name, honey?”
“Annie,” the woman said.
She followed Jackie Sebago up the steps of the bus. He explained to the driver that the woman needed medical attention, and that she would be riding with them to the club.
From the rear, Shea called out, “What the hell’s going on?”
“This young lady’s been hurt. We’re giving her a lift,” Jackie announced. He felt very good about helping the woman. Her striking presence guaranteed there would be no more talk of audits or escrow accounts during the remainder of the ride.
One of the wives asked her what in the world had happened.
“It was awful, just awful,” Annie said with a shiver. “I can’t talk about it.”
Jackie told the bus driver to get moving.
“Oh no, wait!” Annie blurted. “I forgot something.”
She hopped off the bus and disappeared into the shadows of the mangroves. Jackie Sebago peered apprehensively out the window. To the impatient passengers he said, “Don’t worry, she’ll be right back.”
The young woman returned a few moments later, but she wasn’t alone. A grizzled giant with clacking red-and-green braids calmly entered the bus behind her. His eyes seemed crooked, and he was nude except for a trench coat and an ill-fitting shower cap imprinted with faded butterflies. The man had shaved his tanned body and grease-painted himself in the emphatic manner of an aboriginal.
Jackie fumbled to unholster his phone, but it was too late. When the stranger raised a sawed-off Remington to his head, Jackie was actually relieved to hear one of his investors cry out, “Don’t do it, mister! He’s got all our money!”
The woman named Annie took custody of Jackie’s cell phone. Then she walked down the aisle with a dirty pillowcase, collecting all the other phones and saying: “I’m so sorry. He’s just impossible.”
In a quavering voice the bus driver begged the stranger not to shoot him. The stranger motioned for him to start driving.
“What do you want?” Jackie Sebago bleated. “Is this some kind of robbery?”
“You should be so lucky,” said the man with the braids.
Janet Bunterman phoned Maury Lykes to give him the bad news: “Cherry jumped the wall at Rainbow Bend.”
“Jesus.”
“She chartered a G5 and flew back to Miami.”
“On whose dime?” Maury Lykes asked.
“There was another passenger on the plane. We think it’s the drummer from the Poon Pilots—he went missing from the clinic at the same time as Cherry.”
“Beautiful. She couldn’t run off with a lead singer, I suppose. Some ripped, sensitive surfer guy that every teenage girl in America wants to ball. No, your daughter goes for the scrawny no-talent scag freak with rotted teeth.” Maury Lykes sighed sourly. “What a moving love story, Janet. I can’t wait to read it in the tabs.”
“You think Ned and I are thrilled about this?”
Maury Lykes said he would sue the Buntermans for every dollar they had if Cherry Pye took up heroin before the big concert tour.
“She would never!” said Janet Bunterman. “And even if she does, we can find a way to make it work.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look at all the great musicians who’ve used the stuff and didn’t die. Clapton, Keith Richards, David Bowie—I mean, Maury, come on! Let’s not automatically assume the situation is unmanageable.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Eventually Maury Lykes said, “Janet, you’d better be on the next goddamn plane to Florida. Meanwhile, I intend to track down your idiot offspring and get her on a leash.”
“How?”
“That guy I told you about. The new Lev.”
“But we haven’t even had a chance to interview him,” Janet Bunterman complained. “There’s a process to be followed, Maury. He hasn’t been officially hired yet.”
“Consider it official,” said Maury Lykes, and hung up.
Janet Bunterman was packing when her husband came in and told her that the twin publicists were waiting downstairs. Word of Cherry’s admission
“Annie,” the woman said.
She followed Jackie Sebago up the steps of the bus. He explained to the driver that the woman needed medical attention, and that she would be riding with them to the club.
From the rear, Shea called out, “What the hell’s going on?”
“This young lady’s been hurt. We’re giving her a lift,” Jackie announced. He felt very good about helping the woman. Her striking presence guaranteed there would be no more talk of audits or escrow accounts during the remainder of the ride.
One of the wives asked her what in the world had happened.
“It was awful, just awful,” Annie said with a shiver. “I can’t talk about it.”
Jackie told the bus driver to get moving.
“Oh no, wait!” Annie blurted. “I forgot something.”
She hopped off the bus and disappeared into the shadows of the mangroves. Jackie Sebago peered apprehensively out the window. To the impatient passengers he said, “Don’t worry, she’ll be right back.”
The young woman returned a few moments later, but she wasn’t alone. A grizzled giant with clacking red-and-green braids calmly entered the bus behind her. His eyes seemed crooked, and he was nude except for a trench coat and an ill-fitting shower cap imprinted with faded butterflies. The man had shaved his tanned body and grease-painted himself in the emphatic manner of an aboriginal.
Jackie fumbled to unholster his phone, but it was too late. When the stranger raised a sawed-off Remington to his head, Jackie was actually relieved to hear one of his investors cry out, “Don’t do it, mister! He’s got all our money!”
The woman named Annie took custody of Jackie’s cell phone. Then she walked down the aisle with a dirty pillowcase, collecting all the other phones and saying: “I’m so sorry. He’s just impossible.”
In a quavering voice the bus driver begged the stranger not to shoot him. The stranger motioned for him to start driving.
“What do you want?” Jackie Sebago bleated. “Is this some kind of robbery?”
“You should be so lucky,” said the man with the braids.
Janet Bunterman phoned Maury Lykes to give him the bad news: “Cherry jumped the wall at Rainbow Bend.”
“Jesus.”
“She chartered a G5 and flew back to Miami.”
“On whose dime?” Maury Lykes asked.
“There was another passenger on the plane. We think it’s the drummer from the Poon Pilots—he went missing from the clinic at the same time as Cherry.”
“Beautiful. She couldn’t run off with a lead singer, I suppose. Some ripped, sensitive surfer guy that every teenage girl in America wants to ball. No, your daughter goes for the scrawny no-talent scag freak with rotted teeth.” Maury Lykes sighed sourly. “What a moving love story, Janet. I can’t wait to read it in the tabs.”
“You think Ned and I are thrilled about this?”
Maury Lykes said he would sue the Buntermans for every dollar they had if Cherry Pye took up heroin before the big concert tour.
“She would never!” said Janet Bunterman. “And even if she does, we can find a way to make it work.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look at all the great musicians who’ve used the stuff and didn’t die. Clapton, Keith Richards, David Bowie—I mean, Maury, come on! Let’s not automatically assume the situation is unmanageable.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Eventually Maury Lykes said, “Janet, you’d better be on the next goddamn plane to Florida. Meanwhile, I intend to track down your idiot offspring and get her on a leash.”
“How?”
“That guy I told you about. The new Lev.”
“But we haven’t even had a chance to interview him,” Janet Bunterman complained. “There’s a process to be followed, Maury. He hasn’t been officially hired yet.”
“Consider it official,” said Maury Lykes, and hung up.
Janet Bunterman was packing when her husband came in and told her that the twin publicists were waiting downstairs. Word of Cherry’s admission
Similar Books
