Gluttony

Chapter 7

As soon as she stepped outside the club, Beth realized she had no idea how to get back to the hotel. They’d driven over in Star la’s car, and she didn’t have enough cash on her for a taxi. Even if she could get a cab driver to take her to a bank and wait while she hit the ATM, there wouldn’t be much point: Her tiny savings account was even emptier than usual. She’d drained it for gas and food money, figuring this trip would be worth it.

After all, now that she’d decided to take college off the table, what was the point in saving her money? What was she saving it for?

Emergencies, perhaps. Like this one.

A screeching crowd of girls burst out of the bar, slamming into Beth as they charged toward the street. She stumbled backward, catching herself just before she fell.

“Watch yourself!” a tall, skinny girl in knee-high leather boots yelled. “You’re in the way!”

That part, she’d already figured out.

Maybe she could walk back. Beth knew this wasn’t like home, where everything was within a couple miles of everything else. It could take all night-but she had nowhere else to be. Nor was she in any particular hurry to get back to the hotel room, because then she’d have to address the question: What next? Reed would have to return eventually. (Beth tried to ignore the persistent voice in her head pointing out that, no, Reed didn’t have to come back-not if he got a better offer.)

Unable to decide and unwilling to turn back, she stood in front of the bar, watching the traffic crawl by.

She didn’t hear his footsteps behind her, but she recognized his voice when he whispered her name. She still flinched when he put his arms around her and leaned his chin on her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Reed asked. His hair brushed against her neck. “Where’d you go?”

Beth didn’t know how to answer. Now that she had to put it into words, her fears seemed ridiculous.

“I’m not feeling well,” she lied.

“So you leave without saying good-bye?” He turned her around to face him. Their noses were almost touching. “How were you going to get back?”

Beth shrugged.

“What’s really going on?”

She looked away. “Nothing.”

He took her chin and tipped her face up so she couldn’t avoid his dark eyes. “Tell me.”

Beth took a deep breath. “When I saw you with her, I just thought-”

With both hands, Reed, smoothed down her hair, then pressed her head against his chest. His T-shirt was so old and worn that the cotton felt like skin. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened. She’d been expecting denials, laughter, maybe even ridicule. Anything but a simple apology. Guys didn’t work that way. “For what?”

“For making you think that anything could ever-”

“She’s just so much more… like you,” Beth said weakly, wondering why she was encouraging the idea. “She-she fits in. And I…”

“You fit,” Reed assured her. “Here.” He laced his arms around her waist and held tight.

“That’s not what I mean,” Beth protested.

“But that’s what matters.” When she didn’t answer him, he ran a hand through his tangles of black curls. “Look. I know I don’t…” He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. When he opened them, she realized she could see her reflection. “All this-” He waved his arm at the club, the people, and, somewhere inside, Star la. “You’re right, it’s me. And you’re different. But that’s why… You make me want to be different, you know? You make me think I can be better, that, like, I should be better. And…” He rubbed his hand against her back in a slow, soft circle. “You get that there’s something else, something beside all this. I don’t have to be anyone for you. All these people? They think they know, but they don’t get it. They don’t get me. You do.”

It was the most he’d ever said to her at once. She tipped her head up to him, but before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her. She closed her eyes, and the world beyond his lips disappeared.

“This is what I want,” Reed told her. “You. Believe me?”

Beth realized she did. And always had. Reed was so open about everything. He never did anything he didn’t want to do, he never shaded the truth, and he never broke his word.

And that was the problem. Because Beth could never tell the real truth, and everything she said and did, every kiss, every smile was a lie. She didn’t deserve to be with Reed, the one person in the world who had the most reason to hate her, but she was too weak to push him away. At the beginning, Beth had promised herself that she would end this before she got in too deep. But she’d let it go on, and now she couldn’t imagine how she would make it through a day without Reed. He couldn’t ever find out about her ever-present misery; but she couldn’t survive it without him.

She was too much of a coward to let him go. But if he’d done it for her, she realized, that would have been it. An easy way out. If he had pushed her aside for Star la, it would have destroyed her-but at least it would all be over, and she would no longer need to pretend to be happy or ignore the suffocating guilt.

