Strings Attached (24 page)

Upon his arrival home from school, Jeremy was startled to find Helikon’s most venerable employee, a squat man known only as Benny, scrunched into a bloated ball under the desk in his bedroom, hammering and screwing away busily. He was the bearlike technician who had installed the original computer equipment the week after Jeremy had arrived from Fresno in October, the day after Uncle Bill had presented his computer to him.

“E-mail should work fine now,” the man bellowed over the squeal of his drill. “You got a bad cable, and some Irish-made software we recalled a month ago kept trash-canning your mail.”

“Great! Thanks!” Jeremy shouted back. For the last month, he’d been receiving intermittent warnings from his computer that his “firewall” was down, whatever that was, and subsequently his friends’ communications were being transformed into cyberspace junk.

“Let’s try her out,” the man announced, unfolding himself from inside the rosewood kneehole and pulling himself up to collapse onto the black leather desk chair.

His thumblike index finger pressed a button, and the machine whirred to life. The screen flashed and blinked, and within moments his hands were flying swiftly between mouse and keyboard, his eyes never leaving the ever-changing monitor. “Your peripherals are coming up fine. Let’s just see if your mail program’ll launch. Hang on…yeah…here it comes now…
good.
”

Jeremy blinked at the screen as the inbox registered seven waiting messages. “How’d you do that?” he asked.

“Years a’ practice.” Benny heaved himself up from the chair and then bent to gather the scattered tools littering the carpet.

“No. I mean, how did you open my e-mail without my password?” He narrowed his eyes, searching the man’s face.

“Oh,
that.
Your password must’ve been stuck in there from the last time it wouldn’t launch.” He nodded. “Yeah, the last time you used it, it probably crashed right after you punched it in. Am I right?”

Jeremy paused. “Yeah, I think I remember doing just that.” And he did. But the sudden relief on the technician’s face told him that maybe there was something else going on; years of living with a pathological liar had earned him a sixth sense keener than any FBI polygraph—except, apparently, where lust was concerned. But why would this man, this most trusted employee of Uncle Bill, be doing something fishy with his computer?

“Just let Mr. Mortson know if you have any trouble again.”

“Sure, thanks.”

The man turned and vanished.

He eased himself into his desk chair, then stretched his fingers onto the keyboard and opened the first of his belated messages.

There were four from Carlo—trying to answer his request over vacation to contact him as soon as possible—one from Coby and one from Reed. Finally, there was a broadcast message from the prom committee regarding an electronic vote on three proposed locations. He trashed it.

First he opened Coby’s:

Hey Tyler,

Left my red sweatshirt

At your place in the mountains.

Could you bring it back?

So was this how he was going to play it, that nothing ever happened? And his oddly haiku-like request for Jeremy to return his sweatshirt clearly indicated that he had no intention of ever going up there with him again, of having it be “just the two of us” as he had confessed so convincingly that night. So Ellie had been correct—the cat had probably moved on to more challenging mice by now.

He stared zombielike at the screen, clawed hands hanging over the keys. He should read his other messages and get it over with. He scrolled down to the message from Reed dated a week ago, and then opened it.

Dear Jeremy,

It’s so hard sitting here not being able to talk to you or hear your voice. I was always so afraid we would break up, and now my worst fear has come true. This is really hard for me to say, but I miss you so much.

A lot has happened that I wanted to share with you and I can’t.

I want you to know I’ve been thinking about what happened, and I think we need to talk it out, only just not yet ’cause I’m not ready to see you. It just hurts so much.

I’m so confused. But I know that I can’t stand your silence.

I need to talk soon. Write back.

Love, Reed

PS: I still have your Christmas present

He nearly collapsed with relief. He would respond later, after she got his letter and had time to read it. But he still needed to find out what Carlo’s final message had to say. It was dated late today and tagged
re: Frat House,
which Jeremy knew was a dance club and coffee bar that catered to gay boys.

Dear Chum,

Since you still profess to being sexually confused, I figured it was about time you saw what you’ve been missing being holed up (!) in your castle and all. It just so happens that Carmen and her sometimes boyfriend Darius (!!) and I are going to the Frat House this evening to celebrate her exceptionally high MCAT scores (for Med school, dummy).

Yes, I know it’s a school night, but you’re only seventeen once, right? By the way, we need you to drive. My dad won’t let us take the Tahoe. Says we’ll drive his truck to a gay bar over his dead body. Personally, I don’t see a problem, but Carmen objects for some reason. Let me know ASAP. We’re leaving at eight.

Your homosexual chum,

Carlo

Jeremy pushed himself up from his desk and then ambled out onto his balcony.

A gay bar. Was he ready for this?

