chapter Eleven
R.J. and I sit in the kitchen alone and slurp the remaining milk from our cereal bowls when the inevitable happens.
“So, you sleeping with him?”
“What? No! With who?” I nearly shoot milk out my nose.
“Blondie. The short dude from church.” He focuses on his Fruity Pebbles.
I stand and toss my bowl and spoon in the sink a little harder than necessary.
“Please, R.J. That’s so stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. He’s a guy. He likes you. It happens.” Yeah, but apparently not to me. I’m the exception.
“You sound so matter-of-fact. Are we speaking from experience here, college boy? You get one year under your belt and already you’re an expert?” I smirk, then I realize I really don’t want to know the answer to my question.
“That’s just it. He’s got to be in college—or out of it. How old is he?”
“He’s a friend of Isaac’s. They went to the Conservatory together. So yeah, they’re both out of college.”
“Ugh, which makes it even worse, Juli. I don’t trust Isaac. He gives me the creeps. I’ve heard even more stories from the guys on court…and I know you don’t need your big brother getting all parental, but really. Be careful, okay?”
“What things?”
“Just…rumors. It doesn’t matter. Don’t change the subject.”
“And what would that be? My a*shole brother accusing me of sleeping around? Like anyone would want this.” I sweep my arms down my body.
“Don’t be like that, Juli. I just worry about you. Why don’t you hang out with people your own age?”
I melt holes in his head with my eyes. “You know why.”
And he does, so he doesn’t push the subject. I stomp up to my room and avoid him the rest of the day.
***
It’s New Year’s tradition for the Mystics of Dardenne to hold a semi-formal party downtown in the float barn—a warehouse where the Mardi Gras floats are built and stored. It’s strange to wear heels inside a dirty, oversized shed, but the location is supposed to reflect Mobile’s history of cotton exports. So I’m told.
Everyone I know is here: half my church; some kids I go to school with and their parents; Mama, Daddy, R.J.; Heather and Geoffrey Swann and their parents; Mrs. Laroche and Mr. Cline; and about eighty percent of our neighbors. Our state representative is schmoozing in a corner with the mayor, and a number of symphony members huddle near the open bar, most with a drink in each hand.
No sign of Isaac.
No one under sixteen is allowed, so this is only my second New Year’s party. I’d rather be in my studio with Sergei and Chopin, but I’m required to put in an appearance. The wooden crate I sit on creaks under my weight. If the decoration committee was going for “rustic”, they’ve done well. I wonder if they charged the cockroaches a cover.
Seated on my left and right are Mr. Cline and R.J, who argue about the offensive line at the University of Alabama. I people-watch and sip a Nojito. Mama and Daddy play the happy couple tonight. They lean into each other and laugh at something that probably isn’t even funny. They get like this. Daddy needs to drum up business, and Mama needs to show everyone that everything is fine.
Geoffrey Swann slinks up to our table and claps R.J. on the shoulder.
“Richard Junior, how’s life treating you, my friend?” His inky black hair is slicked back, which, combined with his pinstripe suit, puts out a mobster-wannabe vibe. Maybe it’s all part of his gambling persona.
R.J. doesn’t seem happy to see Geoffrey. “Same as when I saw you this afternoon, man.”
“Ah yes, but there was a distinct lack of libations this afternoon. Such isn’t the case this fine evening. Juli,” he says, barely turning to me, “you look healthy as always.”
Healthy. God, I hate that word.
He touches his slimy lips to the top of my hand, leaving behind a snail-like ooze. “Everyone having a nice time? Please, help yourself to the bar. I assure you it’s fully stocked, and Xavier can mix just about anything you can imagine.”
He’s referring to the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the makeshift bar. He juggles and twirls bottles in the air at the same time he pours. Impressive. He must also be the entertainment, since there’s no live band. And the ladies seem to be entertained.
Even Mama is riveted. She’s moved away from Daddy in favor of Marcie Swann. They crane their necks to get a better look. I guess alcohol makes them forget they’re enemies. Applause erupts when Xavier presents two fruity-looking concoctions to Heather Swann and the mayor’s wife.
