Reverb (7 page)

John flashes on James institutionalized, imagines him sedated, blank. If James isn’t suicidal, John may be sentencing him because of his own fears. And once James was ‘in the system’… “Thanks, Shelly. I’ll call you back. Thanks a lot.” John disconnects and holds up the phone for Martin to see. It takes considerable restraint not to throw it at him. Feels as if he’s surrendering a weapon as he put his cell on the butcher block island.

“You’re doing the right thing. Thank you for trusting me.”

“I don’t. I just don’t trust myself.” John looks at Kate still standing in the nook by the table, then back at Martin standing a few feet from him. “James is not your entertainment du jour, Martin. This isn’t a Broadway score you two are constructing. You’re playing with his life.”

“I’m not playing, John. I’m well aware of the gravity here.” Martin sighs, shakes his head and shoves his hands in the pockets of his baggy parachute pants. “You know, locking him up may postpone his death, but it won’t save his life. James has got to want to do that.”

“
God,
I’m so sick of AA platitudes. But you’re right, Martin. James has got to want to live. The problem is, I don’t think he does.”

“And you can’t stop him if he’s hell bent on killing himself.” Martin delivers his cutting words softly.

“Excuse me.” Both men look at Kate. “I don’t know if I’m allowed an opinion here—”

“No.” John glares at her.

“Yes.” Martin glares at John.

“Well, I can’t tell you what the right thing to do for your friend is, but I get the feeling if you force him to do something he doesn’t want, well, he’ll run the first chance he gets—one way or another.” She looks at John. “I just mean, well, you could push him into a position where his only way out is to do the very thing you’re afraid of.”

John glares at her, stays fixed on her a moment, then turns to Martin. “I’ll watch James tonight. If at any time I feel it warranted, I’ll do what I need to do for him, with or without your consent.” John shakes his head then walks out of the kitchen.

Chapter Five

Kate watches Martin watch John leave. Martin looks down when John is gone, his pudgy frame seems to slouch and Kate witnesses sadness consume him. She recognizes black. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to aggravate anything between you.”

“You stop right there, girl. This isn’t about you. John and I have been together a long time. Relationships go through stages, and we’re not at a particularly great one right now.” He gives her an apologetic grin and shrugs. “He seems to think his way is the only way of late.”

“Well, he could be right. Maybe being hospitalized would be the best thing for your friend right now, especially if he just tried to OD.”

“He didn’t.”

“How do you know that? Taking three quarters of a bottle of Valium isn’t rational behavior, Mr. Risner. Maybe James needs more help right now than you can give him.”

“So now you’re taking John’s side?” Martin stands near the massive Sub-Zero PRO stainless fridge and glares at her across the large modern kitchen.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. Look, your friend’s in trouble, much more than I caused him. I just want to help.”

“Why? Why is that?” Martin moves toward her slowly. “Is this a guilt thing? A fantasy thing? Disney mess with your mind, Cinderella?” He stops three feet from her. “He may look the part, but James is not the Prince Charming type. Trust me.”

Kate can hardly breathe, though it probably wouldn’t feel so choking if he wasn’t right. James really is extraordinarily beautiful, as Martin said. Maybe that’s why she wants to stay, why it’s so important to make sure he’s taken care of. Or maybe losing her uncle is driving her desire to save James. And maybe it’s because she caused their car accident while under the influence, and will burn in Hell for eternity if he dies. She shivers at the notion and would have crossed herself right then, except for Martin Risner. She looks away.

“I’m sorry. I’m feeling very anxious. And when I get anxious I get snippy.” Martin sits in one of the six maple Windsor chairs around the rectangular maple table. “I’ve been snippy a lot lately. Gonna have to cut that out.”

She smiles but doesn’t look at him. She stares down at the perfectly fitted strips of oak and marvels at how spotless the floor is—no dings, gouges or stains. Her pink and white checkered linoleum kitchen tiles don’t look anything like this.

“John’s not usually this...edgy, either.” Martin says softly. “Guess it threw him, seeing James like this. He’s a good doctor, but suicide kind of freaks him out. A year ago his sister’s teenage son, Phillip, killed himself. Jumped off the Golden Gate bridge.” He seems lost to the memory and Kate isn’t sure he’s actually talking to her. “Did you know there are like, forty suicides a year off that bridge?”

