Anthropology of an American Girl (83 page)

I fix my dress, flattening the thin cross of ribbon that binds the bodice. I’m in gray, dove-gray, like a bound dove. He likes me in gray, though I didn’t think to make him like me. I didn’t intend to think of Rourke today. I don’t want to live any more of my life in absentia. Such living is cruel to those who need you truly. When the service commences, I listen carefully. I never want to forget how close I’ve come.

Outside the tent, guests assemble loosely before forming a line to congratulate the families. Musicians disband and begin their exodus to the patio near the pool so that the ceremony tent can be reconfigured for dessert and dancing. The wedding planner and her staff appear, dressed like the parking attendants in white oxfords and khakis. They move us out with false smiles and stiff backs and stretched-out arms as if they belong to the Secret Service. Mrs. Ross asks me to escort her parents to the kitchen, where they can rest until the reception.

“Thank you, darling.” Mr. Sacci’s head goes in circles like it is following the trail of a tightly flying fly. He grasps for his wife’s hand, and she grasps for his, both of them missing repeatedly. I take a hand of each and walk them slowly behind the altar to the kitchen, the province of tea and cookies, and Consuela.

Unlike at the funeral, there are children—wearing pluffy taffeta dresses and little-man suits, running, swinging, climbing. Jack did not
know any children or anyone with children. I suppose in his circle he was the
last
child.

After the memorial service cleared out, Jack’s mother had summoned me privately into the house and given me a shoe. A baby shoe. White with a soft graying lace and scuffs by the heel and toe.

“For you,” she’d said breathlessly. One foot remained on the lowest rung of a stepladder, and in her hand was a half key. On the edge of the closet shelf was an opened fireproof box. “For the Blackfoot hunting grounds. If you ever make it out there. Something of Jack’s to bury.”

I’d turned the shoe in my hands. I’d wondered if it was a gift from Jack or from her. No matter, the message was unmistakable—in it I could see the stubborn will to walk.

“Take it,” she’d insisted. “I have the other.”

“Yes, Mrs. Fleming,” I’d said, and we’d embraced for the last time, the shoe in my hand, and my hand resting on her shoulder. When I got to Denny’s car, he and I had waved, both of us. And driving off, we’d waved once more, leaving her alone at the head of the driveway.

Rourke has already said congratulations. He is not far from the end of the receiving line. His suit is a midnight-blue with fine white stitching, cut flat to his body. Beneath is a light-blue dress shirt. Both the blue of the suit and the blue of the shirt have considerable red in them, giving him an electric appearance. He’s laughing with Rob and Denny and Jeff, his head modestly lowered. The right side of his face is bruised black and inflamed. I can’t make out his eye. I wish I could go to him, to them, to my friends, but I can’t. There is still so much to do. Besides, I feel kind of groundless and spinning. Like Mark’s grandparents, grasping blind, one hand for the other.

“Here’s Evie!
Evie!”
Alicia beckons, and she pulls me to the bridal party side of the line. “Is my makeup okay?” she asks overloudly, her face hovering by mine. “Did you see his eye?” she whispers. “They say it’s never going to be the same.”

I kiss her, then Jonathan. The photographer demands a picture. There is an awkward pause, a flash. Alicia winks at me, then brightens professionally for the next person. I move on to congratulate the others, and finally, Mark.

“It’s been a long week,” he murmurs suggestively as he squeezes me, his hips pushing in, his eyes looking behind me, to see if Rourke notices. Mark says, “We’re going to take a drive to get photos. Meet me over by the limos.” As I walk away, he yells, “Stay out of the sun.”

Rob takes my hand and leads me across the garden, turning the corner by the summer room and going in, standing where Mark can’t see from his position in the receiving line. Rob raises his green aviator glasses to the peak of his head. Beneath the glasses his eyes are green as well, only softer, more receptive. He adjusts the fallen strap of my dress, and gives me a light hug.

“You smell like coconut,” he says.

My chin rests on his shoulder. “My aunt gave me some lotion.”

“Oh,” Rob says. “Lotion. Very nice.”

I push away. I’m crying, and I don’t want to get his suit wet. His suit is cream-colored, a linen ecru, and his shirt is snow-white. His tie is the color of purple irises.

“You look handsome.”

