Gorilla Beach (21 page)

“Where?”

He showed her each figure. None of the others was as large as the Venus. But the mini-Bellas were just as amazing. He'd put her head on the body of a panther, an eagle, an exotic dancer with six gigantic boobs, and in a crest of sea foam.

Since she was thirteen, boys had been telling Bella she was beautiful. But Will made her believe it. Bella was his subject, and his muse. She'd inspired Will. And she felt inspired right back, by him. She felt as if she could do anything.

But there was only one thing she
wanted
to do.

“Any other girls make the wall?” she asked, scanning the other images.

He grinned. “A few. But they got painted over quickly enough.”

“Who's this?” she asked of another female face that appeared often in the murals, usually as an insect or rodent. Will paused. A sensitive subject? “It's your mom, right?”

He nodded. “And this is my dad.” He pointed to another figure, set apart, in the corner. “I'm covered in paint. Do you mind if I clean up?”

Following him into a small bathroom, she watched him scrub his hands and wash his face and neck. Beads of water trickled down his ripped back and chest. “You brought me dinner?” he asked.

She realized she was still holding the bag of burgers. “Are you hungry? Olga made me promise to feed you. She gave me your address.”

“I owe her, again.” After he dried off, they went into the living room. He found a bottle of Coke in the fridge. They sat on the lumpy couch and dug into the burgers. They ate in silence, but the air between them was warm and comfortable.

“Sorry about the bike. It dominates the room, but I can't leave it on the street.”

“Tell me about your parents,” she said. “Unless you don't want to.”

“I've got nothing to be ashamed of.
They
do. Mom was a drunk when I was growing up. Dad was addicted to betting at Yonkers Raceway. Harness racing, guys on little carriages whipping horses. Five nights a week, year-round. If Dad got lucky, he drank his winnings. If he lost, there was a lot of screaming and fighting. Sometimes, it got physical. I spent a lot of time ducking for cover, or stealing food from my neighbors' kitchens. They kind of let me do it, out of pity. As soon as I could, I left home. I met Olga almost as soon as I got off the bus. She ‘sensed' we had a future together and took me in. I lived in her house with her other kids and worked for her until she let me sell my drawings out of her store. I finished
high school right here in AC. I wasn't a great student, though. The only thing I've ever been good at is drawing faces.”

Bella's heart ached for him. Not having a loving, supportive family? It was inconceivable to her. She'd been raised in the same house with her parents, her grandparents, and, eventually, her aunt Alicia and Gia. They had dinner together every night and were in each other's business constantly. To be neglected and abused by your own flesh and blood? That was the ultimate nightmare. And Will had survived it.

“Please don't look at me like that,” he said. “It's killing my appetite.”

“How did you get by?”

“I got lucky. I met some people who helped, Olga and an art teacher. She encouraged me and paid for me to take some classes. Eventually, I saved enough money to buy the bike and rent this apartment. I've almost got enough to move to a better place.”

“Do you talk to your parents at all?”

“Never again would be too soon,” he said. “They have no idea where I am.”

“Your mom is an alcoholic and your dad is a gambler. And you came to a casino party town. On some level, you want them to find you.”

“I didn't plan on coming to AC, or anywhere. I hid on a departing bus, and it stopped here. Totally random. I have looked up my parents. They're on Facebook. She's sober and goes to AA. He's in Gamblers Anonymous. So, if you think about it, this is the one town they'll never visit.”

“So even after they got sober, you still don't want to talk to them?”

“Too much under the bridge,” he said.

“That's sad.”

“It's ancient history. I'm numb to it. I don't really think it makes that much difference in my life now. I'm twenty-five years
old. By being on my own for so long, I've got a jump start on other kids my age.”

He had no friggin' idea what he'd missed by not having a close, loving family. Maybe that was a blessing. “I couldn't have survived,” she said.

“You'd be surprised what you're capable of. I think you could handle any curveball life threw at you.”