I haven’t seen Heather in years, but she looks much the same. She used to babysit when R.J. and I were younger. Her hair is the same blonde as her mother’s, though hers is longer and straightened to a sleek curtain that falls on either side of her face. She’s the opposite of her younger brother, who still hovers over our table like the master of ceremonies. I guess he kind of is, since he’ll be king in a couple months. He’s already got the pompous thing down.
A cold draft filters through the room when someone opens the main door. A loud gasp over my left shoulder makes me turn, just in time to see Heather Swann turn a sickly white. Almost everyone in the room follows her gaze to the door where Isaac stands, one hand still on the handle.
Three things happen at once. Geoffrey rushes to his sister’s side, Mrs. Swann downs her cocktail in one shot, and Isaac bolts back into the night. I’m up in a flash before I realize what I’m doing, or why. R.J. and Mr. Cline yell my name, but I barely hear them.
The cold air is sweet relief from the stuffiness of the party. I scan the street for Isaac’s tall form. There’s movement to my left, further away than seems possible in such a short time. My high heels clatter when I toss them to the ground near the barn door.
By the time I catch him, he’s bent over the hood of his car, hands splayed.
“Just can’t catch a break.” he mutters to himself and shakes his head. He repeats the same thing over and over, his voice rising higher with each sentence. When I touch his back, he leaps away as if I electrocuted him.
“Isaac?”
No answer.
“You okay?”
Nothing. He stands in the middle of the street, both hands tugging at his hair.
“Julianne Elise Casquette! Come here!”
Crap. Mama.
“Isaac, I need to go, but I won’t leave until you tell me you’re okay.”
He still hasn’t moved, except to stare up at the night sky.
“I will not tell you again, Julianne!” Mama’s closer now. Her heels click on the sidewalk.
“Isaac. Isaac. Snap out of it. Give me your keys. You can’t drive like this.”
Fireworks explode over our heads, but he doesn’t even flinch. It must be midnight. Celebratory gunshots ring out in the distance, but still he hasn’t moved. He leaves me no choice. I dig into his coat pocket but only come up with a pack of gum. I hit pay dirt in the other pocket.
“So help me God, Julianne, I will make you wish—”
“Mrs. Casquette…could you help me a moment?” Somehow, Mr. Cline has caught up to Mama. He clutches his chest and leans heavily on his cane. He stumbles toward her so she has to catch him.
I’m torn, not sure whether to physically drag Isaac out of the middle of the flipping street, or see if Mr. Cline needs an ambulance.
Then he winks at me—not Isaac, Mr. Cline. Sly dog. I tug on Isaac’s sleeve, but he doesn’t budge.
“Isaac, you need to get out of the street. It’s New Year’s Eve. Day, actually. There are crazy drunks everywhere, and they’ll run you down and leave you for dead.”
Mr. Cline keeps Mama occupied, but I don’t have much time before she gets suspicious. I step into the street and stand directly in front of Isaac. Without my heels, I can’t get eye level, but maybe this is better. I press myself close, hands on his chest.
“Isaac,” I whisper, “I need you to move. I’m already in deep trouble for following you out here, and if Mama sees me pressed up against you like a hooker in the street, she’ll tear me in half. Do it for me. I know you’ve been upset with me, but you don’t want me to get hurt, do you? You’ve seen what happens. Now, get out of the freaking road.”
He blinks a couple of times and, to my relief, lets me gently push him toward the sidewalk. When he’s no longer in the road kill zone, I switch my attention to Mr. Cline, who should be nominated for an Oscar. He releases his death grip on Mama and straightens up.
“Mr. Cline, are you all right?”
“Fine, I’m fine, dear. Just got a little winded.”
I throw myself at him, wrapping him in a big hug. It’s a little over the top, but it allows me to drop Isaac’s car keys into his uncle’s pocket. He squeezes me when he feels their weight.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “Be careful.”
Now comes the really hard part. No, I take that back. She’ll put up a good front since half the Mystics stand on the sidewalk to see what’s going on. She plasters on a smile, a contrast to the fingernails that dig into my wrist as she leads me back to the float barn. “I’ll deal with you at home.”
Figured. But it was worth it. Because when I pressed myself against Isaac? He’d smiled just a tiny bit.
***
New Year’s Day passes without incident. I think we’re too tired after partying most of the night, though Mama’s at the gym. Even more than punishing me for publicly disobeying her, Mama’s worried about burning off the calories she was forced to drink.
