J. Fynn - The Long Game

I imagined, with great satisfaction, the earful Judd and his brothers would get for disrespecting Maggie’s home.

She glanced at him over Jimmy’s shoulder. “Cuts and bruises I can handle, Michael, but what you’re planning could do a far sight more damage.”

“You let me worry about that,” he said. His tone finally betrayed a hint of annoyance at her boldness.

I pulled myself onto the bench of the picnic table and rolled my head from one shoulder to the other to relieve the kink in my neck. A nice reward for my efforts to get Eddie off my back. I heard the trailer door slam behind my mother and brother, but I still wasn’t alone in the yard. I raised my head to find Pop staring at me.

“There’s some sense in what your mother says, Shay. If you don’t want to take this job, I won’t force you.”

An image of Judd’s boot connecting with my brother’s face flashed in my mind, and anger burned like acid in my mouth. “When do I leave?”

IT TOOK ME a day to get settled in after I arrived in Pennsylvania and another to find Tommy Costello’s daughter. Spencer was a nineteen-year-old sophomore at Balanova University, a member of the OIA sorority, and an avid reader. At least, according to her Facebook page. The last fact was quickly proven true when I found her in the courtyard outside the Carroll Center in the middle of campus.

From where I stood on the opposite side of the fountain, I had a clear view of her, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest and her back resting against the broad trunk of a white ash. She was reading, her head tipped to one side, which made a thick section of her dark auburn hair fall forward to shade one side of her face. The quad was empty aside from the two of us and a kid who bobbed his head to the beat of whatever song played through his retro headphones.

Finding out she lived in a sorority house had been my first disappointment. Pop Sheedy had assumed she’d be living with her father, so I’d have to work a little harder to score an invitation to Daddy’s. I was still pretty sure I was up to the challenge, though. And the sooner I worked my way into her life, the sooner I could finish the job and get back home. Time to get this show on the road.

I circled around the fountain, gearing up for my role as “lost transfer student,” but a pixie-haired blonde in a pink-and-white sundress beat me to her. I stopped thirty feet from my goal and pulled a campus map from my back pocket. I watched the girls from the corner of my eye as I pretended to study the map.

“Hey, Spence!” the blonde said, handing over a cup emblazoned with the green Starbucks logo. “I got the herbal tea you wanted, even though it goes against every fiber of my being to order something that doesn’t have any caffeine in it.”

Spencer grinned at her and took the cup. “Aww, thanks, Kay. It’s so sweet of you to compromise your principles for me.”

“Whatevs. No biggie. Plus, sexy coffee-cart guy is working today, so it was totes worth it.”

Was this girl even speaking English? I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, then looked around the quad as if trying to orient myself. I spun the map in my hands so that I was looking at it upside-down. If I looked hopeless enough, maybe the girls would offer to help.

“Have you found a dress for the party tomorrow night?” the over-caffeinated blonde asked.

“Yep. I ended up going with the one we saw on South Street. Remember?”

“Ooh, the green one? I bet you look super hot in that.”

“It looks all right,” Spencer said. She shoved the book she’d been reading into a worn leather backpack. She slid a cell phone into the front pocket of the bag, snapped it shut, and slung it over one shoulder. “I’m supposed to meet Moira in ten minutes. She’s helping me study for my French quiz on Friday. Walk with me to the library?”

Both girls got to their feet. According to the map, Fowley Library was on the east side of campus, which meant I stood between them and their destination. I saw my opening.

My eyes still on the map, I took a few steps to my right just as she passed by.

“Oof!” she grunted. Her backpack swung forward, and I reached out to steady both her and it. Her body pressed against mine as she stumbled into me, and I had to admit it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome feeling.

“Shit. Sorry,” I said. “Are you okay?” I gently pushed her back and dropped my hand from her shoulder. The other fell from her backpack a second later, and I folded the map I was still holding, then slipped it into my back pocket.

She hoisted the bag back onto her shoulder and looked up at me. Her eyes were a warm, earthy brown like the clay soil that lined the banks of the creek back home and rimmed with thick lashes a lighter shade of auburn than her hair. They flashed with an undeniable spark of intelligence, and I worried for a second she might see through me.

“I’m fine,” she said, blinking at me.

“Sorry,” I said again.

“It’s cool,” the blonde said. She flashed a bleached white grin. “She doesn’t mind, do you, Spence?”

Spencer still blinked up at me, her lips parted slightly. “It’s fine,” she managed.

“Hopefully, next time we run into each other, we won’t actually run into each other.” I didn’t miss the color that bloomed in her cheeks when I smiled at her.

“Yep.” She nodded and linked her arm through her friend’s. “Come on, Kay, we’re going to be late.”

Spencer tugged on the girl’s arm, but the blonde locked her knees like a stubborn mare. “I’m Kay, and this is Spencer. Who are you?”

Straight to the point. I liked that in a woman. “Shane Casey.” I gave the name from the fake ID Pop had supplied me with before I’d left the Village.

“Nice to meet you, Shane,” Kay said. Her eyes glinted, and she elbowed Spencer in the ribs.

“Nice to meet you,” Spencer mumbled.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

“That’s some accent you’ve got,” Kay said. “It’s like Brooklyn-by-way-of-Georgia. Are you new here?”

I laughed. “I transferred from Loyola.”

“In Chicago?” Kay asked.

“No, Loyola New Orleans.” I’d worked on different accents on the bus ride up and finally settled on a Lakeside drawl. Most of my high school classmates had been from the affluent area across Lake Pontchartrain, so it was one I could pull off without much trouble.

