Lone Star (21 page)

“Your family name is Rainbow?”

“Your family name is Divine?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes for me, too.”

An incredulous Chloe snorted. “Come on, what's your
real
name? No one is called Johnny Rainbow.”

“What's your real name? No one is called Chloe Divine.”

“Yes, they are. Me. My dad.”

“Her mother changed one letter on her birth certificate,” Hannah piped in. “So she's actually the only Divine.”

“I bet she is.” His smile was ridiculous and insubordinate. He was so good-natured, it was impossible to stay mad at him, to remain hostile to him. “Brilliant! Even better. Well, then, my mother changed one letter, too.”

“Which one?”

“V. She changed it to a W.”

Chloe blanked as she tried to figure out what he meant. He was making it tough for her to concentrate because he was too close, his teasing eyes dancing, roaming.

“We used to be Rainbov,” he explained. “My mother was afraid the V made me seem too Russian.”

“You're Russian?”

“I said
seem.
”

“You're having us on,” Hannah exclaimed. “Your name was not Johnny Rainbov.”

“Of course not. Johnny is an Americanization. I was Ivan.”

“Ivan Rainbov.”

“Correct.”

And Chloe laughed.

Ah! Vanish the beguiling idle gypsies of this world, wasting
my golden flames on your common impulses. The PA came on. The announcement said something about Riga. Thank God. Almost there.

“Girls, I have a proposal for you,” said Johnny. “It's a great plan. Want to hear?”

Hannah

The boy is so cute and harmless and full of charm. I don't know why Chloe has taken such a dislike to him. He's like a puppy. Plus he's easy on the eyes, I won't deny. She's being so rude. She was turned to the window the entire time he was making conversation. And why shouldn't he talk to us? It makes the time pass. I said that to her when he left the cabin for a minute. What's the matter with you, I said, it's just to make the time pass, and she said, and I think she was quoting somebody, the time will pass either way, and I replied (I think quoting somebody, too), yes, but not as rapidly.

I asked if he was crowding her. Clearly he was, trying to squeeze into the narrow space between a hostile Chloe and a huge woman with a proportionately huge crush on him. I don't see Chloe giving
her
the evil eye, like she's been giving me. I said that to Chloe, and she gave me an even worse evil eye and said, “She's not my friend, and she's not going out with Blake, and do you
not
see the difference?”

“No, I don't see the difference, Miss Judgy Pants,” I said. “I don't see what the big deal is. The ride will be over soon and we'll never have to talk to him or see him again.” I think Chloe misunderstands me. I'm not interested in him. He reminds me of my brother, the same slovenly I-don't-care-about-anything air about him. But he's cuter than Jason, he's got a winning smile, and he's not surly, like Chloe. I must talk to her when I get a chance, tell her that no boy, even one as sweet as Mason, likes sulky girls. Plus aren't we here for the experience, I said to her, and this is one of them, meeting strangers, striking up conversations.

The one possibly problematic thing is the favor he's asked of us. But I said to her, I know it's not the sixties anymore, but can we all just chill a tiny bit? Why so rigid, so tense, so planned? Why can't we just float where the river takes us, for damn once?

Chloe thinks the boys might be upset. She is wrong. They'll be fine.

Blake

I am without words. And until the girls came home it had been such a good day. Mason and I spent the day in Jurmala. The girls would've loved it. The sun was out, everybody on the Majori beach, loud music, great food. We swam, drank Black Balsam, found some stuff for the girls. Jomas Street near the beach was an endless buffet of cafés, restaurants, shops, street vendors, and live performers on every corner. I almost wish we could go back there tomorrow to show the girls.

I bought Hannah a purse mirror, covered in amber. Mason couldn't find anything for Chloe, though he kept looking at a lot of amber jewelry, small vases, picture frames, postcards of the beach. He bought some things, but nothing specifically for her. I showed him an amber-colored knit beanie she would've liked. “For Chloe, because it's cold up in Bangor,” I said to him. For some reason he wasn't as impressed with the beanie as I was. She's got plenty of hats, he said. He found her some caramels instead.

