Читать книгу Mean Season - Heather Cochran, Heather Cochran - Страница 9

Dinner in Virginia

“What do you look like, Leanne?” Judy asked me. “It seems so funny to have to ask that, but I’m sure that the mental picture I’ve got is wrong. You live in L.A. long enough, and your sense of what people look like and what people are like gets all screwy.”

So I told her how I’m pretty tall for a girl and on the skinnier side of average and about my hair being halfway between red and brown, and that it was sort of feathering past my shoulders those days. I said I was white, since I realized that she might not know, except that Leanne Gitlin always sounded like a white girl’s name to me.

“But if I’m meeting you at the restaurant, won’t I recognize Joshua?”

“Oh, of course. I just wanted to try to get a picture of you in my mind. Why did I have you as a bottle blonde, I wonder? I’ve got to run. I’ve asked that the driver be at your house at six forty-five. We’ll see you at the restaurant.”

And then I was there.

Before then, I was in the car that came to pick me up, which was a lot nicer than any car I’d ever ridden in, even the one my ex, Lionel, bought new from the dealership. And before the car came, I was getting ready, and trying to figure out what to wear. Sandy had left for the beach the day before, so she couldn’t help me, but we’d pretty much decided on a sundress that I thought looked like one on the cover of the Vogue I saw in the salon where I got my hair cut. Except that my dress had red flowers on a white background, not yellow, and mine was cotton and faded a little and I think the one in the magazine was silk and was surely brand-new.

I looked in the mirror as I waited for my nail polish to dry. I’m pretty enough—people always say I’ve got good bones—but I’d never been pretty in the way of my sister, Susan. Even after she had three kids, strangers would still tell Susan how beautiful she was—like she might not have known, like they were the first to notice. People had never done that to me, although guys did cross bars to talk. Or at least, they crossed to talk to me and Sandy, but Sandy usually rolled her eyes and turned away, so I was the one who ended up in discussions about rebuilt car engines or Judas Priest vs. Motley Crüe. I’d nod and smile, and by the end of their talking, they’d look at me and say, “you know, you’re real pretty.” But by then, I was always unsure if it was because I’d been listening to them yammer on, or because they were tired of talking and wanted to make out, or because maybe, just maybe, I was pretty in the first place. Girls like Susan and Sandy and Max’s ex-wife Charlene didn’t have that to contend with.

I stared into the bathroom mirror. I dug through my makeup bag and wondered whether blue or green eyeshadow would look better against brown eyes. I put on a kiss of lipstick, then wiped it off.

I wore a lot more makeup in my teens than I was wearing at twenty-five. At thirteen or fifteen, makeup felt like magic. Wave the mascara wand, and suddenly I’d look older, more like the senior girls with their long, polished nails and cigarettes. Add lipstick, and I could imagine being the sort of girl that boys in my class whispered about, with her curvy way of walking by that would make even a football star press against the wall to let her pass. Add blush, and I might even start to resemble Brennie Critchett, who was prom queen back when I was a sophomore.

Of course, when I got older, I realized that there were a lot of things mascara couldn’t change or fix. Maybe if I’d been the prom queen, I’d have felt differently.

I blinked at my reflection in the mirror of the narrow upstairs bathroom. At the same age, Joshua Reed had a publicist and a fan club and a fan club president. Of course, not everyone can have such a life, or there’d be no one to run the registers at the Winn-Dixie. But I worried a little about the discrepancy between the girl in the mirror and the folks she’d meet in a few hours time.

I put the lipstick back on, and chose green eyeshadow. I thought the night might call for a little magic. It was Joshua Reed, after all. I wondered what Judy would be wearing. I wondered if I would get to call Joshua “J.P.”

And then I was there. The car ride took less time than I’d expected. Even though I was twenty-five, I’d only been to Harper’s Ferry maybe five times, and then, not to the Virginia side. I’d never even heard of the resort where Judy and Joshua were staying, where we were having dinner. It seemed so far from Pinecob that I expected to be sitting on that leather car seat for hours.