She feels a sudden surge of compassion for John. He knows what it feels like to lose someone through suicide. Kate sits in the chair next to Martin’s, but doesn’t look at him. “After my uncle killed himself, my mom kind of melted down. It was her baby brother, and I think she felt responsible. She couldn’t forgive herself, so she turned to God. She became a fervent Christian— ‘Praise the Lord’ was every other sentence. She even pulled me out of public school and stuck me in private Catholic school, with the nuns, the whole nine yards.” She feels Martin watching her and finally looks at him. “Sometimes the worst part when someone kills themselves is the ripple effect. You never know how it’s going to touch you.”

“I’m sorry about your uncle, but the outcome may have been the same no matter what was done for him. We can’t control James’ life. I can’t control my own life. Control is an illusion. We have to deal with what life throws at us. James does too, just like the rest of us. Whatever happened to him, he’s going to have to find a way to live with it. Or not. But ultimately it’s his choice.”

Kate flushes with anger. “There are no choices when you’re dead, Mr. Risner.”

“Martin,
please
.”

She pictures her uncle sitting on the gold shag carpet, leaning up against her mother’s bed, crying, while mom gave him the ‘grow up’ lecture. It was the morning of her birthday. He had his knees up, his head buried in them as he rocked back and forth with his arms over his head like he was trying to hold in his brain. “I think John is right, Martin. Suicide is insane. And insanity doesn’t make rational choices. I think what my uncle did, and James did,
is
crazy. Life is a gift. It is selfish and careless to throw it away. That’s why it’s a sin.” She pauses, looks down. “Killing yourself is never the reasonable choice. And sometimes people need help making better choices.”

Martin sighs and shakes his head. “God, you sound like John. That’s probably why I like you.” He smiles at Kate.

She smiles back, grateful to be accepted, even welcome, especially after what she’d done. She likes him, too. It feels safe, familiar sitting next to Martin. As an interior design consultant for Ferris & Partners, Kate is used to gay men, even prefers their company. Usually bright, often intuitive and nurturing like women, but with a directed male perspective—and no worries of getting hit on.

“What is the defining line of crazy?” Martin asks, posing the philosophical question. “Just scratch the surface and we are all fatally flawed. We just run around pretending were not.”

Kate studies him, wondering what Martin’s fatal flaws are. Clearly successful, one of the in-crowd, living in Paradise—his christened estate vineyard, his gorgeous home, his doctor/partner he’s obviously in love with—what would he know of living an ordinary life. “I suck at pretending. It’s probably why I’m still single.” It just slips out. She blushes.

Martin cocks his head, seemingly mystified. “Honey, any man who is fool enough not to recognize your beauty and compassion, should not be graced with your time and attention.”

Kate’s smile broadens, but looks outside to hide her blush. Beyond the floor to ceiling French glass is blackness, encasing them in the warmth inside. Rain sheets the windows, the noise striking like a melody. She’s sure she can hear bass...and piano, as if the drops are keystrokes of music notes.

“James...” Martin says.

She looks at him. He has this broad smile on his face. He’s listening too, and that’s when she hears the eerie piano melody coming from somewhere in the house.

“He’s in the music room.”

They both sit listening for a moment, the music moving up and down the scales virtually in time with the drops striking the panes. Tune is haunting, cascading flats and majors, like a storm on a churning sea, and masterfully played.

Music stops. Martin gets up. “Come on.”

Kate follows him through the large family room off the kitchen. Windows extend floor to ceiling between thick squared beams of redwood every yard or so along the exterior walls. A huge TV hangs on a stone wall perpendicular to an enormous fireplace. Westminster sectional sofa in black leather is set in an u-shape and dominates the room.

Music starts again, sounds crisper, louder—the same haunting melody.

They pass through a cozy study lined with bookshelves along all the interior walls. Books are tightly packed, and many others are stuffed haphazardly on top of the compact rows.

Music stops again.

“Shit,” she distinctly hears James say.

Music starts again as they enter a stylish Grecian bathroom. A huge sunken tub lines the exterior wall made entirely of glass bricks. Kate practically runs into Martin when he stops abruptly at the bathroom threshold that adjoins to the music room beyond.

She sees James over Martin’s shoulder. He sits on the bench at a huge, black grand piano with his eyes closed. Soft boots cover his jeans at the ankles. His shirt still hanging open but the sleeves are buttoned now. His fingers moving fluidly, like spiders dancing on the keys, note for note, then he mixes in descending chords holding a perfect tempo. He stops abruptly, opens his eyes, shakes his head as he rubs one hand with the other, then notices Martin in the bathroom doorway.

James stands, knocking the piano bench back and the sound of it scraping along the wood floor is all that breaks the tense silence. He stares at Kate wide-eyed. “
Fuck
. What are you still doing here, Kate? I thought you left.”

