Page 104 of Bend
“Hey.” I nodded at him, then the rest.
The girl’s shirt buckled under her crouch, and I saw the curve of her breast. I remembered her. It had been a weekend in her mother’s time share—two days in an ocean of skin. I barely remembered their three faces from that party. Karen. Karen Hinnley. Her mother was a producer.
“Ojai,” I said. “Fuck, man. What a weekend.”
“It was…” She rolled her eyes as if at a loss for words.
“Beautiful,” I finished for her.
“Damn,” said the guy with the curly hair, “we should do it again.”
“Yeah.” Karen nodded to a boy with blond hair who couldn’t have been a day over fifteen. “You gotta come this time.”
Everyone concurred except me. I couldn’t bear another minute. I didn’t know why.
“Nice and quiet here,” I said.
“Christmas,” Karen said. “Everyone gets sprung for a couple of days. Except I don’t want to go home to look at the buffet. Gross. After New Year’s, there’ll be a line for the tri-tip.”
Too-Young shook his head. Curly Hair laughed. Warren. That was his name. Warren Chilton, son of the actor.
“I’m going inside,” I said. “Call me when we’re all out of here.”
There was agreement, but no discussion about whether or not I would serve time, even though my situation must have been public knowledge. People like us didn’t serve time. Even the suggestion meant that my lawyer wasn’t connected well enough.
I wasn’t hungry, so I drifted into the common room, where the TV screen showed nature in all its high-definition glory. It was compelling in its way. I sat on the grey leather couch and watched, staring at daisies fluttering in the breeze. I felt too weak for a walk. Frances had given me a cocktail of pills for the headache, some of which I recognized, and they dulled the pain and the brain.
I’d stabbed Deacon. What would make me do such a thing? What could he have done? Beat me? I laughed to myself, because beat me was what he did on any given day. I rubbed my eyes as if I wanted to erase the lids and see what I’d done.
My body tipped a quarter of a degree when someone sat next to me. I glanced toward my right. He had short-cropped hair and pink lips, and he smiled and blinked slowly. I could fuck him. No reason not to, besides the no touching rule and Deacon, who wasn’t dead. I’d betrayed him enough already.
“Bellis perennis,” he said, tilting his head toward the nature show. “Common daisy, often confused with their more tightly petaled family members, Arctotis. You’re Fiona Drazen, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Jack Kent. Carlton Prep. I was a year below you. You were a celebrity even then. What are you in for?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer before a nurse came close, and Jack pointed at the TV.
“Arctotis stoechadifolia, nearly extinct in its native South Africa, and now a weed pest in Southern California,” he said.
“Attempted murder,” I said when the nurse passed, “but I don’t remember it.”
“Car?”
“Knife.”
“Wow. Trust you to do it big.”
I wished I remembered this guy half as much as he remembered me.
“No, wait. I remember you,” I said. “Nerd.”
“Not totally unfuckable, I think. But yeah.”
“What are you in for?”
“Being an embarrassment, unofficially. But officially, bipolar disorder.”