I walked in and gave the host my name and he took me to a table where a woman was sitting.

She stood up and said, “Oh Leanne, Leanne, Leanne. It’s a real pleasure.”

Judy was shorter than I was, but she was in heels, so it was hard to tell by just how much. She had short hair, too, in a sort of blond, businesswoman cut. She was younger than I expected, older than me but somewhere in her mid-thirties. And she seemed as nice in person as on the phone. Just as nice and just as busy. Right as I walked up, her cell phone rang. She glanced at it, then turned it off without answering, which I took as a compliment.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Finally.”

“J.P. and Lars will be down soon enough, I’m guessing,” Judy said. I must have looked confused because she said, “Lars is my husband,” and then I remembered the name. “He decided to come with me, last minute. You know he’s J.P.’s agent, right? That’s how we met.”

“I don’t think you ever told me that,” I said.

“It’s not much of a story. Lars makes it his business to know everyone. So when he signed Joshua, he had to meet with me. The rest is history,” Judy said. “Listen, Leanne, before the boys show up and people start drinking, I want to thank you for your time and effort, all these years. You really keep the fan club rolling. I want to tell you that. J.P. certainly won’t,” she added.

“What? Why?” I asked.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Judy said. “There are no complaints from his corner. Actually, there are many complaints, but none about you. He’s…he’s getting famous,” she began, but cut off. “There you two are!”

That’s when I turned and saw Joshua Reed in person for the first time. Judy stood, so I stood, too. I felt my heart start pounding a little.

“Joshua, I want you to meet Leanne,” Judy said. “Hi honey,” she whispered to a second man who had walked up and put his arm around her waist.

Joshua Reed leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Leanne. Favorite fan. It is a pleasure,” he said.

I nodded. I managed to say that it was nice to meet him, too. At least, I think I managed to say that. I was just taking it all in. There he was, Joshua Reed, Colin Ashcroft, Nate Cummings, soon to be Josiah Whitcomb. Joshua Reed.

He was shorter than the Joshua Reed in my mind. I mean, after seven years, I knew what his details were, and the official statistics put him at 6'1", but Tommy is 6'2", and I swear that Joshua was more than an inch down. But I didn’t focus on that. The rest of the statistics were accurate. The dark brown hair, the dark green eyes. He was growing his hair for the role, Judy had told me, and I could tell. It was curling a bit around the bottoms of his ears. He was beautiful. I’d never seen someone that beautiful up close and in person. I tried not to stare.

Judy introduced me to Lars, her husband, the agent, and he shook my hand hard and enthusiastic and then the four of us sat.

“So Leanne, Judy says that you’ve lived in West Virginia your whole life. Any plans to move?” Lars asked me this, right after our drinks came.

He looked like I always imagined New England professors to look—with little glasses and a beard. And he was one of those people who looked straight at you when you talked, like everything you said was fascinating. I wondered if that made him a good agent.

I told him that I didn’t have any plans as yet, that there were nice things about living in Pinecob.

“The town is called Pinecob?” Joshua asked. “What’s that all about?”

“J.P.,” Judy said. “Please.”

“I’m just asking,” he said.

“I don’t know where the name comes from,” I told him. “Pine trees, maybe. It’s just a small town. I imagine there are lots of small towns with funny names out there.”

“Of course there are,” Judy said, and Lars nodded.

“Has your family been around here for long? You know, I’m from Virginia,” Lars said. “Northern. Close to D.C.”

I nodded, to both parts.

“My father’s family is from Elkins, down south a bit. That’s where Susan, my sister, lives. My mother’s family is from close to Charleston, the capital—not Charles Town,” I explained. “Charles Town is just the county seat. But that’s probably more than you wanted to know.”

“Not at all,” Lars said, though I thought I saw Joshua roll his eyes. “What business is your father in?” Lars asked.

