This Glittering World (20 page)

B
LACK
AND
W
HITE
W
ORLD

S
ara slept. Like a Grimm’s fairy-tale princess, she lay prone, flitting in and out of sleep. During the day, she rested by the pool, a pitcher of ice water sweating beside her. In the afternoons, when the sun became too hot, she moved to the living room, where she lay prostrate on the couch. Then, by early evening, when the sky turned orange and pink and the air cooled, she retired to the bedroom, where the ceiling fan spun lazily above her.

It was a life of strange repose.

But while Sara rested, Ben schemed. While she lay in languor, Ben found himself restless. Wide awake and buzzing with a renewed sense of purpose. He had started getting up at five and swimming for an hour every morning. In the pool was where he did his best thinking. The cold water cleared his head, and the rhythmic strokes were meditative. In the cool green depths of the water, he was formulating his plan. As he did the back stroke, the side stroke, the breast stroke, he was ruminating, contemplating, planning. Every morning for the last two weeks he had slipped into the pool, and as his arms and legs and lungs worked, his mind was free to strategize. He knew he could not be rash. He would not make the error of impatience, of impulsiveness again.

He could not go to the police, not yet. Clearly, they had made little to no headway with their investigation, and when Lucky had tipped off the police, he’d wound up in the hospital. Shadi had told him that Lucky did not plan to press charges. At this point, Ben was pretty sure that Mark Fitch and Joe Bello both knew that he was involved somehow, and he was also certain that one false step on his part might have devastating consequences. For him. And for Shadi.

He knew that ultimately what he needed was to find another witness, someone else who had been there. If he could find just one person at the party to speak up, one of
them,
to come forward, then maybe the police would listen. Maybe then everything would be exposed. He had to believe that Lucky had been wrong, that justice
was
possible, even for someone like Ricky. He had to believe that there was someone at the party who had a conscience. Someone else who wasn’t sleeping at night because of what they knew. He just had to find that person.

“What are you doing?” he asked Sara. “Shopping?”

Ben had told Sara that Shadi had a family emergency and had to return to the reservation. She would not be able to make the rug. Sara had been shopping for one online ever since.

She was lying on a lawn chair, clicking on her laptop, as he emerged from the pool and grabbed his towel. Her skin was turning a soft gold from all of the sun. Her hair bleaching out to a pale butter color. Her belly was a small bump now, like half of a basketball inside her bathing suit.

“Just chatting,” she said.

“With?” he asked, rubbing the towel across his head and then wrapping it around his waist.

“This girl Laney,” she said, looking up at him. “She’s due the same week that I am, and she’s on bed rest too.”

“Huh,” Ben said. “Where does she live?”

“California somewhere. Sacramento, I think.”

“What do you talk about?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Baby stuff. Other stuff. She’s having a rough time because her husband just got deployed to Iraq. She’s living with her sister, but her sister works sixty hours a week, and she’s all by herself all day long. She’s got preeclampsia, and she’s really scared. I just try to distract her, I guess.” Sara shrugged again. “Keep her company.”

As difficult as working at the hospital had been for Sara, he knew she missed it. For the first week after she was mandated to stay in bed, she talked about the hospital all the time. She talked about Emma. She was still in touch with Emma’s mother, who had invited Sara to the memorial service. He knew she had wanted to be there. He’d brought flowers to her that day after work: a bouquet of pink roses that had since shrugged off their petals and sat wilting in a vase on the kitchen counter. Without nursing, and stuck in bed, Sara was at a loss as to how to bide her time. All the energy that went into taking care of people had nowhere to go.

Her mother brought her books by the dozen from the library and an armload of magazines, but she soon grew bored with the stories and tired of the tabloids. Melanie came the first weekend and tried to teach Sara how to knit, but she was frustrated when the stitches slipped and gave up as soon as Melanie went back home, the scarf unraveling into a fuzzy purple mess. She watched movie after movie but usually fell asleep before they ended.

Finally, when her birthday came a week later, her father had wrapped up a pretty pink laptop in a pretty pink ribbon, arranged for wireless service to be installed in the house, and it was like a prince’s kiss. Now she shopped for baby things online, squandered hours on Facebook, and chatted in virtual rooms with other women who were lying in their own beds all over the world. He imagined a network of these sleeping beauties, all lying in wait as the babies inside them incubated.

“You should start your own Web site or something, a blog maybe. There must be a lot of women on bed rest.”

“That is a
great
idea,” she said, her eyes widening. She looked at him in disbelief. “I mean, a really, really good idea. I could call it …” She clapped her hands together.
“Bedtime Stories!”

