Lingerie For Felons (13 page)

‘Oh, God, of course. You must go.'

‘Look, Lola. It might take a while. You look like you're almost finished. Do you think your parents can get you home? I'll be there as soon as I can get away.'

Linus clapped a hand on Clark's shoulder and started to knead it. ‘Don't worry, buddy,' he assured him. ‘I'll make sure Lola gets back to her folks. Now, Lola, before y'go, do y'wanna see where we do the line-ups It's really cool.'

As we moved off, I couldn't decide if Clark was going to explode or look for somewhere to wash his shoulder. He was red in the face and twitching undecidedly.

Anyway, by the time I finally got back to Mom and Dad they were pacing the floor. In all the excitement of the station tour I'd forgotten they'd started talking about something before I'd left. After checking the processing had all gone to plan, and being updated on the Clark emergency, Mom started again.

‘So, honey, everything alright with you guys?'

‘Of course,' I confirmed quickly. ‘All's good.'

Mom drew in a deep breath and I didn't know what she was about to say but I was pretty sure I didn't want to hear it, whatever it was. So I started spewing out information randomly, hoping to throw them off course.

‘Um…the apartment's nice. Bit cold really, a few heating problems, but, you know, nice. I've settled in.'

Mom kept looking at me, then slowly folded her arms across her chest as she listened to me rattle on. I kept going. It was like a train smash. I knew I was going to tell them, but part of me wanted to hold off as long as possible.

‘Um…Clark's going well at the PD. Actually, he's probably done about as much as he can do there. Really, you know…' I trailed off.

Mom watched me silently. And it just popped out, like stuff always does if she waits and watches quietly enough, letting me dig my own grave. ‘He's been approached to…he's thinking about…running.'

‘Running?' Mom narrowed her eyes.

‘Yep. Running for office. You know, political office,' I confirmed.

‘Wow,' Dad whistled. ‘I wondered... I mean, I knew he had some links with the local Democrats…'

‘Yeah,' I cut him off. ‘I mean, you know, he hasn't decided yet.'

There was an awkward silence.

‘Okay, Mom,' I conceded, watching the play or emotions across her face. I'd played my trump card and I could tell she wasn't being diverted from whatever she needed to say. ‘What is it? Spit it out.'

‘Lola, I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to say it, okay?'

Oh God, Mom is feeling inarticulate. The world must be about to end.

I braced myself.

‘I think Wayne might be waiting outside to see you.'

‘You think?' I hissed. ‘What? Like, you had a premonition? You were sitting there waiting for me and the Ghost of Boyfriends Past possessed you and revealed a presence on the street outside? What do you mean?'

‘It's not like it seems, darling,' Dad said. ‘We didn't bring him here or anything.'

‘Did you know he was coming?' My mind was racing.

‘We-ell, yes,' Dad conceded. ‘But only because we happened to be talking to him when we got the phone call from Clark.'

‘Stop,' I ordered him. He's a man used to taking orders, so he did as he was told. ‘What did you mean, you were talking to him? It's been three years. Three and a half, actually. Why the hell were you talking to him? Why did he call?'

‘Well, no, sweetheart,' Dad continued. ‘He didn't call. He was at the apartment. We were talking to him there. He dropped by.'

My brain was still not managing to fit all the pieces together. I felt my breath sawing raggedly in and out, in and out.

Wayne.

Outside.

Wayne of my dreams. Wayne of my nightmares.

Why was he here?

‘Dad, you're not making sense. Why did Wayne drop by your apartment, out of the blue, after three years?'

Mom this time. ‘No, Lolly darling,' she began. ‘It wasn't out of the blue. He's kept in touch. He's always kept in touch, over the last few years. Just, you know, the odd thing. Post-cards. Christmas cards. Presents.'

Dad chipped in. ‘Yankees tickets. The odd visit.'

‘He's visited you before?' I was astonished. Traitors. They've been carrying on a clandestine relationship with Wayne
. Behind my back.

‘I can't believe you didn't tell me.'

‘Well.' Dad flushed. ‘There wasn't that much to tell, really. And then, after a while, we kind of knew you'd be annoyed.'