“Yeah.” Kay wagged a finger at me. “You sound like that singer guy. Harry What’s-His-Name.”

“Harry Connick, Jr.” Spencer rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Kay. I need to go. Moira isn’t going to wait forever.”

“I’ve been dying to go to Mardi Gras. Is it awesome? I bet it’s awesome,” Kay said, clearly unconcerned with wasting Moira’s time.

“It’s a blast,” I said. “You should definitely go if you get the chance.”

“Okay, well, this is super-interesting, but unfortunately, we have somewhere to be.” Spencer tugged her friend’s arm again.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, not wanting to burn the one bridge I needed to cross. “I won’t keep you any longer. It was nice to meet you, though.” I tipped my head to Kay. “Both of you,” I added, smiling at Spencer in a way I hoped made clear that she’d been my favorite part of the introduction.

She swallowed hard and tugged on Kay’s arm one last time. Finally, the girl obliged, and I stepped aside to let them pass. Kay leaned in to whisper something, and Spencer shook her head.

I waited, counting under my breath. One…two…three… Spencer turned her head and looked back at me over her shoulder. When I waved, she quickly turned back and picked up her pace, dragging Kay along with her.

I walked in the opposite direction. When I was sure there was enough distance between the girls and me, I reached into my pocket again to pull out the map. I carefully unfolded it and couldn’t help but grin at the red plastic rectangle in my hand. I turned it over and pressed the button on its top edge. Spencer and a small group of her sorority sisters smiled back at me from the cell phone’s screen.

CHEERFUL CELTIC MUSIC greeted me at the open door of the OIA house. I’d assumed OIA stood for Omicron Iota Alpha, but after a little digging, I’d learned this sorority wasn’t Greek or even affiliated with a national charter. The Order of Irish Augustinians was unique to Balanova and explained why all the sisters had last names like Murray, Ryan, and Donnelly. I made a mental note to tell Maggie about the group and their apparent devotion to all things Gaelic.

Colorful bundles of maize decorated tabletops and hung from light fixtures. The room was a sea of orange-, brown-, and green-clad sorority sisters and their guests. I’d settled on a blue button-down and tan cargo shorts, but then, I hadn’t realized what this party was supposed to be celebrating before I’d decided to crash it. I scanned the room for a familiar face and found Kay by the picture window that occupied a large portion of the front wall of the living room. Orange wildflowers were woven into her hair, and she stood next to a guy with hawkish features and carefully arranged bedhead. When she saw me, she flashed her Colgate smile and waved me over.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said.

“Yeah.” I ducked my head in feigned sheepishness. “I’m sorry to show up without an invitation.”

“No worries.” She turned to Bedhead. “This is Shane. He’s from New Orleans. Cool, right?”

Bedhead jutted his chin in the barest of acknowledgments, moving in closer to Kay in an obvious attempt to stake his claim.

“Hey.” I gave him my own bare acknowledgement. “So listen,” I said to Kay. “I think your friend…” I paused, as if searching my memory. “Spencer? I think this belongs to her.” I held up the phone in its red case.

“Oh my god! She’s been looking for that everywhere.” Kay grabbed my arm. “Let’s go give it back to her.”

We left a dejected Bedhead standing by the window, and I allowed Kay to lead me through the crowd of partygoers.

“There she is,” Kay said, moving toward a small group gathered in one corner. I’d already seen Spencer before Kay pointed her out. She was pretty hard to miss in the strapless green dress that Kay had so accurately predicted she’d look hot in. As we got closer, though, my opinion changed. Hot wasn’t really the word. It was more like stunning. An uncomfortable warmth spread through my veins, and I was suddenly second-guessing my plan.

“Nah, you’re totally off, man,” said a lanky kid with long, straight hair tucked behind his protruding ears. He waved his hands wildly as he spoke. “Brian Jones created the Stones. They wouldn’t have been anything if it hadn’t been for him. Jaggar and Richards are so overrated. They were total fools to replace him with Ronnie Wood.”

Another kid, this one in an ugly orange hoodie, hissed in disgust. “Seriously? Please tell me you’re kidding. Jones could barely play the harmonica, let alone the guitar. By ‘66, he wasn’t even recording with them anymore. He was banned from touring because of his multiple drug convictions. They had to replace him. They had no choice.”

The lanky one sneered and opened his mouth, but Spencer beat him to it. “Actually, you’re both wrong,” she said. Everyone turned to look at her, and the girl who’d partially obscured her until now shifted so that Spencer was in full view of the group.

“How’s that?” Lanky asked.

“Well, first—” Spencer directed this at the kid in the orange hoodie. “—Jones made several pretty big contributions to the group, even after Richards and Jaggar took over as songwriters.” He crossed his arms and pursed his lips doubtfully, but gestured with a bob of his head that she should continue. “The sitar line in ‘Paint It, Black’ is probably the most well-known, but he also played both dulcimer and harpsichord on ‘Lady Jane.’ Oh, and oboe and sax on ‘Dandelion.’ And he was only banned from touring in the U.S., which didn’t happen until after ‘69.”

“See, man, I told you!” Lanky gave his opponent’s shoulder a backhanded smack and grinned at his new ally.

She gave him an apologetic smile in return. “But he’s right that it was a good decision to get rid of him. Jones’ drug issues were dragging them down, and really, he didn’t want to be part of the group any more than they wanted him. Also, Mick Taylor replaced Jones. Ronnie Wood replaced Taylor.” Both men glowered at her, and she shrugged. “I’m kind of a fan.”

The two music fans slunk away to continue their argument in peace, and the small crowd dispersed.