Mean Season (19 page)

“I don't know,” I said, and I didn't.

For one, Judy'd been right. I'd had a thing for Max pretty much since I was eight and he was twelve, and that's a long time for anyone to fan a flame. Sure, my infatuation had waxed and waned at various times—like junior year when Butch was plying me with his bad poems. Or senior year, when I was positive I'd found my match in Howard Malkin (before I found out about him and Loreen). Or when I thought that Otto, who worked as assistant to the assistant county prosecutor, was almost certainly my Mr. Right. And of course I'd set myself to simmer all the time Max was married to Charlene. Like I said, I'm a pretty realistic person. I never figured I'd come out the winner in heart-to-heart combat with the likes of a former Miss Junior West Virginia.

But maybe I'd been simmering too long. Or, holding to the stovetop metaphor, maybe the pilot light had blinked out, but I'd overlooked it. Maybe what I'd taken for a slow burn was instead a long, covered cool-down. Sometimes I wondered if I liked Max because I'd always liked Max, and it was a habit, like chewing on the end of a pen.

Maybe Max would have been right for me a year earlier. Or even six months before. Maybe it was Joshua being there. In our fight on the Fourth of July, Joshua had said some cut
ting things about my life being small. Part of it, most of it even, had been hot blood talking. But some of his words had sunk in, more and more as the days passed. Did I really want to hunker down with someone who was never going to leave Pinecob? I'd had an ambitious to-do list before the bad luck settled over our house. If I fell for some guy who was never going to leave Pinecob…at least, that's what I found myself itching about.

Timing really is everything, because of course all this started moving through my mind around the time Max seemed to be emerging from his Charlene fog. Sandy was fit to be tied when I stopped by her house late the same day Max had paid his visit.

“You're impossible!” she said. “You did the exact same thing with Otto!”

“That's totally different,” I explained. “I liked Otto from across the hall, and when he started talking to me a lot, that's when I realized he had that smell I couldn't stand. Max doesn't smell anything like Otto. Max smells, well, clean.”

Sandy shrugged.

“You remember Brennie?” I asked her.

In high school, when Sandy and I were sophomores, Brennie Critchett was a senior and nearabout the most beautiful, have-it-together girl around. At the time, I thought she barely touched the ground. More than idolized her, I wanted to
be
her. I used to keep track of what she wore, then try to hunt out the same clothes. Of course, they never looked the same on me.

“Remember back when we were seniors, around Christmastime, and I saw her at the Winn-Dixie?” I asked Sandy.

She shrugged.

“She was walking with some other girl, and I snuck up behind and heard them talking about how Brennie had been kicked out of college for grades, because all she ever did was sit around and get stoned.”

Sandy slowly nodded, like she was remembering. “Oh right,” Sandy said. “So you think that because Max went out with Brennie a few times that if you go out with Max, he's going to sit around and get stoned? Or you are?”

“I forgot that Max went out with her,” I said.

That wasn't it, of course. Max had been, for me, a similar sort of pedestal crush, and I'd begun to wonder whether he wasn't best left untested. As soon as the guy on a pedestal starts to return the favor, he grows way too human. He needs things, he whines, and it changes the balance. I knew that Max couldn't
always
smell clean.

“What if it turns out he bores me? What if he's a bad kisser?” I asked Sandy.

“You're not serious!” Sandy said.

“Besides, I don't even know whether he likes me at all. Maybe he's been nice because I'm Beau Ray's little sister, or because I've got Joshua Reed in my house, or because he feels bad for blowing me off three years back.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.”

“He ran into traffic for a dog!” Sandy said. She sounded fed up. “Is this because of Joshua? Did he say something to you? Did he make a move?”

“No,” I said. But I did think of Joshua acting out Max, all fidgety. Max had always been the body of confidence to me. Had I been making that part up?

“Did
you
make a move?” Sandy pressed.

“No!” I said. “No one made any moves on anyone.” I stood up and paced Sandy's bedroom. “But maybe. I don't know.”

