Notes From the Backseat (12 page)

“Shut up, man,” Phil told him before kissing Joni and following him outside.

When the boys were gone, Dannika went to the big backpack she'd slung onto the couch and unzipped a side pocket. She pulled out a small black film canister and a delicate glass pipe that reminded me of the miniature animals I used to collect when I was little. “You want to smoke?” she asked us.

I stood and started helping Joni with the dishes, hoping she wouldn't take Dannika up on her offer. The last time I got stoned was at that Halloween party in college, when I ended up cowering in the arms of a towering Greta Garbo in drag. You know I become a paranoid idiot with one hit, but I didn't want to be the only one abstaining.

“No, thanks.” Joni squeezed Dannika's arm as she passed. “Get Phil high, though. He needs to chill.”

“Roger that.” She slipped out the door.

There was a pause, filled only with the sound of dishes clunking around in the sink. I shuttled plates and cups from the table to the tile mosaic counter beside her. “How did you two end up here?” I asked, picking up a dishtowel to dry while she scrubbed.

“I'm from here,” she said. “My parents actually live on the property. They've got an old Finnish farmhouse down the road about half a mile—the house I grew up in.” She looked out the window, wistful. “Never thought I'd come back, tell you the truth.” Her smile was a little sad. “But here I am.”

“Brave girl,” I said. “I could never live within a hundred miles of my parents.”

“Where are they?” she asked.

“My mom's in Sebastopol. That's where I grew up.”

She looked at me. “And your dad?”

Oh, God, why did this keep coming up? I'd have to learn to steer conversations more carefully. “He's up here somewhere,” I said evasively.

“Up
here?
” she echoed.

“Yeah, this area. I haven't talked to him in four years.” Somehow, saying it, I felt the weight of those years in the pit of my stomach. I lost my grip and the dish I was drying shattered into tiny pieces as it hit the terra-cotta floor.

“Shit,” I said. “I'm so sorry.”

“No problem.” Joni got out a broom and dustpan; within minutes, she'd whisked it all off into the garbage and had her hands once again in the sudsy water of the sink. She might look like a Rasta-hippie, but she was efficient. I liked that about her.

When the dishes were all dried and put away, she said, “You want a tour? I can show you the recording studio, the farmhouse, the sauna—the entire
estate.
” She said this last word mockingly.

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds great.”

She cast a dubious glance at my shoes. “It's a little muddy out there. You want to borrow some boots?”

I looked down at my kitten heels. Already, they were a little dirty just from walking to the front door. It dawned on me then that I'd been encased in L.A. for nearly half a lifetime, now. I mean yeah, I went home on occasion, but I made it a point never to stay more than a day or two and we limited our activities to holiday meals or the occasional rented movie. In my world—the one I lived in day to day—it was all sidewalks and carpeting, marble foyers and taxicabs. Seeing the mud staining my leopard-print heels reminded me of being little and wanting to wear things I couldn't because my mother insisted I feed the dogs or rake the lawn. I always despised tennis shoes. To me, they were hideous symbols of mediocrity, the antithesis of elegance.

“What size shoe do you wear?” Joni asked, rousing me from my thoughts.

“Size six.”

“Perfect!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Me, too.” She pursed her lips and squinted at me thoughtfully. “I think I have just the thing,” she said, and ran up the spiral staircase to the second floor.

I was sure she'd return clutching a pair of clunky hiking boots, probably in something practical and weatherproof like Gore-Tex, for God's sake. I shuddered at the image. When I heard her footsteps pattering down the stairs again, I was surprised to see her holding pale clothing in one arm and a beautiful pair of English riding boots in the other.

“It's my Nana's old riding outfit,” she said. “Very Katharine Hepburn. What do you think?” She put the boots on the floor near me and held up first a crisp, white cotton blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons, then a well-preserved pair of tan riding pants. I reached out to touch them, fingering the extended tab double-button closure. If I had to guess, I'd say they were from the early 1950s.

“Wow,” I said. “Lovely.”

“I bet they'll fit. Try them on.”

“Oh, I couldn't…”

“Sure, you could!” she enthused. Then she paused, a new thought dawning on her. “Oh, wait—do you hate this look? Coop said you're very particular about clothes. I don't want to force—”

“No!” I interrupted. “They're really gorgeous. But God, these were your Nana's. What if I get mud on something?”

She put one hand on her hip. “Gwen, come on, you think this is my style? Nana would be thrilled to see a beautiful girl like you wearing her clothes. No one else is going to. Seriously, go try them on.”

I didn't need any more encouragement. The outfit was a bit of a stretch for me, but only because it was all wrong for the streets of L.A. If I was going to don country garb, by God, this would be it. Plus, I was incredibly touched by the gesture. After almost thirty hours of dealing with Dannika's sadistic form of girl-bonding, I was misty-eyed at the kindness of strangers.

