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Page 34.
 “Maybe you’re right, Tory.”
Tory was cautious; didn’t want Maxie to drink too much and get bummed and start crying. “You’re great people, Max. Give yourself a chance with decent guys.”
“You know I have a few drinks and I agree sincerely that men like Van Meeuwen were no good for me. And I don’t believe a word of it the next day. Can’t help it.”
“In vino veritas.”
“In vino wino. I’m going to quit smoking and drinking as soon as I’m fully air qualified. Then I’m going to meet Mr. Right.”
“And dump Van Meeuwen? Does it have to be a doctor or a senator, Maxie, for crying out loud!”
“Tell you what, Tory. I’ll get my parents to fork over another half million bucks for therapy and then maybe I’ll run away with a starving musician.” She stubbed her cigarette out. “Aw hell, let’s stop talking about me for a while. I sure like David Gordon. Take good care of him, Tory.”
“You think he’s getting into dangerous waters.”
“I hear rumors.”
“Like?”
Maxie shrugged her little freckled shoulders. “There are always rumors. It’s just—well, right now, there are a lot of angry people.”
“People have been angry for years.”
“Yes, but some people I know are sending their families out of town. We’re talking, like, pulling kids out of school suddenly. Wives taking unpaid vacation. People going far west to be away from here while CON2 goes on.”
Dinner arrived, and their conversation turned light. A glass of wine for Tory, three for Maxie, and they found themselves laughing and forgetting their surroundings. The pianist left, and soft music trickled in through a p.a. system.
Tory said: “Hey, check out the guys.” She’d spotted a noisy throng of six or seven burly young men in tuxedos, waving champagne bottles. They were accompanied by an equal number of gorgeous, petite oriental women in pastel silk gowns.
“Oh fuck.”
“Max?”
Maxie, her face contorted in pain and fury, stubbed out another cigarette. “The gorgeous one is Van Meeuwen.”
“Aw geez,” Tory said.
“Just sit tight,” Maxie said. Her face was a white mask of fury. “That’s him, third from the right.” She pointed to a handsome, scoffing young man with arrogant eyes, who looked very self-assured as he helped his date into her seat. That kiss on the mouth as he leaned over her ruled out any reasonable explanations, Tory thought. The men couldn’t see Maxie from their angle. In any case, Maxie’s slight figure was barely visible behind a large plant. Luckily, Tory was looking toward Maxie, so Maxie was looking away from Dr. Schmuck and Friends. Tory not only watched him frenching the girl, but actually checking out Tory as he did so. “Let’s split,” Tory suggested.
“Just a minute,” Maxie said, downing her wine.
“No.” “Yes.” Maxie picked up the pitcher of ice water.
“Maxie.”
“Okay.” Maxie put the pitcher down.
“Let’s just—”
“Follow me.” Maxie picked up her purse and gloves. Tory followed her to the boisterous table.
“Good evening, Dr. Van Meeuwen,” Maxie said. Tory heard a plunk as Maxie dropped her engagement ring into his drink.
The young doctor looked surly, as though he wasn’t sure how much energy he should expend, having been caught. “Maxie, I can explain.”
“You don’t need to, Paul. You’re an asshole, and I never want to see you again.” Maxie strode off. As she turned to follow, Tory noticed the scoffing look as Van Meeuwen rolled up his eyes, and his friends tittered. Tory managed to tip over a glass of wine into his lap in passing.
She caught up with Maxie at the exit door. “Well said, Maxie.”
Out in the garage, Maxie bawled her eyes out while Tory waited for the car. By the time the valet brought the car around, Maxie was wiping her swollen face with a hankie and appeared to be regaining control. She asked Tory: “Would you please drive? I think I may have to cry some more on the way home.”
As they crossed town, Maxie said, “Thanks for being my friend.”
“People love you, Max.”
“I am so grateful you were there with me.”
“You were incredible, kid.”
“He stuck a knife in me.”
“It hurts,” Tory agreed. “I hope you’re finally done with this eraser head. Or are you going back for more?”
“You drive like I do,” Maxie said.
“Dammit!”
After a long silence, Maxie said: “I’m sorry.”
Tory found herself yelling: “You should be sorry. What is it with broads like you? You pick these dingdongs, these nobodies, and you let them walk all over you, and then you keep going back for more. All because you’re scared. Or you’re lonely. Or you feel sorry for yourself. Especially after 600 martinis.” Tory was almost out of breath, but she still had a little yelling in her. “And so in the meantime, everyone around you has to feel sorry for you, and I’m sick and tired of it. Wake up! Get a life! Get a brain!” They sat in stunned silence all the way home. Tory cringed in her seat, wishing she could suck every word back into her mouth. Her ears hurt from the echoes of her sharp words. She cried a little herself.
Maxie said as they arrived at the condo and got out: “You know what? I needed that. Next time I meet one of these dingdongs, I’ll picture you yelling at me and it’ll make me think twice. Look, I’m really sorry I made you sore.”
Tory felt a gush of relief and embraced her.
Maxie hugged back, small but made of steel cable.
Tory made sure Maxie got to her bedroom all right. Maxie passed out on the bed fully dressed and Tory covered her up before closing the door. Minutes later in the peace and quiet of her bedroom, Tory fell into bed and drifted off to sleep.
Somewhere in a dream, she stood on a river bank and yelled over the water.
She kept reaching out to two men in a canoe, trying to warn them that they were paddling too close to the deadly falls.
They only smiled and waved back, unaware of the great danger.
One was Ib Shoob.
The other was David.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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