‘Oh gee, really? Crazy me. I must be nuts. No wonder you couldn't get Clark's name right for a year, Mom. You were sleeping with the enemy.'

‘Oh, Lola.' Five minutes is about as long as Mom ever manages to stay contrite. ‘It's not like that and you know it. Of course we're on your team. But there didn't seem to be any harm in keeping in touch with him. He's not the devil.'

‘Yeah,' Dad agreed. ‘Such a lovely boy.'

‘Oh yeah,' I hissed. ‘
Such a lovely boy
. Him and the genocidal diamond merchants, all great guys. Should have them over for Thanksgiving. We can talk about how to screw the local workers, maybe the best ways to murder some unionists. I know, how about we go cut some kids hands off if they try to escape? What a blast that'd be.'

Mom looked offended. ‘He doesn't work for them anymore. Hasn't been in Sierra Leone for eighteen months or so.'

‘Really?' I shot them both a really cool look. ‘Well, I guess you would know. Him being your new best friend and all.'

‘Lola,' Mom warned. ‘That's not even clever. You're not five years old.'

I paused, trying to find a way to ask that didn't sound too interested.

‘Alright, what's he doing now then?'

I had a sudden, burning need to know.

Dad tried to look offhand, but he blew out his breath. ‘He bought a company. Just a little one apparently. Shipping.'

Great. He's a freaking shipping magnate now.

I had an instant vision of Wayne in a sailor's hat, tattoo on his arm, pipe in his mouth. Can of spinach. And me, all got up as Olive Oil, my black hair pulled back in a bun. Then, just as quickly, Popeye morphed into Blackbeard, and Wayne was dancing across my mind's eye with a parrot on his shoulder, chasing me and growling ‘arrrgghhhr' like a bad extra in a pirate movie. Then, almost as quickly, he was dressed all in white and spinning the wheel of some exotic looking ocean liner, weaving through blue, blue seas and past islands dotted with white churches and colorful
tavernas
. I was sprawled like a decadent muse on the deck, in a gold one piece with long windows cut out either side of my navel, and strappy gold stilettos. Aristotle Onassis to my post-Kennedy Jackie.

I shook my head. What the hell was going on here? I felt a surge of irritation that he'd been so successful. It really doesn't matter what circumstances see you break up with someone, how much you hated them, or loved them. The most important thing is that when you run across each other years later, you are more successful than them. On every axis. Career, love, et cetera. How the hell could I compete with a shipping magnate?

‘He's not a magnate or anything,' Dad offered. ‘But I think he's been doing pretty well with it. It was pretty run down apparently. He wanted to see if he could turn it around.'

‘Okay.' I tried to pull myself together. ‘So, you stayed in touch. Nice.' Dad winced. ‘So how did he come to be in your apartment today and why the hell is he waiting downstairs? And, while we're at it, what the hell have you been telling him about me for the past few years?'

Mom took over again. She explained how he had dropped by a few times when he'd been in town. She insisted he hadn't asked about me, and I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or peeved.

‘Clark?' I needed to know. ‘What did you tell Wayne about him?'

‘He never asked,' Mom explained. ‘You know what's he's like; so good at knowing the right thing to say. Or not to say.'

‘Oh yeah,' I agreed sarcastically. ‘Absolutely. A regular Kofi Annan.'

She continued as though I hadn't spoken. ‘So we didn't say anything. He knows. though. I saw him looking at the picture on the fridge — your last birthday.'

I knew the one she meant. Me with Heidi and Steve at our local bar. And Clark, with his arm proprietarily around me. I'd stopped on the way to the bar to chat to a bag lady. Clark had yanked me away when I'd started scribbling down my phone number on the back of my bus ticket for her. I wonder if Wayne had been able to tell that I was ever-so-slightly leaning away from Clark in that picture, that my shoulder was ever-so-marginally inching away from his beautiful, long fingers? I guessed not. And why would I want him to?

‘Huh,' I breathed. ‘So, what about him. Has he…er, you know, got anyone?'

‘No,' Dad supplied. ‘I don't think so. He's never mentioned it.'

