All Your Pretty Dreams (22 page)

“
What an idiot. Sorry.” He
frowned, kneeling in front of her, dabbing the towel to her cuts.
“Did you get the glass out? Is the other okay?” He took her left
foot, the uninjured one, stretching out her leg to look at it.
“Looks okay. So you’ll be able to hobble around, maybe.”

“
Don’t bring glass to the
pool. I’ve been told a hundred times.”

Jonny went back into the
bathroom and emerged with a box of bandages. He dried off the cuts,
three large ones and two tiny punctures, and applied the bandages.
He was solemn and kept apologizing. His touch was gentle and
warm.

“
You make a very good
nurse,” she said, smiling. She didn’t care about the cuts. They
didn’t hurt at all. She laid her head back on the sofa, her foot in
his hands. “Have you thought of a career in medicine?”

“
This is probably the
first time the sight of blood hasn’t made me queasy.”

“
Ah. So my blood is
special?”

“
Must be.” He pressed the
adhesive ends of the bandages one last time. “There. I think you’ll
live.” He stood up. “And I am really sorry for scaring
you.”

“
I forgive you. If you can
find some cups we can finish this champagne.”

While he rummaged in the
cupboards Isabel noticed her dress was hiked up almost to her
crotch. She tugged it down a couple inches. Jonny brought yellow
plastic cups and poured them each champagne. He sat on the sofa.
“Cheers.”

They sipped then Isabel
asked: “Why did you drive me here?”

He shrugged. “It seemed
important to you. You were crying, remember.”

“
So crying works on
you?”

He looked sideways at her
legs, then up to her face. “Was it an act?”

“
Of course not. I’m not
that kind of person.”

“
I didn’t think so. I
mean, I don’t really know you.”

Isabel felt the charge of
the moment slip away. He didn’t know her. But she had the advantage
of meeting his family, seeing where he grew up. All this— Edie and
Max’s world— had to be weird for someone from Red Vine.

“
Yeah, this house. Right
out of ‘The Great Gatsby.’ Full of shallow women and men who love
power.” She gulped down the rest of her champagne.

“
It’s nice,” he said. “The
house.”

She laughed out loud. “You
don’t have to pretend.”

He smiled at her. “Okay.
It’s a bit over the top. In the vein of Al Capone.”

“
Very kind.” She frowned.
“One thing you should know about me. I’m not like them. I don’t
take their money. I got scholarships. I pay my own way. I’m
emancipated.”

“
Ah, you’re a
feminist.”

“
But— legally. When I was
eighteen I hired a lawyer and got legally emancipated from my
parents.”

“
Why?”

“
You haven’t met my
parents. It was a matter of life or death.”

“
That sounds
serious.”

“
Oh, it is.”

“
Maybe you need some more
champagne.” He refilled their plastic cups.

“
My father wants to meet
you. Because you drove me back, that’s all.” She cringed behind her
cup. It sounded like she’d made some announcement to her father
about him. “But you don’t have to. You don’t have to meet any of
them. For your sanity, you shouldn’t.” She raised her cup to
his.

He sat back against the
sofa. His jeans were splattered with her blood but he’d managed to
clean his shoes. “Do you want to watch TV?” he asked. A huge
flat-screen hung on the wall opposite the sofa.

“
One big capitalist
conspiracy, television.”

He smiled. “To part you
from your money?”

“
Exactly.”

“
So your parents, are they
part of the conspiracy?”

“
You’re teasing me.” She
felt woozy suddenly and wedged her cup between her knees. Her
injured foot lay on a pile of pillows. She wiggled her toes. “This
place is like a poster child for the bored wealthy. Let’s see how
much money we can make, then spend it on stuff to impress the
neighbors. They bought the whole moneyed class thing, hook, line
and sinker. Greed. Money. Consumption. Living well is the best
revenge and all that.”

“
So you don’t buy
it?”

“
You really don’t know me,
do you.”

She drained her cup. The
room was spinning. She should go back to the house and eat
something, or go to bed, or something. She struggled to her feet
then cried out.

