AJs was starting to feel like home.
But, today, time wasnt a problem, because Ramona was there. Girls who carried themselves like Ramona were never asked to leave, no matter who they consorted with.
Cost wasnt an issue, either, when Ramona was around. He appreciated how Ramona paid. Not just the fact that she paid. Of course she would, given their different circumstances. But it was cool how she did it. Always ordering something for herself, too, even when Casey knew she wasnt hungry enough to finish it. And she always seemed to order the things that Casey liked. Today it was chicken breast, mozzarella, and basil on a baguette. Shed picked off a bite or two, then, when Casey had finished his muffin, shed pushed the sandwich toward him, insisting, Im so full. Here, can you finish this?
As they had walked through SoHo after lunch, he had studied her profile. Hed never known a girl as pretty as Ramona. She wasnt classic pretty. Or even cute pretty, the way most straitlaced high school girls were, with their misplaced confidence and upturned noses. Ramona was actually sort of funny-looking. Her nose was a little too long and flat, and he knew from memory that one of those big eyes of hers fell a little lower than the other. And her lips were on the thinnish side, her smile a bit crooked. But all of those features together? Ramona was, by any definition of the word, a stunner.
Even cooler was the fact that she didnt try to be pretty. No highlights in that short jet-black hair of hers, the ends chunky as if cut with a razor. Plus, she wore way more vintage clothing and black eyeliner than acceptable among Upper East Siders. Plus, she hung with the likes of Casey.
Usually, they goofed around the neighborhood, making fun of the pretentious, surreal art galleries and the wannabe punk kids. And usually one of them had someone in tow-he with Brandon, or her with Julia. But today it had been just the two of them.
And they hadnt just goofed around. Today, Ramona had really talked to him.
Im worried about my mom. I think shes depressed or something.
Casey couldnt imagine what Ramonas mother could possibly be depressed about. From what he could gather, her full-time job was to shop and work out, but he held his tongue.
I called Julia last night. She thinks I should talk to my dad. Tell him that shes spending so much time holed away in her room all day.
See this? Casey had pointed to his own face. This is a look of pain and humiliation that you talked to Julia about this before me.
Sorry. She had leaned over and grabbed his shoulders from behind in a quick half-hug. Shes just constantly in contact, you know, with text and IM and everything.
Texting and instant-messaging. Two other conveniences of a normal life that Casey did not enjoy. At Promises, there was a fifteen-minute limit on computer use unless it was related to a job search, and residents didnt have their own phones. Anyone who wanted to contact him had to leave a message at the front desk. Or with Joy, who worked the register at AJs from noon to five on weekdays. She was a sweetheart that way.
The pain and humiliation were feigned, in any event. Ramona and Julia Whitmire had known each other since the single-digit years. Caseyd met Ramona only last December, when they were both hanging out in Washington Square Park. Casey would probably never be Ramonas best friend, but that didnt mean she wasnt his.
Julia was supposed to meet them today at AJs but had once again been a no-show. In her absence, he made a few comments at her expense.
Julia thinks you should tell your dad because as much as she bitches about those parents of hers, shes a daddys girl. Shed love nothing more than a chance to tattle on her own mommy to get a few brownie points from her dear, distant dad.
Harsh.
Not harsh. Just true. You know I love that girl. Almost as much as you. Then hed felt awkward, but Ramona didnt seem to mind the comment.
After the stroll through SoHo, they headed west and hung out on the High Line, then they walked store to store in the Village. Maybe if Julia had ever shown up, she would have forced them to buy something. Not Casey, of course, but Ramona.
When Ramona announced at two oclock that she needed to go home, he wondered whether she would have stayed longer if Julia had been there. Then he wondered whether hed ever stop having those kinds of thoughts. He hated realizing how insecure he was at heart.
But then hed bumped into Brandon on Eighth Street, holding his latest cardboard sign. Trying to get home to Louisiana. Need $55 for a bus ticket. If Casey had a hundred dollars, hed bet it all that Brandon had never been south of D.C. Brandon was cockier than Casey. Bolder. Undoubtedly a little shady. Casey had been careful to keep his distance those few times while Brandon did hand-to-hand sales in the park. Casey made a point never to challenge Brandon, though, or to show that he was worried. Brandon was the only guy Casey had met on the streets who was willing to accept him.
It had been a good day.
