SEAN BEAUDOIN
ALEXIS ROSE, THINKING SHE WOULD have to follow Not-Cop to a questioning cell of some kind, but he ducked out of the room instead. After a few minutes he popped his head back in and curled a finger at Linda.
“I want you out here with your stepfather. Now.”
Linda looked at Alexis, her geriatric pace a protest all the way out the door.
“And there’s someone else here to see you.”
“Johnnie Cochran?”
Not-Cop gave a not-smile. His not-head disappeared as Uncle Burr walked in. The door slammed. Twice. Uncle Burr’s beard seemed whiter, posture less erect, hair more Unabomber-esque than it had been at the Sorrento.
“I’m afraid, Alexis, that we left things on a sour note.”
“Don’t be afraid. I can live with sour.”
Uncle Burr made a face, a senator refusing to be goaded by the press. “I flew in as quickly as I could. Kenneth and I have somehow managed to work out a deal with the CPS people. If you come with me, right now, there will be no charges filed.”
“Why would they agree to that?”
“We’re very persuasive.”
“No one’s that persuasive.”
Uncle Burr held out his palms, a card trick with no cards. Alexis looked around the holding cell.
“So, then you’d be my legal guardian. Or whatever?”
“Yes.”
“And we’d live where? Your pad above Neumos?”
Burr cleared his throat. “Sedona, Arizona.”
“No freaking way.”
“Hey, if you’re not interested, there’s always staying here. I understand the cafeteria serves a hearty sloppy joe.”
Alexis said nothing. There was only one way out she could see, and it wasn’t going to the desert to wear a sun hat and collect wrinkles.
Uncle Burr sat down at the interrogation table, the spot where Sipowitz usually glowered for a while before he jumped up in his short-sleeve shirt and beat a perp half to death with the Yellow Pages.
It occurred to Alexis that maybe she’d been watching too much TNT with Mr. Kenji.
“I imagine you have many questions,” Uncle Burr said.
“Uh, yeah.”
“So, shoot.”
Alexis considered, scatological or non sequitur? She went with the red herring.
“Are you named after Aaron Burr?”
“No, it was my great-aunt’s first name.”
“Her name was Burr Burr?”
“Yes.”
Alexis wanted to laugh, but didn’t, needing to concentrate. “Well, Aaron Burr is my hero. You know why?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“He shot Alexander Hamilton in a duel. Like, muskets at twelve paces. Step, step, turn, fire. Ended that Federalist Papers nonsense cold. And he did it in Weehawken. That’s in New Jersey. Which really doesn’t matter much, except it’s a cool name. Don’t you wish you were taking me to a place called Weehawken, instead of Sedona?”
“No, I don’t.”
Clutch, gas, second gear.
“Also, though? When Jefferson screwed Burr on his promise to let Burr be vice prez? Because back in those days they let the Senate decide by votes? Well, my man Burr got an army of freaks and perverts and mercenary Hessians and went down to Mexico and declared himself emperor! Isn’t that awesome? How can you not love that guy?”
Burr stared at his niece. “I don’t really think that’s true. Not to mention completely beside the point.”
“It is true. Read some books. Wiki that action.”
“I will look into it.”
“Hey, but if you’re not named after Aaron, I’m not calling you Burr. That’s, like, sacrilege.”
“You can call me whatever you—”
“How about ‘The Man From’?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“U.N.C.L.E.”
“Still drawing a blank.”
“United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. What, you don’t get TV Land in Arizona? Robert Vaughn? You know, Napoleon Solo running around with that tiny phallus-gun? Saving the world from whoever the world needed saving from? Which, go figure, at that time was always the Russians. Or, pretty much anyone with a turtleneck and a mustache.”
“I don’t watch much television. I prefer to sit by the fire and read the classics.”
“Are you for real?”
Uncle Burr pinched his arm. “I think so.”
Speed shift, third gear.
“I have another question.”
“Please.”
“What exactly does ‘the classics’ mean?”
“Oh, you know. Tolstoy. Wuthering Heights.”
Alexis shook her head. “But back in Anna Karenina-land, people like you were sitting there over a glass of absinthe in some drawing room going, ‘Oh, yes, well, I don’t really read Tolstoy. I prefer the classics.’ I mean, to them, your classics were like their Dukes of Hazzard. And Vronsky was Boss Hogg. If you weren’t reading Canterbury Tales and slagging Leo, you were some sort of knuckle-dragger.”
Burr stared at his hands, wearing a look of imminent dyspepsia. “I see your point,” he said finally.
“Do you? Do you really?”
“Frankly, no. But let me ask you, have you ever been to Arizona?”
“That’s a negative.”
“I think if you came, you’d find it to be quite a—”
“Don’t say ‘learning experience.’ Just don’t.”
“I was going to say quite a trip.”
“Literally or lysergically?” Alexis asked, channeling the spirit of LJ.
Burr’s face darkened. He stood and walked to the tiny, mesh-reinforced window. After a long silence, he turned and said, “I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And it’s very clever. If a bit juvenile.”
“Thanks. And ouch. But what is it I’m supposed to be doing?”
“You’re trying to dissuade me from taking you under my wing. You’re purposely making a bad impression. Fouling the water, if you will.”
Nailed.
“I don’t think so,” Alexis said, suddenly without much conviction. “Even Habib doesn’t take me under his wing.”
“You are your mother’s daughter, without question. Edith was never . . . demure as a child. And her intelligence was obvious from a very early age. But I feel quite certain you are not always this obnoxious. Either way, I’ve committed to bringing you into my home. I’ve signed the papers. I’ve taken on power of attorney. And I do not frighten so easily.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Alexis took her boot off the table. The game was over. Almost.
“I’m gay.”
