Where It Began(68)

“Not okay!” Huey shouts.

Lisa says, “Don’t raise your voice, Jeremy.”

Huey says, “I’m talking to Gabby.”

Lisa and Anita sit planted in their folding chairs.

Huey crosses his arms. “I need to talk to Gabby. Do you mind?”

This is a new, improved and updated, Ferocious Huey that I’ve never seen before. I have the feeling this is the most conflict he and Lisa have ever had in their entire relationship, such as it is—that she refuses to get up out of her chair. So I say it’s all right with me and watch Lisa and Anita march out of the darkroom, glaring back at him.





LV


HUEY SAYS, “I THINK YOU NEED TO SEE ANOTHER lawyer.”

“I already have a lawyer,” I say. “What’s your point?”

“I mean a lawyer who isn’t related to Billy Nash,” he says. “Also, I think you should see a lawyer who isn’t brainless.”

“I don’t see how having Albert Einstein for a lawyer could help,” I say. “The facts kind of speak for themselves.”

“Well, they don’t have much choice, do they?” Huey shouts at me. “Given that you don’t seem interested in speaking for yourself!”

“What am I supposed to say, Huey? Give it a rest. I don’t remember anything.”

“Right,” says Huey, hitting himself on the forehead with an exaggerated, dopey look on his face, his tongue hanging out. “You don’t remember anything! How could I forget?”

“Duh. And I don’t see how anyone could fix it at this point even if I did remember. I just have to pretend I have a drinking problem and then I have to pretend to get cured and then I have to pretend to grow and change and then my record gets expunged and it all goes away. Even a brain-dead lawyer could figure out this one.”

Huey looks amazed. “Is that what your lawyer told you?” he says. “Did someone actually tell you that that’s what you’re supposed to do? This is almost as mind-blowing as the part where you don’t have a drinking problem. Did he tell you that too? What is wrong with you?”

“Stop it, Huey. Just stop it! The lawyer thinks I’m fixing my so-called drinking problem and then he can feel all warm and fuzzy about himself when he gets my record expunged. It’s not rocket science.”

“Did your lawyer even ask if someone checked the steering wheel for fingerprints? Or did Agnes Nash pay him off before he got to that question?”

“Why would they want to do that? There’s no big mystery. It’s not like I was wearing gloves.”

Something in the darkroom buzzes and Huey starts swooping around sloshing things in big pans of liquid. The only light is this eerie red color and it looks as if he is a red angry burning spirit.

Huey hangs up two sheets of paper with clothespins and he sits down again and he says, “All right. How much do you really remember?”

I say, “Nothing. Nada, niente, zero, zilch, zip, zippity doo dah. This isn’t news. Everybody already knows this. Did you miss something when you were locked up in here playing with chemicals?”

“What everybody knows is that you’re saving Billy’s ass while he’s back with Aliza Benitez.”

“Are you insane? And he’s not really with her. He’s the one who’s saving my ass. In case you didn’t figure it out, it turns out that technically I stole his car. Just before I totaled it. For which the Nashes are not pressing charges. Colleges would love that one.”

Huey shoves his face so close to my face, my breath could have steamed up his glasses. “Don’t you remember anything?”

“No! Don’t you get it? No! I got hit on the freaking head when I wrecked Billy’s Beemer, just after I stole it! Why is this so hard for you to comprehend? I went spinning out drunk in the Valley, all right? There’s nothing to remember.”

Huey shakes his head. Then he takes me by the wrist and he pulls me out of the darkroom. He is such an exceptionally odd person, it’s hard to know what he has in mind.

Huey walks me through school and out to the parking lot and into his dopey-looking, ecologically good little car. People are staring at me the whole way. I’m not sure if this is because Huey is dragging me around by the wrist or because I’ve been crying so much that my eye makeup has run and I look like a raccoon.

A raccoon that’s about to cut sixth, seventh, and eighth periods.





LVI


WE DRIVE UP INTO THE HILLS TO HUEY’S HOUSE, which is a giant tan stone chateau that some captain of industry brought to Bel Air stone by stone from France. It is the size of the Beverly Hills Public Library, and it has matching dogs, three tan mastiffs that come racing and panting up to the car to jump all over Huey and drool on the ecologically good paint.

“This certainly takes my mind off things,” I say, trying to open the car door while a large dog pushes on it from the outside.

“Down, Daisy!” Huey says, causing the dog to wag her giant tail and hyperventilate, but not to get off my door. “Yeah,” he says, “I live in a parallel universe.”

Over by the side of the house, I swear I see a lamb. Two lambs, just walking around eating the grass.

“Is there a shepherd?” I say, only partly a joke, since I figure that if there is a shepherd, he could maybe pull the dog off my side of the car.