Monsters (15 page)

He shakes his head. “I've gotta drive your kids to the land of bullshit and cultural stereotypes.”

“I think it's supposed to be magic and fairy tales, Dad.”

“A good fairy tale has a purpose. A message. It's not afraid to get bloody. It's not just some trip through la-la land.”

“You're a good grandfather,” I say, patting his arm.

Tommy sets a wineglass on the bar. “So I've got a bottle of Cab and a Syrah right here, but if you'd rather check the cellar . . .”

“Either of those is fine.” I shake my head.

“Which one?” he says.

“Whichever. So, Dad . . .”

“Let me show you the labels,” Tommy says, holding one bottle across the bar to me.

“Syrah,” I say. “I'll take the Syrah.”

“Good choice,” he says. He pours the wine, then sets the glass at the edge of the bar. He leans forward onto his elbows, facing my mother. “So, Stacey tells me you're an art historian.”

“Mm-hmm.” She nods, the glass of scotch still at her lips. “I study mostly folk art, but you have some beautiful contemporary pieces. You're a collector?”

“Hardly.” He shrugs. “I know a lot of artists, and I'm in the position to buy things.”

“A patron,” she says. She smiles a little, but I know she means this dismissively. I take the wine from the bar and sip it. It has a bitter, almost smoky finish that I don't particularly like. I set the glass back down.

“I wouldn't say patron.” Tommy shakes his head. “I just get paid too much for ridiculous reasons, so when I see something I like, they know they can gouge me.”

“Because you simply must have it,” she says, her smile much more genuine now. My dad likes altruism, but my mother has an artist's heart. She's interested in passion.

“I'm entirely selfish,” Tommy says.

“We had heard that,” my dad says with a sort of quiet laugh.

Tommy nods, letting his shoulders slouch just a little. “Right,” he says. “I'm sure you have.”

“Not from Stacey,” my dad says quickly.

“Stacey says you're very smart,” my mother says. “Surprisingly well read.”

“Surprisingly?” Tommy laughs, but it's not a normal laugh for him. He smiles at me with just a quick shrug of the lips, disturbingly platonic.

“Very gifted too,” she says, and my dad nods.

“I'm flattered,” Tommy says. He looks right at me. “That's really nice to hear. Thank you.”

I'm going to have to get drunk,
I think, but just then Ben appears in the doorway, and Sadie's behind him, holding Stevie on her hip like
he's a baby. She doesn't look big enough to carry him, but he's a tiny slip of a kid.

“Well, I guess we're on our way.” My mom finishes the scotch and sets the empty glass on the bar. “It was nice to meet you,” she says.

“Nice to meet you too.” He's still leaning forward on his elbows, and he doesn't move to take her hand.

“Come give me hugs,” I say to the boys. Sadie lets Stevie down and he dashes to me. Ben sort of shuffles behind him. I hug both of them, brush my thumbs across their cheeks. I say, “I know you're going to be good.”

“Come on, come on,” my dad says. “We need to hit the road.” He kisses me on the cheek. “Kids'll be fine.”

I follow them out to the front and watch them drive off. I blow kisses and wave. Through the windows, they all look happy, even Ben.

When the gates close behind them, I hug my arms around myself and walk back in the house. Tommy's drinking my wine, and he's opened the other bottle and poured me a glass.

“I knew you wouldn't like the Syrah,” he says, holding the new glass out to me.

I don't take it. He stares at me for a minute and then he shrugs, sets it down. He leans against the bar across from me. “I don't act with you if that's what you're wondering.”

“Everyone's acting,” I say. “You're just better at it than the rest of us.”

•   •   •

Tommy wants me to read this novel that he swears I'm going to love. We're on the couches in the great room, but we're sitting opposite
each other, our feet propped up on the table. Sadie keeps ducking in and out of the room. She clearly wants attention.

“What are you up to, honey?” Tommy looks up from his book, turns his head back to look at her.

