I found out much too early that the world was a fucked-up place. Looking at this kid, there was no doubt that he was going to know too.
Unzipping my bag, I dug around and found a stash of suckers. I unwrapped one and handed it over. His mouth made an O before his greedy fingers snatched the stick.
Mick. There was another thought. He had no fucking clue. And the fact that Mitch could betray his own brother that way caused me to trust him less.
“BRANDPOW!”
Peter slapped at my arm to get my attention. Drool ran down his face in raspberry colored ribbons. I must’ve been staring at his face, somehow stuck in the sick ride Violet and Mitch had me on, swearing to myself that Peter’s face held both Mitch and Mick’s depending on the way the light fell through the glass.
The song had ended and the radio had been turned down low.
“Brando,” Violet said, glancing at me through the mirror. “Did you hear me?”
“No.”
“Mitch and I were talking about stopping by the diner for dinner. Do you want to come? Or do you have to pack?”
Scarlett’s first performance as a principal dancer was taking place in two days. She would be taking the lead in Swan Lake, performing the roles of Odileand Odette. The performance would transform her into the covetedÉtoilethat most dancers aspire to be. Her parents owned a private plane, and instead of flying commercial like I had planned, I accepted their invitation to fly with them. Violet and Mick were coming too.
“Yeah. The diner is fine.”
“All right,” she said. “And are you sure it’s okay that Mitch stay with the boys at your place?”
Mitch met my eye through the mirror. He was keeping the boys while Violet and Mick went to Paris. Since Violet and Mick only had two rooms, one of them for the boys, and a sofa, he asked he if could use our place—mine and Scarlett’s. He didn’t want to sleep on the uncomfortable sofa, and he refused to sleep in their bed. For once in his life, he found some scruples.
“Once again,” I said, “fine.”
Violet glanced at Mitch. “Are you sure that you’re going to be able to take care of both boys at once—”
“I’m their fat—” His voice broke off abruptly. He swallowed hard. Ten to one, swallowing down the words he wanted to say but would never be able to.
I wondered if the words felt like razor blades going down. The look Violet gave him was the lemon juice chaser.
Mitch sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “We’ll be fine,” he said eventually, turning the volume back up. He started to sing again.
The sensation of being caught on Violet and Mitch’s doomed roller coaster had dissipated with the mention of our plans. I’d be seeing her soon. Rummaging around in my bag once again, I pulled out another sucker.
Leaning my head against the seat, closing my eyes, I tried to quell the pain in my chest and the anticipation in my blood.
* * *
The old jukebox in the corner played an old Jim Croce song while I placed my order. A menu was useless; I knew it by heart. I sipped coffee while Mitch placed his.
Violet had decided to sit at a different table. Her excuse was that Mick was going to meet her with Paul in tow and they’d need space. After Mitch had come close to saying the forbidden words, Violet seemed to need space from him.
The waitress left us and Mitch sat back, lighting up another cigarette. His eyes were troubled, which meant he had trouble on his mind. He was damn mercurial, but you can’t get moody with someone who lives a similar life. Our horns got tangled as we went around in a circle, that’s about it.
“You’re a damn martyr, Fausti.” He pointed the cigarette at me. “That’s what you are.”
“You giving me advice now, Lewis?” I set my cup down. “Go ahead. Tell me how life’s working out for you.”
Clack.The sound of horns coming together sounded in my ear.
Before he could go on, the bell over the door rang. Mick strolled in with Paul on his hip and a magazine in his free hand; he threw it down on the table when he came close enough.
“Thought you’d like to see that, Brando. I stole it from the Jiffy Lube. Their magazines are fancier than ours.” He hiked Paul higher on his hip. “I’m going to bring this kid to his mother. He made a stinky. I can’t change a stinky before I eat. It’s a mental thing.”
“Stinky?” Mitch said, laughing, taunting him. “The kid needs to learn how to shit on a pot. He’s too old for diapers.”