“What?” Sandy insisted. “Pull on that thread.”

“It's just that, Joshua and I are finally getting along, you know?”

“And you think—”

“Let me do the pulling,” I told her. “It's not what you think. He's been really nice, recently. You know, interested
in my life and family and asking about my job and helping me choose classes for next semester.”

“Classes? Plural?”

I nodded. “Judge Weintraub talked to Momma about it and she agreed. I'm going to go half-time,” I said.

“Finally!” Sandy said. “But back to Max.”

“So, right, Joshua's been, you know, supportive. And don't get me wrong—he's never said anything down-mouth about Max. But he did say something that got me to thinking about whether I want to stay in Pinecob for that much longer.”

“And you think that if you start to date Max…”

“Not that we'd even last a month or anything, but what if I hang back on account of him and miss my chance? It's hard enough to think about leaving when it's just my family.”

“Where would you go to? New York?” Sandy asked.

I slumped down beside her on her bed. “I have no idea,” I said. I knew that Sandy was taking all this in and would spit back something I could use. She was good at that. She always figured things through.

“Well,” she said. “You don't have to decide anything this minute. But there's no way Max Campbell is a bad kisser.”

 

I didn't call Max right away, after he'd stopped by. My talk with Sandy hadn't really helped me decide—except to decide
not
to decide—and that meant avoiding the whole decision-making process, including deciding to call Max. So I didn't. Besides, Judy was due in town the next day, Wednesday, Joshua's halfway mark, so there was cleaning after cleaning to do beforehand. Whenever Judy and Lars were around, Momma's list of “Leanne's Chores” got longer. I think she wanted to make sure that they were catered to but didn't like them well enough to do any hostess work herself.

By the time Lars showed up Thursday morning, the chaos those two brought kept me distracted. They got a car to take
them to Virginia and took pictures of the fields and old buildings where some of
Musket Fire
would take place. I wondered if I had passed any of the same spots on my dark Virginia drive. Then they spent hours taking Joshua through the pictures and reviewing script changes and making phone calls and trying to answer their cell phones, which would ring once and then conk out. The only place Judy's cell phone seemed to work was in the trees out past our backyard.

Momma had written out a list of fancy party food to have on hand for their visit, and since Lars said he'd be willing to drive Joshua to AA that night, I figured I'd use the time to shop. I was checking what other, more normal food we might need when Judy appeared in the kitchen and offered to lend a hand and come along. I didn't think anything of it, except that it was company and I liked that Judy was choosing to hang out with me special. So we got in the car and drove to the Winn-Dixie.

I didn't see him in the managers' office, but a guy in there confirmed that Max was working, so he had to be somewhere nearby. The guy in the office stared at Judy while he told me that, like she was something he'd never set eyes on before. It made me look twice at her, and I noticed that, sometime between her asking to come along and us arriving at the Winn-Dixie, she'd put on makeup.

We started shopping in the produce area. I pointed out where Marcy Thompson of
Hollywood Express
had cornered me against the apples, and I grabbed an extra bag of carrots for Beau Ray. We ran into Max in the juice aisle. He stood beside a clerk who'd spilled what looked like a bunch of juice concentrate boxes. The floor was covered with a deep purple glaze, and Max and the clerk were watching it spread. The clerk looked worried, but Max wore the beginnings of a grin.

“Hey, Max,” I said.

He looked up and waved. He nodded to the clerk who also looked at us—well, mostly at Judy—before hurrying off.

“Hey, Leanne,” Max said, pointing at the stain. “You've come at a special time. We're trying out the industrial mop.” Then he broke into a certain smile and as soon as he did, most of what I'd said to Sandy and most every excuse I'd made ran clear out of my head. I should have called him, I thought.

“This is Judy,” I said. “Judy, this is Max.”

Judy smiled and shook his hand. “Judy Masterson. I remember you from the
Hollywood Express
piece. You saved the apples,” she said. She seemed to be watching him very closely.

“They train us in fruit-and-vegetable rescue,” Max said. “Not everyone passes the final exam.”