I heard Judy take a quick breath. She knew more about me than either of the men, and I imagine she was worried that I was going to feel uncomfortable, telling practical strangers about my life. But I didn’t mind. I couldn’t remember anyone asking before. That’s the thing about a small town—everyone already knows your story. It’s kind of nice to say it out loud every once in a while.

“My dad died when I was fourteen,” I explained. “But he was in the insurance business. Life insurance.”

“I’m sorry,” Lars said.

“You must have cleaned up after that.”

I looked over at Joshua, but I couldn’t read his expression. I couldn’t tell whether or not he was being nice.

“Why? Oh, because he would have a big policy? Yeah, you’d think that, but they say it’s like doctors smoking. He didn’t leave much of anything.”

“But that’s awful,” Judy said. “I didn’t realize.”

“Wait—your dad was a life insurance salesman and he didn’t have life insurance? Rude!” Joshua sounded annoyed.

“He had some,” I explained. “But it only covered the funeral costs. Anyhow, we’re okay. He had good health insurance, so most of my brother Beau Ray’s care is covered from here on out.”

“Beau Ray?” Joshua asked.

“Brother,” Judy said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Joshua said. He poured himself more wine. “What’s wrong with brother Beau Ray?”

“He had a fall. Years back. He was playing touch football, no helmet, and he fell and hit up against a rock. For a while, the doctors said he was probably going to die, but he made it, only he’s disabled.”

“Disabled how?”

“J.P.,” Judy hissed.

“I’m just asking,” he said. He sounded defensive.

“No, it’s okay. It’s not a secret. My dad always said that families shouldn’t have secrets—except around the holidays, you know, with presents and all,” I said.

I told them—we talked about it pretty much through dinner and on into coffee. Judy and Lars kept asking for details. Joshua Reed didn’t say much, but he did offer to refill my wineglass once, after refilling his own. I told them about Beau Ray and how he was more like a six-year-old than a twenty-nine-year-old, and how that wasn’t likely to change for the better. I told them about Tommy doing construction up and down the Shenandoah. I told them about Susan and her three kids and her husband, Tim, who drove a truck down in Elkins. I told them about Momma and her job as a receptionist in a dentist’s office and her weekends making quilts and how she hadn’t been out with anyone since Dad died. I mentioned Vince and how he left the house that night when I was fourteen, and that except for a couple of phone calls early on, no one had heard from him, no one knew where he was and no one much talked about it anymore.

“Jesus,” Joshua said. “That’s fucked up.”

“You never thought about going to college? You’re clearly bright enough,” Judy asked, waving Joshua away.

I couldn’t imagine ever waving him away, and here she was acting like it was no big deal. Judy was looking hard at me, so I knew I had to answer. I explained that I had figured on college, but when the time came, Momma couldn’t take care of Beau Ray on her own, and he was my brother, after all. I told her how, for a few years running, I’d been taking prelaw courses over in Shepherdstown—during the summer when things were slower at the dentist’s office. Judy and Lars nodded.

“It’ll happen eventually,” I said. “There are worse places to be than Pinecob.”

“I hope we’ll get a chance to visit while we’re here, don’t you, Judy?” Lars asked.

“Of course,” Judy agreed.

“Jesus!” Joshua said, and all three of us looked over at him. I thought maybe he’d burned himself on something. His voice was that sharp. “You think she really believes you?”

“Josh—” Lars began, but Joshua kept going.

“No offense Leanne, but if I get a day off, I plan to find a city, or at least a good-sized suburb. There are a few too many gun racks around here for my taste.”

“J.P.!” Judy said.

“Josh, that’s completely uncalled for,” Lars said.

“It’s okay,” I said. I could tell that Lars was angry.

“It’s not okay,” Lars snapped. He turned to Joshua. “None of your behavior tonight has been okay! None of your behavior on this entire trip has been okay! I want you to apologize to Leanne.”

Joshua turned and stared at me. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was some sort of Goody Two-shoes I hadn’t meant to be. Turns out, I didn’t have to do anything. Joshua Reed turned back to Lars and ignored me altogether.

