Текст книги "Born Savages"

Автор книги: Cora Brent

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“Technically I am.”

“Lita, what in the hell do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She can’t be serious.  She just can’t be fucking serious.  She’s not laughing though.  He looks around to make sure they are alone.  If anyone else is around, he doesn’t see them.  Telling her to piss off might not be effective.  Oscar glares at her and decides to remind her of the way things are.  “In case you don’t realize it, what you’re proposing is illegal.”

“Illegal?” She tries out the word.  “Illegal.  Now why do you think so?”

“Because I know damn well that there are laws protecting kids here.  And by American standards, I’m still a kid.”

“No, you’re not,” she answers matter-of-factly.

That takes him back a step.  She’s goddamn crazy.  Has to be.

“You look confused, Oscar.  Let me explain.  I called in a favor from an old friend of the family who happens to be a private investigator.  Now, there wasn’t much record of you, but there was enough to conclude you’d been in the New York State system for six years when Mina scooped you up.”

He feels like he’s missing a crucial deduction.  “So?”

“So that was twelve years ago, Oscar.  Twelve years.  Remind me what six plus twelve is again?”

He doesn’t answer.  She nods.  “That’s right.  You’re eighteen.  At least.”

Though vaguely unsettled, he remembers something Ren told him.  Something he believes completely.  “You’re a liar, Lita.  You lie all the time.  You don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs.  She drops her cigarette on the ground and grinds it beneath her heel.  There’s no warning when she grabs his shirt and rubs her body against his.    She has the same willowy build as Ren but there’s nothing soft about her.  She’s all hard edges and claws.  He fingernails scrape the back of his neck as she pulls his mouth in.  He tastes tobacco and something vaguely garlic as her tongue searches for his. Repulsed, he pushes her away.

“What the hell?” he snarls, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand to purge the taste of her.

Evidently unruffled, Lita straightens her skirt and lights another cigarette.  “I might be lying,” she purrs.  “I might be searching for any reason to fuck that hot, hard body of yours, Oscar.”  She shrugs her bony shoulders.  “Or I might not be.  Either way, you’d better think twice before screwing any more slutty teenagers because that could get you in trouble.  Especially since I’m letting you know that you’ve got a better option.”

“You’re fucking sick,” he shouts at her back.  She’s already started walking away, strutting toward the big house as a handful of bats fly directly overhead.  She keeps walking, giving no hint that she heard him.

Once she’s out of sight the sordidness of the encounter catches up to Oscar and he sinks down on the brothel porch, feeling queasy.  Even though the stink of her awful perfume still hangs in the air he can’t quite believe what just happened.  It’s not the first time an older woman has taken a liking to him.  Hell, two schools ago he had a brief and dirty thing going on with the headmaster’s wife.  This was different though.  Even if Lita Savage wasn’t the mother of the girl he’s crazy about, he wouldn’t touch her if someone paid him.  She is lethal.

Oscar removes the rock from his pocket and all thoughts of Lita Savage fade away.  She’s either nuts or drunk and won’t likely bother him again.  As for all that nonsense about diving into his history, who cares?  So what if he’s eighteen and not seventeen?  He doesn’t care.  His mother obviously doesn’t care.  Anyway, there’s not much chance it’s actually true.  According to Ren, Lita can’t tell her ass from her elbow.

Ren.  Ren.  Loren.

He pictured her stripped down to her underwear, cozy beneath her bedcovers, a smile on her face as she drifts off to sleep.  She’s thinking of him, he knows it.  What she’ll never know is how it nearly killed him to keep his hands off her for the longest time.  It had to be the greatest testosterone restraint on record.  And even after that first incomparable kiss under the moonlight he’d forced himself to go slow because he knew that’s what she needed.  Tonight though, that sealed everything between them.  They did the deed and they said the words.  It makes no difference how old they are or how many Lita-type monkey wrenches are thrown in the way.

She’s his now.  She always will be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

REN

I was always a miserable performer.  Lita was forever scheduling screen tests during pilot season in Hollywood, that brief period when all the new shows are looking for their casts and would-be actors from across the nation camp out in seedy Boulevard motels hoping to catch a break.   I never got any callbacks.

