California, happened twenty-eight years ago?"
"Corkie says you got some people waiting for you outside," Sonny said.
There was maybe the hint of an Eastern European accent in his speech, but it was so faint that maybe it wasn't there.
"I do."
Sonny nodded slowly. "Good idea," he said. His voice was thick, as if his pipes were clogged.
"Were you a counterculture radical in 1974?" I said. He raised a hand and pointed at me with a forefinger so fat it made the skin taut.
"Anybody knows me will tell you, you fuck with me and you're dead."
"I've heard that," I said.
"And they'll tell you, fuck with my family and you'll wish you fucked with me."
"Family?"
Sonny was so used to being king of the hill these days that he probably didn't watch what he said as much as he used to. His face was expressionless, but his mouth clamped hard shut. We looked at each other for a moment. Without taking his eyes off me, he spoke to Harvey.
"Not here. But as quick as you can someplace else," Sonny said. "Kill him."
Harvey looked like a guy with a low-grade fever.
"Be my pleasure," Harvey said.
That pretty well said it all, so I turned and marched out. I hate to be in a place where I'm not wanted.
22
Sitting in my office, Daryl was sort of hunched with her hands in her lap. "I never really think of it as lying," she said. I nodded. Nondirective.
"It's. " she looked at Paul, who sat quietly next to her, even more nondirective, if possible, than I was. "It's more, like, how it should have been. You know? How it could have been, if my parents. " "Sure," I said. Paul and I looked supportively at Daryl. Daryl looked at her hands.
"They embarrassed me," she said.
"Your parents."
"Yes."
"Because?"
"Because? Because they were fucking hippies, for God's sake. Were your parents hippies?"
I thought of my father and my two uncles.
"No," I said. "They weren't."
"Most people's weren't. And even if they were, they got over it."
"They were different times," I said, just to say something.
"I'm lucky they didn't name me Moonflower."
"You are," I said.
Paul smiled. It was as if Daryl didn't hear me.
"We didn't come here to visit my aunt," Daryl said. "We came here with some man my mother was fucking."
Paul and I looked at each other. We were thinking of Paul's mother.
I had swiveled my chair a little so I could see out my window. Although it was early afternoon, the sky outside my office was dark and getting darker. Rain was coming. Daryl sat without saying anything.
"Your father know about this man?"
"I don't know what he knew," Daryl said. "I think he was stoned for the first twelve years of my life."
"Were they separated?" I said.
She didn't answer for awhile. She had stopped looking at her lap and begun to look out through my window at the rain that hadn't come yet. I was about to ask again when she answered me.
"Separated?" she laughed. "Hell, I don't know if they were even married. I mean, maybe some long-haired freak in a tie-dyed shirt mumbled something and smoked hemp with them. But separated? From what?"
"Did your father know your mother, ah, fooled around?"
"Oh, yes."
"Did he object?"
"Maybe when he wasn't stoned. But she didn't care. She wasn't going to be somebody's chattel."
"Right on, sister," I said. "Your father fool around?"
"I don't think so. I think he was in love with Mistress Bong."
I could see why she had made up a story. Loosened, her rage was carnivorous.
"The man's name?" I said. "The one she came to Boston with."
"I don't know," Daryl said.
"Did you meet him?"
"Yes, but I don't know what his name was. I don't know anything about him. I hated him."
"Can you describe him?"
"No."
I nodded.
"When I was fifteen," Paul said, "my mother was bopping a guy named Stephen, with a ph. He was about six-one, slim, short hair, close-cropped beard, and mustache, always wore aviator glasses with pink lenses."
"So you remember, and I don't," Daryl said.
"I remember them all," Paul said. "Clearly."
"Well, I
"Corkie says you got some people waiting for you outside," Sonny said.
There was maybe the hint of an Eastern European accent in his speech, but it was so faint that maybe it wasn't there.
"I do."
Sonny nodded slowly. "Good idea," he said. His voice was thick, as if his pipes were clogged.
"Were you a counterculture radical in 1974?" I said. He raised a hand and pointed at me with a forefinger so fat it made the skin taut.
"Anybody knows me will tell you, you fuck with me and you're dead."
"I've heard that," I said.
"And they'll tell you, fuck with my family and you'll wish you fucked with me."
"Family?"
Sonny was so used to being king of the hill these days that he probably didn't watch what he said as much as he used to. His face was expressionless, but his mouth clamped hard shut. We looked at each other for a moment. Without taking his eyes off me, he spoke to Harvey.
"Not here. But as quick as you can someplace else," Sonny said. "Kill him."
Harvey looked like a guy with a low-grade fever.
"Be my pleasure," Harvey said.
That pretty well said it all, so I turned and marched out. I hate to be in a place where I'm not wanted.
22
Sitting in my office, Daryl was sort of hunched with her hands in her lap. "I never really think of it as lying," she said. I nodded. Nondirective.
"It's. " she looked at Paul, who sat quietly next to her, even more nondirective, if possible, than I was. "It's more, like, how it should have been. You know? How it could have been, if my parents. " "Sure," I said. Paul and I looked supportively at Daryl. Daryl looked at her hands.
"They embarrassed me," she said.
"Your parents."
"Yes."
"Because?"
"Because? Because they were fucking hippies, for God's sake. Were your parents hippies?"
I thought of my father and my two uncles.
"No," I said. "They weren't."
"Most people's weren't. And even if they were, they got over it."
"They were different times," I said, just to say something.
"I'm lucky they didn't name me Moonflower."
"You are," I said.
Paul smiled. It was as if Daryl didn't hear me.
"We didn't come here to visit my aunt," Daryl said. "We came here with some man my mother was fucking."
Paul and I looked at each other. We were thinking of Paul's mother.
I had swiveled my chair a little so I could see out my window. Although it was early afternoon, the sky outside my office was dark and getting darker. Rain was coming. Daryl sat without saying anything.
"Your father know about this man?"
"I don't know what he knew," Daryl said. "I think he was stoned for the first twelve years of my life."
"Were they separated?" I said.
She didn't answer for awhile. She had stopped looking at her lap and begun to look out through my window at the rain that hadn't come yet. I was about to ask again when she answered me.
"Separated?" she laughed. "Hell, I don't know if they were even married. I mean, maybe some long-haired freak in a tie-dyed shirt mumbled something and smoked hemp with them. But separated? From what?"
"Did your father know your mother, ah, fooled around?"
"Oh, yes."
"Did he object?"
"Maybe when he wasn't stoned. But she didn't care. She wasn't going to be somebody's chattel."
"Right on, sister," I said. "Your father fool around?"
"I don't think so. I think he was in love with Mistress Bong."
I could see why she had made up a story. Loosened, her rage was carnivorous.
"The man's name?" I said. "The one she came to Boston with."
"I don't know," Daryl said.
"Did you meet him?"
"Yes, but I don't know what his name was. I don't know anything about him. I hated him."
"Can you describe him?"
"No."
I nodded.
"When I was fifteen," Paul said, "my mother was bopping a guy named Stephen, with a ph. He was about six-one, slim, short hair, close-cropped beard, and mustache, always wore aviator glasses with pink lenses."
"So you remember, and I don't," Daryl said.
"I remember them all," Paul said. "Clearly."
"Well, I
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