Once I was dressed, I checked myself out in the full-length mirror that stood next to the claw-foot tub. The white blouse was a perfect fit, and the riding pants hugged my curves in a way that flattered from every angle. The shiny, chestnut-brown knee-high boots were utterly delicious—so thoroughbred and classy I found myself adopting a haughty stare unconsciously in the mirror. Joni was right. The whole getup was pure
Bringing Up Baby.

When I came out of the bathroom, Joni let out a wolf whistle. Just then Phil came in the kitchen door, followed by Coop and Dannika. Coop smiled at me, shaking his head.

Dannika covered her mouth with two fingers and tried to choke down giggles. “Are you going riding?”

I could feel my face starting to burn. All my life, people have been laughing at my clothes. I should be used to it by now, but hearing it from Dannika, I felt a fresh wave of humiliation, as if it were happening for the very first time.

“You look amazing,” Coop said, after shooting Dannika a warning glance.

“Doesn't she?” Joni was excited. “These are my Nana's old clothes.”

“Oooh, let's dress up Gwen like a little doll.” Dannika wasn't laughing anymore, and her tone had an unmistakably nasty edge to it.

“What is your problem?” I stared her down. I think the boots were giving me courage; I felt suddenly very capable of kicking someone very hard, if need be. Possibly in the head.

“
My
problem? You're the one with a problem, okay, so don't hang it on me.”

My jaw dropped. “Me?” was all that came out.

“Yeah, you.” Every trace of the benevolent yoga goddess was gone; her anger was making her skin turn splotchy and her face looked less sculptural, more rodentlike, tensed for a fight. “Don't give me that innocent look, okay, Kewpie doll? I've had just about enough of your shit.”

“Cat fight,” Phil said under his breath.

Coop started to say, “Dannika, what the—?” but I interrupted him.

“No, let her get it off her chest,” I said. “She's obviously been dying to call me childish names for quite a while.”

“Don't get all condescending,” she spat. “I saw your mother's house—I know the mediocre bullshit world you come from. So don't cop this holier-than-thou attitude.”

I looked her right in the eye. “Sure,” I said evenly. “Anything you say, Donna.”

She took a step back, wobbling slightly, as if I'd slapped her. Then she shot a look at Coop, wheeled around and ran out the door, slamming it behind her.

I cast a quick, furtive glance around the room. Phil was groping again for his cigarettes. Joni was gnawing on her bottom lip, her eyes on Phil. Coop was staring at me like I was a complete stranger. After an unbearable silence, Coop shook his head once as if waking himself from a dream and followed Dannika out the door, calling her name.

So there you have it. My first assignment as an undercover agent and what do I do? Spill my secret code word, blow my cover and piss everyone off in the process.

Now I'm upstairs in the cozy guestroom all alone, writing in my little diary like a sulky teen while Coop and my nemesis are out there somewhere in the backwoods of FUBAR Ranch. If I know Dannika, she's leaping through the forest like a spooked gazelle while Coop chases after her; when he finds her, he'll have to physically stop her, trying to be gentle as he grabs hold of her arm, only she'll thrash about and the next thing you know we'll have a
Call of the Wild
sex scene on our hands.

Shit. I hear footsteps on the stairs. More later.

Dishonored and disgraced,
Gwen

3:10 p.m.

 

D
ear Marla,

The footsteps on the stairs were Joni's. She knocked softly and when I responded she poked her head in and said, “You ready for that tour?”

I winced. “I was sort of thinking I'd be evicted soon.”

She let out a low, throaty laugh. “It takes a lot more than that to get kicked out of FUBAR.”

I stood up and put my leopard print coat on. “Glad to hear it.”

We walked downstairs together. The house had seemed festive and lively just twenty minutes ago; now it was steeped in the silence that follows an argument. When we stepped outside, there were two crows cawing at each other midair, swooping erratically, but it was hard to say if they were playing, mating or attacking. To me it looked like they were out for blood, but maybe it was just my mood. The air was cool but the sun on our faces was warm and the breeze carried the scent of blackberries. We walked for a couple of minutes in silence, which is a long time to resist babbling with someone you barely know, but something about Joni made it easy to say nothing.

When we reached a little wooden shack with a chimney and an outdoor shower Joni said, “Here's the sauna. The Fins who first came here built it.”

“You guys use it?” I asked.

“Phil does. I get kind of claustrophobic. I don't really like to get so hot, but he's into extremes. We're sort of opposites in that way.”

We walked a little farther and she pointed to a pile of flat rocks at the edge of the forest with clumps of calla lilies sprouting around it. “Our family dog is buried over there. Sam. We got him when I was three.”

