Set the Night on Fire (21 page)

“Ah yes.” He spoke with an Italian accent, stretching the word “yes” into two syllables. “They’re already here.” He pointed them upstairs.

They went up to a room of tables covered in red and white tablecloths. An elaborate chandelier hung from the ceiling. Her mother’s face lit up when she spotted Alix. She rose and threw open her arms. “Oh darling, it’s been too long!”

Renee Kerr had given Alix her cloud of blond hair, light coloring, and slender build. She wore a conservative pink suit. St. John, probably. You could never go wrong with St. John, she always told Alix. She was pretty but had a slightly vacant look, as if she wasn’t quite plugged into life. The look disappeared when she was with Alix, but tonight Alix thought she looked even more remote. For the first time since she’d moved to Chicago, Alix felt a pang of guilt.

Alix turned to her father. Sebastian Kerr was a big man just turning to flab. Since she’d seen him last, his waist and chest had thickened, and his cheeks were forming soft jowls under his chin. His starched collar bit into his neck, but his tailored suit and tie looked new. Thin strands of gray hair were brushed back from his face. Only his eyes, a cold blue, were hard.

Alix kissed him on the cheek, then smoothed out her secondhand black dress. She’d borrowed an iron from a neighbor, but she wasn’t used to ironing her own things and hadn’t done a very good job. She’d tried to press Dar’s clothes too, which she’d picked up at Goodwill. He didn’t want to wear a tie and jacket, but she’d insisted—they had to make a neat impression.

She was aware of her father checking them out, taking in their clothes, their shoes—scuffed secondhand heels for her, sandals for Dar—and Dar’s hair, which though shorter than before, still hung below his collar.

“Alix, you’re too thin, darling,” her mother blurted out. “You must have lost ten pounds.”

“I’m fine, Mother. I eat vegetarian most of the time,” she lied.

“Well, maybe you should change your diet,” her father said. “Eat more wholesome things like bread and meat.”

“It’s the processing, Daddy. Manufacturers add all sorts of things to bread and meat that aren’t good for people.”

“It’s good enough for most people.” He motioned to a waiter in a black jacket and bow tie a few feet away. “Two vodka gimlets.”

He didn’t ask her mother what she wanted, Alix thought. Just ordered for her. She’d forgotten that.

Her father focused on Dar. His probing gaze, always measuring and assessing, more than compensated for her mother’s detachment. “I don’t suppose you want a drink.”

“No sir, but thank you.”

Her father broke eye contact with Dar, as if he couldn’t stand to look at him. Folding his hands on the table, he frowned at Alix. “Did you hear about that carnage out in California a week or so ago? The movie star murders?”

“Sharon Tate?” Alix asked.

“That’s the one. Apparently, they found the word ‘Pig’ scrawled in blood in her house.” Her father’s expression turned icy. “They’re saying a bunch of hippies did it.” He glanced coldly at Dar. “And then there were those thousands of people who went to upstate New York for that concert. No bathing. No plumbing. Just rain, mud, and drugs.” He waved a hand. “I tell you, our society is falling apart. There are no limits any more.”

“I agree, sir,” Dar said. “About the horror out west.”

Her father’s eyebrows shot up.

“But Woodstock . . .,” Dar smiled, “ . . . was unique. They say over half a million people showed up, but there was no violence for the entire weekend. We would have gone ourselves if we could have.”

Kerr’s eyes narrowed. The waiter brought their drinks. Alix’s mother and father lifted their glasses at the same time and took a sip. The waiter passed around embossed menus in thick leather folders. Her father ordered a sixteen-ounce steak for himself and veal medallions for her mother. Alix ordered fish. So did Dar.

When the waiter left, Alix’s mother leaned in. “Alix, do you remember Steven Frederickson? He was a year or so ahead of you in high school.”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he was just accepted to Harvard Law School. His parents are thrilled. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“That’s lovely.”

“And what do you do?” her father asked Dar. “Are you in college?”

Alix tensed.

“Not any more, sir. I went to the University of Michigan, but I’m not sure formal education is what’s important. At least for me.”

“And what is?”

“I want to create a better social order. One that provides the services people need from their government.”

Her father’s expression tightened.

A new round of drinks arrived with their food. Her father concentrated on his steak, but her mother filled the gap with chatter about neighbors, the coming fall fashions, and old school friends of Alix’s. Alix tried to appear interested, but she was aware of the tension around the table, and her stomach clenched. She hardly touched her meal.

