The Party (7 page)

“At least now we’ve got your feet to protect us,” he told Nick. “That is, if you haven’t changed your mind and want to quit?”

“I’m not quitting, Mike. I’m just beginning to feel at home.”

Between the two of them, they cleaned up the mess. The equivalent of three cases had been destroyed. Michael decided to juggle the numbers on the store inventory until Kats came up with the money, if he ever did. Michael figured he’d probably end up paying for the damage out of his own pocket.

Michael’s replacement, the twentyyearold son of one of the bosses, came in at nine o’clock. Amir went fulltime to the local junior college and spent most nights at the store. As a result, he was chronically exhausted, and did little during the wee hours of the morning except run the cash register and study. He simply nodded when Michael introduced Nick as their new employee. Michael hoped Amir’s father had the same reaction.

Michael and Nick were walking out the front doors of the Eleven when the phone rang. An hour had passed since the phony holdup. It was Bubba. Michael took the call in the small office in the back.

“Did you invite Nick Grutler to come to the game with us?” Bubba asked.

“Yeah.” The invitation had surprised Nick, but he had accepted without hesitation. He seemed to be looking forward to it. “Where are you? You said you’d pick me up at nine.”

“Kats is here,” Bubba said, lowering his voice. “He tells me Grutler tried to kill him.”

“Did Kats also tell you that he pulled a gun on us?”

“Yeah, but that was a joke, Mike. What’s wrong with this guy? I hear he practically cut The Rock’s throat this afternoon.”

“Get off it, Bubba. You know as well as I, The Rock started it. Nick’s cool. Are you going to pick us up or not?”

“If it was just up to me, I’d be there already. But Kats wants to go to the game, and he says if Nick comes with us, things might get ugly. He’s full of it, I know, but why don’t you and Nick go on alone?”

“Since when does Kats tell you what to do?”

“It’s no big deal. Let’s not fight about it. I’ll meet you there. Come on, it’s getting late, and I want to talk to Clair before halftime ends.”

Michael was disappointed in his friend. “Whatever you say, Bubba.”

Michael owned his own car, an offwhite Toyota that had had over a hundred thousand miles on it when he bought it. The interior was clean, and although the engine drank a quart of oil every month, it ran smoothly. Yet as he opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat for Nick’s long legs, Michael thought how plain it would look to a girl like Jessica Hart who had just returned from sunbathing in the Aegean Sea. He was hoping to see her at the game, maybe say hello.

The school lot was packed; they had to park a block away in a residential area. Walking toward the stadium, Michael caught a glimpse of the scoreboard: Tabb High 0; Visitors 6. The marching bands and drill teams had taken the field. The snack bar was beset with thick lines. They had definitely made it for halftime.

“Have you ever played any sports?” Michael asked Nick as they hurried up the steps that led to the entrance.

“Nope.”

“How about some pickup basketball games?”

“Oh, yeah, we used to play those.” Nick chuckled. “But we never followed many rules. You had to knock a guy unconscious for a foul to be called.”

“Have you ever thought of going out for the team here?”

Nick looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think I’d fit in on a team.” He reached for his back pocket. “How much is it to get in?”

“When you’re this late, it’s free.”

Once inside the gate, they both caught a whiff of the hot dogs and decided they were starving. Nick insisted it would be his treat and went to wait in line while Michael made a quick stop at the rest room. He was heading back to the snack bar when he ran into Alice McCoy. She had a guy with her, a thin redhead who was literally dragging her toward the exit.

“Mikey!” she called, disengaging herself from her date and running to give him a quick hug. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all night. Remember, I wanted you to meet my friend?”

“Well, I’m here now,” he said cheerfully.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Her date had turned away, staring into the brick wall behind the snack bar. Alice smiled quickly, nervously. “Did you have to work late?”

“No later than usual. Do you have to leave now?”

“Yeah. We—we have to go somewhere.”

“That’s too bad. I can always meet your friend another time.”

“No, I want to be there when you meet her.” Again, she glanced at her date, obviously trying to come to some sort of decision. Michael nodded toward the guy.

“Is that your new boyfriend?”

She didn’t seem to hear him.

“Could you stay here a sec?”

“Sure.”

