The Wright Way

Chapter 8 - The Wright Way

"Twenty one," says Quannell as I hand him my credit card. "What's up? Saved any lives lately?" He swipes it and hands it back to me, clearly not expecting an answer. "Sign here, please."

I scribble a signature and pick up my paper bags as he starts chatting with the next customer, asking her if her kid is in school yet. The large ceiling fan spins slowly—the day is warm, but apparently not warm enough for Quannell to turn on the air conditioner. The air from the lazily spinning blades ruffles my hair as I head towards the exit. I reach the door and step out into the sunshine, and then I nearly run into Joshua Hill.

He's standing right outside the shop, bending a little to look at something by his feet, leaning with his hands on his knees. I notice him too late to change my trajectory. My shoulder brushes against his, and he sways a little, startled out of balance. I catch him by the back of his coat to prevent him from tumbling; then I quickly let go and step back.

Since the last time I'd met him here, I made sure to come to Quannell's shop at a different hour, just to avoid him. Yet here he is, frowning at me, and I can tell that he doesn't remember me. Then, a spark of recognition flashes briefly in his eyes and he straightens slowly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his black coat.

"Sorry," I say, looking away. "I didn't see you."

A paper bag with Quannell's logo like the ones I'm holding is standing on the ground by his feet. Next to it stands an open tuna can, from which a stray tabby cat is eating greedily, oblivious to our presence.

"My bad," says Joshua. "I was standing in the way."

He steps aside and crouches next to the cat, scratching it behind the ears. The can looks up briefly before biting on another chunk of tuna and chewing it enthusiastically.

"Your cat?" I say, and immediately kick myself for the stupid question. It's clearly a street cat, dirty and skinny. What is it about this guy that makes me talk before thinking? With everybody else, I barely talk at all.

"No," Joshua says, petting the cat. "Pets require a stable home environment." He looks at me. "Do you like cats?"

"Nah," I say. "I'm more of a dogs' person."

"Do you have a dog?"

"Nope. Stable homes and stuff."

He smiles. "I'll adopt a cat one day. They're wonderful. So amazingly comfortable in their skin." His hand moves rhythmically up and down the cat's back, and it purrs loudly even as it continues eating. "Do you hear, sweetie?" Joshua coos at the cat. "You're gorgeous, you know that? Who's gorgeous? You're gorgeous."

He looks up again and smiles as I stand over them with my bags, once again struck by that awe at how complex life is. How a person can do such an ordinary and kind things one moment, like feeding a stray cat, and then go and sing in a sleazy night club and do who knows what behind the closed doors when the show is over.

"I've been to your show," I say.

"I know. I saw you." He looks up, and there's a glimmer in his eyes that I don't like. "Did you enjoy the show?" The way he emphasizes the last word makes me think of that dark corridor in the 'Golden Leaf' club again. For a moment, it feels as if the scene I witnessed there hangs in the air between us.

Blood rushes to my face.

"No," I say. "No, I didn't."

His eyebrows go up a notch, and his hand pauses its petting motions. Good. Someone has to say this. Someone must break the truth to him.

"You and this man after the show, it was..." I swallow, grasping for words. "Disgusting. You...you're talented. But what you do is wrong. What all of you do is wrong. It won't help you, pretending that it's not. It just is." He blinks at me, and I know I must hurry up and tell him this before he stops me. I must plant the seeds of doubt that maybe—just maybe—will lead him to see the truth one day. "You must see the fault in your ways before it's too late."

"Oh." Slowly, he gets up to his feet. He doesn't look angry—at least not yet—only taken aback a bit. "You talk like a preacher." He tilts his head. "Or a nutcase."

"I'm..." I trace away as Quannell appears in the door of his shop, looking around, then focusing on me. I must have raised my voice without realizing it.

"I just want to help you," I say, quieter.

"I don't need help."

"You do. You don't realize it, but you do." I want to say more, but my mind is rendered blank by Joshua's frown and Quannell heavy gaze.

I turn around and start walking, blood pounding in my ears. Everything I said was right, and yet I felt so awkward. I wasn't prepared. I should have been prepared, should have known what to say, instead of rambling away like a lunatic. So stupid. I might have had a chance to change his life today, and it seems I have blown it.