“I’m not your kid,” he said. “You want me to apologize because I don’t want to go to Pinecob? Please! Like you guys would actually be caught dead there. Why the fuck am I even here? Leanne runs the fan club. Great. Wonderful. I’m sure she does a bang-up job. But that’s your bag, Judy. Don’t drag me into it. I could be home in L.A., watching a Lakers game with my girlfriend. I did you a favor. I came to dinner.” Joshua stood up and stepped away from the table. He steadied himself on the back of his chair. “But I didn’t agree to be hauled around and shown off in random bumfuck towns.”

“You’re such a prick,” Lars said. “I’ve been with you for an evening, and I’m sick of you already.”

“Yeah, right,” Joshua said. “You say that and then you get your ten percent and you shut up awfully quick about how sick you are of me.”

“Fuck you,” Lars said. He stood, too, and stared at Joshua. “I don’t care how big you think you’re getting. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

“Oh, no,” Joshua Reed said. His voice was sarcastic.

“Joshua, please. Lars,” Judy said, but neither man paid any attention. They reminded me of cats in a standoff, staring at each other until one backs away.

“Fuck you,” Lars said again. “You want me to see to it that you don’t work here again?”

“In Harper’s Ferry? Go right ahead,” Joshua said.

“You know that’s not where I mean,” Lars said.

“You can’t do that anymore. You don’t decide,” Joshua said. “Just try.” And then he stalked off.

“You’re an asshole!” Lars called out after him.

There were only a few tables where people were still eating, but from where I sat, it looked like everyone in the room turned to stare at Lars. I shrank a little in my chair.

“He is,” Lars said. “Sorry.”

Judy took hold of Lars’s arm and pulled him back to his seat.

“Leanne, I’m so sorry,” Judy said. She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “I’m sorry you had to see…hear that.”

“It’s okay,” I told them, though I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Sure, no one likes to be insulted, or have the thing or the people they care for held up as goofy or uncool. But it was hard to take it personally. Joshua Reed didn’t know me, or my family, or Pinecob. He was just mad, and I knew that, whatever the reason, it had been there before he met me.

“It’s not okay,” Lars said again. “It can’t always be okay. It’s not okay to insult you, to make Judy cry. I’m really fed up with this kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” Judy said. “That’s the problem.”

“He doesn’t act like any adult I know,” Lars said. “So much potential and I have tried—really—to get him to use it, and not waste goodwill on these outbreaks. I’m serious. I can get a lot of agents not to touch him, but someone out there is going to offer him representation.”

Judy nodded.

“Listen, Leanne. It’s late,” Lars said. “You can take the car back home now, if you want. But why don’t you let us put you up here tonight? You can have a nice night away. We can have breakfast in the morning—I know Judy wanted to talk to you about the movie, didn’t you, hon?”

Judy nodded again.

“We can put this incident behind us,” Lars said.

“Oh, do stay,” Judy said. “They’ve got a great breakfast buffet.”

Like I needed convincing. I’d never stayed in a hotel that nice, and the thought of sleeping in a big bed and getting to use trial-size shampoos, that sounded fun. So I said okay, and Lars jumped up to take care of things.

“Joshua is going through a difficult period,” Judy said, quietly, once Lars was out of earshot.

I nodded like I knew what she was talking about. All I knew was that he was getting more and more famous, and getting to star in a bunch of different movies, and getting to date models like Elise. I wasn’t a guy and I didn’t live in Los Angeles, but it didn’t sound all that difficult.

“He’s…he’s adjusting to a new level of celebrity, and that’s hard,” she said.

“How long has it been difficult?” I asked.

Judy thought a moment, then shook her head. “Pretty much since I’ve known him, I guess.” She smiled but looked sad at the same time.

“That can’t be fun. For you, I mean,” I said.

“It’s not. A lot of the time. But he’s an excellent actor. He really is. He’s more talented than any of my other clients. And when I see him work,” Judy said, “it’s almost worth it. For Lars, it’s different. He doesn’t really like actors, so he’s got a lot less patience.”