He leaned with arms crossed on top of the wrought-iron railing, noticing a strongly built Latin man in shorts and a hooded sweatshirt jogging easily along the beach below with what looked, strangely, like a golden retriever that was coal-black. The glorious dog leapt joyfully at his master’s side, baiting him to hurl a neon-green tennis ball far out into the water, after which he streaked along the beach and retrieved it sopping wet, then dropped it at his master’s feet to have the happy game repeated. The creature was ecstatic, as if each throw were the first.

A dog. He’d never had one. He’d never even allowed himself to think about getting one; the possibility had never crossed his mind. So many things that he considered acquiring now had never even interested him before, like going to college, establishing a career,
having a boyfriend.
It was as if the unspoken law that prevented him from living his own life had finally been repealed.

At once, a moldy dampness tickled his nostrils. He turned his head, noticing an Olympus-size palisade of black hovering over the northwestern sea.

Another winter storm to be sure, but this one far off. Might not even hit Ballena Beach, since most made landfall in Santa Barbara and then petered out as they drifted south before reaching Ventura.

An unexpected gust of wind whirled around his head as if he’d slipped on a little tornado helmet, and he shivered despite the heavy sweater he wore. He went back inside and tapped a reply to Carlo:

Dear Gay Chum,

I’ll pick you and your gang up at eight, unless I chicken out.

But I can’t stay out past ten because I’ve got swim practice in the AM, and I can’t be late because I cut my first two classes this morning. (I’ll explain later.)

Chumly,

Jeremy

“Jeremy, dear, are you there?” Katharine’s voice inquired from his intercom. He trotted across the room to answer.

“Yes, Aunt Katharine?” She must have arrived back from Alaska within the last hour.
What was he going to tell her about Lake Estrella?

“Will you please come down to the living room? Your uncle and I wish to speak with you about something.
Immediately
.” Her voice sounded unusually stiff, not her more recently relaxed self at all.

His alarm sounded.

Maybe it was only that they’d found out about his skipping class.

No. He had an alibi: his transcripts. But he’d forgotten to look them over.

Later.

“Sure. I’ll be right down.”

He glanced at his watch while loping down the stairs on his way to the living room. It was nearly 5:30, so he still had a couple of hours to eat, shower, and change before picking up his companions for tonight’s pilgrimage. So was he ready for this? Probably not. But at least he could rely on Carlo to get him through the evening. And the fact that Darius and Carmen were going also helped calm his fears; he pictured them forming a human wall he could hide behind, if needed.

He spotted Uncle Bill first, looking—if possible—more grim than usual, seated opposite an elegantly dressed redheaded woman whose back faced him. His aunt stood stiff as a wax museum figure by one of the pair of gold-leafed tables that flanked the elaborate marble fireplace, her hands clasped politely, her bearing as poised as ever.
Shouldn’t she look jetlagged?
He was just weighing the pros and cons of wearing boxers versus briefs under his jeans when the woman turned to him and the recognition sucker-punched him in the stomach.

“Hello, Jeremy.”

His head swiveled from his aunt to his uncle, then back again.

Poker faces all around.

“Hi, Mom.” He felt his confidence deflate.

“You look good, son,” was what she said, but
it’s Jonathan from the dead
was what she thought.

“Yeah,
they
take great care of me. I really like it here.” His arms and legs kicked back to life, and he, remembering Katharine’s instructions to
stand tall, imagining a string,
padded over to the chair next to where his aunt stood.

He sat down and crossed his legs, scissors-style.

“You look good too,” he said, taking in the expensive but ill-fitting brass-buttoned navy dress suit she wore with the matching, although visibly undersized, pumps. Where had she gotten such a conservative getup? Of course, she was wearing his aunt’s clothes. It touched him to see that as much as Katharine hated Tiffany, she had cared enough about him to try to make her look presentable.

Now that was class.

“I didn’t recognize you at first with your hair that color,” Jeremy said. “It looks pretty,” he lied, figuring any attempt at grooming should be complimented.

“Yeah, well it’s a whole new me,” Tiffany replied, meeting his stare. “I even did so well they let me out a little early.”

“Three months is a little early?” His eyebrows arched.

She glared back. “Ten weeks, exactly. They wouldn’t have let me leave unless they thought I was ready. The doctor said…”

“But you
promised,
” Jeremy cut in. “You
promised
you’d be there for the whole six months. So what the fuck happened?”

“Jeremy!” his aunt chided, her eyes sparkling.

“It’s OK. I expected this, Katharine.” She pulled the hem of her skirt down to cover the top edge of her knees, the picture of propriety. “I need to talk to you about that, Jeremy honey. That’s why I’m here.”