“Wow,” I said, “you go way back here, don't you?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Sometimes it feels like living with a bunch of ghosts. But Phil and I built our house, so that's fresh territory. The studio's all new, which my dad's really psyched about. He's a bluegrass guy, so now he gets all his friends up here to record—bunch of hayseed hippies with banjos and washboards.”

“Cool.” I always feel a kinship with people dedicated to a bygone era.

We kept walking. The sun was behind us, sagging slightly westward; our shadows, etched into the dusty road before us, looked absurdly tall and thin. Her Nana's pants were comfortable and the boots seemed to cushion my feet with every step. I wondered what it would be like to dress this way every day—to walk with your feet so close to the earth, instead of clicking along a city sidewalk in dainty heels.

There was a swath of open, grassy meadow on either side of the road. To our right it stretched about forty feet before the forest of pine, oak and redwoods took over. On our left, it only extended about ten feet before it was swallowed by huge tangles of blackberry bushes, which butted up against more forest. I wondered again if Coop and Dannika were somewhere in those woods, and if words failed them, would they resort to the language of limbs and tongues and teeth?

“I totally messed up, didn't I?”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her peacoat. “Dannika's just uptight about her past. Coop told you?”

I nodded. “That's the worst part. Now he won't trust me.”

“Oh, he'll get over it.” She reached over and plucked a penny from the dust. “Here,” she said, “it's only good luck if I give it away.”

I took it from her. “Are you and Dannika pretty close?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She seems to like you.”

“I don't know why. We've just never really clicked. I've known her ten years…it's weird. She's a bit of a cokehead—her energy's too scattered for me. I'm surprised she's not doing lines yet.”

I stifled a giggle. “We had a little run-in with the law. She had to ditch what she had.”

Joni laughed out loud. “No shit?”

“It was pretty funny,” I said, letting myself laugh with her. When we were done giggling, I asked, “If you're not that close, why did she come all this way for your wedding?”

“Because of Coop. He's the only reason we even know her anymore. I mean Phil thinks she's sweet—we all feel kind of bad for her—but Coop's the one she goes to when she's in trouble.”

“You think he's her only friend?”

She didn't even hesitate. “Absolutely. And her only family. Her mom's the most asinine, shallow person you'll ever meet, her dad's dead, no siblings. She's totally alone.” She picked up a stone from the road and tossed it into the blackberry bushes. Three or four quail darted out into the open, then followed their leader back to the safety of the brambles. “She's threatened by you. You know that, don't you?”

I stopped walking. “Please. The woman's flawless. How could I possibly threaten her?”

Joni widened her eyes at me as if I was being dense. “Because Coop's crazy about you.”

“He's crazy about her, too.”

She scoffed. “Not in the same way.”

“Do you know that for a fact?” I stared at the road, now, suddenly shy.

“Wait a minute—are you under the impression that Coop and Dannika are
into
each other? Like, sexually?”

I shrugged. This was getting complicated. If I told Joni the story Dannika had dished this morning, wouldn't she be tempted to tell Coop? If she did, Coop would be on his guard, arranging his defenses before I could get to him—I'd never know the truth, and before long I'd be pushing forty with crow's feet, stuck in Van Nuys with three toddlers, fetching sippy cups while Coop cruised the city in a big SUV, getting his fill of nubile blondes. Besides, what was the advantage in telling Joni? She and Phil had been up here five years—she probably wouldn't even know about the bodily fluids being swapped in Malibu.

When I didn't say anything, Joni rested her hand on my shoulder. “Let me just tell you, Gwen, I've never seen Coop so happy, okay? Don't let Dannika screw that up.”

I felt tears suddenly stinging at the back of my eyes. “Except now…” I hesitated.

“Now what?”

“I'm just confused. I have a few trust issues, I guess, and this trip hasn't exactly been reassuring in that way.”

Joni picked up another rock and fired it at an old, mossy fir. She hit the trunk dead center, so hard that small bits of bark went flying.

“Wow,” I said. “Good shot.”

“I used to play fast-pitch in high school,” she said. “Now I write poems and cook soup.” Again, there was something melancholy in her tone—wistful or nostalgic or something. I wondered if she was happy with her life or if she'd just sort of washed up here, corralled by the currents back to her childhood home, like a bottle washed out to sea then ferried back again by the tides.

“I'm going to tell you a story,” she said, shifting gears. “I'm not telling you this to be gossipy, okay? I just think you should be armed with information, because there's no telling what Dannika will do or say to confuse you.”

“Okay…” This sounded promising—knowledge is power and all that—so I put on a neutral, receptive face, all the while thinking,
Secret Agent Gwen, back in action.

