Flash Point (26 page)

Twenty-seven

F
RIDAY

IN THE ELEVATOR
Violet took a plastic key-card from her bra and stuck it into a slot above the elevator buttons.

“For VIPs only. Which I just promoted us to being.”

Cai said, “How did you get that?”

“I have my ways. . . .”

“I’ll just bet,” Waverly muttered. Violet ignored her.

Because the elevator ascended, Amy expected another roof terrace like the one Rafe had taken her to on top of the Fairwood Hotel. She was both right and wrong. This was a roof terrace, but not like the other. There was a whole other hotel up here. The long, flat roof of the three-story building held an outdoor restaurant at one end, an indoor club and spa at the other, and in between a garden with fantastic landscaping: topiaries shaped like rabbits or sprays of water, flowers so perfect they looked unreal, a small stream with tiny arched bridges and a waterfall splashing over varicolored rocks. The dusk smelled of blooms, of spices, of living water. Faint music drifted from the glass doors of the club. The whole was enclosed by an eight-foot-high concrete wall so that none of it was visible from below, but all was open to the sky.

Violet said, “Your ordinary business guests use the restaurant and bar on the ground floor. This is for security-vetted superguests only, so that everybody important doesn’t have to fear being assassinated.”

Cai said, “Let’s go back down. I don’t have any money.”

Waverly said, “I got the tab.” She gazed around with a distinct pout. Amy thought,
She’s upset that she wasn’t automatically given a card to this
.

Rafe said, “I’m no gardener but I don’t think those flowers are in bloom yet naturally. They’ve been forced indoors and transplanted here. This one garden must take a huge amount of labor.”

“Who cares,” Kaylie said. “Let’s see what that club is all about.”

Violet said, “Except that this isn’t where we’re going.”

They gaped at her. Rafe got it first. “Bugged. Security here will be higher than anyplace else in the hotel.”

“Besides, we’re underage,” Violet said. “Just follow me.”

She led them through the twilight toward the waterfall. The night had turned chilly, and no one else walked the garden. The pretty stream spouted from the top of an artificial hill covered with moss and ivy. It cascaded over rocks placed to produce maximum splashing, and then wound between flowerbeds. Violet ducked around the side of the hill and pulled aside a heavy swath of hanging ivy. Amy took a leaf between her fingers. It was plastic, but such a close match to the real ivy on the front of the hill that you had to touch it to tell.

Behind the ivy was a narrow door. Violet slipped in her keycard, pulled the door open, and flipped a switch. Light spilled out. “Hurry!”

The space under the hill was about ten feet square, sloping as the hill sloped, and littered with burlap bags that smelled earthy. Rakes, mops, buckets, trowels, and hoses hung on the walls, plus all sorts of things Amy couldn’t identify. Above them, the stream babbled and ran. Low light plus the odors of loam, fertilizer, and water made it seem like a primitive cave beneath a river.

“A maintenance room,” Rafe said. “You got that keycard from somebody on the maintenance staff.”

“Natch,” Violet said. “But that’s not the best part. Ta-da!” She reached behind a pile of sacks and produced a bottle. “The very best third-rate Scotch.”

“Ugh,” Waverly said. “Not for me, thanks.” She moved toward the door, fastidiously twitching her skirt away from the burlap sacks.

Amy had been going to say the same thing, although more politely, but something in Waverly’s prissy, superior manner suddenly rankled. Just because Waverly came from money, why did that entitle her to think she was so much better than the rest of them? It wasn’t like she’d earned the money by being brilliant or successful or anything. She’d just inherited it, or at least she would someday. All the humanity that Waverly had shown in the tunnel was gone again.

“I’ll have some,” Amy said defiantly to Violet. “Have you got glasses?”

“Of course.” Violet produced a stack of plastic cups. To Waverly she said, “At least promise you won’t sound the general alarm on us.”

“Of course not,” she said loftily, made a moue of disgust at the bags of soil, and slipped out the door.

Cai looked uncomfortable. “Tommy shouldn’t drink, his doctor said so. I’ll take him to his room.”