Burr blanched. He tasted eggs, forced them back down, failed, got it on the second try.
“You’re—”
“A dyke. One hundred percent flannel. How’s that flag fly in Sedona?”
“Excuse me a minute,” Burr said, getting up and leaving the room.
Alexis closed her eyes. The performance had been unpleasant, but it had to be done. Or did it? She considered her choices. They seemed to be: (1) accompany Burr to a picket fence in the desert, or (2) bust out like a Soledad Brother. A Soledad sister. Make a quick shiv out of a sharpened toothbrush and hold it to Not-Cop’s neck, hostage her way through the doors, demand a helicopter and a half million in Krugerrands. Of course, that was insanely stupid. There were no options. What, cry? Boring. Besides, it really didn’t matter what happened to her anymore. She still had one tiny piece of leverage.
When Burr came back in, he wore a stern look he’d probably just spent the last ten minutes assembling in the men’s-room mirror.
“We’ve had enough verbal sparring, don’t you think?”
Alexis nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I’ve made up my mind, I’ll do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. But on one condition.”
Burr chuckled. “Renegotiating your contract? Already?”
“My condition is that you don’t sell the Angeline. Not only do you not sell it, you don’t kick the residents out. Ever.”
The chuckling stopped. “I’m sorry, even if I wanted to, I’m not in a position to do that.”
“Why not?”
“The fact is that every single resident of the Angeline is behind on their rent. Some stopped paying entirely a long time ago. The hotel loses a substantial sum on a yearly basis. I am not in a position to carry that sum as a matter of sentiment.”
It occured to Alexis that maybe she hadn’t been watching enough TNT with Mr. Kenji.
“So, what you’re really saying is the Angeline needs a good manager. That could be me! I know it inside and out, the rooms, the plumbing, even the mortuary equipment. Please? We can work out a deal with the tenants. Garnish their SSI checks. Collect a little at a time. Bake sales or whatever.”
“Bake sales?”
“Listen, the point is, we could make it work. I could. Ursula can’t just go out into the street. Kato and Kevin can’t fend for themselves. Mr. Kenji needs room and the right light to create his art!”
“I’m afraid that really isn’t an option.”
“It’s not? Then is this the point where Nurse Ratched comes in and sticks a big hypo of lithium in my neck and I wake up in a room somewhere, all nice and sunny with a pretty bedspread and I sit up and my arms and legs are in leather restraints?”
“Your imagination, Alexis, is truly a thing of wonder. Have you ever considered writing?”
Alexis blushed more than she wanted to, trying not to smile. “Well, I do write poetry sometimes. But as I understand it, being a writer sucks. It’s all about self-promotion. It’s all about schmoozing and meeting other writers and pretending to care about their books long enough so that you can talk about yours. Plus, you’re always doing readings no one shows up to, and these endless charity events.”
“You have a point there,” he said with a knowing laugh.
“Listen, Uncle, the bottom line is that I am not going to abandon the people at the Angeline. So you need to find a way to make that not happen, or I guarantee you will not want me under your roof. I will resent you forever. You’ll never be able to turn your back. You’ll never have a pot on the stove without wondering if the pet rabbit’s in it.”
“Is that, perhaps, an allusion to Fatal Attraction? I actually did see that. Ghastly film.”
“Yeah, so you get my point. Make it work, Uncle, or I will so make this not work.”
Burr stood with his hands behind his back, again looking out the tiny window. Birds congregated in the tree below him, dozens of them, almost if they were flying in a coordinated arrangement.
“Are all teenage girls this . . . challenging to negotiate with?”
“I don’t know about all of them. But yeah. Probably. Get twenty of us in a room, throw in a gift card and a copy of Twilight, turn off the light, lock the door. Come back in an hour and see what happens.”
“Well,” Burr said, getting up and knocking on the door—shave and a haircut, tap-tap. “I can’t promise anything. Except that I promise to consider it. I will pore over the financials one more time. But this isn’t a movie, Alexis. Richard Gere doesn’t just show up out of nowhere with a bouquet of roses, leaning out the sunroof of a limo, about to take Julia Roberts away from a life of Spandex.”
Not-Cop came into the room with a stack of papers. Burr took a Mont Blanc from his inside pocket and signed them all, twice. Not-Cop led Alexis to the discharge desk, where Linda was waiting. She broke away from her stepfather’s grip, ran over and took Alexis in her arms, kissing her at first gently, and then with increasing need. Tears ran down Linda’s cheeks.
“Kenneth says this guy’s taking you to Arizona.”
Alexis, barely able to keep from crying herself, nodded.
“And you’re OK with that?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Shit, chica. You always have a choice!”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t. At all.”
Two plainclothes cops brought a boy through the steel door. He was handcuffed, kicking, and wrestling. One of his sneakers had come off, a big hole in his sock. The police muscled him over to the desk, slamming him against it.
“Don’t!” Alexis yelled, but the police ignored her.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Linda snapped. “Get involved in what’s happening to someone else. That kid, the freaks at the Angeline, bums in the park. Look at everything except what matters. Everything except what’s standing right in front of you.”
“Linda.”
“So go!” Linda said, and pushed out the front doors. Kenneth nodded and followed his daughter.
Burr and Alexis took a cab back to the hotel.
“I can’t believe we actually found a cab in Seattle,” he marveled.
“I can’t believe you’re actually letting us stay here tonight.”
“Our flight for Arizona isn’t until tomorrow. I thought you might want a chance to see your friends.”
Alexis reappraised Burr, giving him a sincere nod. “Thank you.”
He held the door for her. She stepped onto the filthy sidewalk in front of the Angeline, looking upward.
While Uncle Burr paid the driver, Alexis spread her arms, Jesus at Corcovado, soaking all four floors in.