“Was he serious about dropping Joshua?” I asked.

Judy seemed to think about it. “He might have been. Something to sleep on, anyhow.”

Lars returned then, with a room key for me. He gave me a brief tour on the way to the lobby. There was a bar that stayed open late, to the left of the restaurant. There was a smaller dining room, where the breakfast buffet would be served.

“What time do you usually wake up?” Lars asked. “For breakfast.”

“I’m usually up around six,” I told him.

“Yow,” Lars said.

Judy laughed. “You’re quite the morning person, but that’s a little early for us,” she said. “Especially since that’s three in the morning California time. How about around eight we meet down here?”

We were standing in the lobby. My room was down the hallway, theirs was upstairs.

“Eight’s fine, too,” I told them.

My room was small, but so neat, and the blankets were turned down and there was a chocolate coin on the pillow. I checked the bathroom, and there was a little bottle of shampoo and another of conditioner and also lotion and two kinds of soap, and a shower cap and a sewing kit. I put everything in my purse right away, then put the shampoo back, since I would need it for the shower in the morning.

I called home so that Momma knew where I was. And then I called Sandy at the beach.

“You’ll never guess where I am,” I told her.

“In Joshua Reed’s bedroom?” she guessed, whispering.

“No. But I am in the same hotel, and I’m staying here. In my own room. For the night.”

“So?” Sandy asked.

I told her all of it, and she was a lot more pissed than I was.

“What a butthole,” she said, when I finished.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Leanne,” Sandy said.

“No, I’m really okay about it,” I told her.

“It still shouldn’t have happened. That was a butthole thing to do.”

I agreed.

After I got off the phone, I was still wide awake and figured I might as well poke around the resort, in case a maid had left her cart out, and I could get more shampoos to bring home for Beau Ray. I didn’t find a cart, but I wandered through the various lobbies and waiting rooms until I found myself by the door of the bar. The bartender looked up from wiping the counter and waved me inside.

“Hey, have a seat,” he said. “You were eating with that movie guy earlier, weren’t you?”

“Joshua Reed,” I said, nodding. “Yeah. I hope the yelling didn’t disturb you.”

He just shrugged, as if one man calling another man an asshole across a nice restaurant was something that happened every weekend.

“What’s he like?” the bartender asked, and then he looked past me and said, “speak of the devil, I guess I’ll find out.”

I turned on my stool and saw Joshua Reed swagger into the bar. He looked over at me, frowned, and then walked up and took the stool next to mine. I got the impression that he had kept drinking between dinner and just then. He ordered a martini and turned to me.

“Leanne Gitlin,” he said.

I turned to him, trying my hardest to look like I didn’t care, or like I’d sat next to lots of movie stars in lots of bars before that particular night.

“I hope you’re not angry with me.” He smiled. I’d seen that same smile on Colin Ashcroft.

“Why should I be angry?” I said.

“Exactly,” he said. “You get it.”

“Sure, I get it,” I told him, even though I had no idea what he was talking about.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he went on. “All these people putting demands on me, expecting me to do this, do that. I just want to live my own life. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said again. I was afraid that I was starting to sound stupid even though I did know a fair bit about demands and expectations.

He took a sip of his drink and turned and looked straight at me. “Why the fuck do you do it?” he asked, and even though I’d heard him swear at dinner, it still made me flinch. It was hard to get used to him as someone who swore so casually. He never swore in the interviews I’d read.

“What do you mean? Do what?” I asked.

“Because you seem smart enough. I figured you for the usual ditzy fan, but you seem smart, so why do it? The fan club bullshit.”

“Oh. That.” I was glad to figure out what he was talking about. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s different. It’s something different.” I’m not sure he heard me, because he started in again while I was still talking.

“You fans sort of freak me out,” he said. “It’s like some weird fantasy. I don’t understand you people.”

“I guess I do it more for Judy than I do it for you,” I told him.

Joshua looked over like he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me.

