Down in the Zero

'Right here,' she replied.

'What you done, son?'

'I'm not sure, Prof. I got something…maybe a big score. Not on the phone, okay?'

'Keep it tight— we fly by night.'

'You can get out here?'

'Name the place, I'm in the race.'

I told him take the turnpike, grab the first gas station past the Greenwich tolls. Midnight tomorrow.

'I'll be at the spot. On the dot.'

'How'd it go last night?' I asked the kid. He was sitting at the kitchen table, tearing into his third bowl of cereal like he needed the fuel.

'I'm…not sure. It was different. Not the party. I mean, that was like it always was. Me, maybe.'

'You get to see that girl? Wendy?'

'Yeah. She was there. We…danced. Outside.'

'I didn't think you all went in for dancing at those parties.'

'We…they don't. The music…you really can't dance to it unless you're wrecked. We went outside, on the patio. I asked her to dance. Not to the music, just to dance.'

'You can do that?'

'Dance? Sure. My mother sent me for lessons when I was a little kid. Ballroom dancing, like. I can do all the old stuff.'

'Sounds pretty good.'

'It was. Really good. We didn't stay there. I took her for a drive. We just drove around. I told her…about racing on Sunday. She said she'd be there. It was…I can't really explain it. She showed me some of her poetry. In this big notebook she's always carrying around. I never knew what was in it.'

Something in his face. 'What?' I asked.

He looked across at me. 'One of the poems…it was about suicide. I got upset. Scared. I asked her, did she ever consider…doing it? She told me she didn't, not really. But she thinks about it. She said a lot of people do. Not 'cause things are bad…just 'cause there doesn't seem any reason. For anything.'

'Randy, was she ever at Crystal Cove?'

'No. I asked her. She said it was none of my business at first, got mad at me a little bit. So I didn't say anything. But later, she asked, was I really scared for her? I told her I was. It was true. She…kissed me then. Just before I dropped her off at her car. And she told me she was never there.'

'It sounds all right.'

'I know. But that poem…it was all about suicide, I know it was. 'Sweet Darkness,' it was called.'

'If she's a poet, she lives a lot in her mind, kid. It doesn't mean she's going over.'

'I know. But…she's gonna be okay. I'm gonna…stay close.'

'Good.'

'Today, I mean. We're going to go to The Hills. It's like a park. Have a picnic. You think that's dumb?'

'I think it's righteous.'

'You don't need me for anything?'

'Just take the phone with you.'

He tapped his side pocket again. I finally realized where I'd seen that gesture before. The black kid with the 8–Ball jacket.

I considered my lawyer suit, finally rejected it in favor of Michelle's outfit. If Fancy was going to come along with me, I wanted to look like I might be in her circle.

She opened the door to her cottage before I knocked, holding a giant fluffy white towel in front of her, water beading on her shoulders.

'Am I early?' I asked, stepping inside.

'No, you're right on time. I was waiting…so you could tell me what to wear.

'Just put on…'

'No, come on — tell me.' She walked toward a back room, still wrapped in the towel. I followed close behind. The cottage had an extension in the back, a greenhouse, built right in. The summer sun slanted through the sharply sloped glass. Fancy kept walking, all the way to a bedroom. The walls were a soft pink, the bed was covered in a quilt of the same shade. She opened a closet. 'Tell me,' she said again, a pleading undertone to her voice.

I pawed through the racks, picked out a rose silk outfit. It had a simple collarless bolero jacket, with a straight skirt underneath.

'This,' I told her, holding it out to her. She stood there, holding the hanger. I found a plain–front white silk blouse with a loose turtleneck collar, held it against the rose silk. 'This too,' I said.

'Burke…'