He reaches in his pocket for a tissue, and, taking up a tiny piece, he pats beneath my eyes. “You like the suit, huh? Lorraine picked it out. She’s into fashion now, so I gave her a call. We went to Barneys over in Chelsea. You gotta see her rip through ties. It’s like a special aptitude, like those autistic kids who know Mozart. We went to the Russian Tea Room after. She always wanted to go there, so I figured,
What the hell!
”

“That’s great, Rob.”

“She’s dating some lawyer now. Short kid—five-eight. He’s got a two-bedroom condo in Jersey City. I go, ‘Rainy, any short guy with a two-bedroom condo is wife hunting.’ And she goes, ‘That’s right, Rob. And any guy living with another guy and a rabid dog in a trailer with no job and a penchant for gambling
is not
. It took me ten years, but I finally figured it out.’” Rob laughs. “
‘Penchant,’
she says.
‘For gambling.’”

“She loves you.”

He looks over my head and sucks one cheek to his teeth. “You all right? You seem shaky. You shaky?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Suicide,” Rob says. “That’s rough. But what are you gonna do? You can’t change people. Look at my brother. He’s dead. Practically. Soon, he’ll be dead.”

“Anthony?”

“That’s right, Anthony, in L.A.” Rob reaches for a cigarette, removes his hand, and finds a stick of gum instead. “Tony. All any of us ever heard growing up was how handsome he was. Had any girl he wanted, aged fifteen to fifty. A guy like that gets a complex, know what I’m saying, like,
Who needs a real job?
So Tony goes out West and takes an excursion through the magical world of porn. Strictly straight stuff, but still. I tried talking to him. I tried everything. But forget about it, the money was too good.”

I sit on the rattan sofa. Rob adjusts his tie and sits too.

“That’s the reason me and Harrison stayed in L.A. after college. My uncle was ready to go make Anthony ugly, so he couldn’t shame anybody. I’m like, ‘Uncle, what are you gonna do, cut his dick off?’ I mean, once you start that shit, where do you stop? I asked for a chance to use a little positive persuasion. You know, spend some time, hang around, get inside, pry him loose. I offered to stay on at UCLA—at Anderson, that’s the business school—my mother wanted me to get an MBA anyway, so I figured this way I’d make her happy. My father and my uncle were a little chilly on the plan. They knew I was a pushover where my brother was concerned. That’s when Harrison agreed to stick around too. And then that whole Diane thing happened soon after. Even so, I got caught up. That world sucks you in. Sex and cash. Blow clouds your judgment. That’s what’s up with Mark, by the way. Too much coke. Those Masters of the Universe assholes keep at it all day. It gets to be like popping aspirin.”

At the mention of Mark, we both shoot a glance in the direction of the bridal party. Through the screened walls of the porch, we can see that half the guests are still waiting in line. We’re sitting low, so there’s no way for him to spot us. Rourke is still out there, so Mark won’t think to worry.

Rob turns back. “Long story short, two years later, worst morning of my life—grad school graduation and it’s like,
Time is up
. My whole family’s flying in and I haven’t gotten through to Anthony. All that’s happened is
he’s
compromised
me
. Remember I told you about cheaters?
Their job is the failure of
your
character. So I’m crashed on the couch in his, whatever,
bungalow
, out of my mind high from the night before—from
an hour
before—and there are scumbags all over the place—girls, guys, guys dressed like girls, and vice versa. And I’m scanning each face. How did these fucking losers ever look okay to me?

“In my mind, deep down, I’m thinking—
praying
—that Tony’s gonna walk down the stairs in some sharp suit like it’s Easter in the neighborhood and I’m seven and he’s seventeen, and he’s gonna chase everybody out, and he’s gonna say,
Let’s go, kid. You got a big day ahead
. Or else my family’s gonna pull up, and Joey’ll be there all tight with Pop, with my mother in the backseat of the rental car at the end of the driveway, her hands folded on her pocketbook, and my old man’ll go, ‘Go up and get your brother, boys. Tell Anthony we’re going home.’

“But nothing.
Nothing
. Nobody wakes up, nobody comes. Hours go by. By nine o’clock I’m freaking out.
I gotta go. I gotta go
. My heart is speeding like it’s gonna bust, and I want to grab something, a lamp, a golf club. I’m looking to start breaking shit. Get the cops there. Cops would be better than nothing.

“Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, the front door creaks open. Harrison. He doesn’t set foot in the place. Too contaminated. I don’t want him in there anyway. I jump up and meet him at the doorway.

“‘Let’s go,’ Rourke says. ‘You’ve done what you can.’