Jonny grabbed her, sat her
back down. “Whoa now. Your foot is cut up, remember?”

He was being so sweet, so
helpful. He was so close now. Sitting hip to hip, his arm still
around her waist. He felt warm, safe. She closed her eyes. Why was
she doing this to herself? She would count, see how long until he
moved away. She made a bet: five seconds, max.
Thousand-one…

He removed his arm on
thousand-three. Loser again.

He poured himself more
champagne. Quiet now, no smart banter. Maybe she’d scared him with
her populist leanings. Maybe he thought she was like Daria or Edie.
That’ll teach him. The spinning slowed down and she closed her eyes
again, leaning her head against the wall.

“
Oh crap,” she whispered.
“I should go to bed.”

“
Wait here,” he said.
“I’ll get your shoes.”

Full dark now, the sky had
cleared and stars popped out. Jonny found a broom and stepped out
onto the patio. The pool shone blue and glittery like the inside of
a seashell. Light from the house streamed across the lawn. The
trees made long shadows like stripes. He swept up the broken glass
then set off in search of her shoes.

He looked back through the
glass doors of the pool house. Isabel seemed so normal drunk.
Sweet. Talkative. A bit of a radical but he was okay with that. How
did that fit with what Kiki told him? Isabel had a lot of opinions
but she didn’t seem the cruel type. Daria, the talker, maybe. He
could see her gossiping. He’d known girls like that, attacking the
weakest to show their power.

The mansion seemed to grow
as he moved across the lawn, the windows alive with lights and
people. This high-flying, big money, big city life was a world he’d
only seen on television. The Twin Cities, as big and diverse as
they were, were mostly full of Minnesotans, friendly, unpretentious
shit-kickers and Birkenstock-wearers. But people are the same
everywhere. They have families, they love or hate them, win them or
lose them. The Yancey’s had lost this week, but they’d win another
week. They were used to winning.

Through the dining room
window he saw people standing around the table, candles flickering,
glasses sparkling. The women were slim and fashionable, the men all
wore dark, neat suits. He couldn’t imagine this in Red Vine, home
to the Minnesota Hot Dish and Blueberry Fest. Not a burgundy tuxedo
in sight.

The lifestyle was
conspicuously wealthy, the house overlarge, the cars exotic and
powerful, the people stiff and formal— but he didn’t find it
disgusting. It wasn’t the way he would live but there wasn’t
anything inherently wrong with it. Few would reject what it
offered. Except apparently, Isabel. Strange to find your own
parents so disgusting. His parents were difficult, old-fashioned
and slightly unhinged. But he didn’t find them
repulsive.

He found her shoes in the
shadow of a tall pine. Back at the pool house her eyes were shut.
She twitched when he opened the door. He slipped them on her feet
and helped her up. “You okay?”

She took a step and cried
out. “I don’t think…”

“
Here you go.” Jonny put
her arm over his neck. “Try not to put much pressure on that
foot.”

They limped out of the pool
house, across the grass, Isabel on the toes of the bad foot,
hanging tight to his neck. She was pretty light, he could pick her
up again. Maybe he should, he was thinking as she lost her grip and
tipped sideways. He righted her with both hands around her
waist.

“
Upsy-daisy.
Okay?”

She grabbed his shoulders,
her head falling onto his chest. “I am so drunk,” she said, her
voice muffled. “I should never drink champagne.”

He leaned back to tip up
her chin. “It’s okay.” He could see the starlight reflected in her
eyes. Her skin glowed in the shine of the moon. They exchanged
champagne breath, moist and sweet. Her mouth. She kissed him. And
despite himself, or maybe because it had been a long time since
he’d kissed anyone, he kissed her back. She tasted tangy and sharp,
like honey and strong cheese.

Sometimes when he was
kissing a girl he didn’t really know— long ago— it just felt
clinical. No chemistry. Not so with Isabel. Things got warm.
Quickly. It wasn’t just that he was out of practice. He felt
something odd, like the earth tilting. Wind rustled the pinecones
high in the trees. Champagne swam in his head. Her lips were soft
and accepting. She pressed against him, he heard himself moan. He
ran his hand down her back, sliding down, pulling her into him. He
wanted her, he realized. Badly. And yet.