She had wanted her suspicions to come true, wanted him to cheat on her. It would have been hard, but not as hard as telling the truth. This way-the Star la way-she could have just slipped out the back and faded from his life. No messy scenes, no recriminations, no admissions. No pain.

“Beth?” he asked again when she didn’t answer. “Do you believe me?”

She couldn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.

“Come back to the hotel with me,” he suggested. “Let’s forget this whole shitty day ever happened, and start over. Okay?”

I don’t deserve you, she wanted to say. I deserve to stay here, walking the streets, alone and miserable. I deserve to be alone forever.

But she was weak. Too weak to confess her crime, too terrified to face her punishment. So she nodded again, and took his hand.

Kane had orchestrated his share of schemes, but he wasn’t used to sneaking around to carry them out. He’d always preferred the bold lie to the snoop and spy-but in this case, it couldn’t be helped. Miranda wasn’t answering her cell, and if Jackson caught sight of him, the deal could be thrown into jeopardy. So Kane was reduced to stalking from afar.

The things I do for-He caught himself then, not having an easy word to fill in the blank. He could be out drinking, gambling, hooking up, living it up, and instead he was threading his way through a crowded street, always staying at least ten feet behind his prey, ducking behind corners and into alleys when it seemed they might be onto him. It was on the cusp of being humiliating, and Kane still wasn’t quite sure why he was bothering. So he put the question out of his mind and focused on the chase.

They began the date at Sunset Terrace, a nauseatingly romantic bar overlooking the Strip. Miranda and Jackson placed their orders, then took their drinks out onto the wide outdoor deck, walking a little too closely together for Kane’s comfort.

No matter. Kane knew just how to handle this-Jackson had made it easy on him.

He strode up to the bar, keeping a laserlike focus on the couple to make sure they didn’t glance back inside, then beckoned the bartender toward him. “So, when did they pass the law?” he asked. “I would have thrown a party.”

The bartender, a brawny guy in a light blue polo shirt and ill-fitting slacks, slung a towel over his shoulder and scowled at Kane. “What law?”

“The law lowering the drinking age.” Kane gave him a serene, wide-eyed smile.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Now Kane shrugged. The sneaking around part had been ignominious, but this was pure fun. “I just assumed,” he said innocently. “After all, I know that girl over there”-he pointed at Miranda-“and she’s only seventeen. But since you served her, anyway…” Kane had been watching closely enough to know that Miranda hadn’t even had to flash her pathetic fake ID. “It’s weird, though, since I probably would have heard about a new law like that, what with my dad being on the state liquor board and all.”

Bingo.

“Shit.” The bartender’s jaw dropped, and he stepped out from behind the bar.

Kane winked at him. “Don’t tell her I tipped you off, and no one has to know you’re serving anyone old enough to walk.”

“Deal,” the bartender agreed. As he stalked off toward Beth and Jackson, Kane ducked out of the bar and positioned himself behind a large column just outside the entrance. He wished he could have stayed to watch the fall-out, but he had a rich imagination.

His hopes were confirmed a moment later, when the bartender appeared in the doorway, one hand wrapped tightly around Jackson’s arm, the other firmly at Miranda’s shoulder blades. “Nice try, kiddies,” he growled, pushing them both onto the street. “Come back when she’s potty-trained.”

Kane was close enough to hear Miranda apologize-and close enough to see that Jackson wasn’t about to give up that easily.

“No worries,” he assured her, rubbing her shoulder in sympathy.

A weasel, Kane thought, but an effective one.

“If you want to go.” Miranda began, “I totally-”

“We’re going,” Jackson told her. “And I know just the place.”

They set off and, with a deep sigh, Kane followed. So the game wouldn’t end as quickly as Kane would have liked, but it would still certainly end in his favor. Jackson didn’t know who he was playing against.

In fact, to Kane’s great benefit, Jackson didn’t know he was playing at all. And that was Kane’s favorite way to win.

