Caleb stared at the three faces. Or no, four faces, but Frank Earp was not part of this equation. Frank stood back, frowning, waiting, looking chilly. The others—Jessie and Toby and the famous Henry Lewse—were all grinning at Caleb like a pack of shit-eating dogs.
“You must be Caleb Doyle,” declared Lewse.
He held out his hand, and Caleb took it without thinking. The hand felt dryer and tougher than Caleb expected.
“So good to meet you at last,” said Lewse. “When I’ve heard so much about you.”
Which could not help sounding loaded when he stood between Caleb’s sister and Caleb’s ex-boyfriend. What had they told him? Not that it mattered. The man was only an actor. Caleb had known too many actors. With no role to play tonight, no character, Lewse was an absence, but an oddly precise absence, his long face suggesting a footprint in the sand.
“Hello, Caleb,” said Frank. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Frank. Good to see you.” He suspected Frank disliked him, although he wasn’t sure why. But Caleb respected Frank. Frank wanted nothing from Caleb.
“Caleb? Caleb?” said Toby. “Happy birthday, right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Toby. So glad you could make it. And that you brought your new friend.”
Toby grinned and nodded, oblivious to sarcasm. “Henry saw our play tonight. He thinks it’s good. Don’t you, Henry?”
“Quite good. We were all delighted by how good it is.” Lewse spoke in round, plummy, flirtatious tones, still smiling, never dreaming that his host might despise him.
“It is good,” said Jessie. “Really. You got to see it, Caleb.”
“Anyone want something to drink?” said Frank. “I sure do.” And he left without waiting to hear from the others.
Toby continued to gaze at Caleb, all big-eyed and expectant, like a giant puppy hoping to be petted. He wanted Caleb to be jealous. He was so transparent that it was laughable. So why wasn’t Caleb laughing? He’d known Toby and Lewse were coming. He had assumed he wouldn’t feel a thing. But he couldn’t look at Toby now for fear he’d picture him running his tongue over that public English face.
Lewse was watching Caleb with a mild, thoughtful, curious expression. Did he really expect Caleb to be friendly?
Jessie looked pained and apologetic—as well she should. Caleb was furious with her for shoving this pair at him.
He ignored the men and faced Jessie. “You’ll never guess who came tonight. Not in a million years,” he said. “Mom.”
Her head jerked as if the building had hit a bump. “Our mom?”
“Uh-huh. Don’t you ever check your voice mail?”
“You’re kidding. She came into the city for your party?”
“Yeap. But she wanted to see you too.”
“She went home already?”
“Oh no. She’s still here.”
“Oh my God. Where?” Jessie wildly looked around.
“Your mom’s here?” said Toby. “Neat. I’ve never met her.”
The intrusive sound of that slightly froggy voice angered Caleb beyond reason. He turned to Toby and Lewse.
“You two must be hungry. There’s food out on the terrace. Why don’t you go help yourselves.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Toby. “I’ll get something later.”
“Toby.” Caleb kept his temper, but just barely. “Please. Could you and Mr. Lewse allow me and my sister to finish our talk in private? It’s a family matter.”
Toby stared and winced, squinting as if Caleb had just said something vicious.
“Come along, Toby,” said Henry. “Let’s go put on the feed bag.”
“Right,” said Toby. “I’m coming.” His temper raised his voice. “Because I’m hungry. Real hungry. And I’m not gonna be hungry another minute just so other people might think I care about them more than I care about my stomach.”
He wheeled around and stomped away.
“Ah, youth,” said Henry. He nodded good-bye and followed.
Caleb watched him go. He was still angry but was free to express it now, and it all fell on his sister. “Jesus, Jessie. You had to bring your whole damn entourage tonight?”
“My what? Oh no. Only Henry and Toby.” She nervously looked around, as if other unwanted bodies may have followed her. “Is Mom really here? Or did you make that up?”
“No, she’s here. She lay down to take a nap in my bedroom. She was asleep.”
“But she’s so phobic about the city. I wonder why she came?”
“Out of love for me,” he said with a perfect deadpan. “And for you too,” he admitted. “She said she couldn’t go home until you got here. Because you’d be all pissed and out of shape.”
“I wouldn’t be pissed. A little miffed, maybe.” She chewed on the idea a moment. “She didn’t really say that?”
“Why don’t you go ask her? We can go wake her up.”
“That’s okay. Let’s let sleeping moms lie.”
A few minutes ago, Caleb had felt criminally alone at his own birthday party. Now Jessie was here, and he felt less alone, not wrapped in love but tangled up in meaningful aggravation.
“So that’s the great Henry Lewse,” he said.
“What? Oh right.” She stopped fretting about Mom. “But see? He’s not such a bad guy.”
“I guess. For somebody who’s fucking my ex-boyfriend.”
She made a little pout, looking surprised by the idea, then decided not to play dumb. “But I thought you were finished with Toby. You having second thoughts?”
“Not at all. Especially when he shows up with your boss, hoping to make me jealous.”
“Yeah, I was picking up those signals too. But if he can have Henry Lewse, an actor, why would he still want you, a writer?” She smiled. It was a joke, sort of.
“And now he’s going to be a movie star,” said Caleb. “Greville.”
“You don’t need to sneer. Have you read the novel?”
“No. Have you?”
“No. But I read the script. Yesterday.”
“And?”
She was smiling again. Her smile broke apart in a laugh. “It’s a Lolita rip-off. Only this time Lolita is legal—eighteen—and she and her mother team up and kill Humbert Humbert. So it’s a feel-good Lolita. Where mothers can bond with their daughters.”
Caleb laughed with her. No matter how angry he might be with Jessie, he respected her intelligence and enjoyed her humor. So why couldn’t she get her shit together?
“Are they really fucking?” he suddenly said.
“What?”
The question had broken into his brain and he had to ask it. “Or does Toby just want me to think they’re fucking?”
“I—uh—er—um—” Jessie was thrown, not by the question but by the look on his face, the tone of his voice.
“Tell me! That’s why you brought them here!” he charged. “You want to put me in my place! Let me know my life is as big a mess as yours! You must know if they’re fucking or not!”
“Caleb.” She held her ground, she did not flee. She lowered her head but looked straight at him. “Yeah, I think they’re fucking,” she said calmly. “But it’s got nothing to do with us.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
But he knew exactly where it came from: his sister loved him, but her unconscious hated him. For various sibling reasons. And his own unconscious understood that and had struck out at her. He understood her unconscious better than he understood his own. Maybe. Yet what does one do with such knowledge? Now was hardly the time to exhume old grudges and built-in sib antipathies.
“Want some cake?” he asked.