I text Isaac and ask him to meet me at Felix’s the next evening. I get an immediate answer: K.
I chuck the phone onto my bed.
How far I’ve come since I met him.
I never dreamed of ignoring Mama like I did outside the party, let alone plastering myself to him right in front of her. To top it off, I’ll sneak out of the house tomorrow night to meet him at a bar. I must seriously have a death wish. Or maybe a life wish. I don’t know. I’m tired of the half-life I’ve been forced to lead, too doubtful and scared of Mama to do the things I want to do, the things most of my friends did years ago. I swore I’d really start to live once I got to college, but it seems I’ve gotten a jump on things. So far, the consequences have been manageable. I’m still in one piece, and I landed an audition in Boston.
If I can just get through January.
***
“What the hell?”
“What do you mean, what the hell?”
R.J. is on the loveseat while I screw around on the piano.
“What were you thinking running after Isaac Laroche last night? Juli, he isn’t your friend. He’s your piano instructor. You act like a lovesick puppy that nips at his heels whenever he throws you a scrap, you know? And I thought Mama would have a come-apart right there in the float barn. She and Marcie Swann got in a fight before she came after you. I tried to distract her, but I couldn’t. I had too much to drink and could hardly stand. Do you know how scared I was? All the things I imagined she’d say to you?”
I hadn’t thought about that. It never occurred to me, the toll this could take on R.J.
“Juli, I can’t look out for you if you’re not even going to look out for yourself.”
“R.J., I’m tired. Tired of making every decision based on what Mama might or might not do. I’m almost eighteen years old, and do you know I’ve never been on a real date? I’ve never worn a skirt above the knee, except those hideous uniforms. If I didn’t sneak out, I’d have no life at all. Isaac might be a little old for me, but he’s shown me what life could be like once I’m out of here. And I want that. I want it so bad I’ll go crazy! I want disgusting dorm showers. I want to freeze half to death in a Boston snowstorm. I want teachers who obsess over Rachmaninoff as much as I do. It’d be nice to have a friend who doesn’t know a thing about Mama. Hell, I might even start swearing and going to frat parties.”
R.J. rolls his eyes.
“And Isaac is my ticket there. Without him, my chances are okay, but with him, it’s almost a given. And if you think I’m going to let anything jeopardize that, you’ve seriously underestimated me. I’m not the same as I was before you left for school. I’m not perfect, but I’ve got something to offer, even if Mama doesn’t agree. So you’re either with me or against me. I supported you in your decision to switch careers, didn’t I? Is it so much to ask that you do the same?”
R.J. shakes his head. I don’t want to talk anymore. I take a couple steps, but R.J.’s got more to say.
“I realized something last night, Juli. Remember when I said there was something weird about Mama and Daddy setting you up with Isaac Laroche? I’ve thought about it, tried to figure out all the stuff I heard when we were little, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t sort out what I remembered and what I thought I remembered. I don’t know if it’s because I was drunk or what, but when Isaac walked in and Heather Swann about passed out, it came to me.”
“What?” My patience is thin. I’ve heard enough and I’m done. I don’t care about Heather Swann, and I don’t care what happened in the past. I just want to see Isaac tomorrow night so I can make sure he’s okay. If he wants to tell me what last night’s drama was all about, fine. But I’m done snooping into his secrets.
I change my mind when R.J. tells me his news.
“Juli, Isaac Laroche is a child predator.”
He could have said “felon”’ Or “porn star”. Or even “former circus midget” and there would’ve been a better chance I’d believe him.
Child predator? Not in a million years. The man never once gave off a creepy vibe. Besides, he’s been asked to help judge the young musicians’ sonata contest. And he directed the Christmas cantata with all those children in the choir. Plus, he has nieces and nephews. No way would his family let him around children if he was a known predator. Unless they don’t know… No. Impossible.
I have to make sure I heard him right. “A child predator?”
“Well, sort of.” R.J. stands and paces around the studio.
“Sort of? You might want to get your facts straight before you make wild accusations. Guess you’re really not cut out to be a lawyer.”
“I should be a private investigator. I got into Daddy’s files early this morning to see if I was right.”
Okay. So I’m interested.
“And?”
“And I was mostly right. When Isaac was a senior in high school, he dated Heather Swann. He was seventeen and she was fifteen. When Mrs. Swann caught them…you know, she tried to slap him with statutory rape since the legal age of consent in Alabama—”
“Is sixteen.”
