would take his tutor to a hidden speakeasy? I don’t think you
have room to talk about peculiarities.”

“So
you do like the place?”

“I
like anything that reflects a certain past time,” I said. “Unfortunately,
western civilization doesn’t allow much to stick around in its pursuit to
constantly innovate. If a building’s been around for more than fifty years, we
have to plow its rich architecture down and replace it with a bigger, more
characterless structure.”

“You’d
love Europe then.”

“You’ve
been?”

He
nodded. “On occasion.”

“I
have to admit, I’m a bit jealous actually. I’d love to go to Italy. Can’t
imagine what kind of photography I’d get there.”

“Well,
if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have any pictures of my travels.”

“None?
Why’s that?”

“I
never take a camera with me.”

“Are
you crazy? Who doesn’t want to document their travels?”

“That’s
the problem people have these days. They want to document everything. They
always have a camera or a device of some kind glued to their hands, forcing
them to spend their experiences seeing things with only one eye.”

I
laughed.

“You
know what I’m talking about,” he said grinningly. “During concerts, you always
see the same hipsters who pay more attention to the screens on their phones as
they record the show instead of the act they actually came to see. Why? You
have the opportunity to live in the here and now, so just enjoy it and put the
devices down.”

“You
definitely have a point.”

“Don’t
get me wrong. I’m not saying you shouldn’t take the opportunity to capture a
moment. If you’re standing in front of the Coliseum, then of course, snap a
picture. Just make sure that you give yourself the opportunity to see things
with both eyes. We live our whole lives looking into screens. Don’t let those
pictures or videos be the only proof you have for yourself to refer to. The
mind is a powerful thing. Don’t discredit its ability to remember.”

“Are
you always this candid?”

“Life’s
too short to waste it fretting over propriety. If a hipster wants to come out
swinging because I didn’t say all the things to make him feel warm and fuzzy,
then by all means.”

“That
philosophy also has the tendency to provoke others to actually shorten your
life. There are more and more loose cannons out there just waiting for someone
like you to come along and give them a reason to go a few rounds in the boxing
ring.”

“I
can take care of myself just fine. Besides, fighting builds character.”

“Oh,
is that what you have? Character? My bad. I was mistaking it for poor manners.
Though, I do still have to give you kudos for your viewpoints. Your packaging
doesn’t exactly match your insides. And since people are seldom surprising
these days, you are a breath of fresh air.”

“Really?
Well, let me ask you then, what do you want out of this life, Cassie?”

To
say he caught me off guard would have been an understatement.

“What?
I’m being unpredictable. Go with it. What do you want?”

My
fingernails scratch around the carvings other patrons had engraved into the
table as I tried to find a decent reply. “Um... I don’t know. To be happy, I
suppose.”

“Oh
yeah? Not me.” He grinned. “No, I want to be sad. If I’m lucky, maybe I can
even be lonely. And unfulfilled.”

I
gave him a glare.

“Of
course you want to be happy. That’s not an answer. We all strive to be happy.
The difference is how each of us goes about trying to achieve it. What I’m
asking is, what would make you happy?”

“I
honestly don’t know.”

“I
do.”

“Really?”

“...For
myself anyway.” He cast me a mischievous grin as he swung out of his side of
the booth and planted himself right beside me. “I want to see you happy.”

“And
what makes you think I’m not?”

“I
have a sixth sense about these things.”

“Well,
apparently you’re in need of a tune-up, because you’d be wrong in that
assessment.”

“Or
maybe it’s because you really haven’t been happy in so long, you don’t remember
what it’s like so you can’t know anymore.”

“If
you had said that to me eight months ago, I just may have agreed.”

He
nuzzled up closer frolicsomely. “And what is it, my dear, that revived your
spirits?”

“Ian.”

Jack’s
attempts at keeping straight-faced didn’t hold long when an inescapable smirk
struck across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m gonna need a little
insight to understand this one.”

“Why
is it that men like you find it so hard to understand that women actually
appreciate guys that are nice?”

“On
the contrary, love. We understand women even better than the nice ones do.”

“I
doubt that.”

“Well,
you’d be wrong then. How else do you think a roguish troublemaker such as
myself stays in business concerning the opposite sex?”

“Good
looks, loose women, and low morals, I suspect.”

“Matter
of opinion,” he replied beamingly. “But since you have declared yourself to be
an expert in the subject, please do educate me, tutor.”

“Well,
as you should know, Ian was actually the first person I met when I came to
town.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,
it was the day of my grandmother’s funeral.”

“That’s
a happy anecdote,” Jack sighed.

I
gave him a light kick with the side of my boot. “It is, actually. After what
happened to my mom and my sister, I kind of fell out of touch with my friends
back in the city. And with my grandmother sick, my dad was constantly taking
trips up here to take care of her. I’d join him on weekends and hang around her
house or go hiking in the woods, but I never really ventured off into town. On
the day of my grandmother’s service, with all her friends and so many strangers
coming up and telling me how lovely of a person she was and how much they’d
miss her, I was so overwhelmed that I needed to get out of there as quickly as
possible.

“After
wandering through some of the hills and down the back roads, I eventually came
to the mall. As fate and good fortune would have it, I wound up going into Gate
House Records where I met Ian. And for the first time in months, someone
treated me like a regular human being, instead of...”

“A
neglected puppy?” Jack interjected.

I
chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I
know the feeling all too well. Everybody looking at you with the same pitiful,
sympathetic stare, constantly asking ‘are you alright?’ Not to mention the
classic, ‘if you need anything- Dot. Dot. Dot.’”

“Exactly.
After that, I went into Gate House as much as I could, talking with Ian about
music and movies and games and whatever else we could think of, and it felt so
good to just feel normal again.”

“When
did you tell him about what happened?”

“I
didn’t. I was thinking about how I would, but he beat me to it. As it turned
out, his boss, Jerry, was actually a friend of my dad’s, and Ian had known all
along. Yet, he somehow managed to do what not even my own dad could.”

“And
what was that?”

“Give
me comfort, without treating me like I was also made of porcelain. He knew all
too well what it was like.”

“To
feel like an outsider? I never would have guessed.”

“No,”
I said, shoving him softly. “To lose people. His dad had walked out on him and
his mom when he was still a baby, and his mom’s been in and out of remission
for cancer for the past ten years. He knew better than anyone just how scary
and heartbreaking it could be. So to say his experience in these affairs, along
with his being nonjudgmental of all my peculiarities, has made him
irreplaceable to me. His friendship is what makes me happy.”

“Is
it just a friendship?”

“Why?
Are you threatened?” I smirked.

“Terrified.”

I
leaned in to push him again, but he caught my arm and pulled me in closer.

“I’m
serious. He has that one thing I may never have.”

“And
what would that be?”

“Your
trust.” His typically indecipherable gaze read surprisingly true. “That’s one
of the downsides to the
Bad Boy
label. Any woman can entertain the
notion of being with a guy like me, but few rarely ever commit, and even fewer
are actually steadfast. We’re not the ones to be trusted. My kind is regarded
as that amazing one-night stand verses someone like Callaghan who is considered
to be the nice guy that women want to take home to meet their mothers, or in
your case, father.”