“This is going to cost me, son.” My father’s voice. “It’s going to cost.”
The world swam as if I was riding the teacups at Disney. I opened my eyes. In front of me, so close I had no context but a few blades of grass, the dark, rainy night, and my own nausea, was Rachel’s face. She too had her cheek to the grass. Her eyes glazed over. Her mouth hung open. Her hair stuck to her face. She blinked, and a tear fell over the bridge of her nose.
She faded, like a movie going to black, and the sound of the rain in Echo Park replaced the sixteen-year-old remembrance. Monica breathed in my ear in the rhythms of sleep. Outside, I heard traffic, a bus on Echo Park Avenue, and the children playing in the Montessori school yard. I opened my eyes, as if waking not from a dream but a resurrected memory.
It was morning, and finally, Rachel was free.
Chapter 37.
MONICA
I wore one of the dresses he’d bought me in Vancouver, sleeveless black one with a skirt that fell half an inch from the floor. The neckline so low it required a special bra that had been hanging with it. He requested I wear it, and it was magnificent.
I covered the yellowing bruises with a little makeup, draping hair, and whatever accessories I could gather. I wouldn’t stand up to a forensics team, but at night, in a dark party, maybe I wouldn’t have to crack a joke or tell a lie.
I’d wanted to take my own car, but Jonathan insisted on letting Lil drive, so I waited on my porch for the Bentley. It was exactly on time. Lil let Jonathan out the back. He wore a navy suit and a tie of darkest pink. His shirt was white and pressed, and he was perfect. I started down the porch steps, and he held up his hand.
“Come on, Monica. Give a guy a chance to get you at the door.”
I stopped and waited. He opened the chain-link fence that seemed cheap and worn next to his cleanly pressed self. He walked up the short, cracked concrete that led to my broken wooden steps.
“Are you ready?” he asked, taking my hand.
“It’s just a party.”
“No, it’s going to be ugly.”
I kissed him once on the lips. “I’ve been to high school.”
“The stakes are higher.”
“I’m not staying home. I got all dressed up.”
“Ah, speaking of...” He removed a long, thin box from his pocket. I recognized the Harry Winston dark blue.
“Jesus, Jonathan, you’re going overboard.”
“Yes. I am. I don’t have a viola.” I took the box. Cursing him out while I was smiling would be hard. I undid the ribbon. He took it and rolled it around his fingers. When I looked at him quizzically, he said, “Might need this later.”
“If the ribbon is the real gift, you could save a ton of money by just getting me empty boxes.”
I lifted the top. Inside the box, a flat platinum chain curled around itself. I pulled it out. It wasn’t a loop connected at the end but a long strand. It had to be five feet long, with jewel-encrusted drops the size of blackberries. One sparkled with sapphires, the other, emeralds.
“A lariat,” I said. “My God, it’s beautiful. Can you put it on me?”
He looped the strand around my neck once, draping it so the jeweled drops fell just below my br**sts. “Green emeralds for sea. Blue sapphires for sky.”
“Thank you.” I kissed him. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“You’re going to make it tough for me at Christmas.”
“We’ll figure out some kind of trade.”
“And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.” I pulled the strand on one side, looped it around my neck a second time, and pulled tight. The smooth, flat links clicked against one another, easily tightening around my throat. “Makes a lovely collar.”
He laughed. Taking the blue drop, he unlooped it and rearranged the necklace until it was loose. “Let’s not rush.” He took my hand, and we went to the car.
Chapter 38.
MONICA
He got a call on the way. He mumbled a few syllables and relaxed visibly. When he hung up, he squeezed my hand.
“What?” I asked.
“My mother isn’t feeling well,” he said, the last two words emphasized as if it was some sort of code. “We may actually have a good time if I keep you away from the harpies.”
“I can handle harpies and your family.”
“I’m not keeping any secrets about my parents that you don’t already know. But I’d like you to be unsullied as long as possible.”
“I won’t think less of you because of them.”
“Give me some time.”
He didn’t try to f**k me on the way, though our lips met so often that I had to reapply lipstick when we arrived. We stood in the parking lot as Lil drove away. Other sleek cars discharged people in expensive shoes and suits. The lights glared as I used the valet window as a mirror, lipstick hovering. Jonathan snapped the tube from my hand before it touched my face and kissed me again.
“‘Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.’” He kissed me, then put his mouth to my cheek, and back to my ear. “Except when wax and pigment come between them.”
“Barrett Browning?”
“Percy Shelley.”
“And the second part?”
He turned my lipstick tube until the brand was visible. “Lancome, apparently.” He fondled the emerald end of my lariat as if it was part of my body. “I can’t wait for this circus to be over.” He shifted closer and whispered, “I’m taking you home, and I’m going to tie your wrists to the banister. I’m going to blindfold you, then I’m going to undress you slowly. I’ll put my lips all over you until you beg me to take you, which I may or may not do.”
“Jonathan,” I whispered, his name a white flag of surrender.
“Did you just shudder, or is it cold in this parking lot?”
“Was there anyone before you?”
“You might have thought so at the time.”
“I feel like no one’s ever loved me before.”
“I’m sure they did their best, but you always belonged to me.”
The parking lot’s lights were fluorescent and cold, but his gaze was more than warm—it was hot and fixed. I did indeed feel as though I’d never been loved before. At least not correctly. Not with purpose.
He broke our connection to glance over my shoulder, then back to my face. “Vipers descending.”