She flushes, looks away.

“I invited her to stay as long as she likes, James.” Martin says with resolve as he moves into the music room, that looks more like a recording studio with electronic keyboards on heavy stands, guitars, amps, and speakers lying about.

Kate follows him in a few step but stops at the edge of the massive rug that tops all but a few inches of the oak floor. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“And so you have.” James stares at her, then sighs, shakes his head. “Look, I’m sorry to offend.” He runs his long fingers through his hair. “It’s just...I’m really not the best person to be around. I probably never was, but right now is particularly bad.” His hair falls in soft waves around his sculpted face and hangs in his eyes, his dark lashes creating a tiger-like frame around a thin ring of vivid green irises.

She stares back at him, feels naked under his scrutiny, suddenly exposed in her thin camisole, her nipples hard under the sheer burgundy silk, her sweater in the bathroom where she left it when she’d heard James screaming from his nightmare.

“We’re square, Kate. You’re off the hook. Get back to your life. In a few days this will all be a fading memory.”

She folds in shame. “Maybe for you, but not me.” Kate looks down at the Egyptian pattern boarding the large rug. “And we’re not square. I wrecked your car. You smashed your ribs in because of me.” Say goodbye and she’ll be back to no life, going home to no one missing her. “I’ll take to you Tiburon. I owe you that much. I live in San Francisco, the Marina District—” 

He smiles. “Thanks, but I’ll get there on my own.”  He moves to the side of the piano as he speaks, then leans back against it and rests his huge hands on the thick black top. “Look, don't worry about me. I’m gonna be fine. Really.” He gives her a soft smile. “Nothing catastrophic happened, no irreparable damage. There’s really no need for you to stay.” He watches her, no,
studies
her, then gives her a gentle smile and shakes his head. “There are no white knights here, Kate. You don’t need one. Go home.”

She blushes, shamed again, glances at Martin, then looks back at James. “Seems like you’re more the one who needs saving, James. Your friend, Dr. John, doesn’t think you’re fine, which isn’t a stretch with what you did to yourself.” She flushes with anger—at his razor sharp perception, at herself for opening her mouth, now unable to shut it with his eyes narrowed on her. “He called a psychiatrist to get you into a place he called Mt. Sinai, which I assume is some kind of hospital, but Martin stopped him.” As the words leave her mouth, she knows she should not have spoken them.

“John wants to get me locked up?” James glares at Martin.

“I wouldn’t put it that way, James,” Martin begins. He scowls at Kate, then looks back at James. “He’s scared for you. We all are.”

“
Damn
him.” James whispers to himself then fixes his gaze back on Martin. “Did he tell anyone about me?”

Martin shakes his head. “No. He called a colleague to discuss your case. That’s it. Never mentioned your name.”

Kate attempts to repair her breach. “I’m absolutely sure John just wants to help you—”

James looks at her, his face drained of color. He pushes off from the piano, straightens, gasps and puts his hand to his ribs. “I’d like to reconsider your offer. A ride to Tiburon would be great. If the offer still stands, I’d like to go now.” He slowly begins buttoning his shirt. He has trouble lining up the buttons with the holes and manages only one after multiple attempts.

Kate moves in front of him, hesitates only a second before reaching up and buttoning the rest of his shirt.

He gives her a shy, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“You think it’s a good idea for you to leave now?” Kate finishes buttoning.

“No time like the present.” James grins. “Carpe diem and all that. You ready?”

‘Yes’ is on her lips, but then John appears in the wide threshold of the music room.

“Hi.” He hovers breathless in the doorway, holding her black sweater.

James turns to face him but doesn’t say anything.

John glares at him. “You weren’t in bed…and I thought…”

“That I slit my wrists or something.” James offers teasingly. “Don’t worry, John. I wouldn’t mess up your shiny stone floors.”

“Just our marble sink.”

James gives Kate a quick, uneasy glance, then John a wary smile. “Sorry about that. Thought I was immune to the stuff after what they fed me. Gross miscalculation.”

She feels James tense as John comes into the room.

“Is that all it was, James?”

The two men stay fixed on each other. “A momentary lapse of reason,” James practically whispers.

John stops a few feet from them, stands on the other side of Martin, hands Kate her sweater.

“Thank you,” she says gently, slips on her sweater feeling the men mentally circling, and their tension scares her. She looks at Martin. His brown, puppy dog eyes are wide and fixed on John and James.

“I’m leaving, John.” James speaks softly.