Читать книгу The Saint - Kathleen O'Brien - Страница 9

THE HEYDAY HIGH SCHOOL Cheerleaders had picked the hottest June morning in Heyday history to hold their annual car wash. But at least Eddie Mackey had the consolation of knowing he wasn’t the only boy dumb enough to have crawled out of bed to help them.

All the guys were here. Joe and Carter and Jeff and Mark…and even Cullen, their star quarterback, who had said last night that if his girlfriend Jana thought he was gonna be her trained lapdog, she could by God kiss his cleats. Now he was on his knees, scrubbing hubcaps, the worst job of all. In fact, as far as Eddie could tell, the boys were doing every bit of the work. The cheerleaders were just bouncing around in their wet T-shirts and waving posters to pull in the cars.

What a bunch of suckers they all were. Eddie, who had been stretched out on the leather bench seat of Doug Metzler’s Cadillac, vacuuming linty bits of petrified French fries off the floor, finally got sick of the smell and rolled over with a sigh.

And found himself staring up at Binky Potter’s breasts.

Binky had leaned in to wipe down the Caddy’s windows, leaned right smack over him. Oh, man. She was the finest girl out here—and not just because she had the best body. She was pretty, too. All the guys were after her.

But she was his. She had been his girl for two whole months tomorrow.

He swallowed hard and decided it was all worth it—French fries, heat, sweat, stink, everything. Nothing on earth could have prevented him from being here today.

“Well, cowboy, what you looking at?”

Grinning, Binky leaned down an inch or two more, just close enough so that her necklace tickled his upper lip. He’d given her that necklace. It was a silver lariat—their little joke, because she always called him cowboy. Of course, he’d never been within spitting distance of a cow, and if anyone handed him a lariat he’d be more likely to hang himself with it than rope a steer, but so what? It sounded sexy as hell.

He caught the tip of the necklace between his teeth. “I’m looking at you, hot stuff,” he said, tasting the cold sting of silver against his tongue. “Wasn’t that what you had in mind?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy.” She pretended to try to pull away, but the lariat merely pressed lightly against his teeth, so he knew she didn’t mean it. A drop of sudsy water was making its slow path down the firm mound of her left breast. If he leaned forward, he could lick it off….

His jeans suddenly seemed to become a size smaller.

He lifted his chin. His nose grazed the wet edge of her shirt. But he couldn’t quite reach the drop of water.

Which, of course, was the story of his relationship with Binky. Close—so close. But then…nothing.

“Hey, Eddie, guess what? I was at Morrison’s the other day, and guess what I saw?”

Morrison’s was Heyday’s most expensive jeweler. Binky loved jewelry. And nothing fake, either. She liked the real stuff. Eddie’s jeans began to fit better as he thought of his empty wallet. He let go of the lariat.

“I don’t know. What?”

“The cutest little earrings. They match my necklace exactly. Little ropes that dangle. Little ropes for big, strong cowboys to tie things up with…” She leaned down and kissed his chin, which meant that the soft flesh of her breasts momentarily pressed warm against his chest. “Anything you’d like to lasso, cowboy?”

He felt so hot and tingling all over he could hardly think straight. Hell, yes, he’d like to lasso her. Of course, she’d said the same thing when she had first seen the necklace. Some small, clear part of his brain told him that if the necklace hadn’t secured her, the earrings weren’t going to.

But it would be worth a try. He still had $27.50 left from last week’s pay. If that wouldn’t cover the earrings, well…maybe he could get another lawn job. Mrs. Tremel had said something the other day about needing help.

“Hey, get your tongue out of her cleavage, Mackey. Mr. Metzler wants his car, and besides, Coach is watching.”

At the sound of Cullen’s voice, Binky jerked back. Eddie twisted into a sitting position, banging his elbow hard on the steering wheel. Coach McClintock was cool, but even he wouldn’t stand for Binky draping herself all over him like a human blanket.

“Hi, Coach,” Binky said, twisting her lariat around her index finger and smiling so that every one of her dimples was showing. “Don’t be mad at Eddie, Coach. It was my fault he took so long on the car.” She tossed her blond ponytail. “I distracted him.”

Coach McClintock laughed and turned back to Mr. Metzler without a real answer. Eddie growled and, putting his hands behind Binky’s bare knees, tugged her toward him.

“Stop flirting with him,” he said. “You’ve got a boyfriend, remember? Besides, he’s too old for you.”

Binky ruffled his hair with her pink-tipped fingers, but she was still staring at Coach. “Yeah,” she sighed. “But he’s just so hot, you know?”

Cullen, who had come over to work on Metzler’s tires, picked up the hose and, putting his finger over the nozzle, aimed it in Binky’s direction. “Down, girl,” he said.