“Yeah, how’d you—”
“Long story. Continue.”
“Uh, okay. So she threatens to file charges, and he and his mama come to Daddy to find out what they can do about it. Isaac swears he didn’t force Heather, and she won’t talk to anyone, so it’s Isaac’s word against Marcie Swann’s.”
Groan.
“Daddy wants to preserve the peace—plus there’s no way anything can be proven—so he suggests a deal. If Mrs. Swann agrees not to press charges, Isaac has to agree to never come into contact with Heather again. After high school graduation, he has to go to college far away.”
“And they went for that? Does she have that much power?”
“Guess so.”
“I don’t get it. Why would she react like that? They wouldn’t be the first people their age to do that and get caught. Isaac’s a…a catch. Why wouldn’t she approve of him?”
“He’s a ‘catch’ now.” R.J. employs full air quotes, as if calling Isaac a catch will damage his masculinity. “But think about it. Back then, he was a horny seventeen-year-old whose dad died and left them in debt. And he wanted to be a musician. Everyone knows there’s no money in that. Who knew he’d be famous, you know?”
“Wow, R.J., I never knew you were such a romantic.”
“Just being practical. You know how it works around here with the biddies. They dress y’all up in poofy dresses and parade you around like steaks in a butcher shop just to snag a rich guy.”
“So, what does this have to do with me? Why tell me this?”
“How can you not know? Are you that blind or just stupid?”
For the first time in my life, I consider dropping an F-bomb on him. “At least I’m not so desperate to be right that I sneak into Daddy’s confidential files. Don’t think I won’t use that against you.”
“Juli, I did it for you. Isaac Laroche practically owns you. Everyone can see it, and if they couldn’t before, they can after last night’s stunt. Working with him professionally is one thing, but to get mixed up in his business? That’s as dangerous as getting mixed up in ours.”
Hmph.
When I turn around this time, R.J. lets me go. I need to think, and the best place for that? The shower. R.J. gave me a lot to think about, so it’ll be a long one.
Child predator? Technically, that may be true. I’d say it’s an overstatement. Heather and Isaac were teenagers. It happens. For once, I’m proud of Daddy. He did the right thing. I mean, what if it was R.J? But I know how people are. I know how everyone is in the Mystics. How awkward that this happened among families that are supposed to be friends and work together.
I imagine there was a split depending on who sided with the Swanns and who sided with the Laroches, and us by default. No wonder Mama and Marcie Swann fight like cats and dogs. I like to think Mama sided with the Laroches because it was the ethical choice, but experience tells me she just wanted to publicly support her husband. Put on a good front and all that. Still, they’d never let him come to our house and spend hours with me in the studio if they thought he was still into minors, even if I’m barely a minor anymore.
Which reminds me of the night of Isaac’s symphony performance. Curtis Moore went gray in the face when I told him I was riding home with Isaac. That must be why. And when I asked Isaac about it afterward, he’d said, “No, there’s no reason we can’t work together.”
Good to know. But is it because of the age difference, or because I’m…me? Not attractive enough. In that way, it’s another rejection. I’m seventeen, after all, and as R.J. reminded me, the legal age of consent in Alabama is sixteen. But then there was the day I did my recording and taunted him. He definitely responded, and I enjoyed seeing him with his head in his hands. That may have been cruel.
So what about now? If people know we’re a little more than teacher and student…we are, right? I mean, we’re at least colleagues, and we established a long time ago that we’re friends. R.J.’s warning is too late. I’ve been “mixed up in his business” for a while now. I don’t see how it’ll hurt me. I’ll be out of here soon, so people can think what they want. There aren’t any guys to chase off, and none of my friends from school have a clue. Mama and Daddy trust him, although they don’t know about the rendezvous at Felix’s. Okay, rendezvous is an overstatement. Maybe. I don’t know anymore.
But I’ll know more tomorrow tonight. What will I ask? If it’s true? If that’s why he stayed away for so long and why he’s so standoffish?
Truth time… What I really want to know is, how does he feel about Heather Swann now, after seeing her for the first time in almost a decade? Why did he go all fugue state on me in the middle of the street?
I won’t like the answer, that much is obvious.