“You can make excuses all you want,
Mother,
” he said, “but there’s no way I’m going back with you to Fresno or anywhere else. I’ve got friends here now, even a girlfriend,” he lied, “and I’m on the swim team, just like Dad was. And I’m doing really well in school now; I even picked up a transcript today for my application to USC—” He caught himself; his aunt was standing in the room too, and she certainly didn’t need to see all of his grades, not right now at least.

“Why don’t you share your transcripts with her later, son?” Bill interrupted, not wanting Tiffany’s input on the obvious discrepancies he’d orchestrated. “I’m sure your mother believes you.”

“Thank you, Bill. Of course I believe him.” She nodded. “Let me start by saying that I understand how you must feel toward me.”

“You
what?
” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got no fucking idea how I feel about you!”

“Young man!” Bill barked. “Your manner is completely inappropriate.”

Jeremy glared at him beseechingly.
You’re supposed to be on my side.
“Look, Uncle Bill, Aunt Katharine, this is between my mom and me, and I think we really need some time to work this out on our own. So maybe we should just go outside, where we won’t disturb you.” He popped up from the chair. “Come on, Mother, let’s go walk down to the beach.”

“Whatever you want.” She pushed herself up from the sofa and stood wobbling in Katharine’s pumps, her feet like loaves of bread spilling over their pans. “Katharine, Bill, will you please excuse us?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Absolutely,” said Bill, his button eyes fixed on Tiffany. Then Jeremy saw that hers met the old man’s, and then both looked away. “Will we see you back before dinner?”

“Who knows,” she replied, heading toward the doors that led outside.

“Oh Tiffany,
dear,
” Katharine inquired. “If you’re going to walk in the sand, would you care for some more comfortable shoes?”

“I’ll take ’em off once I get to the stairs.”

“Of course.”

Jeremy led the way confidently down the zigzagging staircase that descended between prickly cactus clusters and gaudy blankets of fuchsia ice plant, to the sand at the base of the cliffs. Trailing behind, his mother fought her way down one riser at a time, her right hand a claw on the handrail, her left dangling an elegant handbag. Finally she reached the base and set her purse on a rock, then kicked stocking-footed through the sand to the nearest boulder. She groaned as she sat.

Her eyes tried to engage his, but he was looking elsewhere; she followed his line of sight to the gargantuan cloud wall, looking like a mountain range of charred cotton advancing from the west.

Storm.

“Jeremy,” she shouted over the sudden overlapping thunder of the waves.

He turned to face her, his hands shoved deep in his jeans. “Let me go first—after I tell you what I’m thinking, you might not have anything to say.”

“I doubt it, but go ahead.”

“I…I can’t believe you’re here, three months early. No warning, no nothing.”

“I tried calling you, and you just yelled at me, so I figured what’s the use in trying again?”

“You were saying horrible things about my uncle. What did you expect?” She only glared dumbly in response, so he continued. “This is the first time in my life someone has actually cared enough about me to take care of me. And now here you are trying to make everything like it was before.”

“It’ll be good, Jeremy, I promise,” she said. “Everything’s going to be different. I’ve got money now, and I’ve been sober for three whole months. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He shook his head. “It’s really hard for me to believe you could actually change—so quickly. Maybe if you’d stayed the entire time I might believe you, like if you’d shown up here in March instead of now.” He looked down. Why was he wasting time talking to her about this? After all, her sobriety wasn’t the real issue here, for once. He should just say it, the real reason he believed she wanted him out of here. “You just can’t stand the thought of me being happy.”

His words stung. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You were the same way with Dad. That’s why you trapped him. You knew that you could never be the kind of wife that he deserved, but you trapped him anyway.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that, you know…”

“That’s besides the point. You made a mess of three lives, and I’ve finally got the chance now to clean up mine and have a future. Even you can see how much better off I am now, and
you can’t stand it.
”

“Of course I can see how much better your life is here. I’m not stupid. But I’m your mother, and I want the best for you, and we both need each other, even if you can’t see that right now. We
need
to be together.”

“Why? Because I’m almost old enough to buy cigarettes for you legally? Or is it because I’m almost out of high school and pretty soon I’ll get some crappy minimum-wage job?”

And then it hit him.

The Tyler Trust.

“You just want my trust money!” he yelled. “You selfish monster, you’ll never change. I hate you!” His eyes spilled tears, and he fought with every shred of dignity he owned not to collapse sobbing into a heap on the sand.

“No no no no no, Jeremy! That’s not it, I
swear
!” she pleaded, waving her hands. “I don’t want your money, believe me! I have thousands of dollars now, of my own. Look!” She snatched her purse off the rock, opened it, and thrust it at him. “And there’s more where that came from! Lots!”

