25. What Now?
25
WHAT NOW?
MAL
Nobody knew I’d fucked up with Prentice. And I couldn’t bear to tell them.
It went on for too long. Ian arrived at the gatehouse within an hour of my call. It took Archer until the evening because Laser had him recording additional vocals for the album, but when he and Charlotte did arrive, it was just on time. We’d already packed my van to the brim with Mama’s things and needed the space in the Big Fucking Truck. It came as a shock to realize how much stuff could be acquired over thirty long years.
Half the Furneau staff showed up as the afternoon wore on, offering help and bringing food for everyone. The other half sent texts and called Mama to tell her she’d be missed; they all wanted to keep in touch with her. She was in tears for most of the day.
It simply wasn’t the right time for me to launch a bomb.
What was I supposed to say? Prentice has found out that I’m a hate-filled bastard and has fled in protection of her own sanity. Who can blame her?
No. This afternoon wasn’t about me. It was about getting my mother someplace safe, where she’d always know she was loved and protected. That was my job.
We met the goal of getting her out of the gatehouse by the evening. She pulled the front door closed and locked it. She took a trembling breath and then handed the key to Oliver.
He hugged her, and an entire receiving line of hugging, crying staff members developed. It took a while before I could get her into the passenger seat of my van. But we were driving over the causeway for the last fucking time as the sun was setting. Ian drove behind us, followed by Archer, with Charlotte riding shotgun and slobbering in the slipstream.
I couldn’t tell from her expression how Mama was doing. She stared out of the window without making a sound. As for me, I felt a thousand strings breaking as we drove along. A spider’s sticky web of connections to that mansion on the hill stretched taut and then snapped, releasing me. I was free.
More, my mother was free.
So where was the joy?
Mama had chosen to go to an extended-stay hotel near the apartment I shared with Archer. We got her checked in and moved her immediate needs into the room to make our plans for the next day.
“I’m sorry to leave my things in your car, Ian, and your truck, Archer.”
“Not to worry, Gerta.” Archer leaned over to kiss my mother’s cheek. “They’ll be safe in the BFT.”
“My car too,” Ian said.
“Thank you, boys. I’ll get a storage place tomorrow.”
“Let’s go house hunting tomorrow,” I said.
Ian shook his head. “You’re busy,” he said.
Archer chimed in. “Final touches on the album tomorrow. Wait two more days, Mal. Then you’re all Gerta’s.”
“Unless SNL ,” Ian said.
“Right. If they need us for Saturday Night Live rehearsals, we have to drop everything.” Archer wanted to help my mother, but he was still pretty jacked up at our appearance. Just days to go.
“You go on,” Mama said. “Do what you need to do. I’ll rent a car tomorrow and take care of this by myself.”
“I don’t want you doing it yourself,” I protested. “And we’ll buy you a car. You don’t have to rent.”
She looked quite prim at that. “If you don’t mind, I am keeping my options open for the moment.”
All three of us raised our eyebrows. Even Charlotte lifted her head from her sprawl on the industrial carpeting. “What does that mean?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrows and closed her eyes—a pose I recognized from a lifetime of attempting to negotiate later bedtimes or more ice cream. It meant “I will not be questioned on this, Malcolm.”
“I’m looking around,” she said shortly.
Archer grinned. “Go, Gerta. What are you looking at specifically?”
She favored him with a smile. Archer could charm anyone. “I have an MBA and years of experience as an estate manager. Surely you don’t think I need to retire and live off my son, do you?”
“Surely not,” Ian said with a smile.
“So,” she went on, “I will reserve the right to rent a car until I know better about where I want to end up.”
I had to smile at her spirit, but it was at odds with my plans. “I can take care of you, Mama. Like you always took care of me. It’s my turn, after all.”
She melted into tenderness and put her hand on my arm. “I know, Liebling . I’m a very lucky mother. But I have money of my own, you know. Not much, but enough to take care of myself for a while. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will!” Archer cheered, which inspired Charlotte to offer a single deep bark in agreement.
“It’s time for you to take care of yourself,” Mama said to me. “You and that lovely Prentice.”