Ben shook his wet hair and wiped his feet off before stepping through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen. He could hear Sara’s fingers furiously tapping even after he slid the doors closed.

Now they both had a project. And Sara would be occupied while he figured out where to go from here.

F
rank had handed the reins over to Ben at the dealership but still came by every Friday afternoon to check in on him and the rest of the staff and then take Ben out for a long lunch. Most Fridays they got back so late, Ben just had time to grab his stuff and head back home. This week, Friday could not come soon enough. Before Ben did anything, he wanted to get more of a sense of exactly who he was dealing with, what sort of man this Martin Bello was, though he certainly had his suspicions. Ben knew that Frank was in the know in Arizona politics. He and Jeanine had been huge supporters of McCain throughout the years and, according to Jeanine, Cindy even called her once for advice on flower arrangements after attending a fund-raiser hosted by the Harmons at their house. Getting the dirt on a little guy like Bello would be nothing. If he could just figure out how to slip it into the conversation.

“Dr. Bailey,”
Frank said, ushering him ahead of him into the restaurant. Usually they went to Chili’s, but today, Frank had insisted on driving all the way to the Pointe Hilton at Tapatio Cliffs. He said he was craving their shrimp scampi, and a plate of Texas cheese fries would not cut it.

The resort was breathtaking. Like Disneyland for grownups. Frank and Jeanine had taken him and Sara here once before, to the Different Pointe of View, the hotel’s restaurant, which teetered a couple thousand feet up a mountaintop with a vertiginous view of the city below. That was two years ago, after Ben had proposed to Sara.

They were seated at a two-top, and Frank ordered them each a martini.

“What’s the occasion, Frank?” Ben asked. He knew this had to do with more than the scampi.

Frank laughed a hearty laugh and said, “Cut to the chase, right, Dr. Bailey?”

Ben smiled.

“Listen, Benny, I know you and Sara have reserved the lodge up at the Snowbowl for the wedding, but I’ve been thinking that maybe, now that you’ve moved down here, it would be easier to plan a wedding at home.”

Home.
Ben wasn’t sure he would ever think of Phoenix as home.

“We put a deposit down,” Ben said.

Frank waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll reimburse.”

Ben suddenly felt uncomfortable. The waitress brought them their drinks and he took a big swallow of his. The gin was warm and thick going down.

“What did you have in mind, Frank?” Ben asked. He thought maybe the country club. Or perhaps their backyard. Jeanine had hosted some pretty spectacular events at their home, including Sara’s brother’s wedding.

Frank motioned for the waitress to come back. “Can I get some extra olives, please?”

Ben waited.

Frank cleared his throat. “Did you look around much when we came in?”

“The hotel?”

“Pretty nice place, huh? Might be a spectacular venue for a wedding.” Frank winked.

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Frank, this might be a little on the extravagant side, don’t you think?”

“Just think about it, Benny. They’ve got indoor and outdoor facilities for the wedding and for the reception. They’ve got a bridal suite, and our out-of-town guests could stay here as well.”

“Frank, I really don’t think Sara and I can afford this. I’ve only been working for you for a couple of months, and now that Sara’s on bed rest …”

“Consider it done,” Frank said. “Sara is my baby girl. And this is only going to happen once. Nothing would make me happier than to be able to give her, give you both, this day.”

Ben shook his head and sighed. He looked at Frank and wondered if someday he’d be sitting across from his own daughter’s fiancé, making a similar offer.

“What does Sara think?” Ben asked. He was pretty certain he was the last to hear the proposal.

“Sara thinks a sunset wedding might be nice.”

By the time their lunch arrived, all of the plans, which clearly preceded him by at least a month, were spelled out. Terrace reception, outdoor ceremony at sunset, Grande Ballroom reception, and a night in the bridal suite before they flew to Puerta Vallarta (or Cabo or Jamaica—because, really, the honeymoon was up to them).The menu was still up in the air, as was the music, but Frank had a friend who owned a DJ company and owed Frank a favor; Ben and Sara would just need to make the playlist. Ben didn’t ask how much any of this would cost, because he knew the answer didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Ben showed up.

“How many guests?” Ben asked.

“Well, I think if we can keep it to three hundred or so, we’ll be good.”

Ben was pretty sure he could count his invitees on two hands. That left approximately two hundred ninety from Sara’s side.

Frank rattled off the details: the available dates, the name of the nanny who could accompany them on their honeymoon to watch the baby, the option of having an in-house wedding planner.

After the second martini, Ben’s head was swimmy, his neck tired from all the nodding. He wanted nothing more than to go home early and sink into the pool.