“Nothing,” she says. She wanders over like she's not sure where she's headed and leans her elbows onto the couch behind him. “I'm bored.”

“Read a book,” Tommy says. “Read one of Stacey's books.”

“No,” I say. “Don't do that.”

Sadie makes a face at me. “I've already read them,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow at Tommy. “Boundaries?” I say.

“What? She's a smart kid.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.” She comes around the couch and sits next to Tommy. He holds his arm up and she slips under it, leaning against him. “What are you reading?” she says, after a minute.

Tommy turns the cover toward her.

“Is it good?”

“That's why I'm reading it,” he says.

She sighs a little dramatically, but then she's quiet for a minute. She pulls one foot up and picks at the flaking polish on her toes. “What was your husband like?” she says, without looking up.

“What?” I say.

Tommy sort of grimaces an apology and looks back at his book.

“Was he a writer too?”

“No,” I say. “He wasn't.”

“I kind of pictured you with an artist, in like a loft apartment or something.”

“Michael was in finance. We live on a golf course.”

“That's so weird,” she says. “How'd you meet him?”

“Grad school,” I say. She's leaning forward now, a little expectantly, like I must have a great story to tell, something dramatic or romantic. Everything feels dramatic and romantic when you've just turned fifteen. “We met in grad school. And then we got married. And we had a couple of kids.”

She smiles a little sadly. “Do you think you'll get married again?”

“I hadn't really thought about it,” I say.

“I'm never getting married,” she says, in the tone of a little girl who can't wait to get married. She looks at Tommy like she's daring him to challenge her, like she wants him to say,
Someday you'll find the right person . . .

“Good call,” he says.

•   •   •

I try to finish the book over coffee in the morning while Daniel sits on the stool next to me, sorting through a stack of mail.

“Look at this,” Daniel says, holding up this envelope covered in lipstick. “Disgusting.”

I just smile and turn back to the book. “He has very passionate fans.”

“Yeah. But I'm the one who has to open this shit. I swear someday I'm going to catch something.”

His phone rings, and he sort of jumps to pick it up. “This is Daniel,” he says, hopping down off the chair and walking toward the doorway. I can tell he's trying to lower his voice, but as he steps through to the dining room, I hear him say, “You know, I don't know if he's really available right now,” but I can't hear what he says after that.

I close my eyes for just a second, and I take a deep breath. Daniel's probably gone five minutes, and when he does come back, I'm still on
the same page. I keep running my eyes over the words, but I can't hold on to them long enough to figure out what they mean.

“That was Tommy's agent,” Daniel says, sitting back down.

“I'm not stupid,” I say, though I am. I obviously am.
I don't act with you,
he said, and it feels like I believed him.

Daniel sets the phone on the counter. He clicks the screen on and then off, on and then off. “No. You're not stupid,” he says.

•   •   •

I'm drinking coffee by the fireplace when Tommy comes out of the study. He slams the door behind him.

“Not a good fucking start to the day,” he says. He walks fast, his feet heavy on the tile, toward the kitchen.

“What?” I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch, but the tone of his voice makes me want to fold my knees up, hide behind them.

He tries to pour a cup of coffee, but he tips the pot too fast, and the coffee splashes over onto his hand. “Fuck!” he yells, and he turns and throws his mug against the wall. The coffee leaves a trail of drips toward the counter, the pieces of shattered mug. I do rearrange my legs now, hug my knees into me. I don't ask again. I just wait. He grabs a towel and wipes his hand. He holds it up to his mouth like he's blowing on it. “Fuck,” he says again, but quietly. He takes down another mug, pours the coffee slowly this time, and walks over to sit on the opposite couch.

“There's just a lot going wrong today. It's all money and contracts and insurance and shit.” He sets his coffee down, rubs his face with his hands. “None of it's anything you need to worry about. I'll take care of it, but you should probably just stay here. Maybe Sadie can keep you company,” he says, and he gives me a look like,
Sorry
.

“I'm sure we'll be fine.” I put my feet down on the floor and lean forward to pick up my coffee.