‘Anyway, doesn't matter,' I continued, although of course it did. I felt a shiver run up and down my spine. ‘I don't really care. He can do what he wants. Well, he does anyway, obviously, sneaking around with my parents like some teenage delinquent. But anyway, what the hell is he doing downstairs?'

Dad sighed. ‘He was worried about you, Lolly.' Dad rubbed his eyes and I noticed deep lines around them for the first time. ‘He… He said there's been so much craziness in this city lately. He was just worried about how the cops might be, what might happen.'

Mom took up the story. ‘He left shortly after the call, because we were getting organized to come down here. But we saw him, downstairs, here at the precinct. Waiting. He's waiting. Look, honey. We can tell him to go, you know. We can talk to him. If you really want us to, we can make him go. He'll understand.'

My eyes narrowed at Mom. You probably engineered this, Mom, you wily old cow.

‘No.' No, no, no. ‘I'll talk to him.'

The Devil and the deep — outside the Ninth, two hours later

There he was.

Looking exactly like he had three and a half years before, but with shorter hair, and yes, a slightly older face. He was thirty-one now; a baby tycoon.

‘Hello,' I said. ‘The traitors have confessed. I know all about your infiltration.'

He laughed his great big belly laugh. ‘Oh good. I guess you got most of the yelling off your chest already, then? I hope so. They're much more used to it than me.'

‘Well, I've still got a bit saved up. You know, if you're feeling too disappointed.'

‘Nah, I'll live,' he said.

His eyes were all crinkly and I'd forgotten how broad his accent was. It smoothed out sore and swollen places inside me. He was dressed in a black winter coat. It made him look kind of menacing, and I was reminded of our vampire days, drinking each other in like lost souls.

‘Mom was wrong,' I said. ‘You are the devil.'

‘Come to roast your flesh and eat it,' he agreed.

He was joking, but there was nevertheless something so primal about his words that the atmosphere charged up. I found myself wondering if his eyebrows still tasted really salty, and whether he was still ticklish in that scooped indent above his buttocks. I had no idea what he was thinking, but his eyes went dark and he seemed pretty fixated on my lips.

I knew I had to change the mood, or we were going to end up on top of each other on the street. And then I really would be facing down charges. For indecent exposure. And I couldn't be sure Clark would be so thrilled to help me out this time.

‘So, shipping? That's great. What're you doing back in New York?'

But I needn't have bothered with the small talk. This was Wayne, and he wasn't buying it.

‘Why didn't you call?'

I didn't need to ask what he meant. ‘We were broken up,' I reminded him.

‘No, Rocket.' He looked right into me. ‘Why didn't you
ever
call? I left messages. Lots of them.'

‘What was the point? What would you have done? Come home? Taken me there?'

He stamped his foot and punched one hand into the other. ‘I have no idea. I don't really care. I just wanted to hear your voice. And I know something else. You wanted to hear mine. You stubborn, stubborn woman.'

Huh, woman. He said
woman
. Good to know some lessons stick.

There was even less point to this conversation than there had been to the last one we had, outside the sixth, three years before. But I saw it stretching out before me, going on and on, twisting us both a few more notches on the rack. I took a breath.

‘No Wayne, I didn't want to. And I don't need to now. I've moved on.'

He seemed to deflate at that. All that cocky confidence disappeared, like homeless people during an Olympics bid. He was very still.

He shrugged. ‘Okay, then. Fine.'

And then, after a moment, he shook his head a little and breathed out.

‘So…are you okay? They were all right in there? You're going to be all right?'

He reached out and touched the sleeve of my jacket, next to my hand, and as he pulled it away, our fingers touched. And grabbed each other. We didn't talk, or move, but our fingers stayed clamped together like they had a life of their own.

We stood there, looking at those intertwined fingers. It was like they were the most perplexing things since Bill Clinton and Jennifer Flowers made the whole nation go ‘ick'. A familiar, unseen hand was working its way down through my insides, seeking out the tenderest places, looking for its target. It stopped when it got to my stomach, and, like a lover reunited with an old flame, started caressing it tenderly. Then stroking and squeezing it more urgently. I felt myself start to kind of…vibrate inside. Like little electric shocks were working their way from the inside out.

Oh my God. Is this what it feels like just before you have an epileptic fit?