Archives:
June 10-June 16, 2007

June 10, 2007

The Crystal Castle is about as girly of a store as you would expect from the name.

The store's founder, owner and namesake is Crystal Robinson, one in the long line of wealthy Robinsons in upstate New York . The place peddles all sorts of trinkets, and some jewelry. The only time when I've heard of a lot of people coming to the place is around Christmas time, when they sell a lot of ornaments. Personally, I've never set foot in the store until today.

I can't help feeling a little emasculated setting foot in the place, with its pink walls, and crystal unicorns in spinning glass displays. I maneuver through the store carefully to be sure I don't break anything. Getting past the first few displays, I can spy the register in back, where Valerie sits, elbow on the counter, head in her hand, flipping through a magazine.

“Hey Valerie,” I start, weaving my way around a little table, covered with snow globes.

“ Preston ,” she says, perking up when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”

“Eh, it had been a while since I bought a snow globe,” I say, picking one up and tossing it up and down in my hand. On the second toss, I catch sight of the price tag and see that it's a two hundred dollar decoration. Carefully, I set it back down.

“Really?” she asks, one of the corners of her lips turning up in a smile.

“Well, that and I heard a rumor you worked here.”

“Yep,” she stretches her arms across the counter. Beneath her is the jewelry display, all silver and gold. “This is my mind-numbing place of summer employment.”

“You don't like working here?”

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, it's not hard. But there's just nothing to do. My folks are friends with the owners, though, so it was an easy job to walk into.”

I shrug. “Seems like it might be more fun than working in a law office.”

“Maybe,” she says, with that half smile again. There's something about that expression that really makes me want to see her full smile, teeth and all.

“So,” I go on, looking down. “I wanted to follow up with you about that whole ice cream thing we were talking about.”

“Yeah, ice cream sounds fun.”

“Well good,” I say, and become conscious that I might be smiling a little too widely. “So would you be free, say, Tuesday night?”

“Tuesday night sounds perfect,” she says. “And I know a great new place. It's called The Pink Flamingo.”

“Yeah, I think I've seen that,” I say. I recall having driven past it on the way back into town from Taylor , and recognizing how ridiculous the place looked. “I was meaning to check it out.”

“You'll love it,” she says. “So Tuesday night, I'll see you there?”

June 11, 2007

“Hey Dave, what's happening?” I ask, surprised to see his name show up on my caller ID.

Matt picks up the remote and lowers the TV volume, never taking his eyes from the screen, where Die Hard 2 is playing out for us.

“ Preston , how are you doing?” Dave asks. There's a lot of noise from the background on his end.

“I'm doing well. How about you?”

“Things are beautiful. I'm with the band here, and we've got some dates set up. We're really going to tour a little bit at the end of the month.”

“That's awesome. Where are you headed?”

“Hold up, hold up,” Dave says to someone else, before turning his attention back to me. “That's actually why I called you, man. We're going to be playing one show in Shermantown at the end of the month.”

“Good deal. Where are you coming?”

“Some place called The Palace.”

“No shit. That's the place where we go.”

“Well perfect then,” Dave says with a laugh, pausing for a second, whispering to someone, “Na hold on for a minute.” He comes back to me again. “Hey buddy, I gotta go. But June 29—save the date, and start spreading the word to your friends.”

“You've got it. I'll talk to you soon, man.”

“Later, Presto.”

June 12, 2007

It's starting to get dark out, with just a thin line of pink left in the sky, fading into purple and blue, on their way to black.

I pull into the parking lot at the Pink Flamingo just past 8:30 . Stepping out of the car, I see the same neon flamingo that first caught my eye days ago, standing tall over me, licking a vanilla ice cream cone.

Valerie's already here, and she's not alone. She smiles and waves as I approach the group, while Adam looks less enthralled, and just kind of nods at me.

There's a blond girl with them, wearing glasses and a slightly out of place tan cardigan. “This is Allie,” Valerie introduces her.

I reach out my hand. She looks at it, a bit skeptical, before accepting it for a handshake.

A minute later, we have ice cream cones in hand, and come to picnic table. There are bird droppings all over one bench, and a lot of dirt on the other, so we sit on the table itself, resting our feet in the dirt. I sit next to Valerie, close enough so our arms touch for a second, before I pull away. Adam sits on the other side of her, Allie on the other side of me.

“So Allie, are you in school?” I ask, figuring it's as good of a starting point as any with this girl I've never seen or heard of before.

“Yeah, Shermantown Community,” she says, playing with a loose thread from her sweater with one hand, while she holds her cone in the other.

“Allie and I survived high school together,” Valerie chimes in. “She's an amazing photographer, and she's studying it now in school.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask dumbly.

“Yeah,” Allie replies.

We sit in silence for a little while, licking at our cones. Adam chomps down on his, taking bites out of the ice cream while it begins to drips down on his hand. He curses it. Valerie tries to help him clean his mess with a napkin, but he shoos her away.

“So isn't the ice cream here great?” Valerie asks no one in particular.

“Yeah, it's really good,” I half-lie. It's not bad, but it's nothing special either.