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Harper groused as a line of Elvises spread out across the stage in a Rockettes-like kickline.

Adam clinked his glass against her Blue Hawaii daiquiri and took a sip from his All Shook Up vodka tonic. It was just as disgusting as it looked. “How can you not be enjoying this?” he asked, grinning widely. When Miranda had called to cancel that night’s prebirthday dinner, it had taken Adam only twenty minutes of concentrated wheedling to convince Harper that the Elvis Extravaganza might be their best bet.

Not that Adam had nurtured any particular desire to see a two-hour parade of Elvis impersonators, spanning the eras from Ed Sullivan Show chic to bloated 70s white jumpsuits. But he also hadn’t wanted the day to end.

They were the youngest people in the hall by more than a decade. But thanks to their new friend Margie, their free tickets placed them at a small table only a few feet from the stage. Adam could almost see his reflection in the fat Elvises’ oversize sunglasses and gold medallion belts.

It was gaudy, tacky, and so noisy, he feared he’d be hearing “Jailhouse Rock” echo in his ears for weeks. But Harper wasn’t arguing with him, attacking him, or running away from him, so Adam concluded it was worth it.

“Remind you of anything?” he asked suddenly. The so-called music was so loud that no one could hear them talking, even at normal volume-they could barely hear themselves. “Sixth grade?”

She looked puzzled for a second, then burst into laughter. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Their teacher had been one of those naïve, overeager, twenty-two-year-olds who had yet to realize that Grace, CA, was about as dead as dead ends could get. Ms. Carpenter had quickly tired of the explorers, the Civil War, and the Great Depression, and had skipped forward to what she saw as the fundamental development of American history: the creation of rock-’n’-roll. They’d formed groups, and each had been charged with reenacting a performance of some famous group from the past. Complete with costumes and offbeat lip-synching.

“If you’d just listened to me in the first place,” Harper said, giggling, “it never would have happened.”

“If I’d listened to you in the first place, I would have ended up wearing a dress.” Harper had done her best to convince Adam to join up with her and Miranda… to perform as The Supremes. By the time Harper pulled out the spangly sequined miniskirts she had discovered in her parents’ attic, Adam was out the door and halfway down the block.

He’d opted to go solo, and there was only one true option: Elvis Presley, the King. His rendition of “Jailhouse Rock” had brought the audience to its feet within seconds. (Not much of an accomplishment, considering the audience was made up entirely of sixth graders-half of whom already wanted to date him.) Harper had helped him tape black stripes to his white shirt for an excellent convict effect, and choreographed a dance for him. It all went perfectly… until he climbed up on his chair, kicked his leg out while strumming his air guitar-and slipped off the chair, flipping through the air and landing in a tangled, broken heap.

He’d hobbled around on crutches for the next two months, with a broken ankle almost as painful as his new nickname: the Klutz King.

“I still blame you,” Adam said, waving an accusing finger in Harper’s face. “If you hadn’t suckered me into doing that stupid chair dance-”

“If you hadn’t fallen on your ass-”

“I might never have become the man I am today,” Adam concluded jokingly. He clapped Harper on the back. “I guess I owe it all to you.”

Her grin faded suddenly, and she looked away, taking a long sip of the drink that looked even more disgusting than his. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But she lowered her head, letting her wild wavy hair fall across her eyes. He knew it wasn’t accidental. She was hiding.

“What is it, Gracie?” He hesitated, remembering that the last time he’d tried using his childhood nickname for her, she’d blasted him for his presumption that their history together still mattered. “What’s wrong?” He used to be able to read her, and know why she was upset almost before she did. But this year, too much had happened-too much had changed. “Is it the tickets?” he guessed. “Miranda will never even know you were trying to get them for her. So she won’t be disappointed. I’m sure we can think of something else great to surprise her with.”

Harper laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I don’t care about the stupid tickets,” she admitted, her voice muffled. She was speaking so softly, he could barely hear her over the music, but what she said next was clear enough that he could almost read her lips. “It’s… you. I miss you.”