“Really? Yeah, I can see that now. She gets a lot of people to do things for her. She’s good at her job.”

“She’s a good person,” I said. I wanted him to understand the difference. “Other people matter to her.” I hoped that was true. It struck me that I didn’t know Judy as well as Joshua did.

“You think?” Joshua Reed asked. “Believe me, I’ve seen her act like they do. But I’m not so sure, in the long run. Hell, I know I matter, but I pay her bills.”

I didn’t want to follow his conversation to somewhere ugly, so I switched subjects and asked him whether he thought that Lars was serious about dropping him as a client.

“I don’t know,” Joshua said, shrugging. “I guess. We’ll see. I can always get another agent. I’m a prize bull at the county fair.” He stood up, unsteady. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “The drinks are on me,” he said, though he hadn’t ordered me one. He dropped money onto the bar. “See you around, Leanne Gitlin.” And then Joshua Reed wandered off.

I looked back at the bartender, who I figured had been listening to us the whole time anyway.

“Does that answer your question?” I asked him.

I slept until almost seven. After my shower, I pocketed the rest of the shampoo, and then put my clothes back on. I was downstairs at eight, but no one was around so I picked up a Virginia travel magazine and sat in the lobby. I read an article on horses until 8:10. I read an article on Thomas Jefferson until 8:15. And I read up on Richmond restaurants until Judy rushed in at 8:20.

“Leanne, oh, I’m so sorry!” she said. “This morning has been unbelievable,” she said. “I’ve got to get some coffee, but, my God! I just got off the phone with the studio. Because of some sort of farming statute, they can’t start filming for another two months.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked her.

“That’s not even the start of it.”

Judy said she wasn’t hungry and only drank coffee, but I figured I ought to take advantage of the breakfast buffet, because I’d never been to one so nice. So I was eating an omelette that the chef made special while Judy told me the story.

Apparently, after Joshua wandered out of the bar the night before, he had found the keys to one of the rented limousines and had taken himself for a ride.

“But he’d been drinking,” I said.

Judy sighed. “It’s not the first time,” she said, then pulled back a little and looked at me. “I’m sure it was a mistake,” she said, more slowly. “I’m sure he didn’t realize how much he’d had.” Judy said that Joshua had crossed the Potomac into West Virginia, though she didn’t figure that he had actually meant to go for a late-night visit to Pinecob. “He was probably looking for a bar or a girl or something. God only knows,” Judy said.

A weaving limousine stands out on West Virginia roads, and the police tried to pull him over. “And if that’s not bad enough,” Judy said, “I guess the lights or siren startled him. The limo ended up through a fence in a field. He hit a cow. He hit a goddamn cow!” Judy said.

I didn’t know the right reaction to news like that, so I just nodded.

“Apparently, it’s fine. The cow is fine,” Judy went on. “I’ve already been on the phone, calling around to find a way to mend the fence. A perfect metaphor for my day.”

“At least the cow’s okay,” I said. “He must not have been going very fast.”

Judy shook her head. “This is my personal nightmare,” she said. “This is the exact sort of thing I dread. Now I’ve got to either try to keep a lid on this, or put some sort of good spin on it, and at the very least, try to get him out of this mess. Lars has gone over to the station where they kept him overnight. He’ll probably be able to get him out, but Jesus!” Judy laughed. “What a fuck-up,” she muttered. “I’m really sorry you’ve had to see all of this. I can’t tell you…”

I shrugged. I offered her a bite of omelette but she shook her head.

“What I want is a cigarette,” she said, “but I quit, and Lars would kill me.”

“All I’m saying is that there must be something we can do. It’s West Virginia for Chrissakes. It’s not like it’s a serious state.” Joshua was trailing behind Lars as the two walked into the breakfast room.

He wore the same clothes as the night before, though his shirt was untucked and wrinkled, and a grass stain smeared one knee of his pants. He hadn’t shaved, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept, but even so, Joshua Reed was striking. Actually, I thought he looked just like the character Stormy Bridges, the street-smart runaway he’d played a few years back.

