Catherine (5 page)

His black eyes bored straight into mine. “When she arrived here, I was in Liverpool.
By the time I got to New York she had vanished. And believe me, if I had even the
slightest clue about where she had gone, I would have followed her there. I would
have…” His voice trailed off. “If she were still alive, I’d know.” Another long moment
of silence. “I, of all people, would know.”

Was he claiming he was closer to my mother than I had been? Than Dad was? This struck
me as deeply unfair. “
You
of all people?”

He inspected me, cocked his head to one side, leaned in a little, and changed the
subject. “It’s spooky how much you look like her. But I was wrong. You do have some
of him in you, too. Around the mouth. Not that I’ve ever met him. I’ve seen his picture.
Professor Max Price.” He made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon.

But I’m not that easy to distract. “What do you mean,
you of all people
?”

He laughed. Then he rubbed his eyes and was silent for a
while. When he finally spoke again, his tone was cold. “Are you planning to take the
bus back to Massachusetts tonight?”

I drew myself up as straight as I could. “I’m staying here until I learn about my
mother,” I said. “Until I figure out where she is.”

“You might not like what you learn,” he said, rising and rubbing his hands on his
jeans.

“I’ll take that risk.” Anything had to be better than nothing.

Hence chuckled. “Well, okay then. I’ve got work to do.” He started off into the hallway,
but paused at the door and looked at me over his shoulder. “It’s rash of you to barge
into my home like this. But since you’re here…” He paused for a moment before shouting,
“Cooper! Get in here.” His voice boomed through the empty space, and Coop appeared
in the doorway, out of breath. “Take little Miss Price upstairs. She’ll be spending
the night.”

“Should I put her in the spare apartment? You know… the one…”

“Yes, I know the one.” Hence’s voice was sour with impatience. “That’s the perfect
place for her.” And he stalked out of the room without another word.

Cooper and I looked at each other. For a long moment, I fumed. “What’s wrong with
him?” I asked, when I could find the words. “Is he that rude with everyone? I don’t
know how you can stand working for him. And what did he mean when he said it’s the
perfect place for me?”

But Cooper just sighed and vanished. A minute later, he reappeared with my backpack
and beckoned me toward the elevator. All I could do was follow.

Between classes, Jackie asked if I wanted to come hang out at her place after school.
I told her our fridge was almost empty and I’d promised Dad I’d bring home groceries,
but she wasn’t having any of it. She poked her lower lip out and crossed her arms
over her chest. “It’s that new waiter, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Annoyed, I fumbled my locker combination
and had to start over. “And he’s not a waiter.” Lately I’d been spending more time
around the club, going straight home from school, hoping for a chance to really talk
with Hence. He’d been living in our house for almost two weeks, and I still hadn’t
begun to unravel the mystery of where he was from and why he’d left. When he was in
The Underground, he always seemed to be scrubbing the walk-in freezer or helping the
bands unload their gear; either that or he was down in his basement
room, playing his guitar, the amp turned up loud enough for me to hear it whenever
I passed the closed door. On his days off, he would disappear completely, taking his
guitar and amp with him, then return with his spine a bit straighter, looking confident
and exhilarated—almost like a different person.

“Waiter, busboy, janitor, whatever. This isn’t like you, Cath.” Jackie linked her
arm through mine—a light, playful gesture, though her voice sounded exasperated. “You
don’t chase after guys. What is it about this one?”

I rummaged around in my locker, digging for my American history notebook, which was
nowhere to be found. Jackie was right about one thing: I didn’t chase after guys.
There weren’t any worth chasing at Idlewild Prep, where all the boys—and I do mean
boys—lived to party. The musicians who played The Underground were more interesting—at
least they had plans and talent—but they all had their own sneaky agendas, and anyway,
I’d never
needed
to run after any of them. “I’m not chasing Hence.”

Jackie waited for me to say more, and when I didn’t, she sighed. “Then why have you
been going straight home after school lately? You haven’t been to my house in over
a week.”

I poked my head all the way into my locker. Where the hell was that notebook? “Even
if I was chasing him—which, by the way, I’m not—what would it matter?”

“I’m concerned, is all. You don’t know anything about this guy, Cath.”

She reached into my locker and slipped my notebook out and into my arms, knowing without
my having to say anything what I was looking for and where it was hiding.

The gesture made me even more annoyed. “Exactly. He’s a mystery. He intrigues me.”
I slipped the notebook into my bag and briskly zipped it shut. “Writers are supposed
to be interested in the world around them.”

Jackie gave me her trademark skeptical look—one raised eyebrow, mouth quirked to one
side.

“Besides, even if I did like the guy—which, I repeat, I do not—it’s not like I gave
you
crap when you liked somebody.” By
somebody
, I meant my very own brother; I’d listened to her obsess about him for years, and
believe me, it wasn’t always a picnic.

“You have too given me crap. When I was acting like an idiot. Over
somebody
.”

This was true. I’d lectured her a million times about how she’d be better off forgetting
Q instead of sobbing her heart out whenever he fell for a new girl in his string of
foreign exchange students: Monique from Marseilles, Danica from Copenhagen, Kristina
from St. Petersburg, Tessa from Bologna—Q’s own version of the “it’s a small world”
ride at Disney World, all of them sophisticated and supermodel-skinny. With her hourglass
figure, dimples, and golden-brown skin, Jackie was adorable, and Q was an ass not
to see it.