His first sensation: relief. Pure and overwhelming. Adam had to grip the edge of his chair to hold himself still. He didn’t know what to say next. Their friendship-what was left of it-was so fragile, he feared that the wrong words could smash it beyond repair. “I-”

But before he could say anything, right or wrong, one of the white jumpsuit Elvises hopped oft the stage and strolled right up to their table, close enough that Adam could see the plastic studs holding the rhinestones in place. “How about a serenade for our young lovers here?” the Elvis asked, and the audience roared with approval. Harper’s face flushed red, and Adam wished he could hide under the table-or, better yet, shove the Elvis under there until he and Harper had safely left the building. But they did nothing, and Elvis began to sing.

“Love me tender,” he crooned. “Love me true…”

Adam buried his face in his hands, but it didn’t make the nightmare end.

“For my darlin’ I love you. And I always will.”

“… and let’s just say that I will never again bite into something without checking to see if it’s still breathing,” Jackson concluded, shaking his head as if in dismay at his own foolishness.

Miranda laughed-perhaps a little harder than the story merited, but then, she was spending her birthday with a cute, older guy who, in his own words, thought she was “adorable,” “hilarious,” and “fantastic.” A little extra laughter was a small price to pay. “That’s unbelievable,” she said, gasping for breath.

“I swear.” Jackson put a hand over his heart. “It happened exactly like I said.”

When they’d been booted out of the bar, Miranda had been sure her date was over before it even began, but Jackson had just shrugged and escorted her down the strip to Killian’s, a dark, opulent, outrageously Irish pub with thick burgers, heaping plates of mashed potatoes, and towering mugs of beer. Miranda stuck to salad and soda.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Jackson told her.

Miranda searched for a suitably snappy response, but under the table she suddenly felt the light touch of a hand on her knee, and her witty bravado melted away. “Me too,” she said sincerely, and, though it felt unthinkably bold, she rested her hand on top of his, lightly twining their fingers. Jackson stared at her so intensely that she was tempted to look away, but she knew that in a situation like this, she was supposed to meet his eyes. So she forced herself to do it.

He’s gazing at me, the overanalytical part of her mind that refused to shut up observed. I never thought anyone would do that. It was only a few hours to her birthday, and Miranda allowed herself to hope that she would get to start off her eighteenth year in the best way imaginable: with a kiss.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked, appearing as if from nowhere. She was dressed in green from head to toe, and wore a four-leaf clover beret over her bright red-certainly dyed-hair. “Some more water?”

“We’re fine,” Jackson said, but she had already leaned in to start pouring.

“Jesus!” he screeched, as half a pitcher of ice water sloshed into his lap. He jumped up, but it was too late-a large dark spot was quickly spreading across the front of his pants.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the waitress cried, slipping out of the fake Irish brogue she’d adopted for the rest of their meal. “Here, let me-” She leaned toward him to start patting him down with a napkin, but Jackson squirmed away. “I got it,” he snapped. Sliding out of the booth. “Miranda, I’ve got to-”

“Go,” she urged him, marveling at how quickly her perfect date could go south. Not that it was a surprise. The perfection of the afternoon had seemed bizarre. It was all too unbelievably smooth and perfect to be true. This comedy of errors, on the other hand, was totally in keeping with the way Miranda’s life usually went. “I think the bathroom’s that way.” She pointed, but he was already gone. He’ll come back in a minute, she assured herself, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.

“Clumsy waitress, eh?” a familiar voice chuckled from the next booth over. Miranda peeked her head over the top of her booth to see Kane staring up at her. He shook his head. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

As always, she felt an unmitigated blast of joy at seeing him-so it took her a moment to wonder at his presence. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“You’re not answering your phone,” he pointed out.

“I’m on a date.”

He smirked. “Yeah. I caught that. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great,” she boasted. “Fantastically. Best date I ever had.” Mostly because all her other dates had sucked. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Kane know that he wasn’t welcome to crash this one.