“We’re good, then?” Frank asked.

“Sure, Frank.”

Emboldened by the booze and ready to talk about anything other than the wedding, the plans for which had unfolded before him like some intricate origami bird, Ben said, “Hey, Frank, who do you think the next governor’s going to be? If you had to make a wager. Your buddy Bello really throwing his hat in?”

“Funny you should ask that,” Frank said, spearing a jumbo shrimp with his fork.

“Why’s that?”

“I was just talking to my buddy Chester McPhee, ran into him at the country club the other day. He’s spearheading Marty Bello’s campaign, and I think he’s courting me for some campaign contributions. Marty would never ask himself, too much class for that.” Frank popped the shrimp in his mouth and chewed slowly. He swallowed and pointed his fork at Ben. “Listen, I know you lean a hell of a lot farther to the left than I do, Benny, but Bello’s got a good head on his shoulders. I’m thinking we might be able to put together a fund-raiser. Get together the really big dicks in the valley. Get the ball rolling for him. He could do a lot for this state.” Frank popped another shrimp in his mouth and said, “And besides, he’s a Beta Beta Phi. Brothers need to stick together.”

S
ecrets. Like tiny little toads in your pocket. You can’t ever forget they’re there because they’re always moving, wriggling, trying to flee. You know that any moment, one of them might break free and leap from your pocket, announcing itself with a shrill croak. And the harder you try to contain them, to conceal them, the more adamant they become about their escape.

Ben had called Shadi five times since his return to Phoenix. He called from work, from pay phones, from borrowed phones at shops and restaurants. And each time when she picked up, he felt relief like a flood of warm water. She was okay, okay. He listened to her voice as she demanded, “Hello? Who is this?” and felt his eyes sting. He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed to know that she was okay.

True, Sara was preoccupied with her new endeavor, consumed even, but she was already developing that heightened sense that only mothers have, that ability to know what’s going on not only right in front of her but also behind her back.

When Ben said he planned to go to Flagstaff the following weekend, he saw her stiffen, imagined the hackles on her neck bristling.

“Remember? Hippo and Emily’s wedding is next weekend. It’s just a small ceremony, but he wants me to stand up for him.” This was actually the truth. Hippo had called and said that Emily and he had finally set a date to tie the knot, and would Ben be a witness. And Ben knew, as much as Sara probably didn’t want him in Flagstaff alone, she grew soft at the very mention of weddings. And she liked Emily. She’d actually considered going to her for a small tattoo for a while, though she’d never gone through with it.

“I
forgot,”
Sara said. “Shoot. And next weekend my parents are going to be at George and Angela’s in Tucson.”

“So?” Ben asked. As far as he knew, Frank didn’t want them to come along.

“So, that means I’ll be here all by myself for the weekend.”

“Oh,” he said. “What about Mel? Is she planning to come down?”

“No,” Sara said. “She’s going to Vegas.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I’ll only be gone two nights. I figured I’d head up after work on Friday. The wedding is Saturday morning, and the reception is Saturday night. I’ll leave first thing in the morning on Sunday. I can be home before you even wake up. Maude will keep you company.”

She frowned and sighed. “Where are they having the wedding?”

“That old stone church? Our Lady of Guadelupe, I think,” he said.

“I wish I could go,” she said sadly. “I feel so
trapped.”

Ben nodded. He couldn’t imagine being stuck in bed like this. Her patience so far had been remarkable. He was actually surprised by how little she had complained.

“I’ll bring you back some carrot muffins from Macy’s,” he said, sitting down next to her on the couch. He reached and touched her belly. “Does baby girl want some carrot muffins?”

Appeased, she said,
“Fine.”

The week went slowly. Work was quiet, the minutes and hours dragging. The clock on the wall announcing the slow passing of each moment with a hollow tick. It gave Ben plenty of time to think, though, about what he needed to do. His plan was, indeed, to leave right after work on Friday. Since Frank was out of town, he wouldn’t be meeting him for lunch. He could probably leave a couple of hours early to dodge some of the rush-hour traffic.

Ned had invited him to stay at his place. He would check in with Ned and then go to Flag Brewing Company to find Jenny as soon as he got into town. He thought that if he could just talk to her, just let her know how serious all of this was, that she might reconsider talking to the police. It was a long shot, he knew. She was Fitch’s
girlfriend.
The chances of her speaking up were small. But if Ben didn’t try, if he didn’t at least make an attempt, then he would never forgive himself. And he had sensed something when he spoke to her the first time. She’d teared up even as she denied being at the party that night. She clearly knew something. She was the key. And she might be his only chance to finally put this behind him. And there was an urgency now to all of this. The fact that Joe and Fitch knew that Shadi was in town terrified him. Even with the reassuring sound of her voice each time he called, he couldn’t put out of his mind the way Joe had said her name.
Shadi Begay.
And now, beyond all that, Frank’s connection to Martin Bello made it seem even more important to set things right. He didn’t want Frank connected in any way to this business. To that man. To that night.

