Less Than Nothing (34 page)

“What’s wrong, Sage? You sound…funny.”

“I can’t talk right now.” My eyes scan the front of the court building, and my phone vibrates. I’ve got another call. “Hang on,” I say and punch the other line to life.

“Sage, this is Martin Lorensby.” He doesn’t sound happy. “Paul just informed me that we’ve got a serious problem.” His exasperation comes through clearly. “I’ve bent over backward to help you, Sage, and this is how you repay me? I give you another chance, and you’ve been lying to us the entire time?”

I’d say something to make it better, but I’m out of words. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it in the big leagues. Do you know what fraud is? Forgery? That’s where you forge a signature, falsely representing yourself as having approval to appear on television. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”

I can hear the anger radiating through the phone. I opt for silence.

“You have that document in my hands before I leave today, or your ass is off the show, do you read me? It’s over. And I’ll see to it that you can’t get a gig playing birthday parties. You’re screwing with the wrong guy.”

He hangs up, and I’m shaking. The phone vibrates again. I fiddle with the buttons and figure out how to get the other line back.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Are you sure you can’t get together before I leave town? My bus leaves tomorrow.”

I sigh. It’s already been five days? “Why not? It’s not like I have a career anymore.”

He doesn’t understand, and I don’t expect him to. I remember Jeremy’s warning that he’s probably angling to get money out of me, or ingratiate himself so when I win he’ll get a slice of the take. If Jeremy’s right, it’s a bad day for everyone today.

I agree to hook up in half an hour at a deli near the Village, and walk there in a daze, the heat oppressive as a front moves in, the humidity thick as fog. When I arrive, my father takes one look at me and hugs me. “Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

I want to stay strong, but my tears betray me, and I’m bawling into his shirt like a baby. He strokes my hair and doesn’t say anything. I wear myself out, and now I’m too embarrassed to go into the deli.

“Look at your shirt. I’m sorry. I ruin everything.”

“You going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”

I tell him about the form, my botched forgery attempt, and that I’m getting the boot. He frowns and looks at me quizzically. “What’s the big deal?”

I stare at him like he’s nuts. “Did you not hear me? I’m getting thrown off the show. It’s over. Derek will win and go on to be a star, and I’ll go back to the park, where I belong. I can’t believe I thought I could do this.” I start crying again, and he pushes me away by the shoulders and stares hard at me.

“Sage, I’m your father.”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Think for a second, would you? You’ve got a form to sign, right?”

I nod, sniffling. “I told you. Mom’s got to sign it. And Ralph…”

He shakes his head. “A parent needs to sign it. I’m your parent.”

I stare at him like he’s speaking Swahili, and then facepalm. “I’m a complete idiot, aren’t I?”

“No, just so close to the problem you can’t see the obvious solution.” He looks around. “How about we skip lunch and find a notary? Let me read this thing and make sure I’m not missing something, but if you’re telling me the whole story, your problem just got solved.”

We make our way to a bank and wait for the notary to get through with a customer. By the time she’s done, my dad’s read the form and is smiling. “Piece of cake.”

The notarization takes under five minutes and costs less than a sandwich. My entire shot at a new life for the price of a hoagie. I hug my father hard, and then an idea occurs to me.

“Do you absolutely have to be on the bus tomorrow?”

He looks embarrassed. “Sage, it’s not like I’ve got a magic money tree…”

“Then it’s the cost of the hotel that’s the problem? When do you absolutely have to be back at work?”

“Monday the week after next.”

“So you’ve got plenty of time. You can stay and watch me compete in the finals.” I smile. “I’ll cover your hotel for the week.” He starts to protest, and I cut him off. “I want to do this, Dad. I’ve got money. Don’t sweat it.”

He considers it. I can see in his eyes he’d like nothing better than see me play live. But he’s a proud man, even after all he’s been through, and it’s killing him to have his daughter pay his way. If he’s hoping to live off my gravy train, he’s the best actor on earth, because right now he looks miserable.

His eyes narrow and he grins. “Only if you promise we’ll see each other every day.”

We grab slices of pizza from a joint on the corner instead of going into the deli, and head to Martin’s offices. He makes us wait forever. Eventually he sends his assistant to get us. When I walk into his office with my dad, he’s confused for an instant and then glares at me. “What’s this? Another trick?”

I shake my head. “Martin, this is my father. He’s in town for the show. He signed your form and got it notarized. Sorry for all the confusion.”

My dad puts the form on Martin’s desk with a flourish. Martin picks it up and studies it long and hard before nodding. “Why is everything right down to the wire with you?”

I shrug. “All’s well…”

“Fine. Get out of here. Between this and your antics with Derek, you’ve taken five years off my life.” He looks at my father. “Try to keep her out of trouble for one more week. Please.”

My dad tilts his head and eyes me. “Good luck, huh?”

We spend the rest of the day together, and I take him sightseeing – something I know he’d never do on his own. He’s been sitting in his stinky little hotel room all week, only venturing out when he needs to eat. The sun’s dropped into the Hudson River by the time we’re done, and I invite him to dinner at Jeremy’s favorite Italian place. He agrees, and we have an amazing pasta dinner. We linger over coffee, and I hug him again when we’re out on the street.

He glances at the street sign. “I know where I am. I can walk it from here.”

“Be careful. It gets ugly the further south you go.”

He nods. “You haven’t seen my hotel. Even the cockroaches look unhappy to be there.”

The air’s balmy but not cloyingly so, and I walk back to Jeremy’s, sticking to a well-lit cross street. I’m happy that my dad can stay longer, and relieved not only to still be in the finals, but also that my pop isn’t a lowlife trying to chisel something out of me. He says he just wants to be back in my life, and I believe him. Is he perfect? There’s no such thing. But he’s my dad, and that makes up for a lot.