Binky squealed and dodged the spray gracefully. It fell short, and lay on the hot, dirty pavement, shining in little oily rainbows. You could almost smell the steam coming up around it. Binky stuck out her tongue at Cullen, blew a kiss to Eddie, then headed over to chat with her friends.

Eddie watched her go with mixed emotions. He could get more done if she weren’t within touching distance. On the other hand, he wasn’t that crazy about being alone with Cullen. The other boy had said something earlier about needing a favor. Eddie had a pretty good idea what kind of favor it was.

“So, Mackey. I was wondering.” Cullen didn’t look up. He stared hard at the tire he was washing and talked out of the corner of his mouth. He’d probably seen some gangsters talk that way on television. Cullen was a genius with the football, but his brains didn’t work all that well off the field.

Eddie ducked his head and fiddled with the vacuum hose, trying to wind it back around its canister. He didn’t say anything. If only someone would come up right now and interrupt them, God, what a break that would be. But Coach McClintock and Mr. Metzler seemed deep in conversation, and everyone else was working on cars.

“I was wondering,” Cullen started again. “You know, about English. About the paper.”

“What paper?”

Cullen finally looked up. He had a strong-boned face, and when he was irritated he looked mean. “What paper? You trying to be funny? Don’t get the roles mixed up here, Mackey. I’m the funny guy. You’re the smart guy. Remember?”

Eddie hesitated. Cullen was big, handsome and athletic, and he had the world’s most extensive repertoire of sarcastic put-downs—which he loved to use on geeks who weren’t cool enough to be on the football team, like Eddie.

Eddie felt like telling Cullen that Coach McClintock wanted Eddie on the team next year. That might shut him up a little. But Eddie wasn’t sure yet whether he was going to say yes, so he forced himself to stay silent.

Everybody liked Cullen, though, or at least pretended to. His dad owned the local imported car dealership, and that meant he had a fancy house, a fancy car, a gorgeous girlfriend and the coolest clothes. The only thing he didn’t have was a passing grade in English.

“Tennyson,” Cullen said with a grin, as soon as he realized Eddie wasn’t going to attempt a comeback. “Five hundred words. Not too perfect, don’t want Mrs. G to smell a rat, right?” He laughed. “A C paper, that’s all. Do I get a discount for a C paper, Mackey? I should. You can write a C paper in your sleep.”

“I don’t know, Cullen. I’m pretty slammed right now. I’m mowing about a hundred yards and—”

“I already flunked English once, Mackey. I don’t intend to flunk it again.” Cullen’s face hardened and became all jutting bone. “What is it? You want me to pay extra? Because it’s summer school? Getting kind of greedy, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want you to pay extra.” Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans. He cleared his throat. “To tell you the truth, I really wasn’t planning to do any more of that. Papers, I mean.”

“Say what?” Cullen stood, and his big, beefy body blocked the sun. “You’re not writing any more papers? Hey, man, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m just saying I think it’s time to stop. I mean, it’s cheating, and sooner or later we’re going to get caught, and—”

Cullen bent over, putting his face so close to Eddie’s the threat was unmistakable. “Listen, Mackey. If you want to suddenly get religious about all this, you do it after summer term is over, understand? Sure it’s cheating, but you’re in it up to your big red ears already, and you’re not pulling out until I’ve passed English.”

Eddie stood up, too. He didn’t like being threatened. He wasn’t as big as Cullen, but he worked out, and besides, he was smarter. He liked his chances against the big oaf any day. “Watch your tone, Cullen, because I don’t take orders from—”

But maybe Cullen wasn’t as dense as Eddie thought. His face changed suddenly, as if he’d realized there might be a better way to handle this.

He lifted his big hands and rested them on Eddie’s shoulders. His fake smile was somehow more unsettling than his scowl had been.

“Hey, sorry, man,” he said in a hearty tone. “I didn’t mean to come on too strong. It’s just that I like you. And I know Binky does, too. I mean, we’d all hate it if you weren’t part of the group, you know? We’d miss you, man.”

Eddie opened his mouth. But nothing came out. This wasn’t an empty threat. Cullen Overton had more social power in his meaty little finger than Eddie Mackey had in his whole body. If Cullen decided Eddie was Out, then he was so Out he might as well live on Mars. And Binky Potter would be draping herself over some other guy by the end of next week.

Cullen’s small green eyes were bright with triumph. He patted Eddie’s shoulder a little too hard. “So it’s a deal. Tell you what. I’ll pay double, you know, because it’s summer. And you’ll write me a seriously C-type Tennyson paper. Thanks, man.”

