Faking It d-2 Read online

  “It is.” Mrs. Olafson shook her head. “It’s vile.”

  “Boy, if you could sell it to me, you’d never have to look at it again, and I wouldn’t have to…” Davy looked back at the car, and Tilda reached over and hit the horn. I love you, Veronica, Davy thought. “And he’d have the money, too. That’d be good, right?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Olafson said thoughtfully. “He’s been wanting to get the driveway cleaned.”

  Davy looked over at the spotless cement. Mr. Olafson’s obsession with cleanliness, control, and disgusting mermaids was not making him someone Davy wanted to meet. “You wouldn’t get in trouble, would you?” he said, suddenly feeling guilty about Mrs. Olafson.

  “Certainly not,” Mrs. Olafson said.

  Davy got out his wallet and began to count through the bills. “I have an extra ten here and a five and two ones. That would make it two sixty-seven. Do you think-”

  Down in the street, Tilda slammed the car door as she got out and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Just a minute, honey,” Davy called, panic in his voice.

  “I’ll get it,” Mrs. Olafson said and went inside.

  “Really, just another minute,” Davy said, going to the edge of the porch to look beseechingly at Tilda.

  Tilda started the car and gunned the motor, and Davy began to picture her in leather again.

  Mrs. Olafson came back to the door and handed Davy the painting, and he handed over the bills.

  “You can count it,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at Tilda.

  “I trust you,” Mrs. Olafson said. “Go.”

  “Thank you,” Davy said and ran down the steps to give Tilda the painting. “Here you go, honey,” he said, loud enough to carry back to Mrs. Olafson. “Just one more thing.”

  Tilda opened the door and took the painting, and Davy started back up the drive. “Where the hell are you going?” she said, her voice like a knife.

  “Just a minute, sweetie.” Davy picked up the tire and waved to Mrs. Olafson who beamed at him in return. Then he headed back to his shrew of a wife, who popped the trunk open for the tire.

  Damn, I married well, he thought and got in the car.

  WHEN THEY WERE almost to the highway, Davy said, “Pull over up here,” and Tilda obliged. An obedient woman, he thought. God, she’s hot.

  “Okay, what-” she said, and he leaned over and kissed her hard, and she clutched at him and kissed him back, and for a minute, Davy forgot his own name. “Oh,” she said, coming up for air. “You’re really good at that. What was it for?”

  “You are magnificent,” he said, trying to get his breath back.

  “I am?” She hit him with that crooked grin again.

  “You do a beautiful bitch,” Davy said. “You got any chains in the attic?”

  “You’re disgusting,” Tilda said cheerfully.

  “That reminds me.” Davy dragged the painting out of the back seat. It was full of round-bodied, sloe-eyed, rosy-breasted mermaids who swam in a checkered sea, looking inviting and edgy but not unwholesome.

  “What?” Tilda said, looking at the painting.

  “Mrs. Olafson thought this painting was disgusting,” Davy said, imagining the mermaids bobbing in the sea. “I’m not seeing it.”

  “Bare breasts. And they’re not ashamed.”

  “My kind of women. They do look a little…” Davy searched for the word. “Aggressive. But in a good way.”

  “Poor Mr. Olafson,” Tilda said. “He lost his mermaids for a lousy two-fifty.”

  “I went to two sixty-seven,” Davy said, now imagining Tilda bouncing in the sea. “You know, these mermaids kind of look like you.”

  Tilda took the painting from him. “You’re projecting, Dempsey. Keep your mind on the job.” She traced one of the foamy waves with her fingertip, looking a little sad.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “I am magnificent,” she said and put the painting in the back seat again.

  When they got back to the gallery, they heard voices in the office. Davy followed Tilda in and saw Eve and Gwen and a rotund younger guy he’d never seen before gathered around a tearful Nadine.

  “Oh, no,” Tilda said, and went straight to her niece.

  “What happened?” Davy said, looking for blood or broken bones.

  “It’s a Poor Baby,” Tilda said, not turning around.

  “That miserable little tick Burton dumped her,” Eve said, standing militant in front of her daughter. “I think he should be castrated.”

  “Later for that,” the new guy said, his arm around Nadine. “Poor Baby first, revenge later.”

  That’s got to be Jeff, Davy thought.

  “He was just wrong for you, Poor Baby,” Gwen said from Nadine’s other side. “He had no soul.”

  “He was a vampire. Pasty little bastard,” Jeff said. “Poor Baby.”

  “But he was so cute,” Nadine wailed.

  “This is true,” Tilda said.

  Gwen glared at Tilda. “You’re not helping.”

  “Poor Baby,” Tilda said obediently. “The thing is, Dine, the good-looking ones are always doughnuts. They’re so pretty they don’t have to develop fiber. Look at Davy. Perfect example.”

  “Hey,” Davy said, faking outrage. “I’m full of fiber.”

  Nadine sniffed but she stopped dripping tears to look at him.

  “I,” he went on, “am clearly a muffin.”

  “As in ‘stud’?” Tilda said. “No.”

  “Hopeless doughnut,” Gwen said, and Nadine gave Davy a watery smile.

  “Muffin,” Davy said, “and to prove it, I’m willing to go find Burton and beat the crap out of him.”

  “Absolute doughnut,” Tilda said, turning her back on him. “So what did this Davy-in-training give as his miserable excuse? Poor Baby.”

  “Who cares?” Jeff said. “He’s scum. You deserve better. Poor Baby.”

  “He said I was too weird,” Nadine said, wincing, and Davy felt like beating up the kid for real.

  “Okay,” Tilda said to Davy. “Go get him.”

  “No,” Nadine said, sniffing, “I mean, really, that was it for me. I wore the Lucy dress to his gig, and he told me today that I had to stop wearing such weird stuff or it was all over.”

  “And you said it was all over?” Tilda said.

  Nadine nodded, and Eve said, “Oh, that’s my girl,” while Jeff pounded her on the back and said, “Way to go, kid.”

  “Clearly not the kind of guy who deserves a Goodnight,” Davy said.

  “He was only a speed bump,” Tilda agreed, “on the great highway of love.”

  “I know,” Nadine said, sniffing again. “I’m not really crying for him. I just needed to get it out, you know?”

  “Of course,” Gwen said, “you should always get it out,” and Davy wondered if there had ever been any emotion that any Goodnight had ever left unexpressed.

  Except for Tilda. He watched her comfort Nadine and wondered what she’d been like when she’d been part of the Rayons, when she’d been singing and laughing with Eve and Andrew. If she’d ever smiled all the time like she’d smiled at him today.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gwen was saying to Nadine. “I can stay.”

  “Where are you going?” Tilda said.

  “She’s having a late lunch with Mason Phipps,” Eve said, raising her eyebrows to her hairline. “It’s a day-yate.”

  Uh-oh, Davy thought. Clea was not going to be happy about that.

  “No it is not,” Gwen said. “He wants to talk about the gallery. And I get free food.” She turned back to Nadine. “Unless you want me to stay.”

  Nadine sniffed. “Bring me your dessert if you don’t eat all of it.”

  “Good enough,” Gwen said and went out into the gallery.

  “Ice cream,” Eve said to Nadine. “I’m thinking Jeff drives and we all go to Grater’s.”

  “That would be good,” Nadine said, and sniffed again, but Davy got th