Bella put down her burger and cleared the wax paper off his lap. Then she threw a curve at him. Closing the distance between them, she kissed him. He returned it, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.
No more holding back,
she thought. The seed of doubt was gone.

Before they got too intense, he pulled away to ask, “Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me?”

“I do feel sorry for you. But that's not why I want you.”

“Then why?”

“Your orgy scene really turned me on. That chick with six boobs … mad sexy.”

“Stand back! Everyone, stand
back,” yelled the paramedic, a thirtyish black woman. The crowd gave Ponzi some air.

Her partner, a younger guy with dreads, put an oxygen mask over Ponzi's face. “Oh, damn!”

A dark circle appeared, and grew, around Ponzi's crotch.

“How much did he have to drink tonight?” the woman asked Gia.

“A bottle of wine.”

“Medical history of high blood pressure, fainting, or panic attacks?”

“Not since I've know him.”

“How long is that?”

“A week?”

“Vitals stable,” said the paramedic. “He's slightly dehydrated. Probably just passed out. Is he allergic to anything?”

“He fainted after he did a pickle-juice shot,” said Gia. If he was allergic to pickles, they were doomed. He might as well be allergic to bronzer or tequila. Or sex. Maybe he was allergic to sex! That would explain why he'd avoided it. “He might have a sensitivity to kookah.”

“Kookah?” asked the female paramedic.

“You know, foxhole.”

The woman gave Gia a suspicious look. “Are you on something?”

The guy said, “He's stable. Breathing steady. Let's load him up.”

“Where are you taking him?” asked Gia.

“AtlantiCare Regional Medical Center. It's around the corner, behind the Nero's parking lot.”

“Do I get to ride in it with you?”

“Unless you'd rather run alongside,” said the woman.

“Yay! I've never been in an ambulance before!” Even though Gia was upset and scared about Ponzi, she felt excited about that.

Both paramedics stopped loading Ponzi on the stretcher to gape at her. “Patient's name?” asked the woman.

“Arthur Ponzirelli,” said Gia, pleased to be useful and know the answer.

“Sounds fake.”

They hoisted the stretcher into the ambulance. Gia had trouble climbing aboard. The first step was really high. She had heels on, and a supertight skirt. Plus, she was kind of height challenged.

“A little help?” she asked.

The guy yelled, “Get your ass in here, now!”

Jeez. No need to yell. She yanked up her skirt, climbed onto the step on her knees, then pulled herself in. The man was driving. The woman was in the back, checking Ponzi's heart rate and pulse. “Is he okay?” asked Gia.

“Stable.”

“Good.”

The siren went on, and the ambulance raced to the hospital. It was only a few blocks. They pulled up to the emergency room entrance. Gia climbed down the steps again and followed the stretcher as the paramedics crashed through a set of doors into
the ER. It was kind of exciting, like being in a hospital TV show. “Male, midtwenties, possible anaphylactic shock, possible alcohol poisoning.”

“Does he have ID?” asked the nurse, a fortyish white woman in green scrubs.

“His name is Arthur Ponzirelli,” said Gia.

“Sounds fake,” said the nurse.

“That's what I said,” agreed the paramedic.

“It's real,” said Gia. “I've been with the kid for a week.”

The nurse found his wallet in his pants pocket. It was empty except for cash and an expired Florida driver's license. The nurse showed it to Gia. “This says his name is Boris Karloff.”

Gia's brow crinkled. “Who the hell is Boris Karloff?”

“You don't have any clue who you've been hanging out with, do you?” asked the nurse, clucking.

“You're slut-shaming me? Seriously?”

“You can be a slut with a clue,” said the male EMS. “Ponzirelli? As in Ponzi? Like the original pyramid schemer? Your boyfriend took the name of a con man, a grifter.”

Pyramid scheme? Sounded like a bikini-line styling option. “It's not my fault he passed out,” Gia whined.

“Can you describe what happened right before he passed out?”

“He ate a hot chili pepper, and his face turned bright red. He started panting like crazy. Then he drank pickle juice and said he hated it.”