“Oh.” I tried to hide my reaction, but my guys had been with me for a long time.
“All right,” Ian said. “That’s long enough.”
I tried to look innocent. “What?”
“He’s right,” Archer said. “Spill it. I mean, I get that it’s a big day for you, what with being named the son of an insanely wealthy man and all.”
“I wouldn’t take a single penny from that man,” I seethed. My anger, always burning in me, flared up anew at the thought.
“I know. I get it. You won’t have to. We’re going to be rolling in the Benjamins in no time.” Archer grinned. “But that’s not why you’re walking around with that fake smile on your ugly mug, Mal.”
“Fake smile? I’m not,” I protested.
“You are.” Of all people, it was my mother who ratted me out. “What’s going on? Where is Prentice?”
No one interrupted her. No one offered a distraction. Even the dog was silent and waiting.
I pushed back from the table, filled with too much frustrated energy. I would pace. And if my eyes happened to fill with tears, no one would see.
“Brother Malachi?” Archer said. His voice was soft but insistent. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head and studied the cars in the parking lot. Studied them hard. My vision wasn’t blurring. Not at all. “Prentice is gone.”
Of course it was Archer who took the lead. “What does that mean? Gone where?”
I shrugged. “Gone. No longer interested in me. We’re done.”
A truck rumbled down the highway. Two panel vans. Three sedans. A nice-looking sports car. I kept careful count.
“What happened?” It was my mother who asked. Her voice sounded tearful.
Bravado would see this through. I turned to them. “She found out I’m filled with hatred and that I’m an asshole. It was bound to happen sooner or later. So, what are we going to do about dinner tonight? I’m hungry. How about you guys?”
Then my mother was attached to my middle, hugging me and telling me in German that I wasn’t an asshole. I laughed and blinked back tears while I recovered my balance, physically and emotionally.
“That’s bullshit, you know,” Ian spoke. Archer nodded, but for once left it to Ian to explain.
“It isn’t,” I said. “I’ve been angry all my life, and now Prentice knows it.”
“No,” Ian said. He stood and came to face me, his expression serious. “It doesn’t matter what you think. It matters what you do.”
I shook my head, but Archer joined him, standing at Ian’s side.
“Look, brother,” he said. “You can think about killing people all your life. You can plot ways to murder anyone who annoys you. Really creative stuff, which Ian and I would both like to hear about. But if you don’t kill anyone . . . if you’re kind to everyone, if you defend anyone who is being abused, if you make friends with everyone you meet? Brother, you’re not a killer. You’re a sweetheart. And everyone here knows it.”
I swallowed and blinked some more. Ian slapped my shoulder, which surprised me and helped me to get a grip. “That’s right. We know you better than anyone. You may think you’re an asshole, but trust us as your brothers. You’re a good guy.”
His words—all of their words—were so kind. It wasn’t even a drop in my very empty bucket.
“If I’m so good,” I said, holding my voice strong to hide any tremors, “then why did I lose her?”
They couldn’t answer. No one could. My mother was still attached to my middle. Archer put his arm around my shoulders, and then Ian wrapped all of us in his long arms.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
I loved both of them, and my mother, of course. But their optimism was useless. They hadn’t seen Prentice when she realized that my “love song” was a hate song.
They hadn’t seen Bitsy Prentice forbid me from coming any closer, with nothing more than the hatred in her eyes.
They didn’t know how deep my rage was. How it sometimes boiled up in me like lava, burning every good, kind, generous impulse out of me before the vomitous acid it spewed.
I let them comfort me, and after a while, we ordered pizzas. We talked about websites where my mother could post her resume. We hashed out what we’d play on Saturday Night Live ; “Street Dancing” would be the first one, but we settled on “The Salesman” for the follow-up.
And Ian and I let Archer give a monologue on what he should wear. It was a toss-up between the white kilt Alberto had designed for him to wear to the Grammys or the long duster coat O’Connor had given him. This choice represented agony for Archer, who had to resort to a higher authority.