When the waiter finally cleared the dishes, her father folded his hands on the table again. “Now, tell me why you need money for a hospital.” His eyes were veiled. “You’re not . . . pregnant?”

Alix flinched. A muscle worked on Dar’s jaw. “No, Daddy. It’s something else. There’s this young boy. Well, a teenager. We’ve been . . . kind of . . . mentoring him. He’s Indian, and he’s sick. He has TB.”

“Oh my god. TB?” Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not  . . . interacting . . . with him, are you?”

“Of course we are. But that’s not . . . ”

“You can’t do that!” Her mother’s voice was shrill. “ You . . . you’ll get sick yourself. Alix, darling. You must stop. Use your common sense.”

“I’ve done a lot of reading, Mrs. Kerr,” Dar cut in. “And we talked to his doctor. TB isn’t really as contagious as you might think. Especially if it’s not in the acute phase. Believe me, we’re taking reasonable precautions.”

“Reasonable precautions?” Her father’s voice went cold. “You have no formal education, yet you’re making medical pronouncements about TB?”

Dar kept his mouth shut.

“Do you have a job at all?” He didn’t wait for Dar’s answer. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” His knuckles turned white. “I did not raise my daughter to live . . . in squalor.”

“She doesn’t.” Dar put his arm around Alix. “Your daughter has created a home for all of us. She is one of the most generous, beautiful women  . . . ”

Sebastian registered Dar’s arm motion and leaned forward. “Don’t talk to me,” he scowled, “ . . . as if we’re on the same level, discussing an employee at one of my stores. This is my daughter. You may have happened to catch her fancy—for what reason I can’t fathom—but I will not permit you to talk to me like that.”

“Daddy, stop.” Alix threw up her hand. “This isn’t about Dar. Or me. Billy needs to be in a sanitarium. We don’t have the money. I need to get at my trust fund.”

Her mother wrapped both hands around her vodka gimlet. She looked like she might cry.

Her father drained his glass and set it down. “Let me get this straight.” His voice was quiet but filled with rancor. “You want money to care for an  . . . an Indian boy . . . who has no blood connection to you. Or us.”

Alix started to feel panicky. “It’s not . . . as simple as that.”

“But I’m close,” he barreled on. “I assume you know that TB takes forever to cure. If it can be cured at all. Between the doctors, the sanitarium, and his medicine, his needs—and expenses—could stretch out indefinitely.” His expression hardened. “Are you prepared for that?”

Alix raised her chin. “Yes.”

“Because he’s . . . he’s important to you. You and your . . . ” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the word, “boyfriend.”

“Sir, I’d like to say something,” Dar interjected. “This boy is . . . well, he’s like . . . ”

“Your son?” Her father raised his voice. “Is that what you were going to say?” He flicked his wrist. “You have no idea what it’s like to raise a child.”

Alix felt a headache coming on. She massaged her temples.

“But, sir . . . ” Dar removed his arm from the back of Alix’s chair.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me.” He glared. “I’ll tell you the truth. I didn’t want to come here, but my wife said we should make an effort. Maintain our ties to our daughter, however flimsy. I’ve done my part. But what I’m seeing . . . well, we’ll never agree on what’s important. Therefore, there’s no use prolonging the inevitable. It’s time for us to go.”

“Daddy . . .,” Alix made one more stab. “Please. Billy needs help.” She took a long breath. “If you help, I . . . I’ll come home.”

“Alix!” Dar breathed.

Her father sat back. Her mother’s lips parted, and she leaned forward. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, her father said, “It means that much to you?”

Alix avoided looking at Dar. “Yes,” she whispered.

Her father picked up his glass. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, Alixandra, than for you to come home where you belong. And it’s admirable that you feel that strongly. For that, I owe you an honest answer.” He took a swallow. “My stores contribute to charity on a regular basis. I’m sure we already contribute to Indian causes. If not, I’ll make sure we do. But that’s all. There’s a reason why only the strong survive. You can’t change that, Alixandra.” He looked at Dar. “And neither can you.”

W
hen Casey got home from work that night, Dar joined him in the living room to smoke a J. Casey could tell Dar was upset, but he didn’t want to pry. He knew Dar had gone to dinner with Alix’s parents. Casey kept the conversation light. If Dar wanted to talk, he would.

