He included his mobile phone number, then hit the send button. He waited a moment, then checked for new mail. No bounceback. Okay, the account was still active. But would Ben check it? And would he call even if he did?
13
DEJA FUCKING VU
Ben was watching CNN in his Ankara hotel room when his mobile phone buzzed. He checked the readout, expecting a message from Hort. Instead, it was an e-mail. From… Alex?
He frowned, wondering what it could be about. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd heard from his brother. The estate stuff was long since done. He couldn't think of a reason they needed to be in touch. There were some cousins, an aunt… maybe someone had died?
He opened the e-mail and read the message, then read it again. He closed the phone and shook his head.
It was exactly like the shit in high school, the same old shit. Alex had done something he should have known better than to do, and now he needed his big brother to bail him out. Amazing. Deja fucking vu.
Or more likely, it was nothing at all. To Ben, Alex's claim not to be paranoid was evidence of the opposite.
So fuck him. If Alex really wanted his help, he should have sent a different message. It would have read, “Hey, Ben, sorry I've been such a self-righteous asshole all my life. I had no right to blame you for everything that happened to our family. Oh yeah, I'm an ingrate, too.”
He stood up and looked at the phone. “You hear that?” he said aloud. “Here's a life lesson for you, little brother. Don't bite the hand and then ask it to feed you.”
He started pacing. Who did the little hotshot think he was, anyway? Not a word for six years, and then he e-mails to ask a favor? Not even a Hey, how you doing, Ben, just a straight-up I need your help, so call me. What was Ben, a servant? Some kind of housekeeper, kept on call to clean up after the messes his prick brother made?
“Tell you what,” he said. “I'll help you. You just pay me for it. Yeah, pay me. Servants get paid, don't they? Or do you think I'm your slave, is that it? You think I'm your slave now?”
He kept pacing. “Oh, and our house?” he said, wheeling and staring at the phone. “So it's still our house? Yeah, when you want to suck me into something, it is. You think I'm stupid, Alex? Is that what you think?”
He was breathing hard and he felt that crazy, joyous urge to fuck someone up, an urge that had gotten him penalized so many times for unnecessary roughness during his one season at Stanford that only his father's connections with the Board of Trustees had kept him on the team.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a fight, and he supposed that was good. Fighting was the antithesis of anonymity, especially with a camera and even video on every cell phone. But more than that, he didn't really trust himself to fight anymore. He wasn't sure he'd remember how. Fighting was essentially consensual. There were implicit rules, unspoken limits. But at this point, Ben was so conditioned to lethality he was afraid that in the face of even amateur violence he'd do what these days he did, without pausing to think about it until after.
It wasn't a happy realization. Fighting had been a good outlet for him, and he'd enjoyed it in a sick way. Not being able to anymore-it felt like he'd lost a part of himself, a part that, in retrospect, seemed oddly innocent. Maybe because most of his fights had been in high school. Maybe because high school was mostly before Katie died.
He'd been at a party that night, thrown by two popular girls from his class, Roberta and Molly Jones. The Joneses lived in an Atherton house with a huge backyard, and had parents tolerant enough to indulge their daughters’ periodic desire to throw a big high school bash. No one had planned it, but after the tournament, this one had turned into a kind of unofficial victory party for Ben.
Of course, alcohol was forbidden. And of course, the kids always found a way to drink anyway.
Ben had a couple of beers, but he was taking it easy. He hadn't had a drink since wrestling season had begun four months earlier; he'd needed to drop ten pounds to compete at 171; and as giddy as he was, he was also beat from the tournament. With a combination like that, a couple of nursed beers was about all he felt he could handle. Besides, a lot of girls were giving him the look. He was more interested in hooking up than he was in drinking down.
At some point a major hottie named Larissa Lee told Ben she'd just broken up with Dave Bean, the guy she'd been going out with for as long as anyone could remember. It was past time, she said. She was glad. She wanted a change. The only problem was, she didn't have a ride home, but maybe…
“Uh, yeah,” Ben told her. “Just tell me when you want to leave.”
“How about right now?” she said, looking into his eyes.
Right.
They were halfway to his car when he remembered: his dad had told him he was supposed to get Katie home by midnight.
But that didn't mean actually take her home, right? He was older, he could stay out later. And this was his big night, and getting bigger by the minute. He just had to make sure Katie got home on time, that was it.
He told Larissa he'd be right back and hustled into the party to find Katie. There she was, sitting with some of her girlfriends, laughing at something. Ben walked over, asked if he could talk to her for a sec. She got up and followed him a few paces away.
“Where's Wally?” he asked, looking around.
She smiled, maybe a little knowingly. “I don't know. Around somewhere. What's up?”
“Dad wanted me to get you home by midnight, but I was thinking-”
She laughed. “You were thinking you'd take Larissa home instead.”
Ben was careful to keep his face neutral. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone knows she just broke up with Bean. And that she's got the hots for you.”
There was a pause. The truth was, Ben had been with a lot of girls from his class, and some from Katie's, too. Some of them had boy friends, but no one ever found out because Ben never said a word to anyone. He didn't want to hurt anyone's reputation. He didn't want to hurt his chances of being able to go on doing it, either.
He shrugged. “Hey, I think she just needs a ride, that's all.”
Katie laughed again. “Yeah, sure.”
Ben looked around, then back at Katie.
“Don't tell anyone, okay?”
She smiled. “Have I ever?”
Ben couldn't help smiling back. Katie was smart, maybe as smart as Alex. The thing was, somehow she never hurt anyone with it, never made anyone feel inferior or condescended to or anything. Whatever Katie had, you always felt she would use it to help you, that she was always on your side.
“So, uh, you think you can get a lift with Wally?”
“Sure.”
“Cool.”
He turned to go, then looked back.
“Hey, he hasn't been drinking, right?”
“No, he's cool.”
For one second, Ben thought maybe he should just close the loop, check with Wally directly. Wally wasn't a bad guy, but he liked to party hard.
Then he thought of Larissa. Well, Katie said Wally was cool. She would know.
“Okay, then. Later.”
He headed back to Larissa, Katie still smiling at him knowingly, indulgently, with all the warmth and goodwill that had always seemed to define her.