Ben stopped by the house after work to get his suitcase and to say good-bye to Sara. She was outside by the pool, on the laptop, sipping a glass of lemonade.

“Hi,” he said.

She set the glass down and motioned for him to come to her. He sat down next to her on the lawn chair, and she put her arms around him.

“Do you
have
to go?” she said.

He nodded and squeezed her hand. “Listen, I want you to order something to eat tonight and tomorrow, Chinese or pizza or whatever you want. Do not get up to cook,” he said. “I picked up a couple of movies for you. I’ve got my cell phone in case you need me, and I’ll be back Sunday morning. I promise.”

She nodded like an obedient child.

“I mean it about dinner,” he said. “And don’t do anything else you’re not supposed to do.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting. When she kissed him, her breath was musty.

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Sara by herself, but he also knew that she would not take any chances. He knew that she was bored, frustrated, and that the prospect of another fifteen weeks of this was excruciating. But Sara, if nothing else, played by the rules. He knew he could trust her.

When Ben stood up to leave, Sara pulled his hand. “Couldn’t you just leave early tomorrow morning?” she said.

“I promised I’d be there tonight. To help get ready,” he said.

By the time he got to Flagstaff, the sun had set, and the blue-black sky was flecked with pinpricks of light. He pulled into Ned’s driveway. Ned’s Honda was parked there, and so was Hippo’s truck. There was a warm yellow light through the drawn curtains, and he felt happy as he knocked on the door. The air smelled like snow. Like home.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Ned said when he opened the door. He threw his arm over Ben’s shoulder and ushered him into the living room. Hippo was sitting on the couch.

“Here’s a man enjoying his last night of freedom,” Ned said, shaking his head at Hippo, who was drinking a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and watching a Suns game on Ned’s small black-and-white TV “Really living it up.”

“Hey, dude,” Hippo said, standing up and giving Ben a handshake and hug.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Ben asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It’s really not a big deal. Just about a dozen people. Neither one of us wanted to make a fuss.”

Ben thought about the Pointe, about the ballrooms and china and crystal goblets. He thought about parquet dance floors and itchy tuxedoes and squeaky shoes. He thought about filet mignon and duck à l’orange and chalky candy-covered almonds tied into neat little bundles. Calligraphy and taffeta and moaning violins.

“So what’s my job?” Ben asked. “Some sort of toast? Do you guys have rings I need to hold on to?”

Hippo flicked up his ring finger to show what looked like a fresh tattoo: an intricate Celtic knot encircling his finger in ink.

“Nice,” Ben said. “Em get one too?”

“Yep.”

“You want a beer?” Ned asked, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Please,” Ben said and sat down next to Hippo on the couch. “Who’s winning?”

They decided to go celebrate Hippo’s last night of bachelorhood at Brews & Cues: shoot some pool, have some drinks, and then get to bed. Emily said he needed to be at the church by nine. She had also insisted that she and Hippo spend the night apart. “A real old-fashioned girl,” Ben had said with a laugh. Emily with her serpentine tattoos and multiple facial piercings. Emily, who spent the first ten years of her life on a commune in New Mexico and who had worked as a carnie for six years after dropping out of college.

“Why are you guys having a church wedding?” Ben asked.

“For the grandma. She’s like ninety-nine. Em promised her she’d get married at Guadelupe. That side of the family’s all Mexican Catholics,” Hippo said. Ben remembered Shadi’s grandmother, all the velvet and silver of her.

“And they’re letting
you
in the church too?” Ned asked.

“Hey, man, I’ve been taking Pre-Cana classes for the last two months.”

“Wow,” Ben said. “That’s love.”

And it
was
love. Ben had watched their relationship unfold, watched Hippo unfold. When he first started working at Jack’s, Hippo was always irritated. Sarcastic and grumpy. Ben had avoided him for the first six months at the bar. But then Hippo met Emily, and it was like watching a fist unclench. Like watching a dry and hardened sponge soften in warm water.

He’d never seen such an easy couple, a couple so simply happy to be around each other. Emily was smart and cute. She had a great unrestrained laugh. When she and Hippo were together, they both couldn’t stop smiling. They were so
content.
Ben envied this. They loved Flagstaff. They loved their jobs. They loved each other. The life they were making made sense.