Alice walked back to the guy, spoke softly to him. First he shook his head. But as Alice persisted, he shrugged, pulling out a comb and running it through his long, thin red hair. Touching him gratefully on the arm, Alice returned to Michael.

“I’ll go get her,” she said. “Stay here, right here. OK?”

“All right.” Watching her disappear into the crowd, Michael wondered why Alice had not introduced him to her date. Ordinarily she was extremely polite. Something about the way the guy stood, his hands plowed into his pockets, completely ignoring everyone around him, disturbed Michael. He decided he’d introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Michael Olson,” he said, walking up and offering his hand. “I’m a friend of Alice’s. You’re Clark, right?”

The guy had the brightest green eyes Michael had ever seen. They practically glowed in the dark. His gaze lingered on Michael’s outstretched hand for a moment before he lazily shook it.

“I suppose,” he said. He had a deep southern accent, a disconcerting stare. His black leather biker jacket hung loose over his shoulders; Michael suspected there was nothing but skin and bone beneath it. The guy needed to see a doctor. His palm was warm and clammy.

“Alice tells me you’re also an artist?”

Clark found the comparison amusing. “She loves pretty colors. I like sharp lines, black and white.”

“Huh. What’s that mean?”

“That I’m unique.”

What does she see in him?

The question made Michael pause and consider how well he knew Alice. From day one, he’d neatly classified her as a carefree darling. He should know better by now that no one was that neat, or that unique.

“She told me you’ve had a big influence on her work?” he asked.

“She’s talked about me?”

“On occasion.”

“Alice doesn’t work. Alice’s got too much money to work. Alice’s got too many dresses.” He grinned suddenly. “Do you like the dress she’s wearing tonight? I like when her sister wears it. It looks a lot different on Polly.”

Michael had met Polly once. Alice had brought her by his store last spring. He assumed Clark was making a lewd reference to her large breasts. His dislike for the guy deepened. “Where are you from?” he asked.

Clark lost his grin. “Why?”

“I was just wondering, that’s all. Do you go to school around here?”

“No.”

“Where do you go?”

“The other side of town.” Clark’s gaze wandered toward the playing field. “Our team’s as lousy as yours. But in our stadium, you can always lean your head back and look at the trees in the sky.”

Michael frowned. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you stoned?” He was worried about Alice driving home in the car with him.

“I’m here man, right here.” Clark yawned, turning again to face the wall behind the snack bar. “Alice had better get back soon. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Why?”

Bubba and Kats appeared. Since Clark had not bothered to answer his last question, Michael felt under no obligation to introduce him to them. Bubba had on a black suede jacket, a red handkerchief tucked in the pocket, a white silk shirt underneath. Kats was no longer dripping but still stunk of beer. Bubba had probably thrown Kats’s clothes in the dryer without washing them. Clark continued to stare at the wall. It didn’t even have graffiti on it. Michael allowed Bubba to pull him aside.

Have you seen Clair?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t been here long,” Michael said. “But I think the cheerleaders are finished with their halftime routine.”

“Good.” Bubba gestured in the direction of Clark. “Who’s that?”

“A friend of Alice’s.”

“Wonderful. He looks dead.” Bubba turned to Kats, pulling out his wallet. “Get me a large buttered popcorn and a mediumsize Dr Pepper without ice.” He handed Kats a ten. “Treat yourself to whatever you want. Bring it to the fiftyyard line. But if I’m talking to Clair, keep your distance.”

Kats accepted the money. The side of his face had begun to color from his bout with Nick. “Going to bag her, Bubba?”

“I’m going to wrap her up in aluminum foil and toast her. Go get in line. Tell them to watch the salt on the popcorn.” When Kats was gone, Bubba said, “Let’s do it, Mike.”

“I’m waiting for Alice and Nick. I should stay here.”

Bubba waved his hand. “Don’t worry, they’ll find you. Come on.”

Michael really did want to see Bubba in action, especially going after Clair. He figured he’d be able to catch Alice on her way back to Clark. And locating Nick would be no problem. He followed Bubba out onto the bleachers. The mood of the crowd appeared upbeat; Tabb High hadn’t been down at half time by only six points in years. The cheerleaders were gathered beneath the stands on the track, near center field. Standing nearest to the microphone, Clair was giving her voice a rest, sucking on a soft drink while waiting for the team to return to the field. With her shiny blond hair tied up in twin goldribboned pony tails, her legs deeply tanned beneath her short blue skirt, Michael had to admit she looked awfully sexy.