“The duster for the first song,” O’Connor said decisively on speakerphone. “Only the scrappy undershirt for the second song. Save Alberto’s vision for accepting your first Grammys, you dummy.” She spoke with obvious love, and my smile was genuine when I saw Archer’s relief at getting the right answer.
“I love you, baby,” he said.
“Well, obviously. Call me when you get home. I have a few, um, things I need to talk through with you. Mal, drive around for a while before you come in.”
I laughed, happy for Archer but stung by the casual way Archer had told her he loved her.
I’d had that . . . my mind blanked. Was it really only hours ago? God. I was a million years older than that now.
“I’ll help Gerta set up here. Archer, you head home now for your ‘discussion.’ I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Archer grinned, kissed Gerta, whispered to me that he and I would talk later, and then he headed out, followed by Ian.
Alone in Mama’s hotel suite, she and I looked at each other. “You boys need to get your own places,” she said. “It’s time.”
“Not until you’re settled,” I said firmly.
“I don’t think you’re going to have your roommate for long.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I think the chances are good that Archer will end up in LA with O’Connor.”
“Of course he will. And that’s where you and Ian should go too. Isn’t that where rock bands do best?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll work it out with Ian and Archer, but I’m staying near you. You’re the one I want to take care of now.”
She handed me a box of kitchen stuff and gestured to the little galley kitchen. “Please put these away. Did you hear Ian say that Nicky is interviewing new CEOs for her parents’ company? She’s going to be the marketing manager for Aftermath full-time. And Ian’s wife, of course. They can move to LA too.”
“I’m not leaving you, I said.”
“I’m not going to hold you back. We’ll discuss this another time. This day has been eventful enough. The pots and pans, please.”
She kept me busy for exactly one hour and then told me she was tired.
I didn’t doubt it. I was exhausted myself.
I kissed her and told her I was so relieved she was free. She nodded. “It was time. You’re a good son. Call me tomorrow.”
She pushed me out the door.
I should have gone home. Archer and O’Connor would be done with their phone sex by then. But I drove halfway home and found an empty parking lot at the town library. I sat in my van and waited for the emotion to hit me.
It never did. I was numb.
Worn-out and numb.
After fifteen minutes, I started up again and drove home.
“Can we not talk about anything tonight, Arch?”
He took one look at me and sent me to the showers. I was asleep twenty minutes later.
The following days passed in a fog. There were a few mountain peaks sticking out of the top of the clouds.
For example, we went to the SNL studios for a shakedown cruise. They talked us through the day of the performance, set up our stage, and had us run through our songs several times. We were introduced to the writers, the cast, and that week’s guest host, an action star who wanted to know if Archer would be in one of the skits. Archer was delighted. Oddly enough, people seemed just as pleased to meet us as we were to meet them. And Charlotte, of course, was a big hit.
For example, I received an envelope via snail mail, made of the heaviest paper I’d ever touched. It was from the Decatur and Decatur Law Firm and included a document I was expected to sign, surrendering any rights to the assets of one Johnston Furneau III, alleged father. I burned it in my kitchen sink. There would be no legal reassurances for Jack that I wasn’t going to come after him. He didn’t need to know that I was sickened by the thought of taking anything of his.
For example, Laser announced that he was finished with our album, which he insisted was going to go double platinum, double platinum, would outsell all goals to go double platinum. I had no idea how he knew. He made sure it would be ready for release on Saturday in time for the SNL performance.
The rest of the time, though, I was lost in the fog. Once Laser was done, we didn’t even have the excuse of going into the city to the studio. I drifted.
On Thursday afternoon, Archer and Ian cornered me and dragged me to Ian’s house. “This is an intervention,” Archer announced.
I called Charlotte to me and fondled her long ears. “An intervention for what?”
“For misery,” Archer said. “You can’t keep going on like this.”
I huffed an ironic laugh. “What do you think I can do about this? Just decide not to be sad? Does that work, man? Do you know how to do that? Because I’d be willing to listen to that.”
“Go get her,” Ian said.
“Fuckin’ A!” Archer was nodding. “Why are you just giving up, Brother Malachi?”
