Brooke rode her bicycle along this path every day, including weekends. Already after seven, the evening had started changing from gold to silver. Bright flecks glinted off random pebbles when she peddled fast. But it was still warm enough for no sleeves.
[Click here to read the first episode.]
Matthew had invited Brooke to watch “Palimony,” her favorite movie and his first hit. His wife Sasha and her assistant had taken Dexter and Ivy home to California yesterday but Matthew needed another day to finish stuff.
So anytime after dinner, why didn’t she drop by? They’d watch him in high def get custody of the girl even though he wasn’t officially married to the mother, who had absconded to Thailand without telling anyone.
“We’ll boo the bad guys. Eat some popcorn. And say good-bye.”
They couldn’t say good-bye on the phone. Brooke didn’t even have his number. An assistant arranged his personal contacts, and his wife’s assistant managed anything involving the children. If Brooke tried to text him even “C U” some sleazezoid might cook up a disgusting rumor. No shit; it happened.
For instance, even Tara at dinner had implied some weirdness. Claiming men teased Brooke.
Generally, Matthew ate lunch with his kids. After which, he and Brooke took them “hiking” through the fields. They tromped through the woods and threw stones at the waterfall. Later, either he read Ivy a naptime story and Brooke played Guitar Rock with Dexter or vice versa.
Brooke liked hearing his “war stories.” About how two-faced people were. Real life was like high school cubed−that’s why you went to high school. Naturally, Brooke excelled; he couldn’t believe how sophisticated she was. He kind of whistled under his breath. And regaled her with how ridiculous he had been growing up in Arizona. The dumb shit he did back then cracked them up.
Brooke cut through the monastery to the farm’s entry lane, wondering if they’d watch “Palimony” in the kids’ wing or downstairs or maybe in his office, which was secluded in the woods.
One day when Sasha and the kids were at her designer’s kid’s birthday party and the assistant forgot to change Brooke’s hours, he showed her his office. It had a little kitchen, a personal gym, tons of fascinating artifacts.
He played her his first gig, a music video where he was in the background for two seconds—doing a behind-the-back pool shot that sank all the balls. “Fake, of course.” He showed her nature photographs he took for fun. And a big framed one that a famous Dutch woman had taken of an awkward girl in a yellow-green bathing suit.
“Remind you of something?”
“An eleven-year-old standing on an empty beach.”
“You know who Aphrodite is?” Matthew Googled the painting of Aphrodite standing on a seashell. “Now, look how the girl’s standing.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” Matthew said. “And see the sky? The clouds mimic the shell.”
She stepped back, taking it in and he wrapped an arm around her head to touch her ear. This made her feel safer than anything. But he said, “Better send you home.” So, a paid day off.
A little farther on her bike and she could see the house was closed up. She rang the doorbell and knocked. All last week they’d talked about watching “Palimony” after his family left. She ran to the back door, calling, “Anybody home?”
It was getting darker but she didn’t mind that. She rode her bike at night all the time. The farmhouse being deserted was what freaked her out. She started yelling, “Matthew, hey, Matthew King! ” Laughable but who cared?
She pounded on his office door and checked the garage. She ran to the waterfall and through the woods and back to the house. Nobody was anywhere. Crying, she kept pounding on doors and running around, yelling like crazy.
Her disappointment frightened her. The desolation was overwhelming. Probably she was just as extravagant as people said. She kept running around, crying, and still crying, ran into the fields where she flung herself into the dirt.
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