“Are you sure you want me with you?” Michael asked.

“I consider this a necessary part of your education. Just stay close, like we’re hanging out together. But let me do all the talking.”

A chest high chainlink fence separated the audience from the track. Leaning casually into it, Bubba waved to Clair, calling, “Hey, come here. I want to talk to you.”

Clair did not quite know what to make of the order. Holding on to her drink, she approached slowly. “Yeah, what?” she said, looking up at him.

Bubba smiled. “How are you doing, Clair? Good? You look good.”

Clair took her straw out of her mouth. Tm all right. What can I do for you, Bubba?”

Bubba rested an elbow on the top of the fence, dropped his smile for an unhappy expression. “I don’t know, maybe you can do something. I’m having a bad day, a really bad time.”

“What’s wrong?” Clair asked.

“Well, like I was telling Mike here—you know Mike, sure you do—it’s no wonder they speak of the stock market like it was a woman. You never know what she’s going to do. The same day you think you’ve got her figured out, she turns around and stabs you in the back.”

Clair showed interest. “Oh, yeah, someone told me you fooled around with stocks. What happened, did you lose some money?”

“It was all on paper, you understand. I was investing dollars I’d made on earlier trades. But it still pisses me off to be outguessed. I probably shouldn’t talk about it. But the market, she’s one nasty lady. How are things with you? I love your hair up like that. You should wear it like that all the time, even when you’re taking a shower.”

Clair played with one of her ponytails. “If I did that, I’d get my ribbons wet.”

Michael recognized Bubba’s strategy. It was Bubba’s opinion that money and sex were inseparable in the female mind; thinking about credit cards and spending power, in his opinion, got them more excited than browsing through a
Playgirl
magazine.

“Then you could blow them dry,” he said. “Hey, can I ask you something? This has really been a miserable day.”

“What?”

“Let’s go out together sometime. I’m always working, I’ve got to have more fun in life. Let’s go out next weekend, next Saturday night.”

Clair nodded. “Sure, we could—wait a second. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’d like to, but I’m seeing Bill Skater. I don’t think he’d like it if I went out with someone else.”

Bubba waved his hand. Sometimes Michael thought Bubba could convince the pope to break his vows with a wave of that hand. “Bill won’t, I know the guy. He doesn’t want to totally monopolize your life. Don’t worry about it, we’ll have fun.” He smiled. “I just got new leather upholstery in my Jaguar.”

“That’s right, you’ve got a Jag.”

“I sure do. Hey, you like music, Clair? You like U2?”

Bubba must have researched Clair’s taste in music. She lit up. “They’re one of my favorite bands!”

They’re going to be in town next week. We’ll go see them.”

“But I heard they were sold out.”

“I’ve already got tickets. Third row, dead center. We can eat first and then head on over to the Forum. Give me your phone number.”

Clair glanced around uneasily. Bubba had come a long way in less than a minute, but Clair was obviously hesitant about handing out her number to a short, overweight guy in front of the entire community. “You really have thirdrow tickets?”

“They could be second row.”

She paused, sizing him up. She wasn’t a total airhead. “You’re not just throwing me a line, are you? I’ve heard about you.”

Bubba was sly. “What have you heard?”

Clair blushed. “Stories.”

“Well, they’re all true.” Bubba leaned over the fence, spoke seriously. “If you don’t want to go, Clair, just say so. A lot of guys don’t mind wasting their time. But I do.”

Michael had followed Bubba’s moves perfectly up until this point. But when Clair suddenly blurted out her number, he realized he was completely lost.

“Five-five-five-four-three-two-six,” she said. “I don’t have anything to write on. Will you remember it?”

Bubba nodded, moved back from the fence, straightening his jacket. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Clair returned to the microphone, her fellow cheerleaders quickly gathering around. Bubba led Michael back in the direction of the snack bar. “No sweat,” he said.

Michael nodded. “All right, you were smooth. But if you hadn’t brought up the concert, she would never have given you her number. Do you really have tickets in the third row?”