Part 23 (1/2)
Our lawyer started to say something else, but then she rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat, staring out the window.
As we headed to her office, I asked, ”Is there any way we can let me get a shower first?”
Octavia gave me the once over, then said, ”No one cares. After this, you'll smell like chilies and garlic anyway.”
Hearing that made my stomach lurch, but not enough to empty it. I figured that whatever I ate this afternoon would come right back up later, so I might as well binge eat my grief away.
SIX.
For all the talk about a neighborhood in ascendance, Uptown still had a wonderful bohemian vibe that I hoped would never fade-plenty of exotic cuisines, organic everything, old-school record shops, used bookstores, and ”vintage” clothing shops, but right next to trendy salons where it costs eighty bucks for a haircut, and franchise juice joints that were supposed to be the ”friendly” version of corporate raiding. Hey, as long as they sold whatever was en vogue, the youngsters disposed that income, for sure.
Unfortunately, all that was bohemian had become mainstream in the past decade, bringing more money in to the area as the hipsters became affluent, thus attracting more affluence in this giant s...o...b..ll of affluency, which would no doubt bland out the interesting little nooks and crannies, but I was hoping this was a neighborhood where we would always find some resurgent alternative pus.h.i.+ng against the p.r.i.c.ks.
Kinhdo was beneath a piercing parlor. The green awning's yellow font looked more appropriate for Disney's Jungle Book than an Asian eatery. Inside, it was plain. A long rectangle, some booths, some tables. Yellow walls, some paintings and flower arrangements here and there, but nothing more. The food was the main attraction. The restaurant was simply where you ate it.
Fine by me. I didn't need ambiance. I felt resurrected by hot tea, steamed spring rolls, and a giant bowl of Pho. My eyes were much bigger than my stomach, as always, and I wussed out on the binge, stopping halfway through. My mouth was on fire from all the heat I'd pitched in, but I was finally relaxed after two solid days of gut crus.h.i.+ng anxiety and emptiness. Jennings stuck with mostly veggies, mostly raw. Octavia ate like a death row inmate knowing it was the last time she would ever taste anything. She didn't want to talk about jail, but I pretty much forced her. Having never witnessed her in such dire straits for years-since the devastating break-up with her drummer boyfriend in college-I needed to hear how the experience effected her.
After pulling in a deep breath through her nostrils, she said quietly, ”It was humiliating. Wasn't it for you?”
I propped my elbows on the table. I had to consider that. ”That's not the right word. I was crushed. Stephanie's gone. Frances, missing. It's bad enough they think I did it, but who can I go to now? A couple of times I thought, Well, Stephanie's going to love hearing about this, but...I guess not.”
I blinked away tears, pretended the heat of the chili sauce was to blame. Octavia took a bite of spring roll she had dipped in sauce and made a face. Like I said, not her usual kind of place.
She said, ”I was treated with no respect by people who demand it while doing everything possible to show they don't deserve it. They looked at me as if I were a pain in the a.s.s rather than someone important.”
”I'm sure they have to be careful. Can't be accused of treating some better than others.”
She gave me a dull-eyed dismissal. ”If a celebrity had been arrested for, say, a DUI? They'd have fawned over him. One of our more controversial local politicians? They could've voted against that crazy b.i.t.c.h and she still would've gotten preferable treatment. Rich car dealer? The guy could've ripped them off on cars for their daughters, and still better than what the fat chick got. I saw how a couple of regulars had the run of the place. One of the usual hookers flirted with the cops, and they flirted back. No, dear Mick. It's nothing to do with fair treatment. It's because if you're black, Mexican, Somali, or an obese white b.i.t.c.h, the cops only see guilty because they're too f.u.c.king stupid to know that their reflection on the surface of a lake isn't a completely different person.”
Louder and louder she soared until that final sentence, realizing she had the rapt attention of several nearby tables. One man, I'd guess Republican, sure, even smiled, applauded, and said, ”You tell 'em.”
Octavia dropped her head to the table, resting it on her forearm. ”I didn't deserve it. I didn't do one d.a.m.ned thing to deserve it.”