“I snap. ‘Fuck you, you fucking prick. I’m not leaving.’ I go to him, ‘You don’t know about family because you don’t have one. I’d rather be dead than leave my brother.’ All of a sudden,
boom
. Harrison hauls back and knocks me down. Full force. Flat. It was like getting hit by a train.

“Then he looks down and says, ‘He’s not your brother. I am.’”

I think of Mrs. Rourke saying,
Do you know, I still wonder what “the wrong thing” could have been
. I wonder, was it the part about Rob taking death for granted, or the part about the brother, or the part about Rourke not having family? All, possibly all.

“Harrison pulls me up, and I’m sitting there—bleeding and crying on the front steps for—shit, it’s gotta be twenty minutes. I know Anthony fucking heard me.
Everybody
heard me. All down the street people were coming out of their houses.

“‘If he doesn’t come down,’ I said, ‘it’s gonna be the last time I see him.’

“‘One time is gonna be the last time,’ Harrison said. ‘Let’s make it today.’

“He waited until I was ready. Then he picked me up and took me over to the gym and got me iced and stitched. I couldn’t even stand, I was so screwed up on blow and no sleep and adrenaline. He had the doctor over there make sure my cheekbone wasn’t shattered. It was a double fracture. See?” Rob points to the left side of his face.

I’ve seen it before. I touch it, fingers flat, going over. “This eye is smaller, isn’t it?”

“But the vision’s twenty-twenty. That’s all I care about. I could’ve had surgery, but I don’t give a shit, except for the sinus problems. Besides, girls are into it. So Harrison takes me to our place in Ventura, gets me fed and cleaned up, and we make it to graduation on time. My family saw me, and they practically shit. My mother starts sobbing and Mrs. Rourke goes white, but you know what?” Rob drags his fingers across his lips, zipping. “Nobody said nothing—
Harrison was with me.”

Rob looks at me. “Sometimes you love somebody and it’s like you can’t see the top of the building because you’re hugging the ground floor. I know you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“That’s why I give you credit for letting go of your friend—Jack.”

“I’m not sure I did the right thing.”

“C’mon. You were just a kid, and you let go before you had to. Most people wait for a warm bed. Not you. There was no guarantee with Harrison. In fact, odds were against it. But you treated Jack with respect, and that respect probably kept him going more than you realize. Not me. I just hung around with my brother, stealing time. Now Tony is lost. I got off easy with a busted face—my brother’s got
the sickness
. Last time I talked to him, he was down to 148 pounds from 190.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Rob.”

“I’m just saying, you would think for all that time in I would’ve gotten better results. But you gotta keep your own world pretty fucking tight if you want to control other people’s outcomes. You can’t start sacrificing
yourself to someone else’s twisted view. Like Harrison said, ‘You’ve done what you can.’ I think about that a lot. You do what you do and hope for the best. Once you hit a place of diminishing returns, you have to back off, regroup. I couldn’t save my brother because he didn’t want saving. Neither did Jack. Harrison saved me because I wanted it, I wanted to get the hell out. Biggest lesson of my life—there is no family other than the one you make for yourself.”

“Jack used to say that.”

“Well, there you go. Smart kid. But there’s math involved,” Rob says. “You don’t just
need
friends
;
you’ve got to
be
a friend. If there’s nobody to track you, to challenge you, to offer resistance, put up a fight, you become some phony fuck doing constant reinvention. Believe me, it’s not easy. My brother Joey is a pain in my ass, we argue a lot, but someday it’ll be worth it. When one of us needs a wall, we’ll turn around and it’ll be there. Other times, there’s no work involved. You got an automatic fortress. Like Harrison. Like—”

“Lorraine.”

“Actually, I was thinking of you.”

We leave the porch and walk to where the limos and the people wait, over to where the bride and groom will pass, where the flower petals will fly. Where I thought Rourke might be, but he’s not.

“I gotta tell you,” Rob says, “I lost it last week when I found out you left the fight. I coulda killed my sister. I told her to keep an eye on you.” He points to the top of his hand. There’s a crescent burn along the length of his knuckles. “Next morning she hit me with an egg pan.
‘Self-defense,’
she told my father, as if I would ever set a finger on her, that she-wolf. My mother bandaged me up and called Mark’s apartment. Mark said you were
all right
. That’s it. No news about a dead friend. Nothing. I grabbed the phone. ‘Lemme talk to her,’ I said, and he goes,
‘Forget about it.’
”