I turn the corner and approach the building’s front stairs when I sense motion behind me. Most people will keep walking, hoping that whatever threat’s behind them magically disappears, but I know better from living on the street. I whirl around and freeze in surprise.

It’s Derek.

I choke back the sudden swell of panic I feel and force myself to look him in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at his boots and shifts side to side. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” I say, the anger returning like a familiar friend.

“I figured you’d say that. But I need to explain some things. Stuff I’ve never told you about.”

I sigh. “Derek, what you did–”

“I know. It was wrong. You think I don’t kick myself a thousand times a day for drinking too much and getting into a fight?” He returns his gaze to mine, and he looks defeated. His normally gorgeous emerald eyes are bloodshot, and his shoulders are sagging. The anger recedes as I feel the familiar pull. My little hamster brain may be furious with him, but my body has other ideas.

“Fine. Talk.” I look around. We’re alone on the street.

“Here?”

“Sure.” I sit down on the stoop, feeling like a local. He sits next to me, but not too close.

He clears his throat and closes his eyes, and then opens them and fixes me with a frank stare.

“I didn’t want to get involved with you until after the finals. Because it would have been risky. That’s what I told myself, and what I told you. But that’s not the whole truth.”

I’m not following. “What do you mean, it’s not the whole truth?”

“There’s another reason. One I don’t think I completely understood until after we broke up.” He hesitates. “I told you my mom OD’d, and that before she died our living situation was pretty grim. I learned to fight, to defend myself.”

I nod. I’ve heard all this and wonder if he’s just hoping I’ll warm to him as we talk. If so, he’s got another think coming. “Right…”

“What I didn’t tell you was that when I was ten, one of her boyfriends…did things. To me.”

“Things,” I repeat.

He nods. “It went on for three months. I was too young to know better, and part of me…part of me wanted attention. Even that kind.”

My eyes widen. “He molested you?”

Derek nods.

We sit quietly, and then he continues. “He left, just like all the guys she shacked up with. But I hated my mom – I think she knew. Or suspected. But she was so hooked on heroin that whoever was scoring could do no wrong.” He hesitates. “And I hated her because he left.”

“Wait, you–”

“I was a kid with a mom who only loved the needle. Anyone who was nice to me, treated me well, I mistook for caring. For love. So yeah, I thought it was something…different than what it was. Once I was older I understood, but…”

“Oh, Derek.” I can’t think of anything else to say. My heart’s breaking for him. He looks like he’s about to cry, and I realize how difficult this must be for him. To trust me enough to tell me his darkest secret. I can practically smell the shame on him.

“I never want to get close to anyone. It’s a defense, I think. And when I met you and we started hanging out…when it started to get serious, I think I invented reasons to stop it. Because I was scared. Because the ten-year-old boy inside me is afraid to be close to anyone…”

“Cause eventually they’ll go away,” I finish for him.

He nods and breaks down with a single sob. He’s grimacing, fighting the pain, but it’s no good. He buries his head in his hands.

I want to hold him, comfort him, but I don’t trust myself. So I sit, letting him cry until his pain’s spent. He sniffs several times and wipes his eyes, then gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen as he stands.

“I wanted to explain, because I think I was sabotaging us because of that. Up until now, it’s never mattered. The girls I knew were just passing through, like me. It was never anything more than that. But with us…the little kid inside me got scared. So I came up with a logical-sounding reason to keep you at arm’s length. It put me in the position of power.” He looks down at me and shakes his head. “What I figured out is that it isn’t power if you’re doing things out of fear. It’s weakness. It’s letting your demons run you. That’s what I’ve been doing. And it’s been making me sick inside.”

The tightness has returned to my throat, and I feel dizzy. Derek turns to leave and then looks over his shoulder at me.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You deserve better. I played with your feelings, even if I didn’t know why until now. I understand it doesn’t change anything, but I wanted you to know the truth, and know that I care about you more than anything in my life. More than winning, more than money, more than…” He stops and turns his head back toward the street. “Thanks for listening. See you around.”

The steady thud of his boots on the concrete echoes off the building fronts, and then he’s gone.

I’m so shaky I can barely stand, and it takes me three tries to get the key in the lock. As I climb the stairs to Jeremy’s, vertigo assaults me and I feel faint, and I wonder whether anything will ever be right in my world again.

Police cars are double-parked outside Radio City Music Hall, and a spotlight’s tracing into the night sky. It’s the finals, after a breakneck week of nonstop publicity, and tonight, five of us are going to leave the building devastated, and one’s going to win celebrity and riches. I peek out the stage door, Jeremy behind me, and we watch the scalpers working the crowd of hopeful fans.

“This is it, my dear. I hope you appreciate the education I’ve given you on the proper way to comport yourself as a diva,” he says.

“See Liza. Hear Liza. Beee Lizaaaah…” I intone, and he smirks.

“I’ll have you know that she’s attained the kind of stardom that involves only using a first name. That’s powerful.”

“Like Prince. Or Bono.”

He nods solemnly. “Cher. Madonna. Sting.”

“Pink. Flea. Ke$ha.”

“Please.”

Derek hasn’t shown up, and I’m worried. We’re all supposed to be there three hours before, and now it’s only an hour till showtime. Jeremy and I go into makeup together, not because we need to – with only six contestants, the stylists have all the time in the world – but because we’re bouncing off the walls with nervous energy.

Jeremy’s hair is neon yellow with black spots – his jungle cat look, he calls it. Silly as it seems, his ploy’s been working, and there’s a website devoted to speculations about what color Jeremy’s hair will be this week.