They were still up when Payton came in an hour later. He’d had been spending more time away from the apartment, coming back only to shower, change clothes, and sleep. Tonight, though, he grabbed a can of pop and stretched out on the floor.

“You’ve been scarce.” Casey relit the roach and passed it over.

“Lots to do. You know how it goes. Or went.” He glanced at Dar while he took a hit.

Dar looked away.

“It’s okay.” Payton held in the smoke, then blew it out. “We have a bunch of committed volunteers. Even Teddy is coming around. In fact, we’re going up to Wisconsin this weekend.”

“To see the judge?” Casey asked.

Payton shook his head. “Teddy wants to show me something.”

Casey was suspicious. “What kind of something?”

Payton placed a finger on his lips. “You never know who’s listening.” Then he smiled. “You ought to come with, Dar.”

“For what?” Casey repeated. If Payton didn’t want them to know, he wouldn’t have brought it up.

But Payton was being cagey. “I can’t talk about it.” He passed the J back to Dar.

“So you’re keeping an eye on Teddy?” Dar asked.

Payton frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Whoa . . . you just can’t let something drop.”

“You just did.”

“That’s different. State secrets.”

Dar shrugged.

“If you’re talking about Rain’s theory, she’s already come to me.”

“She did?”

“She’s paranoid. Has been from the start.”

Casey looked from Dar to Payton. He felt left out. “What is she paranoid about?”

“Rain thinks Teddy’s an informer,” Payton said.

“What?” Casey sat back, startled.

“Exactly.”

“Why would she say that?”

“Who knows?” Payton flicked his eyes to Dar. “Maybe she wanted to ball him but he didn’t reciprocate. So she decided to get back at him.”

“Bullshit,” Casey said. “Rain’s not like that.”

“What do you say, Gantner?”

 “Forget it, Payton,” Dar said. There was a catch in his voice.

“Why? Can’t stand a little heat on the reservation?”

Dar shifted. “What does that mean?”

Payton tilted the can of pop to his mouth and took a long swig. “Just that you’re too busy with your girlfriend and your sick little Indian brave to do anything for anyone else.”

Just then Alix appeared in the hall. She was wearing Dar’s shirt, and her hair was tousled. 

“I didn’t know you were up,” Dar said.

She rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about, Payton?”

“I was just talking about your boyfriend’s commitment. You won, you know. You’ve turned him into a political eunuch.”

“You know something, Payton? You can say whatever you want. I don’t care,” Alix said. “There are more important things than the fucking Movement.”

Both Casey and Dar stared. Alix never used profanity.

“That’s why the best you can hope for is a safe house,” Payton fired back.

Alix planted her hands on her hips.

“When the revolution comes, you’ll have to leave the heavy lifting to others. But you can have a safe house if you want. That’s what you’ve been doing with this place, isn’t it?”

“That’s a shitty thing to say,” Dar said. “You’ve been living in her ‘safe house’ for over a year.”

Payton shrugged, as if that just proved his point. But whatever was fueling Alix suddenly evaporated. “It’s all right,” she said tiredly and sat next to Dar.

Casey got up and turned on the radio. The DJ introduced a song called
Wooden Ships
from an upcoming Jefferson Airplane album. A good song usually softened his innards. This time, though, he couldn’t shake off a premonition of doom.

“Turn it off,” Payton snapped. “You shouldn’t listen to establishment media.”

Casey tensed. “What are you talking about, man? It’s
The Spoke
. FM.”

“AM–FM, it doesn’t matter. They’re all owned by corporations. What you hear is what they want you to hear.”

“That’s not true.
The Spoke
plays an entire side. With no commercials.”

“You’re naïve. Music is only fodder for ads. And fantasies that pass for entertainment. It’s designed to suck you in. Distract you. The only thing worth listening to is the weather forecast.”

No one said anything. Then Casey deadpanned, “I hear they missed you at Woodstock.”

Everyone laughed, except Payton. But it did ease the tension. Temporarily.

“You know what your problem is?” Payton asked. “You’ve all allowed the system to corrupt you. What we need are some self-criticism sessions around here. To reorient your thoughts.”

“My thoughts are just fine,” Alix replied.

“Said like a true member of the privileged class,” Payton shot back.

“Lay off, Payton,” Dar said. “It’s been a tough day.”

“Every day’s a tough day for the oppressed.”

“Hey, guys. How about we go up to Wrigley tomorrow?” Casey said brightly. “The Cubs are closing in on the pennant.”