Even if, secretly, possibly, he was.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what? That I’d actually have a good time?” Dare she allow herself to hope that he was jealous? Stop, she instructed herself. It doesn’t matter. I’m here with Jackson. Jackson was cute, smart, sweet, and, though he wasn’t Kane, he had one important thing going for him that Kane didn’t: He wanted to be with Miranda.

“He’s bad news,” Kane told her. “Don’t trust him. I’d leave now, if I were you, now that I’ve given you the chance.”

“Now that you’ve…?” The pieces fell into place: the suddenly clumsy waitress. The fact that Kane just happened to be sitting at the next table. Maybe even the bartender who’d randomly thrown them out of the bar. “Are you trying to ruin my life? Or just my night?”

“Just trying to help,” Kane said. “Get away from him. He’s-uh-oh. Don’t tell him I was here.” Before she could say anything else, Kane had ducked out of the booth and disappeared into a corridor. And then Jackson was back.

“Well, I’ve gone from soggy to damp,” Jackson said ruefully, sliding back into his seat. “So that’s an improvement. Still, maybe after dinner we could stop by my room, just to grab a change of clothes. If you’re up for it, I mean.”

It didn’t make any sense. This was Kane’s friend; Kane was the one who’d introduced them. He’d vouched for Jackson. And now he was trying to torpedo the date? It was as if he was jealous, but he couldn’t be jealous. And it didn’t matter either way. It didn’t matter what his reasoning was. She’d wasted enough of her time worrying about Kane-this was her chance to actually be happy, even if it was just for the night. She wasn’t going to screw it up. “Sure, as soon as we’re done here, we should definitely hit your room so you can get out of those wet pants.” She giggled as they both realized the implications of what she’d just said. They weren’t altogether unintentional.

Miranda was about to continue, to tell Jackson about the strange encounter she’d had while he was drying off, so that they could laugh about and then dismiss Kane’s ludicrous scheming. But Kane had asked her not to say anything.

And though she didn’t owe him anything, didn’t care what he wanted, and refused to spend another moment thinking about him, she kept her mouth shut.

Her skin was so soft.

Everything about her was perfect. That sweet, lilting voice that sang whenever she spoke. Her hair, which fell through his fingers like it had no substance, no weight, but was made of golden light. Her lips, which were now pressed against his neck, and her fingers, which crawled down his bare chest and massaged his back. Her pale blue eyes, closed now, shaded by delicate eyelids rimmed by eyelashes so light, they were nearly invisible.

But it was her skin that Reed loved the most. The cheap hotel sheets were scratchy, but her pale, creamy skin was unbelievably soft and smooth, as if it had never been exposed to the outside world. Reed loved the way it felt against his cheek, his lips, his fingertips, his body-always wondering how something that delicately perfect could exist. And how it could be within his grasp.

She moaned softly, and shivered as he traced his fingers lightly down the small of her back. He grabbed her waist, gently tipping her onto her back and rolling on top of her, so their chests breathed together and their lips met. He supported his weight on his elbows, so as not to crush her, and stared down at her.

Whatever doubts he’d had at the beginning, whatever guilt he’d struggled with, he was past that now. He had no regrets.

“Do you… do you want to?” she whispered suddenly, her eyes still closed.

“Want to what?” He kissed her cheek, then her forehead, her nose, and, finally, her lips.

“You know.” She opened her eyes. A tear was pooling in one of the corners. “I don’t know if you brought… protection.” It sounded like she had to choke the word out. “But it you did, maybe we should-”

Reed rolled off of her and propped himself up on his side. “Where’s this coming from?”

Beth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and, instead of turning to face him, stayed on her back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. “I know I said I didn’t want to, not yet, but that was before…”

“Before what?” When she didn’t answer, he sat up, and pulled her up too. “Before what?”

“You’re just really good to me, and I thought-” She took his hand in hers. “I want to make you happy.”

“You think this will make me happy?” he asked incredulously, his voice rising. “You’re doing this as it-as if you owe me something? Do you think I’m that kind of guy? That I’d ever want you to-”

“Are you mad?” Her voice sounded like a child’s.

“Of course not!” He forced himself to stop and take a few deep breaths. “I just don’t get it. Why would you think… I told you I’d wait. I told you I didn’t care.”