“I better go,” he says, and he stands up and starts to walk out, but before he reaches the door he turns back. “If you want to go anywhere, keys are in the closet next to the garage. Sadie knows where they are. Take anything you want.”

•   •   •

Sadie thinks we should totally go somewhere. She's sitting at the counter, eating the one slice of dry toast that apparently makes up her breakfast.

“Let's go to the beach,” she says, and I say, “There's a pool.”

“We could go shopping.”

“Or, and I think you'll like this, Sadie, we could stay here and play chess.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Come on, my dad has like the coolest fucking cars.”

“Sadie, do you have to talk like that?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to swear. I just keep forgetting because you're so cool.” She gives me the most manipulative smile. “Like cool enough to go somewhere fun.”

“I am not driving your dad's car.”

“You have to. He never lets anyone drive his cars, so, I mean, if you get the chance, you can't not take it.”

“Of all your arguments, this is the least likely to work.” I shake my head. “Do you know how much anxiety that would give me? I would absolutely, and I mean absolutely, get in an accident.”

“So? He's insured.”

“Sadie. No. I don't know why we're still discussing this.”

She sighs heavily and stands up. She hasn't even finished her toast. “Jeez, Stacey. I thought you were fun.”

“I am so fun,” I say, “and I'm totally going to kick your ass at chess.”

“You suck,” she says. “You're lamer than my dad.”

•   •   •

“I told you to take a car.” Tommy pulls a sparkling water out of the fridge, twists the cap off, and takes a drink.

“I am not going to drive one of your cars. Christ. They're worth more than my kids.” I set the book I'm reading on the counter in front of me. If it were mine, I'd set it down open to save my place, but it's Tommy's. I don't want to crack the spine, so I close it, hope I remember.

“They're just cars, honey. They're insured.”

“It doesn't matter.” I shake my head. “I don't know my way around here anyway.”

“You don't have navigation on your phone? You have like a flip phone or some shit?” He's grinning at me. He seems to like it when I get flustered. Apparently, it's hilarious. “I just don't know why you'd want to be stuck in the house with a stir-crazy fifteen-year-old all day.” He takes another swig of the water. “She says you made her play chess.”

“I did. She's not bad.” I suck in my lower lip and chew on it because she's much better than not bad.

“She says she kicked your ass.”

I shrug. “I'm not a mathematical thinker.”

“Is there math in chess?”

“I don't know. There must be. It's the only thing I'm not really good at.” I look down at the book, run my fingers across the letters in the title. “How did things go for you today?”

He grimaces. “Expensive. Probably would've helped if you'd crashed one of my cars. I could use the insurance payout.”

“That bad?”

“Nah, it's fine.” He drains what's left in the bottle. “It'll all work out. It's nothing you need to worry about.”

•   •   •

Sadie is spending the night at a friend's house because she
just can't be in this house every minute
, and when she'd said this, she'd glared at me. She doesn't mean it though. She likes me. I've even let her borrow a shirt.

“That's a little sheer on her, don't you think?” Tommy says after she leaves. He sits across from me in the living room.

“It's fine. She looks sweet.”

“She probably won't be back by the time you leave tomorrow.”

“So she can keep it.”

He's tapping his heel up and down, jiggling his knee.

“What's with the anxiety, Tommy? You look like me.”

“I know. It's gross, isn't it?” He stands up abruptly and walks to the bar. “It's Sadie. You know. She's a mess. It's not like I don't see it. I mean, I see it. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do about it.” He pours himself a bourbon, a vodka for me. “Should I just bring both these bottles over?” he asks, but he doesn't bother waiting for me to answer. He just tucks them under his arm.

“So what the hell do I do?” he says, sitting back down next to me.

“Maybe you should ask someone who's good with their kids.” I take a sip of the vodka. “You want to call my sister?”

“Kind of.” He laughs. “I kind of do. Maybe we could work out a trade, you know. I'll keep your boys, and you take Sadie.”