“About four years ago, Coop was involved with this girl named Victoria. She was somehow related to the Rockefellers, I think. Very blue blood, aristocratic, classic good looks. Sort of looked like you, actually, but tall and skinny.”

Ouch.

Joni saw my face. “No—bony skinny. Gross. No boobs, nothing.”

I gave her a
whatever
look.

“Anyway, she wasn't my cup of tea, but Coop was really taken with her. She was the first girl in years he seemed serious about.” Her caramel eyes found mine and I could tell by her face we were getting to the important part. “Dannika lost her shit. She'd call us every night complaining about what a bitch Victoria was, how wrong she was for Coop. One night she let herself into his apartment, got really drunk and passed out in his bed. When he and Vicky got home from their date, there she was, shit-faced. Not long after, Victoria broke up with Coop. Tell you the truth, I think it was about money. Coop could never make enough to keep a girl like that happy. But Phil thinks she didn't want to deal with a
Fatal Attraction
psycho.”

“What did Coop say about it?”

Joni smirked. “Well, he didn't really say anything. That's Coop for you. Even with us, he's secretive.”

I mulled this over. “So maybe he had something to hide.”

She looked puzzled. “Like what?”

“Like…” This was thin ice; I'd have to tread carefully. “Maybe he cheated on Victoria.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “He really liked her. Anyway, that's never been Coop's style.”

My heart surged at this, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions. “Have you ever known Coop to cheat on someone?”

She didn't even pause. “Nope.”

“But if he's secretive…” I let the sentence dangle, unfinished.

“Coop's not trying to cover his tracks, he just hates gossip—I mean,
hates
it. He doesn't talk about something if he thinks it'll come back to haunt him. I'm sort of shocked he told you the Donna Horney story.”

“Tonight at ten,” I said, in a mock news anchor voice,
“The Donna Horney Story.”

We both giggled, but I was feeling terrible. I'd betrayed Coop, turning our private communication into a big public drama. “I can't believe I did that,” I said. “God, I'm such a moron.”

“I'm guessing Dannika's mostly mad at Coop. It's one thing that you know, but it's worse that he told you. In her mind, that's pure betrayal. It means he's asked you into the inner circle.”

I swallowed and tried to keep my voice light. “So you don't think he and Dannika ever…?”

She smiled. “You and your ellipses! Ever what?”

“Ever got together?” I said with effort.

“No.”

“Come on, they're both obscenely attractive….”

She picked up another rock and tossed it gently from one hand to the other. “Just because they're beautiful doesn't mean they're destined to get it on,” she said, “if that's what you're thinking.”

When she said it like that, it did sound sort of juvenile.

“Coop really likes you, Gwen.” She gave me a funny look. “You're unusual. He likes unusual girls.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is
unusual
code for
freaky?
”

“We're all freaky,” she said. “But you're a freak with flair. Not everyone can pull that off.”

 

When we got back to the house, Phil was in the kitchen, talking on the phone. “Look,” he was saying, “I don't care if your mother died, your woman left you, your dog shit in your car—I don't
care.
You made a commitment, here, and you don't call me the day before the wedding to tell me…” He paused, listening, rolling his eyes at Joni. “I told you, Conrad, I don't give a shit about your personal dramas. We rented a sound system from you and you're going to deliver or I'm personally going to destroy your piss-poor excuse for a business. You got me?”

Joni went to him and pressed her hand flat against his chest. “What's he saying?”

He just shook his head at her, offered a weak smile. It died as soon as he started talking again. “Okay, okay, so have your brother deliver it. Fine. And remember, I know my speakers, so don't try to slip me your jerry-rigged bullshit knock-off brands, you got me? All right, later, man.” He hung up the phone and rubbed his forehead. “Fucking amateur.”

“Conrad?”

“Yeah, says his girlfriend moved to China and he can't get out of bed. Shit. He's sending his brother with the gear tomorrow.”

Joni looked alarmed. “Isn't his brother like fifteen?”

“Yeah. Whatever, man, we just can't worry about it.” He looked at me. “Who would've thought getting married would be such an administrative nightmare?”

Joni slipped an arm around his waist. “It'll be fine, babe.”

He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I know. Who cares? It's just a party.”

She looked up at him. “Just a party? Hello, it's our wedding.”

He smiled. “Exactly. And you're going to make me the happiest man alive, even if they deliver Peavey speakers.”

She frowned, nibbling on a cuticle.

He rubbed her shoulders. “You okay?”

I sensed they needed a moment, so I wandered into the living room. Coop and Dannika were sitting on the couch, talking in low voices. When I walked in they both stopped talking and looked up at me. Coop's face was unreadable, but Dannika's was openly hostile. Her pink nose and bloodshot eyes made it clear that she'd been crying.