“Loren does not project.”

“Loren is uniformly expressionless.” 

“Loren fails to occupy space with confidence.” 

It didn’t take long for Lita to give up on me.  Monty and Spencer wanted nothing to do with any of it, but Brigitte and Ava were willing so I guiltily thanked the greater powers for giving me some sisters my mother could exploit.

Speaking of sisters, Brigitte’s been avoiding me ever since I cough cough ‘assaulted’ her in the kitchen.  I can only guess what kind of sobbing show she’s putting on for her private Blue Room interviews.  I’m not going to ask.  If I want to know I’ll find out when the show airs, just like everyone else.

As far as Ava goes, she knows I’m rattled.  She always waits until the crew is gone for the night before pulling me aside and asking if I ‘want to talk about i..

I do not.

I do not want to talk about Oscar.  No, not Oscar, Oz.

I do not want to talk about the contemptuous look in his eyes or the crass things that came out of his mouth or the way I had to bite the inside of my cheek to try to stop the trembling that threatened to devour me.

I do not want to talk about how every sexually deprived nerve ending in my body begged to be handled by him right there on the dirty floor of the barn.

I do not want to talk about how maybe if I fucked Oz – the man who was once Oscar – in the filthiest way possible I could get rid of it all.   Maybe all it would take is ten minutes of animal humping to silence five years worth of grief for what we had, for what we lost.  It must have killed some part of him too.  I saw it in his face the night he walked away.  Once I proved myself to be a coward I was nothing to him.

“Ren?”

A hesitant knock on the door, a soft voice.  Ava.

“Ren?”

“Ren’s not here,” I mumble and pull the pillow over my face.  I don’t know what time it is.  The sun is fairly high and the room grows hotter every minute.  I’m sure I could find something more useful to do than lie in a bed of self-pity.

But I’ve made my own bed.  Now I should be forced to lie in it. 

I cackle to myself over the metaphorical non-humor of the situation.  I think I’m losing my marbles, one marble at a time.  By this time next month they will have all leaked out.

“Can I come in?”

I fling the covers off and unlock the door.  Ava cracks it open slowly and pokes her head inside.  She looks around with worried confusion, like she’s crossed an unfriendly international border.   She needs to do something about her roots.  I can see the red peeking through.

“Hi,” I wave.

“Hey.”

She smiles.  Ava has the most amazing smile.  When Ava smiles you feel like the sun has just shined directly on you.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Shit.  I forgot I told Spencer I’d help him with some chores.  On second thought though, I’d probably just get in his way.”

Ava chews her lip.  “I saw Oz heading out with Spence pretty early.”

“Oh.  Oz.”  Defeat.  Anger.  Lust.

“Anyway,” Ava continues as if an elephant hasn’t just entered the room and stands there, swaying his bulbous trunk and blinking at us.  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind watching Alden for a few hours.  Bree asked if I would go with her to the Western Edge Stables.  Apparently she’s signed us up for a roping class.”

“A groping class?”

“Shush, you heard me.   The photo crew was here early in this morning. Even if Monty wasn’t doing that ridiculous photo shoot today I couldn’t ask him and I’d rather not drag the baby out when there’s nothing for him to do there.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Jesus, a girl can’t even sleep in for a few hours without all kinds of crazy news erupting.  “Ava, you know I’ll gladly look after Alden anytime so don’t even worry about it.  Now who is here?  And Monty is doing what exactly?”

“I told you yesterday.  Photographer from one of those celebrity rags is in town and got Monty to agree to some barely clothed on-location photo ops.   They headed for the mountain trail a few hours ago.  She wanted Spence too but of course he told her to fuck off.”

“And Monty didn’t?  Monty tells everyone to fuck off.”

“They must have caught him in an unusually good mood.  Plus I saw him checking out the photographer’s ass so he’s probably expecting a tip.”

“Naturally.”

Since the girls need to leave in a half hour I hustle through a shower and don’t bother about drying my hair.  In this climate it dries quickly on its own anyway.

When I get to the kitchen, Ava is kneeling on the floor beside her son and Bree pretends like I haven’t just entered the room.   She’s wearing a short swing dress with cowboy boots.  If I had to guess I would say dresses probably aren’t well suited to cattle roping lessons but since no one asked me I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Brigitte declares and shoots me a wounded look before flouncing out of the house.