He stepped back, catching
his breath. “Whoa there, Queen Bee.”

Her mouth was open and wet.
He wanted to kiss her again, reached out for her. Then stopped
himself. They were drunk. She dropped her arms to her sides. Her
face was flushed and moist. She straightened, eyebrows together. He
had a hard time reading her.

“
The Queen Bee. That’s
right. So high and mighty.”

“
I didn’t
mean—”

“
You think you know me.
Who I am. You make assumptions that I’m a— a snob. A rich snob.
This enormous house, this palace, that makes me untouchable? Money
makes me who I am? You have no idea how I’ve tried to— These
people, my parents, they aren’t me! They have no idea who I
am.”

“
I’m sorry. I—” He reached
for her again but she pulled her hand away.

“
You’re like all the
others. You see money and it blinds you.”

“
I didn’t know you were
rich until Kiki told me.”

“
Kiki? Oh, sweet little
Monica. How kind of her to fill you in. She’s your new girlfriend,
is she?” She stepped closer, angry now. Her eyes were ablaze, their
dark centers impossible to fathom. “She flatters you. Tells you all
about me. She has you wrapped around her finger. But think again,
Mr. Polka Hottie. She likes you because of me. She couldn’t stand
it that I was there in Red Vine with you. She is jealous. Of me!
Impossible, right? Who likes the Queen Bee, right? Here’s what you
don’t get. Monica Calhoun doesn’t like me. She wants to
be
me.”

What the hell was she
talking about? She was babbling, drunk. He took a step back. He
felt lightheaded. How had Kiki Calhoun come into play? His
girlfriend? Where had she got that idea? Isabel swayed, her chest
heaving with emotion.

He squinted at her. “You’ve
had a little too much champagne.”

“
Right.” She turned
towards the house. Jonny caught up with her, holding her around the
waist. She kept her hands off him this time, flailing to keep her
balance as she limped along. They reached the back steps and she
pulled away, hissing, “I can do it myself.”

He got her sitting in the
kitchen, causing a little commotion among the staff. An older woman
in a gray dress and white apron hovered over Isabel. Bright blood
filled Isabel’s shoe, sticky and wet. As he knelt down, peeling off
a soggy bandage, a shortish man in a black suit appeared and
demanded to know what was going on.

“
I stepped on some glass
by the pool, Daddy. I dropped a champagne flute. Two, actually. I
hope they weren’t Granny’s crystal.”

Blood was flowing freely
again. The woman said something in Spanish, threw up her hands and
ran off. Jonny examined the cuts. “We got the bleeding stopped.
They broke open walking back.”

“
I don’t think we’ve been
introduced.”

Isabel sat slumped against
the table, head in one hand. “This is Jon, Daddy. This is my
father, Max.”

Jonny wiped his hand with
the towel the housekeeper brought and stood up. “Jonathan Knobel.”
He could feel the man looking at the blood on his pants and hands,
sizing him up. He automatically smoothed the front of his black
t-shirt. What happened to his jacket?

“
Max Yancey. You’re the
one who drove Isabel back from Minnesota.”

“
Yes sir.”

“
Call me Max. Thanks for
that. We would very much have missed her otherwise.”

“
I was pretty desperate to
get out of town myself.”

“
Is that so.” Max frowned
at him. “Isabel, what do you need for your foot?”

Jonny said, “Some
disinfectant. And if you have any bigger bandages.”

Max told Solana to get
them. “You’re a doctor?”

“
No, ah— just first
aid.”

“
So you’re an
EMT?”

“
A draftsman. In
Minneapolis.”

Daria burst in and gave a
squawk. Jonny set back to work cleaning up Isabel’s foot,
disinfecting the cuts, and reapplying bandages. The audience kept
growing. He felt self-conscious. This was her grandfather’s
funeral. He hadn’t been invited. A wisecracking teenager appeared,
then his mother, then somebody’s brother, then Isabel’s
mother.