With that one simple question, I felt something horrible: the numbness was withdrawing like high tide draining out of the bay, leaving me defenseless and naked before the emotional mugging that awaited me.
“Because,” I said. They waited for my reason, and I struggled to explain. “Because she was right. Because this was my fault. The hatred in me would just poison her.”
God save the queen, tears were forming in my eyes. I stood, spooking Charlotte, and marched around Ian’s little living room. Maybe I’d just leave. Could I walk out on my guys? Sure. They’d understand. They’d forgive me.
Probably.
They didn’t give me the chance. Ian rose to his feet and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed over his chest. I’d always idly wondered if I could take Ian, but I’d never really wanted to find out before.
Archer stood, too, and began pacing with me. Where I walked, he walked with me. And he talked. “Mal, I know you’ve dealt with this for your entire life. You never said a word to us, so I know it was buried deep. You’re dealing with a lot. I get it. But answer a question, will you?”
I grunted, wishing he wasn’t close enough to see how bright my eyes were.
“Did you love her? I mean, just because she’s Prentice and not because that asshole wanted her?”
I stopped and covered my eyes with my hands. Stay calm. Don’t cry.
“At first, it was just him,” I said. “And then I forgot about Johnston. I just wanted to be with her. I kind of—I lost track of Johnston.”
Archer slapped my arm companionably. I laughed unwillingly but still couldn’t lower my hands.
“So you did love her,” Archer said.
I gulped, trying to clear the obstruction in my throat. “I—I still love her. God, I’m still in love with her.”
“Yeah, you are.” Archer sounded uselessly pleased. We’d determined absolutely nothing new.
“Sit.” Ian’s voice came from right in front of me. Damn, he moved quietly. He surprised me into opening my eyes, and he pointed sternly at the couch. “Sit.”
At Archer’s side, Charlotte sat, obediently waiting for the next command. That made me chuckle, and I found I had the power to move. I sat.
“You said something,” Ian said.
Archer sat beside me, and we looked up at Ian as if he were our guru. “He said a lot of things,” Archer said.
Ian shook his head. “He said he forgot about Johnston.” They both looked at me.
I considered. It came to me with perfect clarity. “The day we went to that annual party,” I said. “We walked in together, and I thought—I thought I no longer cared about any of the fucking Furneaus. It was just important that I was with Prentice.”
Archer winked at me solemnly, and Ian nodded. “Yep,” he said.
“ Yep ? What the hell do you mean by yep , Tall, Dark, and Silent?” My anger lashed out at Ian, who didn’t treat that with the respect it deserved.
“I mean, you do have poison in you. You’re right. How could you not? But I think Prentice is your antidote. I think she was healing you.”
I swallowed, shattered by the thought that I’d lost the only thing that could make me whole. “What am I supposed to do? What does it mean?”
Relentless, Ian went on. “It means you can’t give up. You need her.” He pinned me with the intensity of his gaze. Archer was nodding. “You have to get her back,” Ian finished.
“Fuckin’ A! Go get her, Mal!”
I stood again, frustration pushing against my bones, against my skin. “I don’t know how. I can’t think. I need to—I have to go. But I’ll be back.”
“Take Charlotte,” Archer said quickly. Between the two of them, they thrust Char’s leash in my hand and filled my pocket with poop bags. “Walk for as long as you need. But come back here when you’re done. Got it?”
I was on the sidewalk before I knew what was happening. Just me and Charlotte.
She looked at me, and I shrugged uselessly. “Do you mind if I cry and walk, Charlotte?”
She did not.
It took over an hour of me sniveling and thinking and cursing and being honest with myself. It was a horrible walk, and I had never truly given attention to how overwhelmingly huge a Great Dane’s shit is.
But eventually, we made it back to Ian’s house. He and Archer were standing in the little garden, talking as the day turned into evening. They turned to me when Charlotte and I came through the gate.
“I need your help,” I said.
“We’re ready,” Ian said.
“What do you need?” Archer asked.
“I’ve got a song I need you to work on with me.”
“Come on in.”