I roll up my window and pull from the parking space.

* * *

“God, Chrissie! Do you have to drive so slowly? I want to get home, get a shower and get some sleep.”

Rene is slouched in her seat trying to adjust her panties. It’s 2a.m. and the fog is really thick.

“I don’t want to get pulled over. If I get popped for drunk driving in my dad’s car it will make the front page of the NewsPress.”

“If you keep driving so slow the first cop that sees you will know you’ve been drinking.” She pulls down the visor and starts to touch up her lip gloss with the lighted mirror, which is really irritating because it makes it harder to see out of her side of the car. “You should have let me drive.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a great idea. What are you on, anyway? You guys didn’t do drugs in my dad’s car, did you?”

Rene glares at me. “I wouldn’t do that. I can’t believe you asked me that.”

“Really. Oh, really. You screwed a guy in my dad’s car.”

Rene shrugs. “He was cute. Neil was cute too. He was really into you, Chrissie. Did you give him your number?”

“No. And he wasn’t into me. Just another user. Why is the world so full of jerks?”

“Because half the planet is male.”

I change the subject. “Did you see Eliza’s face as Neil and I went into the private party. She was pissed.”

“Jeez, you’d think it would have stopped being about Eliza as soon as you had that hot guy bouncing you on the floor. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. You should have bounced him back to his place.”

“I couldn’t. You were bouncing my dad’s car.”

“What was the private party like?” Rene asks, rummaging through her bag.

“It was awful. Smoky. Packed. All kinds of freak girls there doing drugs.”

Rene laughs. “Why do you have half a dollar bill stuck in the fold of your UGG boot?”

“Neil made me a bet. He thinks that band is like the Second Coming or something. If he’s right, I have to give him back the half of the dollar.”

I see the high metal arch on Marina Drive that signals we are officially off the city streets and back into the safety of Hope Ranch. I increase my speed.

“See, he does want to see you again,” Rene says shoving her junk back into her bag. She sprays her mouth with breath spray. I park the car as close to the front door as I can manage. Rene grabs my arm. “You go in first. See if I can make a clean shot to the bathroom.”

“Why?”

Rene’s eyes widen intensely. “I smell like sex. I don’t want to get caught by Jack smelling like sex.”

“You can smell sex?”

“God you are ignorant. Guys can always smell sex. Go check the house for me.”

“Slut.” I only say it because it’s a joke and it seems to fit.

“Prude.” Fiercely back at me.

Rene grabs my cheeks and gives me a hard kiss. “Do I kiss better than Neil?”

I push her away. She is laughing at me folded over in her seat. She looks up. “Run and check. Hurry. I have to pee.”

As I walk to the front door I can hear the sound of rowdy men floating over the roof. The noise makes me think of my brother. Sammy and his friends used to fill the house with laughter and music. As a little girl I would hover, hidden, just enjoying watching my big brother, knowing if I got caught all Sam would do is ruffle my hair, toss me over his shoulder, and send me back to my room with a stern warning not to tell Jack.

I peek into the empty entryway and step in. I should have told my dad about the parties. I knew that Sammy’s parties were bad. I didn’t tell because I didn’t understand why I was supposed to. I loved him. Sammy said don’t tell. That I understood.

I go as far down the hallway as Sammy’s room and turn around and go back for Rene. When I get outside, she’s hopping beside the car like she’s about to pee. God, she is really messed up. I didn’t notice in the car that she is all crumpled and ratty haired, and acting wired.

She is more than just drunk. She did coke with Josh in my dad’s car and lied to me about it. I can see it in her agitated movements and the way she is standing. She’s coked up. Josh got her coked up and screwed her in a car.

I put my hands on her arms to stop her hopping. “It’s OK. Everyone is on the patio and Maria is asleep. Just run. Clear shot to the bathroom.”

Rene runs into the house. I hear my bedroom door slam. The shower turns on. I go to the kitchen and I fill a glass with ice water even though I’m not thirsty, but if I don’t drink it I’ll have a headache in the morning because of the alcohol.

I toss Jack’s keys back on the breakfast bar. I lean against it, sipping my water. The patio door opens and Jack steps into the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’re back. I was worried about you driving in this fog.”

He smiles, then goes to the refrigerator.

I watch him over my ice water. I’m wearing different clothes, Jack. Don’t you even notice? And my hair is all puffed out and sprayed like a heavy metal chick.

Jack leans an ear up toward the ceiling. “Is someone taking a shower?”

Ours is an old house. Large, solidly built, but the plumbing groans all through the adobe.

“Rene. She doesn’t think there will be time in the morning.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I’m taking you to the airport at nine, only a half hour earlier than we planned. I’ve got this thing.”

“Sure, Daddy. No problem.”

“Are you OK, Chrissie?”

I put down the water glass. “I’m fine.”

“You should turn in too, baby girl.”

He drops a kiss on my head.

“I think I’m going to practice for a while.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late. You have an early plane.”

I watch Jack disappear back onto the patio. If he had asked one probing question I would have crumbled. There is so much I want to talk to Jack about. I want to tell him about Rene. I want to tell him about me. I just don’t know how to start it and Jack never tries to start it.

In my bedroom I find Rene curled atop the covers of my bed, hair still damp, my mother’s quilt wrapped around her. I sit down beside her and I close my eyes. I’m exhausted, but not the kind of exhausted that gives way to restful sleep. If I go to sleep now, the way I feel, I will only have dreams, dark dreams, the kind that scare me.

I tuck the blanket in around Rene, and then I make my way down the long hallway to the back of the house where the studio is. The recording studio walls are lined with gold and platinum records, but I stop at the pictures of my mother to pay homage to how beautiful she was, how elegant she appears in the photos of her during her career with the New York Philharmonic.

My parents were such a strange couple. Opposites. I’ve never understood how they locked in place together.

I go through the soundproofing door into the studio and I sink to my knees before my cello case. I pull free the instrument and bow, and I switch off all the lights except a single dim spotlight above my chair. I settle in the chair and go through my routine, adjusting the instrument, clearing my mind and preparing to play.

It feels good to play. The music is soothing in its beautiful precision. It is not angry and confused like the music in the club tonight. I focus on the controlled moves of my fingers. The music is not like me. I’m angry and confused most of the time. But Bach is beautiful and precise. Slow, and then building, then pulling back. I wonder if that’s why I still play the cello even though I’m not very good at it.

I am almost through the prelude when I sense someone is watching me. The room beyond is almost pitch black. I can’t see anyone, yet somehow I feel them, the presence of someone beyond the soundproof glass when that should be impossible to feel. I try to lose myself in the music. I can’t. I halt the bow above the strings. I stare.

“You’re very good.”

The voice floating in on the intercom is male, low, raspy and accented. So it isn’t my imagination. I’m not alone. I strain to pick out detail at the dimly lit console behind the soundproofing glass. I am only able to see a figure, large and casually reclined in a chair, bare feet propped on the table. Jeez, how long has he been watching me? He looks settled in.