Witch Water (29 page)

My aura is black, which means my heart is
black,
he thought.

No, he didn’t know what any of it mean but
he did know that all of these things had seemed to replace all of
his previous priorities.
I don’t even care about my businesses
any more. I only care about…THIS…

The drone followed him back downstairs. When
he crossed the atrium, the two joggers, shapely as ever in their
perilously tight running gear, cast sideglances at him—and even
smiles—as they entered through the automatic doors. Fanshawe nodded
stiffly, though, barely noticing them.
Where am I going? What am
I doing?
He felt driven just this moment but didn’t know what
toward. Next thing he knew, he was walking into the Squire’s
Pub.

“Aw, I’m sorry Mr. Fanshawe,” came Baxter’s
crackly voice. He was stocking the bar shelves. “We ain’t open just
yet,” but then he cracked a laugh. “Aw, shucks, what am I sayin’? I
own
the place, so if it’s a drink you’re lookin’ for,
what’ll it be?”

For some reason, being addressed directly by
another person brought more of his consciousness back to the
surface. “Thanks for the offer, Mr. Baxter, but—”

What
was
he here for?

“—I just stopped by to see Abbie. Is she
around?”

“Oh, sure!” Baxter replied with a little too
much zeal. “She’s back in the storeroom.” He pointed out the bar
entry. “It’s that door next to the check-in desk.”

“I don’t want to bother her if she’s busy
working—”

Baxter flapped his hand. “Naw, naw, just you
go right on in. And if that pipe-cleaner of a desk clerk gives ya
any grief, just you tell him I said you can go in.”

“Thanks, Mr. Baxter.”

The clerk wasn’t even at the desk. Fanshawe
opened the door indicated and entered a long corridor stacked high
on either side with boxes of various supplies. It was fairly dark.
He saw no sign of Abbie but did notice white fluorescent lights
burning at the corridor’s end. Though it hadn’t consciously
occurred to him before now, Fanshawe knew why he was seeking her:
to ask her out on another date. Should he call out her name?
No.
With my luck she’s already left.
He reached the end of the
corridor, noticing that it T’d. He stepped into the light, turned
left, didn’t see Abbie, then turned right—

Holy sh…

Abbie sat hunched over a metal desk lit by a
hooded lamp. She looked intent, keenly focused, yet
lost
at
the same time. With great care, her fingers tweezed a typical key,
like a house key. Then, with a meticulous effort, she raised the
key to a nostril and quickly sniffed an accumulation of something
white off of it. She paused, sitting upright, then stuck the key
into a plastic bag full of white powder, and repeated the
process.

Fanshawe didn’t say a word. At once he
wanted to leave unseen, but it was impossible for him even to move
much less retreat out of the area.

After Abbie had done it a third time, she
sat back and sighed, staring at the wall before her. She wiped her
nose, seemed to grind her back teeth and swallow several times,
then she rubbed her eyes. She stared out a moment more, and only
then did she very slowly turn her head toward Fanshawe.

Her mouth fell open, then she thunked her
head down on the desk. “Of all the
shit,
” she muttered,
already sobbing. “How much more
shit
is going to happen to
me?”

“Abbie, I…,” but Fanshawe could think of
nothing to remark.

She kept her hands to her face, and her face
still against the desk top. Her words croaked: “What are you
doing
here?”

“Your father said I could come in. I wanted
to see you.”

“Why!” she somehow whispered and shrieked at
the same time.

“To ask you out again.”

She sniffled and finally raised her face up.
She managed a sardonic laugh. “Bet’cha don’t want to now.”

Before he could decide how to reply, he
already had. “Yes. I do.”

At last, she looked right at him. Pink
patches splotched her face; tears ran down her cheeks. It didn’t
even sound like her when she said, “I’m a drug addict, Stew. I’m a
coke-head—a
junkie.
”

“I never would’ve guessed.”

Another cynical laugh. “Yeah, the Girl Next
Door turned middle aged. The Happy Innkeeper. Always a smile!
Then—bang! The
truth.
”

“How long?”

“
This
time? I don’t know. Six, eight
months.”

“So you had a problem in the past,” he
interpreted, “got clean, but now you’ve relapsed?”