By the time Casey made it back to AJs, it was just shy of five oclock, so Joy was still there. As usual, she snuck him some food with his coffee. Sometimes it was pumpkin or zucchini bread-whatever they had the most of and would likely have to throw out at closing-but today he scored with a piece of lemon cake.
Got a message for you, too, hot stuff. Joy was only twenty years old and had a bleached white pageboy haircut and a sleeve tattoo on her right arm, but she liked to talk like a 1960s waitress slinging hash in a Waco diner. Your favorite little lady called.
Natalie Portmans finally seen the light, huh?
You know which one I mean. Little Missy Ramonas sweet self. She said to call her faster than green grass through a goose.
Casey was pretty sure that was Joys choice of words, not Ramonas. He made a show of taking his time leaving AJs, then hightailed it to one of the neighborhoods last remaining pay phones, at the corner of Lafayette and Bleecker. After four rings, he heard Ramonas familiar outgoing message: Hey, there. Its Ramo- Typical. Ramona had a habit of leaving her cell phone silenced, in her purse, and otherwise ignored. Any other person his age could leave a message and expect a call back on his cell within an hour, but Casey didnt have that luxury. He fished through his wallet for his list of contacts, dropped fifty more cents, and dialed another number.
Ramonas father answered. Damn it. Hello, Mr. Langston. This is Casey Heinz. May I please speak with Ramona?
Casey had met Ramonas parents only once, that night when they walked out during intermission-some play they called a cheap Albee rip-off-and came home early to find Casey and Ramona watching a marathon of Arrested Development. They didnt know the details of Caseys living situation, but it hadnt taken them long to infer from his appearance and vague responses to their questions that he was not from Ramonas usual social circle. He made a point of using his best manners on the rare occasions he called her house.
Ramona is-well, shes very upset right now. Shes in her room. I think her mothers trying to talk to her.
Did something happen? I got a message from her and it sounded urgent.
She wanted to speak to you, huh? Well, I guess I should let her know youre returning her call, then. Just a moment, Casey.
He heard murmuring in the background, and then Ramona was on the line. Casey, oh my God, Casey. Please come over. Please. I need you here.
I need you. How many times had he fantasized about Ramona saying those words? But in his imagination, her voice had been soft and vulnerable. Now she barely sounded human, the syllables coughed from her throat between rasped sobs.
Its Julia. Its Julia. Shes gone, Casey. Julias dead. She killed herself.
Chapter Nine
Ellie was sitting on the front steps of the Criminal Court Building when she spotted Rogan pulling a U-turn to meet her at the curb. He greeted her with a frustrated shake of his head before tearing up Centre Street.
So where have we been summoned to now? she asked as she snapped her seat belt in place.
He remained silent for another six blocks before he finally spoke.
Dont try to pretend that what we did today was good work, Ellie. He rarely used her first name. We were in and out of there faster than a straight-to-cable movie, and we spent the whole time looking to prove the conclusion we came to within a minute of entering that house. Were no different than those lazy uniforms and smart-ass EMTs. We assumed the spoiled little rich girl slit her own wrists, and we made sure not to notice anything that might pull us in another direction.
You seemed fine when we left.
And thats on me. I deferred to you, but I should have realized youre the last person who shouldve made the call on this.
Whats that supposed to mean? I made the same call as everyone else there-except that girls mother, whos not exactly objective.
We both know its not our job to make calls that fast. You mean to tell me nothing else is going on here?
Ellie looked out the window, as if that could buy her some space.
There were days when she was grateful that she and Rogan could navigate their way through an interrogation with only exchanged glances. She had even learned to accept the fact that Rogan could tell she was PMS-ing before she could. But if there was some way to lobotomize the part of his brain that knew about her father, shed saw open his head personally.
Ellie had never talked about her father to anyone at the NYPD, not even Rogan. But she couldnt help that other people knew her background. After police in Wichita had finally arrested William Summer and named him as the College Hill Strangler, she had decided to go public. She thought the pressure would convince the WPD to reverse its decision and finally award her fathers pension to her mother. Turned out to be a shit idea, but she had to try.
Now, because her face had been on Dateline and in People magazine, everyone knew that-despite what she appeared to be now-she had once been the little girl who could never accept the fact that her cop-daddy blew his brains out. She wondered if that was all people saw sometimes.