I do feel slightly guilty because I don’t know for sure if she was the one who aired all the dirty Oscar laundry at the feet of Vogel Productions but it doesn’t matter anyway.  Really, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.   I should never have expected the private past to remain private.  That’s what you get when you open the door and let in the cameras.

“You and Auntie Ren are gonna have so much fun,” Ava promises her boy with a smile and a kiss.

Alden looks at me with dubious blue eyes.  I’ve never been the type to get all mushy about kids but this gorgeous little boy, my nephew, owns a piece of my heart without even trying.  I hate that he’s in the middle of all this garbage.  Ava does the best she can, but I should make more of an effort to help her.

I grab a cup of coffee and sit down on the floor beside my sister’s child.  “You like chickens, Alden?”

Slowly, thoughtfully, the little boy nods his head.

“Well how about you help your tired old aunt feed all those chickens and clean out the coop?”

I know Spence probably already took care of that before the sun came up but I figure if it amuses the kid it wouldn’t hurt to do it all again.  Alden gives me a gap-toothed grin and Ava plants one more kiss on his little head before mouthing the words ‘thank you’ and heading out the door.

Alden is wary for few minutes after his mother’s departure but then returns to his hyperactive little self.  I’m laughing as I get his shoes tied and let him out into the yard.  I forget to notice whether there’s a camera following us but when I glance around I see Rash filming away at a discreet distance.  I suppose I am becoming immune to being watched after all.

The day the chickens showed up, Spencer built a solid enclosure so they wouldn’t become a coyote meal.  It’s positioned to take advantage of the shade provided by a sprawling mesquite tree that’s probably been there for a hundred years.   The enclosure is probably five times the size it needs to be for four lousy chickens.  Maybe Spencer has plans to expand the flock after all.

After I hand over the bowl of feed to Alden, I sit down on a wide tree stump and laugh as my nephew throws the bowl’s contents straight up into the air.  It turns out little kids are good medicine.  I haven’t laughed as much in weeks as I have in the last twenty minutes.  The chickens are going berserk, pecking at the food as fast as their skinny necks will let them.

I feel the shadow at my back before I hear his voice.

“You babysitting the kid or the poultry?”

That’s how he always starts a conversation these days; some off-the-cuff remark that kicks my blood pressure into high gear. No matter what he says it sounds thickly sensual.  Since our barn encounter I’ve managed to keep interactions to a minimum.

I don’t fool myself though.  I know I can only avoid him as long as he lets me.  And sometimes I’m not even sure I want him to.

I don’t turn around when I answer.  “I’d heard you were gone for the day.”

Oz opens the gate and strolls inside the chicken enclosure.  He stands closer to me than he needs to but I don’t even flinch.

“So is that why you decided to emerge from the cave? Because you thought I was gone?”

“No. I don’t care where you are.”

“I’m sorry I bother you so much, Ren.”   He sounds the opposite of sorry.

“You are not.”

“I am.  I always tell the truth.”

“So do I.”

“Do you now?” he says quietly, almost bemusedly.  “That’s interesting.”

“I don’t want you.  I don’t want you.  I DON’T WANT YOU!”

I wonder if he’s thinking of those words, if he can hear them plainly as if they are being hurled in live time.  I know I can hear them. Their echoes are etched into this landscape.  They are permanent.

“This is a stupid conversation.”  I have to tilt my head to see him.  Somehow I manage to get hit in the eyes with the sharpest rays of the climbing sun.  It hurts.

Oz shifts slightly.  He’s not standing as close to me anymore, but I can see more of him now.  I wish I couldn’t.  He’s filled out a lot in five years, all in exactly the places a woman would want a man to fill out.   He crosses his tanned arms and whistles a few notes.

A bolt of desire slices across my lower belly and settles between my legs, throbbing.  I don’t know if it’s a memory from my love-crazed teenage self or if it’s something new.  Either way it makes no difference.  I just want him.  Despite myself, I want him bad.

Oz stops whistling and gestures to my nephew.  “So I never got the whole story.  How did Ava wind up with a kid?”