“Yeah.” She seemed crumpled where she sat
now. “Remember when I told you I lived in Nashua for a year?”

“Right, after college.”

She nodded, turning the key over in her
fingers. “Well, I guess it’s a universal story. Young, idealistic,
adventurous. First time away from home. I met a guy there, fell in
love, but then found out that the only thing he
really
loved
was coke. He sold the stuff, too, was a pretty big dealer. He
didn’t sell half ounces to college kids, he sold quarter keys to
regional bagman. Next thing I know, I’m so hooked,
I’m
selling it for him.” She faltered as if steeling herself, then
looked right at Fanshawe. “And that’s not all I sold for the
guy.”

Fanshawe gulped.

“You’re
still
here?” she asked, acid
in her tone.

“What’s it look like?” Grimacing, he picked
up the bag of cocaine, knelt, and—

Abbie jumped up. “Don’t you dare!”

“Try stopping me,” he suggested, and emptied
the bag into a drain on the floor.

She stood there, slumping. “You son of a
bitch. Do you have any idea how much that cost?”

“Yeah, your soul.”

“It’s almost impossible to get around
here!”

“Good. I just did you a favor so you can
thank me.”

“How about this? Instead of thank you,
fuck
you.”

Fanshawe chuckled.
How did I get myself
into THIS?
He scuffed his shoe over the drain. “Please don’t
cuss, Abbie. It doesn’t work for you. And anyway, I’ve seen men who
are analytical
geniuses
turn into useless waste products
because of cocaine. Captains of industry, economic gurus, people
who could create fifty thousand new jobs just with one deal, but
now? They’re all either dead or useless. I’ll be damned if I’m
going to watch that happen to you.”

She kept glaring at the drain.

“I’ll cut my stay short,” he said, “then
take you to New York and put you in a rehab, a good one.”

“Oh really?” Her tone seemed to dare
him.

“Yeah.”

She sat back down, looking completely
defeated. “Fuck. I can’t believe this happened. Couldn’t you at
least have fucking
knocked?
”

“I’m serious about the cussing. It makes you
sound trashy.”

Her chuckle bubbled like hot pitch. “You
don’t
know
trashy. You’d be sick to your stomach to know
some of the things I did in Nashua.”

“Probably. So don’t talk about it.”

She stood up again, with a sudden expression
that was confused and sluttish at the same time. “So you’re gonna
put me in a rehab, huh, Stew?”

“Yeah. You sound like you don’t believe
it.”

“Why should I? It sounds no different from
all the other bullshit men have been telling me my whole life. I’m
not naive anymore—I know what this is all about.”

“What do you mean?”

She walked right up to him. “It’s the oldest
trick in the book that every stupid woman falls for every time. Oh,
yeah. The knight in shining armor, makes the girl think he really
cares about her, tells her all the things he’s gonna do for her,
how he’s gonna
rescue
her. And what does she do? She
believes it, because she’s made so many mistakes and been fucked
over so many times, she’s got nothing else
to
believe.”

“It’s not bullshit,” he said.

She crossed her arms, talking to him with
absolute virulence. “Gimme a break! I’ve seen this so many times,
if I don’t know by now I might as we’ll jump off a fucking bridge.
In the end the girl finds out it was a crock of shit and all the
guy
really
wanted was a fuckin’ piece of ass. Well, I’ve
fucked guys for bullshit before, so I guess I might as well fuck
you—”

crack!

Fanshawe slapped her hard across the
face.

Abbie flinched backward, a hand to her
cheek. She shuddered, half-stooped. “You prick! You
asshole!
I can’t believe you just did that!”

“Neither can I.” Fanshawe was aghast. He was
about to apologize but realized the lameness of that. He
wasn’t
sorry. “I really do care about you.”

She remained stooped over, rubbing her face.
She growled, “I don’t believe that!”

“That’s fine. You will eventually.” This was
his mind’s first time-out from this calamity. “Like I said, I’ll
cut my stay short. I’ve got a few things to do first, just give me
a day or two. Then I’ll take you to New York, put you in a rehab,
and we’ll take it from there.”

“Take
what
from there?”