“Okay. When I start acting like an idiot, you can lecture me all you want.” Was it
really that big a deal that I’d been spending more time at home lately? The only real
difference was that instead of doing my homework at Jackie’s, I’d taken to doing it
in the club, sitting on a barstool, swinging my legs, chewing on my pencil, and spying
on Hence while he worked. Once or twice, I’d glanced up from the page to find his
eyes on me. I’d wave and he’d look away,
throwing himself into his mopping as if I were his boss and had caught him goofing
off.

One thing I did know so far: When it came to his music, Hence wasn’t a poseur. Once,
when I went down to the club to look for a book I’d been reading, as I was about to
turn the corner into the main room I heard an acoustic guitar and a voice that sounded
like amber and woodsmoke. I froze and listened, not wanting to startle him. Though
I didn’t recognize the song, I caught some of the lyrics. There was a line about hawks
circling in the sky, and another about sleeping on a bus-station bench. I’m pretty
sure the song was a Hence original. The melody was haunting, and I was struck by the
loneliness in his voice, a sorrow that could only have come from real-life experience.

“He’s an intriguing character, is all,” I said to Jackie.

“An
intriguing character
,” she repeated, trying to make it sound like a double entendre, which it didn’t remotely.

But as wrong—and annoying—as Jackie was, I knew her heart was in the right place.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you come over to the club this afternoon? That way you
can spy on him with me. The way we used to do with Quentin.”

“We’re not twelve anymore,” Jackie said, but at least she was smiling. “But okay.
I’ll come over.”

It occurred to me that maybe she was hoping to bump into Q, so I reminded her that
he had a night class on Thursdays and wouldn’t be home.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “I mean, not that I’m keeping track of your brother’s schedule.
I’m not doing that anymore.” She sped her words up, as she always did when she was
flustered. “I just figured
he wouldn’t be around much now that he’s in college. Anyway, you know I’ve written
him off. I’ve moved on.”

I shot her my own best skeptical look and she changed the subject to the sculpture
class she’d started taking at the 92nd Street Y, and how they were working with live
models, which meant a naked dude, and how that would have been okay, except instead
of putting his robe on when he was taking a break, he liked to walk around the classroom,
checking out the students’ work and making chitchat about the weather and the Yankees,
like he didn’t realize he was buck naked.

Pretty soon we were doubled over laughing, drawing stares from the cheerleader and
basketball star contingent, and I was remembering all over again why Jackie was my
best friend. It wasn’t as though I trusted or even liked a lot of people. Most of
the girls at school thought I was a snob, but they were the snobs, wanting to make
nice because of who my dad was or looking down at me because we lived on the Bowery
instead of Sutton Place, and because I didn’t spend my summers in the Hamptons—not
because we couldn’t afford it, but because summer was The Underground’s busiest season.
They thought I was strange. Maybe I
was
strange. But who wanted to be just like everyone else?

We slipped into the club, and I led Jackie to the kitchen, where Hence was filling
the ketchup and mustard dispensers. He looked startled at our approach. “Hence, I’d
like you to meet my friend Jackie.” Okay, so it was weirdly formal, but at least it
was a beginning.

“Oh. Hi.” Hence glanced down at his hands and wiped them on his jeans. Then he reached
out his right hand.

Jackie shot me a quick “who does that?” look as she shook it. “The famous Hence,”
she said.

He cocked his head to one side questioningly.

Jackie continued. “That’s an unusual name: Hence. Is that your last name or your first?
Where did you say you came from?” To my horror, she was going all Private Investigator
on him. “Cathy couldn’t remember.”

Hence looked first at me, then at her. “No place you’ve heard of,” he said, sounding
annoyed. His dark gaze fell on me again, and I gave him an apologetic smile.

Before Jackie could say another word, I threw both arms around her shoulders, gave
her a little warning squeeze, and laughed as though the situation weren’t desperately
awkward. “We’re going to go hang out in Washington Square Park. I heard they’re filming
a movie there,” I told Hence, though we hadn’t made any such plan. “You must have
a break soon, right? Want to come?” I gave Jackie one more warning squeeze and released
her. “I promise my nosy friend here won’t interrogate you any more.”

“I can’t.” Now Hence was staring down at his sneakers, like he did the day we met.
Oh, great: I was actually losing ground.

“What if we helped you with that?” I waved toward the army of yellow and red dispensers.
“It wouldn’t take long.” Without even looking at her, I could feel Jackie’s eyes boring
into me, asking what on earth I was thinking, offering her up for unpaid manual labor.

“The club’s expecting a delivery.” Hence cast a glance around the room. “I’m the only
one here.”

“Some other time, then.” I grabbed Jackie’s hand and tugged
her toward the door. “See you around.” I gave him a cheery little wave over my shoulder.
He waved back warily and returned to his work.

The minute we were on the sidewalk and safely out of earshot, I released Jackie’s
hand and spun to confront her. “What
was
that?”

“You’re asking me? I’m not the one offering to do the waiter’s work for him. Oh… excuse
me. Busboy-slash-janitor-slash-mystery man.”

“As if it would kill you to fill some ketchup dispensers.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You didn’t even try to get to know him.”

“I did try. And you stopped me.” She thrust her chin out. “Why are the most basic
facts about this guy such a huge question mark?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Sooner or later he’ll let his guard down.”

“But why is his guard
up
?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll find out. As long as my so-called best friend doesn’t scare
him off by treating him like a suspect.”

“I’m not your so-called anything.” Jackie sounded hurt. “He seems shady to me.”

“If he was trying to hide something about himself, he could lie,” I said, more to
myself than to Jackie. “He could just make up a hometown, right? And a last name.”

“So, why? Why be so mysterious?”

“I think he’s been hurt,” I said. “It’s like he’s escaping something.”

“So you’re psychic now.”

“Just observant.” The matter settled, I started down the street.