“Are you coming back?” Kaylie demanded.

“I don’t think so. I’ll just . . . just wait for you downstairs.”

Kaylie scowled. Cai and Tommy followed Waverly.

“Anybody else chickening out?” Violet said. “Rafe, you intimidated by being the only guy with this harem?”

“I’m fascinated,” Rafe said. “Bring it on.”

“Good boy.”

Amy, Violet, Kaylie, and Rafe settled themselves onto bags of soil, which were surprisingly comfortable once Amy had wiggled her butt into an indentation. She could feel tension in every muscle of her body, over everything: Gran, the fire, the riots, the president’s speech, Cai, money, her entire life. Anything that could ease her knotted neck, shoulders,
brain
seemed all at once infinitely desirable. When she’d worked in the restaurant kitchen, there had been a lot of drinking and drugs. Amy had steered clear of the drugs but once in a while had shared cheap wine with coworkers. It had relaxed her.

But not like this. The Scotch, which Violet poured halfway up the plastic cups, didn’t really taste good. However, after just a few long sips she felt her body begin to loosen and her head to feel pleasantly light. She sipped more.

Rafe and Violet were arguing about the coming legislation to improve the economy. “You can’t uncollapse the Collapse,” Violet said. “We’re permanently screwed.”

Rafe said, “The legislation won’t uncollapse anything. It will take the economy in an entirely new direction that—”

“I don’t care,” Kaylie said loudly. “Fuck the economy!”

“I think we already did that,” Rafe said.

Kaylie turned on him. “You’re always so smart! Pretending you know everything and are so much better than the rest of us. You’re just like Waverly!”

“Ouch,” Rafe said.

Amy said, “Waverly has unexpected depths.” She was surprised that her words came out slightly wrong, although they were the words she’d intended. “She helped me with Gran. And with
you
, Rafe.”

“For which I will be eternally grateful. But I think that was you. If Waverly had been alone when she saw me unconscious, she’d have left me in that stairwell.”

Amy tried to decide if this might be true. Her brain seemed slow. She drank more Scotch, which didn’t taste so bad now.

Kaylie said suddenly, “Cai is such a wimp!”

Violet purred, “But so gorgeous.”

“He’s always afraid of getting in trouble, breaking the rules, doing anything fun!”

Violet said, “And you like the bad boys.”

“I’m only with him because—” Kaylie stopped and peered fuzzily at Amy.

Amy said, “You’re only with him because you want to be close to the show, in case Myra somehow puts you in it.”

“She might! I’d be interesting to watch!”

“I know,” Amy said. “But you’re fifteen, not legally an adult. And . . . and give me that glass. Gran wouldn’t want you to be here, I shouldn’t have let—”

“You don’t ‘let’ me do anything—I make my own decisions! Saint Amy. You and Cai belong together. And . . . you know what? You can have him. I’m breaking up with that wimp.”

Amy’s heart behaved oddly: First it rose up in her chest, then it did a slow somersault, then it landed with a thud. “Bad dismount,” she said.

“What?” Violet said.

“Nothing.” What had she said? Nothing made sense, especially not Kaylie dumping Cai. If she really was going to.

Amy said, “You’ll change your mind.”

“Watch me. And you know what—this little party is stupid and lame. I’m leaving.” She rose, staggered to the door, and fell. Rafe caught her and set her steadily on her feet. Kaylie twisted in his arms and kissed him deeply and long.

“Uh-oh,” Violet said.

Amy felt something else happen in her chest, but she didn’t know what. Kaylie was kissing Rafe. He wasn’t protesting. Kaylie shouldn’t kiss Rafe. Kaylie—

Rafe pushed her gently away. “You’re so pretty, Kaylie. And that felt terrific. But you’re not the one I want.”

Kaylie let out a cry of frustration, yanked open the door, and slammed it behind her.

Violet said, “And then there were three. Amy, your sister has real issues, she does.”