He began to walk away. But then he turned around with one last, fake smile so big his white teeth glinted in the sun. “Oh, and Jeff said he might need one, too. I’ll tell him to get with you soon, so you have plenty of time, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Eddie sat back down on Mr. Metzler’s front seat. He was tired suddenly. The party hadn’t wound down last night until about two in the morning, and they’d had to be out here by seven. He still had three lawns to mow this afternoon. Maybe being booted into social outer space wouldn’t be so bad, really. At least then he could get some sleep.

But Binky… He heard her laughing with her friends. She had a sweet laugh, throaty and mellow, not shrill and sarcastic like the other girls. She might be a little greedy about jewelry, but he believed there was something special about her. Something worth fighting for.

Fighting for, maybe. But was she worth cheating for?

He wiped his hand over his eyes, and when he opened them again he saw that Coach McClintock was walking over to him. Oh, great. Eddie was sure he was going to get a lecture for taking so long with the Caddy, but to his surprise Coach just leaned one hip against the front fender and seemed to be admiring the sparkling windows.

“Nice job,” Coach said casually.

“Thanks.” Eddie hoped his voice didn’t sound as pooped as he felt. He didn’t want to sound indifferent. He cared what Coach thought of him. A lot.

“I hope the girls appreciate how hard you guys are working to buy them new uniforms,” Coach said. “Think they’ll come out and wash cars when the football team needs new helmets?”

Eddie cast another look toward Binky and her friends. One of the girls was trying to make some complicated braid thing out of Binky’s long blond hair, and the others watched breathlessly, as if it were brain surgery.

“Yeah, right,” he said. He looked at Coach, and the two of them smiled in perfect harmony on the subject of girls. Well, at least these girls. They were definitely not the future astronauts and Nobel Prize winners of the world. They were born to be pretty and pampered—and pointless. Like really expensive, slightly dangerous pets.

He suddenly wondered why he was killing himself trying to raise money to buy one of his own. He couldn’t really imagine wanting a pet for a wife.

But damn it, he was seventeen. He didn’t want any kind of wife. He wanted to get laid, just like everybody else.

“So how are things, Eddie? Everything going okay?”

Eddie looked up at Coach. His tone was weird. Did he sense something? Did he know something? Had he overheard what Cullen had said?

“Things seem fine.” Eddie chose his words with care. “We’re getting a lot of cars.”

Coach gazed at him with a quiet, oddly gentle expression. “I don’t mean the car wash. I mean you. You seem a little down. Everything okay?”

God, if he only knew! Nothing was okay.

For one insane minute, Eddie thought he was going to blurt out the whole sleazy truth. Thought he might say that he was selling his soul for a chance to get into Binky Potter’s pants. That he had finally found a way to run with the big boys, and it was damn near killing him. That he was tired and trapped and sick of the whole thing.

But how could Coach help? Coach had been born one of the big boys. He practically owned Heyday, as his father had before him. He had no idea what it felt like to be on the outside, straining to get in.

Besides, he was so damn straitlaced. Everyone around here called him the Saint. He’d never allow the paper-selling thing to go on—and he’d never let Eddie get away unpunished.

“Eddie?”

Eddie hesitated, still unsure. Yes, telling Coach would be suicide, but at least it would be over. The temptation was almost irresistible. It would be a relief if someone like Coach could just force him to stop, since he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself.

But in the end he didn’t have the courage. He didn’t have the nerve to see Coach’s face when he realized Eddie was a scumball. He didn’t want Coach to withdraw his offer to bring Eddie onto the team.

And he definitely didn’t have the guts to give up the hope that someday Binky Potter would say yes. Maybe even tonight. They had a movie date at eight, and if he didn’t get started mowing those lawns soon he’d be late. When they went to the movies, she liked to tease him, sucking slick popcorn butter from his fingers one by one till he nearly died.

No way could he give that up.

“Eddie?” Coach’s voice was tighter now. Really concerned. “You can tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? What could be wrong?” Eddie stood up again and tossed Coach a smile as fake as anything Cullen Overton had ever produced. “Life’s sweet, man. Sweet.”

KIERAN WAS DOG TIRED, and he would have given anything he owned to be able to take a long hot shower, order a sloppy pizza, open a freezing cold beer and spend the evening in front of the TV.

Instead, he had to dress up in a penguin suit and go next door to Aurora York’s house, where he would spend three hours pretending he gave a damn who was elected Heyday’s next parade Ringmaster and Ringmistress. Even worse, he might well be nominated himself, which would mean he’d have to pretend to be delighted.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure he had “delighted” left in his bag of tricks tonight. It had been a very long day.

