Part 26 (1/2)
”Beer.”
Octavia said, ”Water. With ice.”
While Harriet stomped off to fill our order, Octavia's proud height shrank, her shoulder low, and she said, ”I need to sit down.”
Jennings must've known this wasn't normal. He went to her and held her, guided her to the futon. Octavia eased herself down right in the middle, her bulk filling seventy percent of the available s.p.a.ce. Then her face was...wet. I didn't even realize she was crying, but there it was. Her chest was heaving.
”I...I...can't. I can't breathe.”
Jennings sat beside her, a little cramped, and rubbed his palm across her back. ”You're upset. Let's relax. Let's take in smooth breaths.”
That caused her to break down more. I stayed back while Jennings whispered to her. Octavia was sobbing uncontrollably. Harriet appeared in the kitchen doorway, gla.s.s of ice water in her hand. She'd lost the chip on her shoulder, genuinely concerned now. Her toes were curled tightly.
Octavia lifted her head and said, ”What...what did I do? I earned that money! I fought for it! But, my house? They take my house? I never hurt anybody with pot! It didn't hurt one G.o.dd.a.m.ned person! Who would do this to me?”
Despite all the scorn and insults she heaped on everyone around her, and despite her disgusting habits, questionable dating ethics, and general self-centered disregard for anyone else's beliefs, pa.s.sions, or opinions, Octavia was still my friend and I didn't think she deserved it, either.
I looked back at Harriet, who caught my eye, nodded towards the kitchen. I followed her in while Jennings worked it out with Octavia. The kitchen was very small and stuffed full of books, bowls, pans, and knives. Too small for a line cook, seemed to me. But it looked as if she'd been here several years, piling up knowledge and grease. She gave the curry a few stirs, then turned and propped herself against the counter, one foot braced on the lower cabinet. A very worried young woman. I'd had experience with plenty of those as a professor. I felt very ashamed.
I said, ”I'm going to a.s.sume you didn't turn her in, or me.”
Humph. ”I've been at the job a week and a half! It's cool. I get to buy whatever I want, cook almost anything that comes to mind, and I'm making bank. Jesus, Mick, and all that s.h.i.+t last week? I felt like I was on TV, it was so f.u.c.king b.a.l.l.s.”
”Yeah.”
”I tell people at Bar La Gra.s.sa about this job, they get so jealous. And they're the hot spot. Same with Barrio. I don't care how much of a b.i.t.c.h she is, I owe that woman a lot.”
I nodded. She teethed her bottom lip.
”How'd you hear about us? Are we on the news?”
She said, ”Jennings laid out some. But then it was on the radio, about how this big time activist-they call her an activist-got caught selling pot. I know better, but still, f.u.c.k, I didn't know about that. Was she ever going to tell me?”
”You would've figured it out eventually. I've known ever since she had her first apartment. She found some leftover seeds her boyfriend singer left, and decided to give it a go.”
Harriet grinned. ”That rocks.”
I shrugged. ”Not today, it doesn't.”
”Is she guilty? I mean, all the fraud stuff. Would she actually do that sort of thing?”
Did I want to say Yes? If you spend enough time around Octavia, you might think she's really evil, or at least possessed by some sort of demon that makes her gaze feel like artillery sh.e.l.ls falling on you. That's just because we're all creatures of feelings, and it takes brus.h.i.+ng past those emotional nerve-endings and accepting pure, unvarnished truth.
”She'd never do that, because she always wants to be right. I mean, she's playing against the big boys. They play rough, they've got good lawyers, and she needs to win cleanly. I'd guess most of the claims are because she's brilliant and makes good guesses. She thinks everything through-the companies she targets, the stocks and real estate she invests in. She'll put up a good fight against this, too, but the problem is that it's coming all at once. Even though each and every claim will be dismissed, she ends up in a tsunami.”
”Like, she can only handle one opponent at a time, and while she does that, her resources are frozen and all of her money and ties-”
”Are exposed like an autopsy, yeah. If we knew who was coordinating this, maybe we could short circuit the whole game.”