Fanshawe stalled. It was a good question.
“I’m not really sure, but I’m sure of this. You’re not doing drugs
anymore.” This was the first time he really
looked
at her
since he’d come in. In spite of her tear-streaks, her facial
pinkness, and the overall expression of disdain, Fanshawe felt a
soft explosion in his belly. Her body, her gray eyes and
indescribable hair, her curves and legs and her bosom—the totality
of her sexiness could’ve made him melt.
Even after this giant
headache…I’m still crazy about her.

She could’ve been a stoic mannequin standing
there now. Suddenly her anger turned to dread. “Stew? Please don’t
tell my father.”

Of all the comments she could make, this
sounded the least explicable. “Why would I tell your
father?
I just got done telling you I’d—”

“I’m
serious,
Stew. I’m really
confused right now, and pretty damn ashamed. I don’t know if I’m
even thinking straight. But if my father found out about me doing
coke again…,” then her voice dissolved with the thought.

“You father seems like a pretty
understanding guy, Abbie—”

“Oh, he is, he’s a wonderful man, and I’d
probably be dead if it weren’t for him. He saved me. He dragged me
out of Nashua and brought me back here, took care of me, got me
clean. But what you have to understand about my father is…he’s a
very structured person.”

“Structured?”

“Yeah. He has certain systems for dealing
with things. Let me put it this way: he doesn’t give two second
chances. I already got my first one. He forgave me the first time
because I’m his daughter and he loves me. It crushed him, it
wounded him, suddenly realizing how I’d deceived him. My father
won’t allow himself to go through the wringer again, and I can’t
say I blame him. His system for dealing with heartbreak is to
terminate the source.” Her eyes began to fill with more tears.
“That’s what would happen if he found out I was doing coke again.
I’d be disowned, Stew. He’d kick me out of this house, write me out
of his will, and erase me as if I’d never existed. And I know I’d
deserve it.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. Because
you just quit cocaine, and I’m going to make sure you quit for
good.”

She looked about to fall apart, teetering
forward. “Promise me, Stew. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

“I promise I won’t tell him. Now stop acting
like this.” He was getting exasperated, and he knew it was because
of this monumental monkey wrench that had just been dropped into
his mental machinery. “And don’t blow it yourself. Get yourself
cleaned up, and stay out of your father’s way for a while. You’re
all lit up like a pinball machine, and if your father sees you like
that he’ll have no choice but to think you’re on something. And
wipe your nose; you look like you’ve been eating those powdered
donuts.”

She kept looking at him, forlorn. “I’m sorry
to disappoint you like this.”

“I’m not disappointed,” he half-snapped,
“just surprised is all.”

A black chuckle. “Life’s
full
of
surprises. I guess I wear a pretty effective mask.”

“We’ve all got a mask or two, Abbie.”

“Yeah? Do you?”

Her cursed himself for his own placating
remark because her question unnerved him. Suddenly the room felt
hot as a sauna. “I better go now, I’ll talk to you later.” He
turned in the light, then started down the darker corridor.

She rushed up behind him. “Have some guts!
Don’t run away, answer the question!”

He bristled, gritting his teeth, then turned
back to her. “Yeah, I’ve got a mask, too, Abbie.”

“Then tell me.”

He almost stuttered when he said, “No.”

“Oh, that’s just great! Just like what I was
saying before. More bullshit. If you were for real, you’d tell
me.”

The cords in Fanshawe’s neck stiffened.

“What’s the matter, Stew?” she taunted. “Am
I ruffling your feathers? Huh? Getting you hot under the collar?
Why not be even up?”

“Even up?”

“What gives you the right to stand there and
make judgments about me, when you won’t even—”

“I’m not making
judgments!
” he almost
yelled.

“Sure you are! You and your rehab. You and
your knight in shining armor jive.” She grinned. “Here you are
making me feel like shit for the skeletons in
my
closet, but
it sounds to me like you’ve got a few in your own.”

“Maybe I do, but you don’t need to know
it.”

She stepped closer. “Just make me squirm,
huh? That’s the deal? You can dump my blow down the fucking drain
and preach to me about rehab, but the fact is, you got
no
idea
what it’s like.” She inclined herself forward. “You ever
been
addicted,
Stew? You ever get into you something that
turned you into a slave?”