Lars stopped in front of our table. “Okay,” he said, turning around, “first off, how about you not driving drunk anymore? How’s that for an idea?”

“Well, duh, but that doesn’t help our particular problem,” Joshua pointed out.

“Your particular problem,” Lars snapped. “Because, legally, West Virginia is a serious state. Hi, sweetheart,” he said to Judy. He kissed her on the cheek. “Morning, Leanne. I trust Judy has brought you up to date on our most recent disaster.”

I nodded.

“Leanne Gitlin,” Joshua Reed said, looking down at me. “If it isn’t my number one fan.” He spoke with an exaggerated drawl, so that “fan” sounded like “fie-un.”

“J.P.,” Judy snapped.

“I’m practicing my Josiah accent,” Joshua said.

“You’ll be lucky if we can keep you in the picture,” Lars hissed. “There are lots of pretty boys willing to play Josiah, and a call to the director says one of them’s going to get that chance.”

Joshua’s face froze into an expression I couldn’t read. For the first time, he looked something less than cocky, maybe even a little scared. He glanced back at me and nodded a more polite good morning.

“Dude, so what do you want me to do?” he asked Lars, almost quietly.

“Go to your room. Take a shower. Get dressed. Then come back down here, and we’ll discuss this. You reek.”

Joshua nodded and walked off. Lars shook his head and took a seat at our table.

“So what does it look like?” Judy asked.

Lars shook his head again. “Oh, it looks great. Just great,” Lars said, and Judy winced. “He took a breathalyzer like he shouldn’t have—he should have waited, of course—and it came through as intoxicated, and with state reciprocity in effect, we obviously can’t plead first offense.”

Judy nodded. This was the first I’d heard of any legal trouble Joshua’d gotten into. I looked at the two of them and wondered how much else they had kept quiet.

“So now it’s pretty much a matter of mandatory sentences and precedents. Thank God he didn’t hurt that cow. I know people all through Virginia, but not here. Why couldn’t he have stayed in Virginia? Fuck, we’d be better off if he’d driven into the Potomac.”

“Lars!” Judy said.

“I know. I don’t mean it. Leanne, you know I don’t mean it.”

“How far did he get?” I asked. “I mean, in West Virginia. What county?”

“Jefferson, apparently,” Lars said. “I don’t even know where that is. The driver took me.”

“That’s Charles Town,” I said. “That’s my county.”

Lars looked at me. Judy looked at me.

“You know, I work at the county clerk’s office. Same building as the courthouse,” I told them.

“She works at the courthouse!” Judy said, suddenly excited.

“Not exactly. But in the same building. All the same, I probably know the judge on the case,” I continued. “There aren’t too many.”

“Oh my God, she knows…I mean, you know the judge?” Judy asked.

“I might. I probably do. At least I could find out who it is. You want me to call and find out?”

Lars handed me his cell phone without another word. I took it and stared at it. No one I knew had a cell phone, and I wasn’t sure how they worked. Judy took the phone from my hand and asked me for the number, plugging it in as I told her. She pressed a button and handed back the phone. I heard the ringing tone.

Mr. Bellevue, my boss, answered.

“Hey, Mr. Bellevue, it’s Leanne,” I said.

“We want to keep this out of the papers,” Lars whispered to me.

I nodded. “Something’s come up,” I said to Mr. Bellevue, and told him the story.

I knew that Mr. Bellevue would help if he could, on account of being such a big movie fan. Also I was pretty certain that he was gay, although I’d never asked, and Joshua Reed had a substantial following in that community. Mr. Bellevue listened and sighed a little, and seemed happy to hear that the cow was okay, and then he put me on hold to go find out which judge had been assigned to Joshua’s arraignment.

“Your fella’s a lucky boy,” Mr. Bellevue said when he got back on the phone. “It’s Weintraub.”