“I have to go after her,” Amy said. “She won’t—” Won’t what? Won’t break up with Cai, like she promised? No, it wasn’t that. . . . Amy’s head felt even more floaty than before.

“Kaylie’ll be fine,” Violet said.

Amy said, “I can’t let her worry Gran. But Gran is in the hospital.”

“Right,” Violet said.

“I’m responsible for Kaylie. And Gran. And everybody.”

“And why is that, I wonder?” Violet said.

Amy wasn’t sure what she’d said. Her mind fumbled after a thought. She found it. “It goes by body mass.”

“What does?” Rafe said.

“The electric jolt from the paint gun,” Amy said. But that wasn’t it, she couldn’t think what she had meant. . . .

Violet reached out and took Amy’s glass. “I think you’ve had enough, One Two Three.”

Amy said, “You’re not really eighteen, are you? And your name isn’t Violet Sanderson.”

Violet was still for a long moment, her plastic cup in one hand, Amy’s in the other. Finally she said, “Who told you? Myra?”

“Waverly. So it’s true?”

“It is.”

Rafe looked surprised. Amy felt pleased that she’d actually known something he didn’t. She said to Violet, “You’re twenty-six.”

“Yes.”

“And you have a criminal record.”

“Very minor. Well, relatively minor. One count of possession and two of shoplifting. I was very broke and very hungry.”

“And Myra knows?”

“Of course Myra knows,” Violet said impatiently. “There isn’t anything that Myra doesn’t know about every single one of us, right down to what color panties you wear and what you got in math in the third grade.”

“Is this why you’ve been so weird lately? And why did Myra let you on the show if you’re twenty-six?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m sure it will come out eventually. Myra plans way ahead. Meanwhile, I’m getting exposure, and the dance offers are coming in for when this hellish experience ends. Two more scenarios in our contracts. Which I’ll bet, Saint Amy, you never read.”

Amy ignored this. Violet looked angry. Amy didn’t want Violet angry at her. She said, “But you’re a real dancer. I know because I fook . . .
took
class with you. You’re so good!”

“Oh, Amy,” Violet said in a different tone, “you can’t stand to be on the outs with anybody, can you? Not even the horrible Waverly. You think that if you just try to get along with people and do the right thing and work hard, that’s all it takes to succeed. The world isn’t like that. Grow up!”

“Violet, don’t leave, sit back down again—”

“Not a chance. Have fun, kids. But treat her gently, Rafe—I’d bet next week’s salary that she’s a virgin. Unlike little sister Kaylie.” Violet went out, slamming the door behind her.

“Everybody slams the door,” Amy said wonderingly. “The hill shook.”

Rafe laughed. In the gloom she could see that his eyes were very bright and very shiny. Small brown eyes . . . A sudden picture sparked in her mind, so strong that at first she thought it was a phantom. It was not. Merely Cai’s eyes, blue as pieces of sky, deep as oceans . . .

Was Kaylie really breaking up with Cai?

Rafe said, “I think I’m a little drunk. But not as drunk as you.”

“I want to ask you something.”

Rafe tensed. But Amy’s thoughts had wandered away from both him and Cai, even from Violet. “It’s something that I’ve wondered about for a long time. Why do they watch?”

“Why does who watch what?”

“The people. The show. Us.” Her mind fumbled, then found what she wanted to say. “Most of us on most episodes end up humiliated and embarrassed. When I was like that, all my ‘fan’ mail told me what a wimp I was. Then when I wasn’t like that, my mail told me I was just faking doing well. Why do they want to see us fail and resent it when we don’t? Except for Cai.”

“Cai,” Rafe said in a different tone. Amy, too absorbed in what she was saying, didn’t notice.

“OK, with Cai it’s the girls. But for all the rest of us—why do they watch? If I weren’t on this sick show,
I
wouldn’t watch it.”

“You’re not in that audience,” Rafe said. “You don’t want to sneer at people. They do.”

“But
why
?”

“Because they’re so ground down that it’s a little bit of relief to laugh at someone worse off than they are.”

Amy frowned. “I don’t get it.”