Judy laughed. “I'm Joshua's publicist,” she told him.

“Seems like a guy like that would generate enough publicity on his own,” Max said. “He must run you ragged.”

I wondered whether he even knew what a publicist did. Not because Max doesn't have a good mind, but because I hadn't known, when I first wrote to Judy. It's not like there's a big need for them in Pinecob.

“Oh, I make time for new talent. It's always an adventure,” she said.

He smiled at her and I was suddenly sorry she'd come along. I wanted to be alone with him, to tell him that I was glad he'd stopped by the house, to say that I wished I had been there.

“Judy's been in town for the last couple of days,” is what I said instead. “Joshua said you stopped by—I meant to call, but with Judy and Lars here, there's been a lot to do.”

“No sweat,” Max said. “I was just passing by.” I wondered if he thought I was getting back at him for not calling about
South Pacific,
three years before. I wondered if maybe I'd been doing that, at least a little bit. But I knew if he'd give me a chance, I wouldn't do it again.

“So you're from Pinecob, too?” Judy asked.

“Born and raised,” Max said. “Just like Leanne here.”

“Judy lives in Los Angeles,” I said.

“Malibu,” Judy corrected me.

“I hear it's nice out there,” Max said. “All that sun. Those palm trees.”

“We'll have to get you out for a visit,” Judy said. “It's just a simple airplane ride.” I looked over at her. Nice as she'd always been, she'd never mentioned getting me out to Los Angeles, or Malibu for that matter.

“Yeah, right,” Max said. “Not sure it's the place for me. I doubt I'd fit in out there.”

I wondered whether Max's hesitance sprang more from his idea of California or from the flight he imagined taking to get there.

“You never know until you try,” Judy said. “I used to say the same thing. Now I wouldn't live anywhere else.”

I hated that she was so put-together. I wished I had thought to put on mascara before going to the Winn-Dixie. I watched Judy smile at Max, and I realized that I didn't know what she was after. Something didn't feel right, though. I trusted she wasn't interested in him in the same way I was. Judy and Lars had always struck me as a solid, go-getter couple.

“What happened to your ear?” Judy asked him.

Max raised one hand to his torn-off earlobe.

“He got bit by a dog, isn't that right?” I said. “It wasn't his fault or anything,” I added.

“Leanne knows all about my sordid past,” Max said to Judy. “Killer poodle.”

“Ouch!” Judy said. “But it makes a great story.”

“Long list?” Max asked me. “Sardines?”

“Not today,” I said. “Fancy olives and cheese mostly. But I could use some inspiration for Beau Ray's birthday party.”

“Oh, right. Another July birthday for you to get through. First the nation and now Beau Ray.”

“In two weeks,” I said. “Can you believe he'll be thirty? You guys are getting old.”

“Aw, don't say that,” Max said.

“Thirty? Really?” Judy said. “You don't look a day over twenty-five.”

“I don't know about that.” He laughed. “I could arrange for the bakery to do a cake and bring it by when I come to the party,” Max said. “You want me to do that?”

“That'd be great,” I said. “If you don't mind.”

“I am invited, right?” Max asked.

“I'm sure you are!” Judy said, before I could make a sound.

 

Judy and Lars left on Friday to return to Los Angeles—or Malibu, I guess, if you want to be a stickler about it. Judy said she'd be back in two weeks time, when preproduction for
Musket Fire
was scheduled to begin and there was publicity to be made and managed. Before leaving, she reminded me that the fan club's summer newsletter still hadn't gone out, and could I get it done before she came back. It wasn't really a question.

I'd been avoiding writing the newsletter, and I knew it. Usually, I sent the summer letter out in late June, but there it was mid-July and I hadn't yet begun. It wasn't a huge task or anything. Mostly cutting and pasting pictures and articles. But I knew that the “Joshua in the news” section would have to include his arrest and punishment, and I wasn't sure how best to frame that.

That Saturday morning after Judy left, Joshua and I were eating breakfast in the dining room. He'd been reading the paper when he looked over at me.