“I know. But…”

She didn’t need to say it out loud. He got it: She hadn’t believed him.

Reed didn’t know much about Beth’s past, so he didn’t know who had screwed her over so badly, or how. But something must have happened to make her so unwilling to trust that someone would wait for her.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why tonight?”

“Because I don’t deserve you,” she admitted. “And I just thought maybe… I don’t know.” She threw herself back down on the bed, face first, her head buried in her arms. “I don’t get why you want… I don’t know why anyone would want to be with me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sheets. Her body trembled, and Reed wondered if she was crying.

It didn’t make sense. He was the stoner. The dumbass. The loser. She was smart, beautiful, perfect. Grace’s princess. He was the one who didn’t belong in the picture, who was undeserving. How could someone so smart miss something so obvious?

“Come on,” he said. She didn’t sit up, just shook her head, still hiding her face as if afraid to show him her tears. “Come on,” he repeated. “For me.”

Finally, she lifted her head, wiping clumsily at her tears like a little kid. Her makeup smeared across her face. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

He took her by the hand and led her out of the room, down the hall to the elevators and, when they’d stepped inside, pressed the button for the top floor. Moments later they stepped out onto an identical hallway, and Reed, once again leading the way, guided Beth down to the opposite end and through a half-hidden door.

“I did a little exploring,” Reed explained as they entered the dark, cramped stairwell, though she hadn’t asked, or even spoken since they’d left the room. “Found something I thought you’d like.” They climbed up two flights of stairs, pushed through a heavy door at the top, and found themselves standing on the roof, surrounded by the tall silhouettes of the Camelot’s fake turrets. “Come on,” he urged Beth, leading her toward the edge. She followed as if she’d lost all momentum of her own-as if, were he to let go, she would stand motionless until given another command.

They stood at the rim of the roof, the lights of Vegas spread out beneath them like stolen gems spilled onto a sheet of black velvet. A small smile crept onto Beth’s face, still streaked with mascara-stained tears.

“Remember that first day, on the crater?” Reed asked. She nodded. They had hiked up to the top and, surrounded by miles of empty desert wilderness, had decided to take a chance. Together. Reed realized he was breathing quickly and tried to calm himself down. He’d been steeling himself to do this at some point in the weekend-but now that he was actually here, and the words he’d never said before were ready to come out, he could barely speak. “Beth, since then, being with you-it’s not what I expected. It’s-” He hadn’t rehearsed; that would have been lame. But now that he was here, he almost wished he’d prepared something to say. When he wrote a song, the words always came pouring out. But actually talking about the way he felt-especially to someone else-was different. It was almost impossible.

He had to try.

“I used to think it was just something people said, you know? Some obligation, but it didn’t mean anything.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but it was a place to start, and she was listening. “I didn’t care. And when I met you, I didn’t care about anything. And then…” He put his arms around her shoulders, resting his hands loosely at the nape of her neck. “Now. It’s different. You know?”

“I don’t… I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Beth said slowly, her face pale. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No. No!” This was going all wrong. Reed wished he’d had a joint ahead of time, because then he wouldn’t care so much and it wouldn’t matter if it came out wrong. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered at all-that’s how it had always been, before her.

Sober was hard, but if he was going to do this-do this and mean it-it was necessary.

“I’m trying to tell you-” He couldn’t look at her while he was saying it, so he turned to face the endless spread of lights, grasping her hand as he waited for the words to come. “I think… I love you.”

Silence.

“Beth. I love you.” It was easier this time. There was no more doubt.

But she didn’t say anything. Finally, he dared to look at her-and she seemed so terrified, so appalled, that he quickly looked away.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “Take it back.”

But Reed couldn’t. “I love you.” he said again.

She touched his cheek, gently, with that impossibly soft skin. “Reed…” He waited for her to say it back, to say anything. But instead, she let out a loud, anguished sob-and bolted.

“Beth!”

But she didn’t hesitate, or look back. She raced across the roof, flung the door open and, just like that, she was gone.