Page 65 of Road Queens
(How does Cass still not know how to fold a box closed?)
and beheld a dreadful sight: Cassandra’s Easy Rider Mid Calf 35 motorcycle boots. By Tamara Mellon! A bargain at six hundred bucks. Her Cassini H2O gloves, another hundred bucks. Her Stella Dyno leather street jacket, three hundred.
Cassandra had spent years working and saving for all of it; it was how her writing career got started. The first piece of gear she bought—with a two-hundred-dollar kill fee—was a new helmet. And how often had the three of them debated the merits of the Ralph Lauren Everly riding boot (a dream of cognac-colored leather and a comfortable stacked block heel) versus the Michael Kors Kincaid boot (an homage to the classic equestrian boot in deepest black with striking cross-straps)?
Sooften.
“I remember when you got some of this stuff,” Amanda said, poking through the box. “You were so excited about that kill fee. Who knew you could get paid fornotpublishing an article?”
“I think it’s cool how she takes after her mom.” At Cassandra’s look, Sidney added, “In a good way. A writing way. Not a homicidal way.”
“You’re really leaving?” Silly question, given the boxes, but Amanda couldn’t help it. “For good?”
“Yep.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Really, really, really?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“So no more Operation Starfish?” Sidney ventured.
Cass straightened up so quickly that she almost fell over. “Thatshould have been obvious three months ago. Operation Starfish was done the minute they zipped Debbie Frank into a body bag.”
There was a long silence, because ... what could any of them say?
But Cass wasn’t done.
“Why? She was out; she was rich before they got married, and he wasn’t entitled to a dime, and she was free!” Cass cried. She gave the nearest box a savage kick, then clapped her hands to her face and groaned through her fingers. “Why, you guys? Why did she go back?”
Sidney and Amanda traded glances, and Amanda took the plunge. Because for all their fretting and drinking and woe-is-me-ing, they hadn’t really talked about the murder. Or their part in it. They’d been sidestepping around it for months.I guess Cass is tired of sidestepping. But there’s got to be middle ground here somewhere.
“Cass, I know.”
“You don’tknow, Amanda,” she replied with such intense bitterness that she looked years older in that moment. “You can’t. You can only intellectualize it. You can only study it, but you can’t feel it. You’re all theory and no practical experience.”
“But in a good way,” Sidney put in.
Ouch and double ouch. Nice try, Sid.“Look, it’s awful, but Debbie wasn’t really free. ‘Free’ isn’t just about leaving the house or jumping on a bus or even a plane. In her head, she wasn’t free. I’m sorry, I know that sounds inadequate.”
“You just demonstrated my point. And ‘inadequate’ is the perfect word for this clusterfuck. We should have learned from our initial bad advice for Paul Banks and his crazy-ass wife, but guess what? We didn’t. We just kept at it and kept at it and ... Christ! The sheer fucking arrogance of it all!”
“Mistakes were made,” Amanda allowed. “No one’s saying otherwise.”
“‘Mistakes’?” Cass scowled and rubbed her scar. “Not only did we not save her, we probably pushed her asshole husband to escalate when we barged in.”
Sidney sighed. “We didn’t barge, we were invited. And she was happy to leave with us. What, we should’ve crept in like mice?”
“Yes!”
“Would it have made a difference, though? Because ... c’mon. She went back. Not a few weeks later or a few days ... she went back the same damned day. He must have really laid on the smooth talk once we dropped her off.”
“We should have taken her phone away,” Cass grumped.
“Oh, sure, confiscate her phone along with her autonomy. Great plan.”
