“I won’t…”
“If you say something, don’t you have to say it all?”
“I can shade things.”
“I thought DVs didn’t lie,” the boy said coldly.
Those eyes, Pablo wondered. Like he borrowed them. Not the ones I’ve been staring into for five years.
“Isn’t it about balancing confidentiality with truth? Have you any experience with that, Dr. Diaz?” Ja’mal shifted; clearly he was conducting the interview. “Duty versus compassion. Where’s the balance? Would you betray a patient to help them? Or a friend to do what’s expected? Is betrayal expected? Is that what you think?”
Pablo rammed a tiny light into Ja’mal’s mouth; the boy gagged. Same teeth. Same slightly crooked molar upper right, number thirty.
Mrs. D’Hendri burst into the room. “What’s taking so long?”
Ja’mal’s eyes lolled. Terrified, he slid onto the floor, ripping off the bib and crying hysterically. Pablo held the boy. glaring at his mother.
“Ja’mal’s grinding his teeth at night. Hence the headaches. He’s clearly enduring a lot of external anxiety.”
Mrs. D’Hendri opened her mouth to protest.
“Let’s try reducing that, ma’am. Help Ja’mal find ways to reduce stress.”
The boy’s sobs subsided and he looked hopefully at his mother, who nodded grudgingly. Pablo shoved a green lolly into Ja’mal’s mouth.
• • • •
ZELDA TOOK THE steps two at a time; at least to the first landing, then one step for the next three flights. Blaring quick-paced music with lots of urgent horns forced her to ring twice. Waiting, she nervously shifted the bottle of wine and packaged dessert between her sweating hands.
“Hello?” A dark-haired female copy of Diego smiled from the open door.
“Hi.” Zelda peered over the woman’s shoulder. Diego slowly entered the field of vision.
“Hey,” he said simply.
The woman stepped aside and touched her mouth toward Diego.
“My sister,” Diego awkwardly introduced them.
“Capri,” she filled in the name.
“Zelda. His girl friend.”
“I was just leaving,” Capri announced, grabbing her plate of food off the table.
“Please, don’t leave….”
“Oh, I just dropped by.” She tossed a fork, knife and a piece of bread on the dish, gulped down half a glass of red wine and rushed past. “Nice to meet you.” She blew a kiss at her brother and closed the door. Diego shrugged sheepishly and turned down the music.
“My sister has funny eating habits.” He nodded at the table, laden with steaming food. “Hungry?”
They ate Sherman’s Chocolate Cake in bed, polishing off the Austin pinot noir in between sex. Diego brought some brandy out after midnight.
“This is the real stuff. Captain Lee got a few bottles somehow.”
Zelda squinted to read the label without her glasses. Diego took loving pity.
“From France.” He read the incredibly small print and poured them each three fingers; they sipped, murmuring approvingly.
“Did you mean it about being my girlfriend.”
Zelda nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“What changed from thinking I’m a dumb DV sailor boy?”
“You still are.” She playfully pushed him. “Maybe I need one.”
He grew serious. “Some brief rummaging in the mud fling?”
“No,” she said at his doubtful look. “No. I really like you, remembering my record of only lousy relationships.”
“And jobs?”
“Yes, thanks. Jobs, too. Pretty much everything except my friendships with Puppy and Pablo.”
He took a cautious sip. “Ever do it with them?”
She firmly shook her head to strengthen the lie. “Just best friends.”
“That’s important.” Diego thought a while. “Love’s love.”
“Not according to Grandma.”
“I think loving a friend helps you love a lover. You see what you can’t get away with and then you don’t try that with someone you love romantically.”
She turned on her side, impressed. “Insightful. But shouldn’t you be able to do anything with someone you love romantically?”
“I never have.”
“Me neither.” Zelda flipped on her stomach and squeezed his hand.
“I got a job coming up,” he said carefully.
“Great, where you going?”
He poured more brandy. “Captain Lee said we can’t discuss it. Like really can’t discuss.”
“I can’t stowaway?” she grinned impishly.
“Seriously, Zelda,” he said with alarm. “I might be gone a while and didn’t want you to worry.”
“Or think you went off with some other girl?”
“Yes,” he continued gravely. “Especially since you’re like my girlfriend now.”
“Not just like. Am. You are the bahm diggity.” She rolled onto him, spilling his brandy.
23
Mrs. Hayden twitched as if just informed there was a vaccine for immortality. She tiptoed back behind home plate and waited for Puppy to guide her toward the stands. She shuddered, but the dugout wasn’t any more enticing.
“I cannot allow the Hayden brand to go here. I’m surprised at you, Puppy. You seemed to have more sense than that.”
“That’s the beauty of the idea, Ms. Hayden.”
“Your lack of any fundamental notion about business?”
Hold your ground, soldier. He dug his worn black shoes into the slightly yellowish-green infield grass. “Of course, Amazon Stadium is weathered.”
What would she have thought before they painted the seats in a semi-circle from third to first. Which cost money. Which cut into Fisher and Boccicelli’s bottom lines. Which meant Puppy had to find alternative resources.
“Weathered isn’t the word I’d use. Try gloom. Despair.” This from a woman who had dead people living in her basement.
“Yes.” He raised his finger. “That’s my point. Gloom. Despair. That’s what your, our,” he risked using the pronoun, “clients feel.”
Mrs. Hayden considered using Puppy’s skull as a salad bowl. “I bring them light and joy.”
“In the beginning they don’t know that.” He steered Hayden’s arm back toward the field, hoping the rest of her body would follow. “Amazon. Ancient. Old. Like death. That’s what people see. But you don’t.”
She narrowed her eyes impatiently. “I don’t?”
“Only Basil Hayden Funeral Homes sees through the gloom and brings happiness and relief to such a sad, mournful place of such sad, mournful memories.”
“There’s no other advertisers.” Her serpentine tongue lashed at the faded façade of the second levels. “What went there?”
“Verizon Wireless.”
“Cell phones.” She laughed coldly. “When’s the last time there were any advertisers?”
“October 12, 2065.” She reached for her coat. “You’re the trail blazer, the person who looks into the future. Doesn’t it bother you that you can’t get into NFL or NBA games?”
“I’ve