“What, are you robbing liquor stores now?” he laughed bitterly. “Where the hell would you get that kind of money except…from Katharine and Bill?”

His heart sank with the realization.

Did they give her the money to take me away?

“Where I got it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! I’m not stupid either.
Tell me the truth for once!
”

She’d always known this moment would come, and here it was: the head-on collision of her past and future. She closed her eyes and felt the sea wind tousle her hair and swirl about her body as if she were falling up, up, up, into the sky.

She made her way to him. But as she drew closer, she saw that he was shaking. Not
cold
shaking but
ready to explode
shaking. And at once, she was reminded of a time when, at the zoo, she hurried past the cage of a drooling lion that paced, out of exasperation, back and forth while bumping his head against the bars at either end, as if he’d forgotten since the last trip ten seconds ago that they were even there. She’d never seen anything so pathetic, this magnificent creature trapped like a hamster. And she saw now that it was the same for her son: he stood before her aching for release, but bound by the strings her greed and lust and self-hatred and laziness had wound around them both.

She figured this was it, the moment to cut him loose.

She folded her arms. “For starters, I got the money from your uncle.”

“How?” he snarled.

“He just gave it to me so that I, so that
we
could get on our feet.”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want with it.” He turned and began trudging toward the stairway. “I’m not going back!”

“I know you’re upset right now, Jeremy, but you can’t stay here!” she shouted, laboring through the sand after him. “You just
can’t!
”

He stopped and turned. “And why not?”

“Because I know…that Bill killed your father, and I’m afraid he might do something to you next.”

“Bullshit.” He began pacing nervously back and forth, his feet generating tiny sandstorms.

“Sit down. You need to listen to what I’m saying now, and you’ve got to swear never to tell anyone about it unless you’re in real danger.” She rummaged beneath the cash in her purse for her smokes and found none.
Shit.
Why hadn’t she remembered to pack her cigarettes? She had plenty now; she’d made the limo driver stop along the way here and had bought herself four cartons.

“I swear. I won’t tell.”
It was probably a lie she was about to tell, anyway.

“Something big is gonna happen soon. With him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Reflexively she checked her pockets again for cigarettes and finding none tucked her hands up into her armpits. “First off, I’ve always blamed myself for Jonathan’s accident, for your father’s death.”

“Aunt Katharine says the whole thing was your fault.”

Her eyes bugged, then narrowed. “Well, in a way I guess it was. Not directly, but I guess I had something to do with it.”

“Then she was right?”

“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, honey, it’s that nothing is ever black and white. But things affect each other. I mean, you do something wrong and it causes someone else to do something bad and then suddenly there’s an out-of-control situation. First of all, as you know by now, I got pregnant so Jonathan would marry me. So I could be a
Tyler.
”

“That’s what Aunt Katharine said.”

“Yeah, well that’s no big secret. Your father lived in a whole world I could never have unless I stole it. So I did, yes I did. My sister’d done the same thing a couple years before, and she went from living in our family’s crappy old mobile home in Paradise Cove to a mansion in Montecito. I thought, well, if she could do it, then so could I. Johnny Tyler was smart, and athletic, and funny, and cultured, and
rich.
And he was good-looking, like no other guy I’d ever seen. When I saw him at those swim meets, my heart pounded. He was real classy.”

“Did you ever love him?”

“Honey, I don’t even think I know what love feels like, from a man I mean. Maybe I did, deep down. All I know is I wanted him and his kind of life so bad it hurt. Hurt like I was in jail and there was a park outside with people laying on blankets and eating fried chicken on the grass, and their happiness was out of reach for me. My friends laughed. They said, ‘Jonathan Tyler won’t ever go out with you because he has servants to take the trash out.’ That hurt.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Anyhow, I bleached my hair and borrowed my sister’s clothes and hung out at the swim meets, and pretty soon we were dating. And you know the rest.”

“But what about his accident?”

“I was getting to that. After we got married and you were born, I thought I’d be happy, but I was miserable. No one treated me any different. In fact, they treated me worse, like I was a
total fake.
I couldn’t go out because everywhere I went they laughed at me. They even called me
Tiffany Trashler.

“So I stayed home and watched TV. And I started doing drugs—coke mostly—and lots of it. Johnny tried to treat me good. He was too nice of a guy to treat the mother of his son like the junkie I was. But the drugs started messing with how I acted, and I became a total bitch to him. I guess I was trying to punish him, probably because I hated myself, if that makes sense. Then I realized the only way I could get out of the situation was to divorce him, get some alimony and child support, and take you away. But he wouldn’t let me.