Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(22)

CHAPTER 15

The house was transformed. The front yard was trimmed like a poodle, hedges cut back, fallen oranges picked up and put into bowls at the porch railing, weeds and dead things gone.

“I’ll let you know if I have to go anywhere for Mister Drazen,” Lil said as she blocked the driveway behind a catering truck with chocks under the wheels.

I nodded, my throat too wrecked for one unnecessary word.

“Monica!” Carlos, our neighbor from two doors down, ran toward me holding a manila envelope. He was a cop and very protective of everyone on the block. “Hi, I heard what happened. I’m real sorry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“She had me look stuff up for her sometimes. About people. Celebrities and agents.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sweetly. “She took me out to dinner or something in exchange.”

I wondered what “or something” meant and decided I was fine not knowing.

He handed me the envelope. “This was the last thing.”

I took it and patted him on the arm. “Will I see you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll come by.”

We parted, and I headed for the house. I walked up the steps to the porch, which had been swept. Potted plants had appeared, giving the sense that the porch was a well thought-out, finished space. Yvonne, who I hadn’t seen since the night I stopped working at Hotel K, almost knocked me over as she strode out to the catering truck.

“Whoa! Monica!” She smiled and kissed my cheek. “You working this gig? Double time. Boo-ya.”

Shit. I was going to have to explain, and I didn’t have the time, inclination, or vocal capability.

“I live here,” I said in breaths.

Yvonne opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, cocking her head. “Girl, they said it was Drazen’s girlfriend.” Her eyes were wide and her face accusatory in a good-humored way. “I saw a picture on TMZ from that art show, I thought that was you.”

“Hello!” Debbie called from inside the house. “Let’s keep it moving.”

“Later. I’ll explain.”

“I want details,” Yvonne said before kicking up the pace to the truck.

The living room had been transformed as well, with chafing dishes on long tables, new lamps, and clean corners.

Debbie took my hands. “How are you doing?”

“You work at the Stock. Jonathan owns K.”

“You do sound terrible. No more talking. I volunteered when I heard. No one from K could do it but Freddie, and he’s on probation. Can’t get within arm’s reach of a waitress, or he’ll be cleaning toilets, or so I hear. You know how the rumor mill works. You. Now. We had the bathroom cleaned, so don’t leave a mess. Go.”

She pushed me across my own living room. I knew three of the people working the wake. All were dressed in catering formals, and all looked at me an extra second before getting back to it. I was mortified. They all thought they were doing an emergency party for the hotel owner’s girlfriend, and it was me.

I went into my room and closed the door behind me. My closet was full of black. I chose a pair of pants and a sweater. I didn’t want anything fancy or special, no bows, sparkly buttons, or short skirts. It didn’t matter that Gabby liked it when I went sparkly; I didn’t feel sparkly. I felt shitty, and I was going to respect her by wearing something so down and boring I’d be invisible.

I stripped down for a shower, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was naked, sure, but without that diamond in my navel, I had a worried pang. I couldn’t let Jonathan see me without it. I’d have to explain or lie, and I wasn’t ready to do either.

I took my shower, dressed, and made up in nudes and neutrals in twenty-four minutes, then texted Jonathan.

—Thanks for everything—

The answer shot back in seconds.

—My pleasure. In a meeting. See you there—

There? He was coming? I didn’t know why I hadn’t expected that. He’d come to me in minutes when I needed him; he wouldn’t sit out my best friend’s wake. I kicked off the sensible shoes I’d chosen and slipped into the red-soled pumps from the Eclipse show.

Carlos’s envelope lay on my bed. I cracked it open and slid out a single sheet of paper. The heading was for Westonwood Acres, an exclusive retreat that was actually a mental institution. The paper was an admission form, and I froze when I saw the name of the admitted.

Jonathan S Drazen III

His age was right next to the date, so I didn’t have to calculate that he had been sixteen. Everything else was blacked out with thick lines.

That was what Gabby had to tell me. I shoved the paper back in the envelope and stuffed it in my drawer with shaking hands.

CHAPTER 16

Darren shuffled up the hill on time. He glanced at me as he passed into the house. I didn’t know what he thought of the house’s transformation, but I didn’t care, and I was ready to defend Jonathan again.

People came, east-side hipsters, west-side musicians, and a few teachers from Colburn who would express sympathy for the vaporized talent. They were all going to want to talk to me. I knew about seventy percent of them by name at least, but the thought of talking to all of them and explaining my “laryngitis” was going to make it ten times the drag it had to be.