“You’re a sharp guy.  Surely the biological basics aren’t lost on you.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh.  “Tell me Ren, are you contractually obligated to challenge me every chance you get?”

“No.  Care to answer your own question?”

“No.”  He’s giving me one of his black-eyed glares.  “No goddammit, I’m not.”

“Lower your voice!”  I jerk my head toward Alden even though the kid is obviously not listening to a thing.  He’s squealing and frolicking around after the chickens.

“I’m not the one screaming,” Oz responds mildly.

I have to stop myself from staring at his lips.  I have to stop myself from staring at his chest; his broad, absurdly muscled chest that provocatively stretches the fabric of his shirt from all the hard power that coils beneath it…

“Loren.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Huh?  Where?”

He’s giving me a funny look.  It might be because I sound completely sun-addled.  He pulls his hat off, rubs the sweat off his forehead and waits for me to make some sense.

My mouth is as dry as the ground.  “I think I need some water.”

Without pausing, Oz tosses over the bottle he’d been carrying.  It’s warm and half gone.  I gulp it down anyway

Alden lets out a triumphant little yip as he clutches a fistful of chicken feathers. I’m watching him and then I reach into my bra, ripping out the microphone.  Even though Ava’s history is widely known, I don’t feel like being the one to broadcast it.  I look up at Oz but he just raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

“No,” he snorts.  “I don’t always wear a leash just because some fucker in a suit says so.”

“Fine.  So, about Ava.  She can act like the simple-minded socialite.  She’s more like a walking heartbreak. I don’t know if you heard about it wherever you were, but she had a role in a short-lived sitcom and started hitting the celeb party scene pretty hard.  She got involved with a costar who happened to be one of earth’s more colossal turds.  Things went sour even before she got knocked up.  The show was cancelled mid season and loverboy wasn’t about to stick around and play daddy.  He happens to be another like us, with a famous last name but without two dimes to rub together so there’s no point chasing after him for child support.  And that’s just the way it is.” I pause for a breath.  “Ava’s a good mom.  She is.”

“I believe you.”

I shoot him a sharp glance because he sounds like he might be taunting me, but he’s just watching the kid run around with a thoughtful gaze on his face.

Alden suddenly trots over to me, beaming.  “You,” he says and promptly drops the chicken feathers in my lap.  I fuss over the bent, half-bald feathers and thank him profusely.  Before returning to his chicken torture, Alden stops and stares at Oz.  Oz stares back.

Once Alden is back at his games, I try to return Oz’s water bottle.  He ignores my outstretched hand.

“Tennessee,” he finally says.  “I’ve been there for a little while.  Got a job, a nice place.”

“And before that?”

“Before that I wandered.”

“Wandered?”

“Yeah, wandered.”

“You come across any other people in your so-called wanderings?”

A roughish smile crosses his face.  “I came in a lot of other people.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, standing stiffly.

“What?” he says innocently.  “You don’t want to hear about it?  I’m trying to evoke some nostalgia here.”

“You’re disgusting, Oz.”

“Probably.  But you’re a shell of what you were, Loren.”

I can’t breathe.  If words could pack a punch, those particular ones are made of pure dynamite.   Oz Acevedo, formerly Oscar Savage, just distilled my worst horror into one sentence.  And he knows it.  He waits for me to say something and I desperately want do want to say something.  I want to cut him as deeply as he’s just cut me.  I want to hurt him.  So I tell an enormous lie.

“I was just a stupid girl.  In the long run you didn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

He doesn’t even blink.  “Ditto, sweetheart.  You were just a ripe cherry to pop.”

I’m shaking.  I’m going to explode.  “God, you’ve turned into such a foul-mouthed pig.”

He answers me casually, like he doesn’t care at all what I think.  “And you’ve turned into a feeble-minded wreck.”

He doesn’t wait around for my response.  He stalks away without glancing back and disappears around the corner of the barn.

Alden remains oblivious that there is anything more interesting going on than the sight of flustered chickens.  Stoically I sit back down and try to banish Oz’s final words from my mind. I don’t know how much the cameras have captured.  At this point I can’t force myself to care.