A moan rose up in Harriet's throat and worked its way out her mouth as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. ”I just want to keep my f.u.c.king job. Bouncing around from kitchen to kitchen just gets old.”
I was going to tell her how much I wanted her to keep it, too. The bad professor in me said I should step closer to her while I did. Rub a hand on her shoulder. Speak softly. I wish it was easier to resist.
I had barely moved towards her when Jennings stepped in the doorway and cleared his throat. We both stopped, looked. He could tell.
”Mick, she wants you. Go talk to her.”
”Me?”
”She asked for you and you alone.”
My stomach fluttered. Harriet's eyes widened, and then she turned back to her curry. Jennings picked up one of the unopened beers on the counter and asked for a church key. Then to me, ”I'm staying right here. Do what you can.”
Flutter, flutter, flutter. The same feeling I always got before boarding an airplane, on the first day of cla.s.ses, in the moments following the revelation that Frances had an abortion, and then again later when I learned it wasn't my child. Flutter, flutter, flutter. Being needed by your best friend shouldn't feel that way. It should feel...glorious. It should feel natural.
Instead, I felt like I might let my bowels loose right there in Harriet's kitchen. I clenched my guts. ”I don't know if I can.”
From the living room, a shout of ”Mick!”
Jennings stood aside, held his bottle in both hands, together front and center. Like at a funeral. I stepped past him and thought I heard church bells toll.
TEN.
Octavia looked up at me as I stepped into the room. Cheeks bloomed from crying, eyes cloudy. I grinned as I moved towards the couch. Unlike Jennings, I decided to avoid the discomfort of sitting beside her and instead lowered myself to the floor in front of her, crosslegged.
Why oh why was it so hard to talk to my supposed best friend? Because in the past, it was she who did the talking. It was she who shot down whatever puny concerns I might have had with reason and a s.h.i.+eld of indifference. She could simultaneously make me feel better (as in ”s.h.i.+t, this is nothing. It'll pa.s.s.”), and worse (”Tuck your junk and embrace the teenage girl inside you, wuss.”) about my ridiculous concerns. I was too focused on the small stuff to see the wider picture. So then how could I return the favor when all I could offer would probably be beneath her? If she hadn't thought of the answer already, what ripping insights could I add to the mix?
She smiled at me. She reached down her hand, brushed my cheek.
”Mick. Dear sweet Mick. I am so f.u.c.king screwed.”
I squeezed my eyes tight. If she'd given up, that was that. I opened my eyes again and said, ”No, no, don't let them get to you. We can beat this.”
”It doesn't matter. The one who's after me knows that I'm a goner. Even if I fight back one bit at a time, they've dropped a bomb on me. But you, we can still save you.”
I took her hand off my face, held it in her lap. ”Come on, Octavia. What's going on? Why can't we do both?”
A quick glance at the kitchen door. We heard Jennings and Harriet in conversation, so Octavia went on, ”I'm fat, Mick. Terribly fat. And I don't like it, but it's who I am now. I do the best I can. I hate everyone who has ever looked at me sideways because of my weight, so why should I wreck myself trying to get thin just to prove them right? I'm saying I'm afraid to go through what it takes to lose weight because in the end, all those people...they still win. They'll know I suffered to please them, to please myself but only because of the nasty things they'd said. It's f.u.c.king madness.”
”Okay.” It was all I had. ”Okay.”
”c.u.n.ts, Mick. c.u.n.ts. They knew exactly where to stab me.” She took a long pause, sat a bit higher. ”It's the house. I mean, the money of course, without which there would be no house, but the house is where I get to do whatever the h.e.l.l I want to. It's where I keep the things that are most precious to me. It where I can love whatever and whoever I love without anyone sneering, and if they dare do that in my house, I can rip them to shreds. You take away my house and my money then all you have is a very angry fat b.i.t.c.h.”