“Could explain dehydration and a panic attack,” said the nurse. “Why'd he drink it if he hates it so much?”

“He didn't know what it was. I gave it to him as a joke. Ha.”

“What
else
can you tell us about him?” said the nurse.

“He's a good kisser?”

The three hospital workers shook their heads at her. Talk about judgey! She hadn't done anything wrong. Except giving Ponzi the hot pepper, which was pretty funny, and then the pickle
juice, which was also funny,
at first
. But it'd gone horribly wrong. Gia thought but didn't say,
Waaa!

The nurse brought her to admitting. Gia spent the next hour filling out forms. She left most of the boxes blank or put question marks in them. Ponzi's date of birth? Insurance info? Home address? She knew
nothing
about the kid after being with him almost every night for a week.

An exhausting hour later, Gia returned to the emergency room with a throbbing headache. She looked around for Ponzi, until another nurse informed her that John Doe regained consciousness and insisted on leaving the hospital.

“Who the fuck is John Doe?”
cried Gia, at wit's dead end.

At almost dawn, she clicked in heels the two blocks back to Nero's Palace. She tried Ponzi's cell phone. No answer. She was bone tired, but wired with worry. Where
was
he? Was he okay? When she found him, she'd apologize for almost killing him. And then, she'd kill him for … possibly lying about his name and everything else, too.

When Gia got to the suite at Nero's, she called out, “Bells? Fredo?”

No one home at six in the morning? Where
were
they? Gia called their numbers. No answer. She'd never felt so confused and alone. Her friends were who knew where, probably blowing through the cash that
she'd
won for them with
her
gift.

It wasn't right. They should be here to talk her down. On no sleep, having witnessed a near-death experience, Gia's emotions were as wound up as spaghetti on a friggin' fork. If Bella and Fredo cared at all about her, they'd have called or texted. It'd been, like, all freakin' night since she'd heard from either of them. Feeling bleak, Gia had a self-pitying thought.

“They'll turn up when they need money,” she said to the empty room.

As if on cue, the door opened. Bella raced inside, amped up on
adrenaline. She was still wearing her running clothes from yesterday afternoon—or a sunrise run on the beach? Masochistic, either way.

“Gia! You're up.
Cool
. Listen, I need money,” said Bella.

Gia shook her head. “I'm like a human ATM to you. I open my mouth, and cash spits out”

“It's not for me. It's for Will. You should see the dump he lives in. But he can't leave. He's stuck there. His soul is on the walls. He's been painting them for three years and—”

“And he hit you up for a loan? Like Bobby used to all the time?” asked Gia in a rare mean mood. “Yeah, freeloading is
so
sexy.”

Bella narrowed her eyes. “What's your problem?”

“Forget it.”

“You've got a stink face, Gia.”

“I'm just a little tired of your being … what's that thing that feeds off something else, sucking the life out of it one drop at a time?”

“Vampire?”

“I mean the thing that lives in your intestines from bad sushi.”

“Parasite?”

“Right! You're the parasite,” said Gia, “and I'm the host.”

Bella's eyes blazed with anger. “How many times have I helped you when you were flat broke?”

“We're not talking about the past. The past is over. I mean right this freakin' minute. Now. The future. And, truth be told, you used to slip me twenties. I've been giving you hundreds.”

“I gave you whatever I had. A lot of times, more than I could afford.”

“You always put a price on it, though. A little jab about how I should learn to take care of myself. A comment about how I should get my shit together. Like I'm not
trying
? I think you
like
watching me struggle, so you can feel superior,” said Gia, shocked by the harsh words and true emotions. She hadn't even realized she felt this way until she'd expressed it.

The rant kept flowing. “Your starving artist? Anyone can see this kid is in trouble. He's barely getting by. But it's so typical of you to need to be needed. Just like with Bobby, and just like with your mom when she was sick.”

Bella's neck turned red under the bronze, and veins popped. Gia braced for an explosion. But it didn't come. Bella swallowed the bomb.