“I am asking you to postpone the trip, Amy.”
She knows him well enough to know the tone. There’s a moment’s hesitation. “Can you give me a reason?”
“I cannot.”
“I need to tell him something, Jad. Jesus, I need you to give me something I can tell him.”
“It’s bad timing. You know I wouldn’t ask this if the reason wasn’t good.”
“I thought you were out.” The accusation is sharp and unmistakable, and when the pause has stretched long enough that she knows he’s not going to answer it, she sighs. Resignation. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Let me know.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Amy says, and hangs up.
Bell stands at his window. The apartment is very still and very silent.
When he was a younger man, he thinks, being alone was not a problem. When he had a wife and a daughter and a home to return to, he could, perhaps, afford to be alone.
When it was a choice.
Amy’s text comes the next morning.
Howe says no way to cancel.
See you Saturday.
Chapter Six
Dana’s working float in the Wild World, either assigned to the lines at Gordo’s Yesteryear Ballpark, Soaring Thyme, Cannonball Plunge, or working as an usher during the Flower Sisters Mystical Show. She’s on call as an interpreter, too, so Gabriel sees her, if he’s lucky, maybe once or twice during the day, and only for a few minutes. Most of the time they spend together, it’s after hours. They rented an apartment at the beginning of summer, here in town so they don’t have to commute to and from Los Angeles every day. Nights, they’re both so tired they have dinner, curl up to maybe watch a video, find the strength to make love, and then pretty much pass out.
Thursday morning, though, Gabriel has an e-mail waiting from the Uzbek, and Thursday night, he has to make an excuse.
“I’m going to be late getting back tonight,” he tells her. “Couple army buddies are in town; I’m going to meet them for drinks.”
Dana smirks. “No girls allowed?”
“Beer and bragging,” Gabriel agrees, answering with a grin. “I love you too much to ask you to sit through that.”
“I think maybe you do, too.” She leans in, runs her fingers through his hair, then kisses his mouth gently. “You do what you have to do. Have some fun.”
When they talk about such things, Dana makes no secret of what she thinks of the U.S. fighting so many wars in so many places for, in her opinion, oil and nothing but. But she’s never let her opposition to the conflicts become an opposition to soldiers, and there are times Gabriel thinks she is, perhaps, proud of him for his service. Times like that, he thinks that he is, perhaps, proud of his service as well.
So it’s Thursday night and Gabriel is going to meet the Uzbek at the DoubleTree near the business park, the place called the Irvine Spectrum. There’s a lot of tech located there, including some major computer game company that, apparently, has more money than God. Gabriel wonders if the Uzbek’s already trying to find a way to get a slice of that pie, too, if he hasn’t already, and thinking that he realizes he’s nervous, that he’s not looking forward to this.
He parks his Prius, moves from the fading day’s heat into the air-?conditioning of the lobby, then straight to the elevators. Nobody gives him a glance, asks to see his key, asks if they can help him. It’s ten minutes of eight, exactly, when he knocks on the Uzbek’s door.
He hears a bolt turn, the door unlocking. A moment, then it’s opening. The Uzbek backs up, allows Gabriel inside, and then he’s got the door locked again, slipping past him, moving to the desk. There’s a laptop open, and the Uzbek shuts it.
“It will be this weekend,” the Uzbek says, turning to face him. His English is accented, but only just. “It will be Saturday.”
“What do I need to know?” Gabriel asks.
It’s almost one in the morning when he gets back to their apartment. Quiet and dark, Gabriel stands in the main room, just stands there. His thoughts tumble, chase each other about in conflict, and he thinks these are the last days of his dream, can feel it fragmenting and tearing, dandelion fluff whipped away in a storm. He can remember a boy with a tire iron, and he does not know who that boy is, where he came from, or where he went.
He’s still standing just like that when he realizes that Dana has come out of their little bedroom, is watching him. He didn’t hear her and he didn’t see her, but he knew she was there, holding herself in the doorway. She’s wearing a tank top and panties, what she wears to sleep in most times before they both end up wearing nothing at all. Lavender is on the tank top, the irony of the words Friendship Is Trust printed in faded lettering beneath the character. She brushes hair back from her face, tucks it behind her ear.
“Are you okay, baby?” she asks.
Gabriel nods, moves to her. Sets his hands on her hips, and she’s warm and solid and tangible, not a dream at all, and when he kisses her she wraps her arms around him.
“You’re sure?”
“Let me show you,” he says, and he lifts her up, and she wraps her legs about his hips, and he takes her back to their bed.
“When’s your next day off?” he asks as they’re driving into the park the next morning, Friday.
“Tomorrow,” Dana says. “Then Tuesday. You?”
Gabriel hides his relief by checking his mirrors, changing lanes. “Monday and Tuesday, but they’ve got me in costume all weekend.”
“I could see if someone wants to swap with me. Maybe get Monday in exchange.”
“Nah, don’t do that.”
“It’s no fun having a day off without you.”
“Crowd Saturday is going to be massive,” Gabriel says. “Fourth of July weekend bad. If I could get out of it, I would.”
“Talk to Eduardo. Maybe you and he can swap?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him.”
Friday night, Gabriel uses the same excuse, is almost out the door when Dana stops him. “These are the same army pals?”
“Yeah.”
She gnaws her lower lip, eyes searching him, concerned. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just, last night. You know.”
“It brought up a lot of memories.”
“I figured that was it. I figured that was what happened.” She steps closer, puts a hand on his chest, palm over his heart, earnest. “You know I’m yours, right? If you ever want to talk, if you ever need anything. I’m yours.”
Gabriel smiles, kisses her mouth lightly. “I know.”
“Breaks my heart when I see you sad.”
“Am I sad?”
“You seem it. I think your friends made you sad.”
“Old friends can do that,” Gabriel says.
“Motherfucker!” Vladimir shouts. He’s using Russian, grabbing Gabriel in a bear hug, and hoisting him off his feet. The transition from one language to another creates a lag, leaves Gabriel briefly disoriented. Vladimir sets him