Jennings and I let her have the moment. He rubbed her shoulder. This was the most affectionate I'd ever seen them. Any time in the past when they'd approached this level of seeming friends.h.i.+p and understanding, the air would fill as if electrically charged, and one of them would finally strike like lightning. But to see him comfort her made me think of Sharon Olds's ”Primitive”: We sit quietly..../and glance at each other askance, wordless, /the corners of our eyes clear as spear points /laid along the sill to show /a friend sits with a friend here.
Then Octavia raised herself up, her eye makeup smudged. Jennings offered her a napkin he'd dipped in his water gla.s.s. She stared at it for a moment, not reaching. He took another napkin, dipped it in her water gla.s.s, careful not to touch the water with his fingers, and handed that one to her, which she accepted.
He noticed me staring, a bit dumbfounded, and said, ”She doesn't trust me. She thinks I probably have some disease.”
”Almost a.s.suredly, dear,” Octavia said. ”You won't deny you're a regular c.u.m dumpster, will you?”
Jennings's cheeks flushed like a fresh cut watermelon. He gripped his fingers into fists so hard, I was sure his palms would bleed. He twisted his neck to the left, stretched, and then came back to us. Color returning to normal, taking a bite of his greens.
I tried to get us on subject. ”How long were you in?”
”You won't believe this. I don't know why that woman took so long. I mean, you called her right away, Jennings, and she must've stopped off for a pedicure-”
”How long?”
Cleared her throat. ”Three. Whole. Hours.”
Jennings was trying hard not to sneer. He cut a look at me that said, You want to throttle her, too. Admit it.
Yes indeed. Three f.u.c.king hours. I said, ”Just be grateful you didn't have to stay overnight.”
As I've said, Octavia is a brilliant woman, well-versed in fighting politely. ”Well, obviously. It's not like I killed my lover or kidnapped my ex.”
Tucked right back into our meals, all three of us filled our mouths in order to keep from escalating the warfare.
After several more bites, me having forgotten that I was really full and bloating up like a zeppelin, we were able to talk to one another again without aiming for the jugular. For a while, anyway.
”So,” Jennings started. Always the diplomat. ”Are we a.s.suming that the timing of the arrests was not coincidental?”
Octavia said, ”Not only that, but I believe the person responsible isn't being subtle about hiding it.”
”The Provost?”
”After you, after me, same day. Has influence in the community. I'm sure he still has some reach with that club of his. If not blackmail, then some very grateful members willing to do him a favor.”
I said, ”Do you think Alice might have been ordered to collect some intel?”
She didn't like that. A week was the longest I'd ever seen her with one person since college. Actually, two days had been the previous record. After a bark of a laugh, she said, ”If so, then I've heard just as much to bring him down as she learned about me. But honestly, we've been so busy f.u.c.king that I don't remember telling her about the greenhouse. s.h.i.+t, we haven't even had that much time to get high.”
The Republican who had applauded her earlier was now looking over his shoulder with a disgusted expression. It spurred Octavia on further, with a wink aimed at him.
”A d.y.k.e, a s.l.u.t, some toys, and animal attraction. Why the f.u.c.k would we talk about dope?”
”But maybe you did?”
”I'm pretty sure it never came up. We talked about weed, and I've talked about some I've tried that she might enjoy, but did I ever say, 'Let me go grab some primo White Widow out of my backyard'? I'm not an idiot. Jesus, I've been doing it for fifteen f.u.c.king years.”
Jennings said, ”Then who? Who else knows?”
I spoke really quickly. Should've thought it through. ”You.”
He shot back, ”So do you, a.s.shole.”
”I'm just saying-”
”Didn't take you long to throw me under the bus. You've known longer than me. And G.o.d knows you told your wife everything.”
Octavia slapped the table a couple times. ”You're both idiots, and you've both told people. Shut up and get real. It's not just the knowing. It's the being able to do something with what you know.”
Jennings and I couldn't help but glare. Paranoid. I told him, ”At least I'm pretty sure you didn't kill Stephanie and Frances.”