“Sutter?” It’s Kevin, all right. “Hey, are you up here? Why don’t you come down and chat with Hannah for a while?”
He’s heading my way. At the time—being all high and everything—I figure the natural thing to do is duck into the closet until he passes by. Anyone would do the same thing, I tell myself. Standing in there with all the suits and sport coats, I can see him through the crack between the sliding door and the door jamb, searching for me like I’m some kind of longtime cat burglar, and he just knows I must be up to my old tricks again.
He looks at the chest of drawers. Shit, I think, why didn’t I put the scotch bottle back before running for cover?
“Sutter?” he calls, looking around. Did I mention that his hair looks like a toupee? It’s not a toupee, but it sure looks like one. He starts toward the bathroom. “Have you seen my bottle of Macallan?”
I have to shake my head over that. Does he really think I’m in here burglarizing his scotch? I have a good mind to sneak downstairs, slip out the back door, and never come back to their f**king house again.
There’s one problem with that, though—the blaze Ricky gave me is still burning between my fingers. And what happens? It gets a little too close to the dry cleaner plastic on one of Kevin’s thousand-dollar suits, and the whole thing bursts into flame right next to me. It’s just like a ball of fire out of War of the Worlds or something. There’s nothing for me to do but crash out of the closet and roll around on the carpet in case I’m on fire. That’s what they tell you to do in grade school fire drills.
Now if you think Kevin cares whether I’m burning up, then you have no idea what he’s like. No, all he can think about is putting out the fire on his precious suit by beating it with a pillow. Goddamn. That’s Kevin for you, more worried about a pile of stitched-together cloth than a live human being.
It’s only really the one suit that’s altogether ruined. The others will probably smell a little funny, but a trip to the cleaner will fix that easy enough. He throws a complete fit all over me, though. And of course, when Holly comes in, she takes his side too. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, the way he loses his temper and then her crying her head off like we’re in some kind of cable movie on the women’s channel. The whole episode’s uglier than the time my mom and Geech overreacted about that dump truck thing when I snuck their car out without a license.
“Sutter, why do you have to act like that!” Holly bellows. “Why can’t you be like normal people! Why don’t you wake up!”
So much for their polite dinner party and all their high-class etiquette bullshit.
“Look,” I say. “Did it ever cross either one of your minds that I came an inch away from burning to a crisp? I mean, I was almost the marshmallow in the middle of a tailor-made s’more.”
“And whose fault is that?” says Holly, mascara tears tracking down her cheeks.
“Is that my bottle of Macallan you’ve got in your hand?” adds Kevin.
“Yeah,” I say, handing it over. “Don’t worry, I didn’t open it. I was just looking at it.”
He and Holly start in on me again, but I’m just like, “Hey, I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. It was an accident. Why don’t I just leave so you don’t have to waste your lung power on having to bawl me out for the rest of the evening?”
On that, I’m out of there with them still jabbering behind me. Downstairs, everyone in the other room cranes their necks to catch a look at me passing by. For a second, I stop and stare at Hannah, trying to telepathically persuade her to leave with me, but she just gazes back, horrified, like I’m the Wolf Man or Leatherface or somebody.
“Good night, everyone,” I say, tossing a jaunty salute Hannah’s way. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, it is time for me to depart and get drunk off my ass.”
Chapter 15
“Why don’t nobody love me!” I scream out the window as I speed down the street. “I got a nice car. I got a big dick. Why don’t nobody love me?”
Now, in case you’re thinking that’s pretty pathetic, let me explain that I’m being sarcastic. It’s actually a quote from this dude I worked with one summer on the loading dock at Geech’s plumbing supply business. His name was Darrel. We’re sitting there on the dock, sweating in the sun, and little Darrel’s wife has just dumped him, and that’s what he says—“Why don’t nobody love me? I got a nice car. I got a big dick. Why don’t nobody love me?”
He was completely serious. It broke my heart and made me want to laugh at the same time. You ought to try yelling it sometime, though. It feels pretty good.
I’m no more than a couple blocks away when I realize the Chase building is staring me right in the face. I could get there in two minutes, but what’s the use? Instead I pull over in a parking lot and sit there staring out the windshield at those black windows. After taking a slug of whisky, I say, “What’s up, Dad? You making a killing up there? You making a million? You gonna show Mom how wrong she was? Make her beg you to come back after all these years?”
I take another slug. “Come on down, Dad!” I yell into the windshield. “Come the f**k on back down to earth!”
But there’s no use dwelling on that. It’s ridiculous to go around getting all sloppy and morose. It’s Friday. I’m magnificently free and wild. The whole night’s stretching out in front of me. Forget my sister and Kevin’s flame-broiled suit and Hannah’s green eyes. Forget Cassidy and Mr. Leon’s and algebra and tomorrow. I’m going to grab hold of this night and crack it open, eat the fruit right out of the middle, and throw away the rind.