The sand was white and cool, the beach wide and long. The Riga Gulf at the end of July was slightly warmer than the Atlantic off the coast of Maine, but only just. It was hot out. We didn't want to leave. We had dinner there; Mason found a sausage-and-potato pie he quite liked from a street seller. I bought three helpings of a herring, beet, and apple salad. It was crazy good. We bought some pierogi, we thought with potato, but it was with cabbage. I laughed so hard watching Mason struggle with it in his mouth that a little of the cabbage came out
my nose. We got in maybe half an hour before the girls. Varda and her family had already eaten, but Sabine was warming up some food anyway. She said the girls would be starved for sure when they got home.

The girls were many things when they strolled in, around nine. Starved was one of them. The other thing they were was not alone. They dragged a homeless person in with them. I don't mean this facetiously. I don't mean this to be droll. I'm not even using hyperbole the way I do in my prize-winning story, to emphasize a point. I mean this in the most literal sense. My girlfriend and my brother's girlfriend brought to Varda's house a vagrant with a ponytail who asked if he could stay the night because he had nowhere else to go and no money.

He shook my hand! He shook Mason's hand. “Hi, I'm Johnny,” he said.

I asked to see Hannah outside under the peach trees for a moment.

“What's the matter?” she said sweetly. “He needs a floor for the night. And for that he's going to give us a free tour tomorrow! It's a great deal for us. He's supposed to be excellent. There's even a boat ride. His tours usually cost fifty latu.”

“Are you crazy? We're not going on tour with him!”

“Why not? You said yourself we were going to hire a guide tomorrow. It's serendipity.” She frowned. “Why are you upset? I don't understand.”

“You don't understand?
I
don't understand!”

“I thought you'd be pleased. I saved us a hundred dollars.”

“I don't care about the money.”

“It's not your money, that's why. But Chloe cares.”

“So whose idea was this? Chloe's?”

“Johnny's. I told you. He asked us—a place to sleep in exchange for a tour—and we said yes.”

“He asked you and you said yes,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you before or after you told him that you were both traveling with your boyfriends?”

“Blake, it's not like that. Come on. It's just an adventure. A new bend in the river.”

“You invited him without asking Varda first?”

“Well, how were we going to ask her? Just think about what you're saying. We were on a train. And Varda doesn't care. Look at her.”

True. Through the windows, I saw Varda cozy with Johnny in the living room, chatting to him (in Latvian?), a drink already in his hand!

“Hannah,” I said, “there are thousands of men on the streets of Europe who have no place to go.”

“We can't save everybody,” Hannah said. “Not even Zhenya. But we can help this one.”

“Who the hell is Zhenya? Another bum?”

“No. I'll tell you later. I'm starved. Do you want to come and sit with us while we eat?”

“Where did you find him, at the orphanage?”

“Of course not. I told you, we met him on the train. It's no big deal. After tomorrow you'll never have to see him again. Blake . . .” Questioningly, she pulled her arm away from my grip. “What's gotten into you?”

I don't know what got into me. Clearly something, otherwise why would I be acting like such a jerk? The guy had a ponytail of wavy black hair pulled back tight off his face. He had designer stubble and a beret! Who in the world wears a fucking beret? He brought with him a guitar, a smell of smoke and alcohol, white teeth always on disgusting display, and produced flowers and a bottle of Black Balsam to give to Varda as a gift. Maybe if he used the money he'd just spent on gifts to get himself a bed at a hostel, he wouldn't be here.

He pretended to be polite. He spoke English. Varda brought out a place setting for him and he sat at the table—at the head!—
Carmen on one side of him, Varda on the other. Sabine and Guntis had gone to bed. Otto was outside. Mason sat by Chloe. I had no choice but to fit in next to Hannah and fume in silence. He clearly also spoke a little Latvian, because he opened his hands and said, “
Pienaˉcis mans Kungs
.”

“Oh, dude,” Mason said. “They've been saying it for three days. What is that?”

Johnny smiled as if he knew everything. “That's the Lutheran prayer.
Come, my Lord.
That's
all
they say. They never add the rest of it.
Come, my Lord, light my way to salvation
.”