He did take the shower. That wasn’t optional, not after standing in the sun all morning helping teenagers wash cars. And he got the beer, too. That wasn’t optional, either, not after having spent the entire afternoon listening to the Heyday Historical Society bitch about Larry Millegrew, a newly arrived artist who had dared to paint his house orange.

Kieran didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from laughing. When had this town become so darn snooty? Pretty ironic for a town that got its jump-start because of a drunken circus animal trainer to begin having apoplexy at the sight of an orange house. “Gray and white,” Dolly Jenkins had kept repeating at today’s meeting, sounding weak with shock. “Gray and white. Anything else is just vulgar!”

But what did they want Kieran to do about it, anyhow? He had inherited a lot of the property around here, but his dad’s estate wasn’t even probated yet, and besides, this wasn’t feudal England. He couldn’t exactly throw Mr. Millegrew in the dungeon and commandeer his absurd orange house.

Kieran tossed his towel on the bed and, still yearning for the pizza he couldn’t have, he reluctantly began to assemble his tux. He hated parties. This must be one of the ways in which he took after his mother, who everyone said had been a quiet, unassuming woman. She’d died when Kieran was born, so he knew her only as a wispy, smiling face in a small watercolor painting on the living-room wall.

He certainly didn’t take after his dad, who even at seventy had been all strong, primary colors, all great bold strokes in oil, like the portrait of him that hung above the fireplace mantel.

His dad could have handled Dolly Jenkins and Larry Millegrew with one hand, then tossed off tonight’s party like an after-dinner cognac. Old Anderson McClintock had loved people. He’d loved parties. He’d loved power games. And, as he had every day since his father died, Kieran wished the old devil were still alive to play them.

Kieran knew he was dragging his feet and probably running late, so he wasn’t surprised when the doorbell rang.

It was probably Aurora. She had asked him to come over early to help with the lights. She’d be mad as hell to discover he wasn’t even dressed.

“Coming,” he called as he trotted down the stairs with his dress shirt still half in, half out of his trousers. His black tie dangled between his teeth as he tried to insert his cuff links.

“Sorry, Aurora,” he mumbled as he swung open the door. “But you’re just in time to tie my—”

But it wasn’t Aurora, who at seventy-five was still an imposing old lady. She would have stood about five-eleven, higher if you counted her heels and the feather plume she invariably wore in her hat.

This was someone younger, smaller—someone who stood back, out of the glare of the porch lamp, clearly far less sure of her welcome than Aurora had ever been in her life.

But who…?

The woman moved awkwardly, and the creamy light washed over her.

Kieran dropped his cuff link. It was Claire Strickland.

The little ebony square clattered out onto the porch, and Claire stooped stiffly to pick it up. Watching her, Kieran pulled his tie slowly from between his teeth. He tried to gather his thoughts, which were about as disorganized as darting minnows. But it was just such a shock. What was Claire Strickland doing showing up here, unannounced, on his doorstep?

The last time he had seen her was that strange, unforgettable night in Richmond. He’d thought of her—and of the sex, of course—almost every day since. But he hadn’t called. After they’d awakened in the echoing, predawn hours, she had asked him to leave. And she’d made it clear she did not want to hear from him ever again.

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of the party tuning up. Laughter, the strum of an electrified cello, the distant thud of car doors.

But here on the porch everything was silent. He felt a sudden flash of anxiety. Was she all right? He knew she wouldn’t have come here without a very serious reason, not after the way she had told him goodbye….

And why was she dressed in black, her face as somber as if she had just been to a funeral? Good God, had someone else in her life died? He hadn’t thought she had anyone else.

“Kieran, I’m… May I come in?”

“God, yes, of course. I’m sorry.” He backed away from the door and let her enter. She stood there in the foyer, glancing around as if she’d never seen the inside of his house before. Which, he realized with surprise, she actually hadn’t. Their relationship—or whatever embryonic version of a relationship they’d been trying to develop when Steve’s death had shattered it to bits—had never progressed far enough for him to bring her here.

As she took it all in, her gaze held a strange combination of curiosity and apathy. It was as if she knew she should care what his house looked like, but she just didn’t.

He tried for a second to see it through her eyes. The big, classical Georgian mansion was pristine, thanks to his housekeeper. The only item out of place was his half-empty beer bottle. He didn’t have anything to feel ashamed about.

And yet, oddly, he did.

Perhaps it was just that the place was so ridiculously big. That he had so much when she had always had so little. He remembered the simple house she and Steve had shared. And that half-empty tomb she called home in Richmond.

“Claire, is everything all right? Why have you come? Do you need anything?”

She looked up at him. Her eyes were bottomless, and circled with thin, blue-shadowed skin. Her cheeks were pale, and for a moment he thought he saw her shudder. He put out his arm to steady her, but she backed away.

“Claire, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”