“Why are you asking me for advice about matters of the heart?”
“Because you understand how horrible love is,” I said.
That hit him, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Hey, I’m not trying to harsh your buzz, but, dude… you don’t know this girl. You barely even talked to her before she fell in the water—you’ve told me that before. Only person you know is the fantasy you’ve created in your head.”
“I’m not dumb. I can separate fantasy from reality. But I also know my own feelings. I’ve spent a lifetime with them. I’m telling you, an explosive thing happened between us when we met. Like, yes, I ranted at her, and there was shouting—she shouted back at me, okay? But after all that, on some kind of inner level, we had a connection.”
“Okay?”
“It was like… my gut knew something that my conscious brain didn’t understand. And now my head feels like it’s waking up for the first time, and I’m just… ugh. My nerves. They’re like bees in my chest.”
“Is that like ants in your pants?”
“I hate you. Truly. Fuck off.”
“Well, you’re makingmenervous, so dial it back a notch.”
I blew out a long breath. “I just want to find out if my feelingsmatch her feelings. You know? I want to get to know her.”
“Just realize that she may not want to get to know you.”
“Definite possibility,” I said, flipping through the record stack as I thought about how red her ears got when I mentioned Eddie and the apartment in front of Mama. A nice shade of hateful. “Why don’t you organize your records by artist like a normal person?”
He shook his head, pitying me. “How long before Eddie comes back?”
“Days. A week or two? Fuck, man, I don’t know. It’s that contract for the lease on the festival grounds. Dad won’t give up the lease and sell Condor to Live Nation or AEG. Serj Sarafian will go to his grave as the last independent concert promoter in California.”
He stared across the lake at the line of white lights moving down the Strip. “Festival used to be half the size. Whether your dad runs it or a conglomerate, it’s not getting smaller. And your family still makes money.”
“Not according to my dad. He loses millions.”
“His corporation loses millions. How much money does he need? You’re living in a barn and driving a Jeep with two hundred thousand miles on it. Aren’t you happy?”
“I’m fucking miserable, and you know it.”
“Does it have to do with money?”
I shook my head. “I just want Eddie to suffer. I don’t want to hurt my mom or the twins.”
“Look, kid,” he said. “You ‘just want’ a lot of things. Make adecision and stick with it. But stop scaring this girl away, popping off with your rants. You’re too dark, too.…” He gestured at me with his hand. “Whatever this new thing is. Lighten up. That’s why Eddie has a million girlfriends. You’re going to give me that evil eye of yours, but you could take notes from him.”
I’d rather chisel my own gravestone.
“You want some nice mint tea?” he said, pushing up from his chair. “I’m making tea. Soothes the soul. And whatever it is you’ve got going on here. Some kind of twisted brother-revenge, Stockholm syndrome, rescuer’s lust.”
“Shut the fuck up, man.” I sighed heavily. “But yeah, give me your hippie mint tea. Lots of sugar. I want my teeth to rot out while my soul is chilling.”
This was getting me nowhere, talking to Moonbeam. Maybe it was dumb to come out here. I forgot sometimes that he was too Middle Path with his advice. Take it easy, Fen. Don’t do anything dramatic, Fen. Cutting the brakes on Eddie’s car is a bad idea, Fen.
“Hey,” I called into the house. “You ever run across anyone who has problems remembering words? Something’s wrong with Jane. She understands what you say, but every once in a while, she’s kind of like Miss Sara, out at the gas station?”
“She has dementia?” he called back.
“No, she’s all there. It’s just that she’s trying really hard to find a word and will describe it instead of saying the actual word. You think she could have brain damage from when she hit her head during the fall into the dam?”
He flip-flopped around the kitchen counter as the kettle boiled. “I’ve read about near-drowning victims having speech problems. I think it’s the oxygen deprivation that damages a part of their brain that controls communication.”
“Shit,” I mumbled. “Is it permanent?”