For the rest of the day I focus on Alden.  I feed him lunch, I tend to his scraped knee, I welcome him into my lap when he asks for a story.  When Ava gets home she finds us on a back porch swing.  Alden shouts with joy when he sees his mother and practically vaults out of my lap and into her arms.  I stare at my sister and her child, at the pure, unsullied love between them.   In a way I’m almost jealous.

Ava sits down beside me and sets the boy in her lap.  She starts chattering about the disastrous cattle roping experience. Evidently Bree ignored all instructions and managed to get thrown from her horse, earning an ass full of sand and gravel.

“Well,” I say with false cheer, “I suppose that’s the end of the Savage cowgirl days.  Perhaps we should try being farmers instead.”

Ava’s watching me.  “Everything okay on the home front?”

No. 

“Yup.  Everything is fine.  If you guys will excuse me, I think I’ll head to the kitchen and bake a cake.”

“I thought you never cooked anymore.”

“I don’t.”

“You used to cook all the time.  Back in the bad old days when we lived here.  If not for you, we would have been eating cheese sandwiches every night.”

“Just trying to contribute.”

“Ren?”

“What?”

Ava sighs and heaves herself up with Alden in her arms.  “I’d better put this kid in for a nap or he’ll be the devil later on.”

Someone has been keeping the fridge and pantry well stocked.  I have no difficulty finding enough necessary ingredients to bake a yellow cake with buttercream icing.  Once I’m in the rhythm of kitchen activity I decide to cobble together a dinner of roast chicken, pasta salad and baking soda biscuits.  The oven is something of an antique but it still works when it needs to.

As soon as I start setting food on the table, my siblings seem to magically materialize.  It’s all too familiar.  Lita floated far above kitchen tasks and we couldn’t exactly eat out every night all the way out here, even if we’d been able to afford it.  If there was any cooking to be done so people could eat, then I was the one to do it.

I wash dishes in the background as Ava happily feeds her son, while Bree grudgingly takes a few bits of salad and then limps elsewhere, when Spence wanders inside looking as rough as if he’d just spent a few hours running with the bulls, which might very well be accurate.

There are cameras.

There is no Monty.

There is no Oz.

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time I finish putting the kitchen back together.  Cate Camp knocks on the door.   She wants me to know that I seem to have misplaced my body mic.  I don’t answer her.  I’ll play the game again tomorrow.  Tonight I don’t feel like being wired.  In a few hours the crew will drive back to town.  Of course, cameras are installed all over the property but they seem more innocent when they aren’t attached to people.

I invent work for myself by cleaning up the house.  It’s mindless and nearly pleasant.  Anything to avoid thinking about Oz.  Every strange sound makes me recoil though.  I’m always afraid it’s him.  And in a sick way I hope it is him.

Finally the crew departs.  I linger on the front porch with the lights off, listening to the fading sound of the two trucks heading toward Consequences.

Montgomery lumbers up to the house with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.   He pauses and takes a drag on the cigarette while squinting at the fading light in the western sky.  It looks like he’s already made some progress on the bottle.

“Where’s your fan club?”

He shrugs.  “Gone hours ago.  That bitchy photographer had some ideas but I couldn’t get excited about the idea of more of my dick pics floating around the world wide web so I passed on that.”

“Charming,” I mutter.

“You asked,” he yawns.

“I guess I did. Anyway, there’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Monty doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t move either.  He just stands there puffing on his cigarette while staring into the distance.  After a full minute of silence he tilts his bottle in my direction.  At first I shake my head but then I take it and cough back a mouthful of liquid fire.  Whiskey.

When I can see straight again I realize Monty is watching me.  “I thought he was an asshole then,” he says. “I still think so.”

“Oscar?”

“Oscar.  Oz.  Whatever.”

“Well, I guess score one for you being right then.”

“I don’t give a shit about being right.  But maybe just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he’s a dickhead.”

“Monty Savage Reasoning at its finest.”

“Just saying, if he wanted to really fuck up your life he had his chance.”

“Cameras are still around,” I grumble.  “He’ll get more chances.”

“No he won’t.”

I’m curious now. “Why?”

“Because he’s leaving, Ren.”