Stranger in Paradise

“We keep getting information from a group called Paradise Preserved about gang activity here. But we can’t verify much more than a couple of instances of graffiti.”

Jesse nodded.

“Are we being jerked around?” Jenn said.

“You are,” Jesse said.

“What do they want?”

“They want the Crowne estate project to fail,” Jesse said.

“So they are trying to convince people in Paradise that gang invasion is a collateral result?”

“Something like that,” Jesse said.

“I suppose it’s better than being opposed to education of the young,” Jenn said.

“They’ve discovered, I think, that intimidating five-year-old kids doesn’t look good on TV,” Jesse said.

“When we talked about this before, I thought you were being defensive and you thought I was being careerist.”

“Neither of us was entirely wrong,” Jesse said.

Jesse’s first drink had been a very small drink. Jenn still had half of hers. His drinking always bothered her. What would she think if he ordered another one? They were divorced and she was sleeping with other men. How much did he have to lose? He gestured toward the waitress.

“No,” Jenn said. “I am a careerist, I guess. My job means a great deal to me. As yours does to you.”

“I’m good at it,” Jesse said. “If I can keep being good at it, maybe I’ll get to be good at other things.”

“You’re good at a lot of things, Jesse.”

“Marriage doesn’t seem to be one of them,” Jesse said.

Jenn shook her head.

“It takes two,” Jenn said. “Not to tango.”

Jesse smiled.

“I never said you were perfect,” he said.

“The mess we’re in,” Jenn said, “is a collaborative effort. No one person could have created it alone.”

Jesse tried to nurse his second drink.

I’ll take a sip, he thought, and put the glass down. And savor the sip. And talk a little. Like Jenn does. And have another sip. No hurry.

“You’re sure there’s no story, then,” Jenn said.

“Not the one you came out here for,” Jesse said.

Jenn had started to pick up the menu. She stopped, her hand resting on it.

“But there is a story,” she said.

Jesse sipped some scotch and put the glass back down carefully on the table. He let the drink ease down his throat.

“The Crowne estate project might make an interesting feature piece,” Jesse said.

“Yes!” Jenn said. “My God, yes! The conflict between privilege and poverty. Between real-estate values and human values. It could become a…” She moved her hands in circles while she searched for a word. “It could become a replica…a…ah…a microcosm of the same kind of conflict between haves and have-nots worldwide.”

“Wow!” Jesse said.

“It’s great,” Jenn said. “I can sell this, I can sell this.”

“How ’bout the conflict between you and me,” Jesse said.

“I haven’t quit on that,” Jenn said.

“Me either,” Jesse said.

Jenn picked up his hand in both of hers and looked at his face.

“I have always loved you,” she said. “I love you now.”

Jesse smiled.

“But right now you have a story to sell,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” Jenn said. “And don’t dismiss it, Jesse, it might be my way back.”

“To what?” Jesse said.

“To you, for crissake, don’t you see that? To you.”

24.

The woman was on the couch with a half-drunk can of beer on the coffee table in front of her. Her head was tilted back against the top of the couch. Her mouth had fallen open. She was snoring gently. Crow sat across the room. If someone opened the door, Crow would be out of sight behind it. At 11:07 the daughter arrived.

“Ma,” she said, and saw her mother slumped on the couch. “Oh, swell,” she said. “Have another beer, Ma.”

She closed the door and saw Crow.

“Shit!” she said.

Crow smiled at her.

“Should I come back later?” the daughter said. “Or did you fuck her already.”

“No need to come back later,” Crow said.

The woman on the couch came awake with a startle.

“Alice?”

“I think Daddy’s found us,” Alice said. “Esteban told me a guy…”

She stopped and looked at Crow.

“You’re the guy.”

“That visited Esteban?”

“Yes.”

“I am,” Crow said.

“You shot Puerco,” Alice said.

“Only once,” Crow said.

“Shot?” the mother said.

“Shut up, Ma,” Alice said. “He works for Daddy.”

Mrs. Franklin frowned, trying to focus.

“He said he wasn’t gonna hurt us,” she said.

“Whaddya gonna do?” Alice said.

“Your old man asked me to kill your mother and bring you back to him.”

“Kill her,” Alice said.

“Yeah.”

“And bring me back?” Alice said.

“Yeah.”

“You gonna do either one?”

Crow shook his head.

“So whaddya gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Crow said. “You got any suggestions?”

“Whyn’t you go kill Daddy,” she said.

Crow nodded.

“And what would you do then?” he said.

“What I’m gonna do anyway. Move in with Esteban.”

“Not on your life,” her mother said. “I didn’t raise you to slut for no spick gangbanger.”

“You didn’t raise me at all, you fucking drunk,” Alice said. “I go where I want. I want to slut it up with Esteban, you got no say.”

“Don’t you talk to me that way,” her mother said, and struggled to get off the couch.

“You calling me a slut,” Alice said. “There’s a laugh.”

“I rescued you from your father, and you talk to me like this?”

“At least I’m not a fat slut,” Alice said. “I’m outta here.”