“He was Charlie’s, right? That is good news,” I said. I asked Mr. Bellevue to please keep all this to himself, but I wasn’t too worried. I knew that he respected privacy, at least the serious kind. And I promised to give him details when I got there in the afternoon. I handed the phone back to Judy to hang up.

“So?” Lars and Judy were looking at me.

“Yeah, when you paid and asked for the first available court date, that’s good—you got Judge Weintraub. People say he’s pretty progressive and also a nice guy. But what’s cool is that, Sandy, my best friend since third grade? Her brother Charlie got pulled over about a year ago, second offense, drunk driving. Is it Joshua’s second offense?”

Lars and Judy exchanged glances. Lars nodded.

“Because second is usually jail but third always is,” I told them, although I got the impression that they already knew something about drunk driving sentences. “Anyway, Charlie lost his license of course, for a long time, but instead of jail he got house arrest, at home, for I think it was ninety days. Weintraub’s really into families helping each other through hard times. It drove Sandy crazy to have him there. Charlie, not the judge. I mean, they let him go to work, but then he had to come right home. So you might be able to argue some sort of precedent. You know, if you were willing to plead guilty. That’s the thing, Charlie pled guilty. Pled? Pleaded? You get what I mean.”

“But what are we going to do about the movie? I know you’re pissed, sweetheart, but I really want him to be in this movie,” Judy said to Lars. “It’ll be good for all of us. We can’t have him sitting at home in California.”

“He couldn’t do that,” I told her. “Whatever punishment he gets will have to be in West Virginia. Probably Jefferson County. I remember that from my class on jurisdiction,” I said.

Lars smiled at me. “You’ll make a good lawyer,” he said. He turned to Judy. “Leanne’s right. Whatever happens, it’s bound to happen in Jefferson County.”

“What are you suggesting?” Judy said. “That we stick him in a hotel for three months?”

“I doubt that would count as house arrest,” Lars said. “It’s not a house. And I don’t think there’s such thing as bed-and-breakfast arrest.” Lars was almost laughing, but Judy looked serious.

“So who do we know in Jefferson County?” Judy asked. “We must know someone. Can we rent an apartment?”

Lars was looking across the table at me.

“You know me,” I said. “And of course, I know a lot of people.”

Judy turned to me, smiling and exasperated. “I don’t suppose there are any house arrest bungalows available in Pinecob, are there?” Now she was laughing. “Or guesthouses?”

I shook my head. I had a thought, bit my lip, then opened my mouth. I figured it was likely a stupid idea, that it wouldn’t work so there was no harm in saying it. Knowing what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t have said it. Knowing what I know now, maybe I would have kept quiet and looked at my shoes instead. But I did say it. And everything that would have otherwise stayed the same started changing. Like experiments with food coloring we did in home economics, making icing in green and blue and red shades. Put a drop of red into water, and the water will never again run clear. You can keep adding more and make it deeper red, or add blue and make purple. You still have choices like that. But to get back to clear water, you have to pour out what you’ve done and start over. And that doesn’t work in life, with its days and geography. You can’t just start over. You can never just start over.

“The thing is, Judge Weintraub is really into families. That’s why he likes house arrest,” I explained. I remember hearing Sandy complaining about this. “I know he’s not related, but Joshua might be able to stay in Vince’s room,” I said. “There’s probably a legal guardianship thing to work out, and you’d have to convince my mother.”

Judy turned to Lars and raised her eyebrows. Lars turned to me and raised his.

“We could argue a long-term relationship, given the fan club,” Lars said.

“Can you imagine?” Judy asked. “Let’s think this through a minute. For starters, J.P. would hate that.” Judy didn’t add to her list. She stopped talking and looked over at me, too.

Joshua Reed appeared then, hair still wet from the shower but clean shaven and clean clothed. Even damp, he really was beautiful. Judy and Lars looked at him, then turned to me.

“You are really fucking lucky,” Lars said.

“Yeah?” Joshua smiled. He seemed surprised. “Hey, that’s great.”

“Leanne here knows your judge,” Lars said.