“I knew it was a prayer!” Mason exclaimed, and I muttered that it was hardly the riddle of the Sphinx, but no one heard.

He told Mason and me, as if we cared what he thought, that we had two very fine girlfriends, and that Maine was a great and noble state. He told us he had once worked a summer in Wiscasset.

“That's on the water,” I said. “We're inland.”

“Near the White Mountains,” Mason added. “What were you doing in Wiscasset?”

“Yeah, a long way from home for me,” he said. “But a couple of years ago when I was out looking for this thing or that, and had the summer to kill, I hitched to Wiscasset.” He smiled. “Got a job as a worm digger.”

Chloe shuddered, trying not to show her disgust. Why did that bring me joy?

“Oh yeah, baby,” he continued happily. “Wiscasset is the worm capital of the world. I'm talking bloodworms
and
sandworms. I was paid fifty cents for each one I dug up.” He shrugged. “Made okay money. But had to stand all day knee-deep in fetid goopy silt out in the mudflats. I was black like tar all summer, and smelled like rotting earth and black worms. So you can imagine how well I did with the ladies.” He grinned. “I made nearly two hundred bucks a day, though. Saved up my money, and came here.”

“And he's been in Europe for two years!” Hannah said, as if it was all just so hopelessly romantic.

Chloe spoke to me. “Blake, would someone pay fifty cents for a worm?”

“If you were a bait fisherman, you would,” said Johnny.

I cut in. She was asking me, not him. “The better and bigger the worm, the better and bigger fish you'll catch.” I looked away from him. And from her, looking at him.

“I've never met happier people than I did in Wiscasset,” Johnny said, eating ravenously. “Except maybe my grandparents. Are they happy like that in your town, too? In Wiscasset everyone lives as if they've won the lottery of life. I couldn't stay there, but boy did I envy them that did.”

We said nothing. He told us he needed the floor for just one night because tomorrow he was leaving early. His first guided tour was at eight in the morning, and he had two others before he could fit us in. “I could give you a private tour, as promised, or you can join me on one of my other tours. Don't worry,” he added, with a winsome smile, “in two hours I will show you more things in Riga than all the other tour guides can show you in six.”

I hated him from the moment I saw him.

“Thanks,” I said, “but we already hired a guide. Gave him a deposit. Can't back out now.”

Mason looked disappointed. “You sure, bro?” he said to me. “You sure we can't cancel? Johnny says he'll do it for free.”

Mason and I had booked Gregor that morning, before our train to Jurmala. I wanted to inform my brother that whatever Johnny was doing, it sure as hell wasn't going to be free, but I didn't. “We can't cancel, Mase,” I said. “I gave the dude a deposit.”

“Who did you book?” Johnny asked.

“A guy. You wouldn't know him.”

“I know all the tour guides in Riga,” he said, eating so heartily he might have really been homeless. “Who?” When I told him it was Gregor, he smiled into his cabbage. “Good luck,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Did that come out rude? I didn't care.

“Nothing. He's very knowledgeable. You'll see.”

Varda served Johnny. He thanked her, listened to her, replied in Latvian, complimented her sausage pie, her vinegar porridge. She chuckled like a schoolgirl. He was ingratiating and infuriating.

I've never had such a visceral reaction to a complete stranger. I was so upset with the girls that I almost couldn't listen to Chloe's story about the orphanage. She said she'd found someone for her parents, a little boy named Raymonds, but she could barely get the words out before Johnny started telling us about Liepaja and what a shame it was that they hadn't stayed longer in that long-forgotten city.

Why would the girls do this? Why would they pick up a strange guy and involve him in any way in our life? We had been so happy together. He could be a murderer. He might rob us in the middle of the night, cut our throats, leave with Moody's money and our passports. Sure, he seems friendly. The Boston Strangler wore a suit for most of his life. He was the most polite man, right up to, and maybe even after, the moment he obtained unforced entry into the homes of the women he assaulted and strangled. They let Albert DeSalvo inside their homes, I wanted to shout. What does politeness matter in cases like this? Vigilance is what's firmly required.