“Rack ‘em up,” Hippo said as a table finally opened up, and Ben complied.

Ben was just an average pool player. He’d never played before he moved to Flagstaff. He’d somehow made it through college without learning. But everyone in Flagstaff seemed to play pool. He’d even seen little kids shooting pool with their dads during the day at some of the bars.

“Hey, anything ever come of the police investigation about that Indian kid you found?” Ned asked. “I heard that kid Lucky got out of the hospital and went back to the rez. But I haven’t seen anything in the papers.”

Ben felt his skin prickle. He took a sip from his beer bottle. It had grown warm while he was playing. “I think you were right about one of the frat boy’s dads being involved. He was actually one of my students. That kid Joe Bello. Real asshole. His dad is running for
governor.”

“Shit,” Hippo said.

“There’s a girl, though, who I think was there too. The girlfriend of one of the guys. If I could just get her to talk to the police …”

“Why the hell would she do that?” Ned asked as he made a bank shot. “You think after what happened to Lucky, anybody’s going to say anything?”

Ben tensed.
Shadi Begay.

“Never mind that it’s her boyfriend,” Hippo said.

Ben shook his head. She was his last chance, and he needed to believe that there was still the possibility of making this right. For Ricky. For his sister.

“Well, how do we find her?” Ned asked.

“She works at Flag Brew,” Ben said, and smiled.

They made their way across the tracks and up the street. It was starting to snow, but it was a listless snow, directionless, light. It landed on their shoulders and quickly melted. It wasn’t cold enough to stick.

It was a quiet night at Flag Brew, early still. They sat down at the bar, and Hippo ordered them all drinks. “Is Jenny working tonight?” he asked the bartender, a girl Ben didn’t recognize.

“She’ll be in at eight thirty,” she said.

“What time is it now?” Ben asked.

“Eight,” Ned said.

“Why don’t we go sit outside for a bit?” Hippo said.

“In the snow?” Ned asked.

“It’s my fucking party,” Hippo said and smacked Ned on the back.

Fifteen minutes later, the girl came walking down the sidewalk. Ben might not have recognized her if not for the pink boots. Her hair was cropped short now, to her chin. When she came into the light, Ben also noticed that she had a nasty black eye.

He stood up, willed his legs to hold him.

“Jenny?” he asked.

She squinted and cocked her head.

“Yeah?” she said.

“We met a couple months ago.” He put his hand out and she shook it reluctantly. “I was asking you about Halloween night. My name’s Ben. I’m the one who found Ricky. The Indian guy, the one who got beat up.”

“You said your name was Gary,” she said. She shook her head and dropped his hand.

Ben sighed.

Ned and Hippo sat watching.

“I lied,” he said. “And I know what happened that night.”

The girl looked around nervously. “Listen,” she said. “I’m supposed to work in, like, ten minutes.”

“What happened to your eye?” he asked.

She was quiet, seeming to appraise the situation. She started to walk to the door and then stopped. She came back and said, “Listen. Why don’t you meet me tomorrow? I’m working lunch, but I’ll be out by four. But don’t come here. Meet me at the Zane Grey Room. You know, the bar upstairs at the Weatherford Hotel? And you can leave these guys at home.”

Ben nodded. Jesus, he hoped this wasn’t some sort of setup. He hoped to God she wasn’t going to go give her boyfriend a call and let him know that somebody was sniffing around, asking questions. It didn’t matter. He’d just have to take his chances.

“I’ll be there. Four o’clock,” he said.

And he felt light all of a sudden. As she disappeared inside the doors, he looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, let the snow land and melt on his eyelids. This was it. This was all he’d hoped for. For someone to speak up. For someone to tell the truth.

“The next round is on me,” Ben said, returning to the table where Ned and Hippo were waiting. Then he remembered Sara at home, figured she was probably making her way to bed, and texted her:
Sweet dreams.

That night, Ben dreamed about snow. In this dream, he was in Phoenix, at their town house, but when he pulled back the blinds, there was nothing but snow as far as he could see. An avalanche had enclosed the house. Every window was filled. The skylight in the bathroom was obscured. When he turned on the faucets, snow came pouring out. The cupboards were filled with it. The refrigerator and stove and drawers. He awoke shivering.

He was sleeping on Ned’s couch. He looked at the clock on the cable box by the TV It was only four
A.M.
He was thirsty and got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He flicked on the kitchen light and took a glass from the cupboard; as he turned on the faucet, he looked out the window and there was nothing but snow. Another blizzard. He smiled.