As we finish our ice cream, Adam lights up a cigarette. I watch him, and as he flicks ashes away, I follow them down with my eyes. It's only then that I notice the little ant hill under the bench. After a few more flicks, it's apparent that he's aiming for them.

I want to talk to Valerie more—to ask something insightful that's going to give me more insight into what more she might know about the her mother's death. It's hard to think of anything subtle though—and not just subtle enough not to rouse Valerie's suspicions, but subtle enough to sneak past Adam's overly protective ears. I have to get past Allie, too, I suppose, but she's hardly said a word anyway.

I can't think of anything. All I can notice is Valerie sticking her index finger between her lips, sucking off the ice cream that dripped onto it.

I think of what my father said about building a relationship with her—making her more comfortable, so she's apt say more, reveal more. I suppose I made some progress tonight, just by being here.

Adam casts his cigarette off, still flaming, into the anthill. A minute later, we're up and headed for our cars.

June 13, 2007

“This Adam guy—you said that he's a dick, right?” Matt asks, flipping through the discount rack at the back of The Gap.

“Yeah.”

“So if you want to get close to the girl, why don't you play that up? Make sure she knows he's a dick, and push him away from the inside.”

“And how do you suggest I do that when I can't get her alone?” I ask picking out a blue and white Hawaiian shirt and holding it up for him.

He shakes his head, continuing to search for some new ‘summer clothes' to bring to camp with him. “What about when she's working? You have her alone then, right?”

“Assuming there's no customers.”

“And the Crystal Castle was really bumping the last time you went there?”

“Point taken.” I follow Matt as he heads toward another rack. “But then, the whole thing about Adam—it reminds me of something my father was saying. He was talking about how he likes to run a trial, and he doesn't like to incriminate other people. He just wants to prove the innocence of the person he's defending.”

“Connect the dots for me, Preston ,” Matt says, pulling out a red t-shirt with a graphic print on it.

“I'm saying that I don't want to make Adam look bad.”

“You want to make yourself look good?” Matt asks, looking from me, back down to the shirt, then putting the shirt back on the rack. “Dude, what are we talking about here—getting information for the case, or getting a new girlfriend?”

I look away, then back at him. “I'm just saying that I don't want to mess with her life. I want to find out what she knows for my dad, and then leave her be.”

June 14, 2007

“ Preston !”

“Hey Dave,” I say over the phone, as I set foot outside the office. “I saw I missed a call from you before. What's going on?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you a little more about the end of the month, when the band's coming to your town.”

“Yeah, I've been saving the date. I'm looking forward to it.” I say unlocking my car and opening the door. I leave door open, letting some of the hot air leak out for a minute.

“Cool, cool,” Dave says. “Now, the thing I wanted to talk to you about is that the band needs a place to stay when we're playing your town. And our big goal is to save as much money as possible, so we can start recording some tracks in the fall, and maybe put a bigger tour together.”

“Right.”

“So what I'm asking you is if it would be all right for all of us to crash at your place the night of the show.”

I sit down in the car and turn it on so I can crank the air conditioner. Just sitting here for a second, I can feel the humidity on my skin. “Well, who's all of us?”

“Just me, the band, Tony, a couple of the girls—”

“Look, I'm sorry man, but I don't think my dad would go for that.” I'm fairly certain my dad wouldn't be too enthusiastic about having them all crash, and honestly, neither am I. I can just picture them passing a bong around my living room, breaking stuff, maybe stealing things. I hate to be judgmental, but the group of them doesn't really impress me—at least not as people.

“Could you run it by him?”

“The thing is, I'd be more than happy to let you stay. Maybe you and a friend. But you know how those guys are. I can't really see them staying at my father's house.”

“All right.” He sounds a little disappointed but kind of perks up, or at least pretends to, as he goes on, “Well, that's cool, I understand. We'll still see you at the show right?”

“Definitely. And seriously, if just you need a place to stay or something, I do want you to let me know.”

I know he's not going to take me up on it, and I feel kind of ratty about putting that kind of limitation on things.

“Yeah, thanks Presto, I'll keep it in mind,” he says. “Anyway, I gotta run. I'll talk to you soon bro.”

“Later Dave,” I say closing my car door. It's a little less sweltering in the car now, and I get going toward home.

June 15, 2007

“So you're looking for jurors who are impartial,” I say.

“Well, if I had my way, I'd find people who were downright biased toward Darryl,” Dad says, as he lays a row of hot dogs across the grill. “But you're right that that's probably the best we can hope for. The prosecution will want people who are out to get him—women who were victims of domestic abuse, people who believe folks are guilty before a trial starts, people who hate dentists. In the end, we'll meet in the middle, and should have an impartial group.”

“But, how do you know people aren't lying? How do you know that you're not interviewing someone who secretly hates dentists, but wants to be on the jury, so he acts like he doesn't?”

Dad nods. “It's hard to know a person in that short of time, but legally, folks are obligated to tell the truth, so you have to put your faith in that.” He pokes at one hot dog with a spatula, nudging it closer to the center of the grill. “Just like you put your faith in the court system—that, at the end of the day, justice is going to be served.”

“But is justice really served when some people have better lawyers than others? If some people can afford better lawyers, or have friends who really care about them looking after them in court?”

Dad smiles. “It's not a perfect system.” He nudges the dogs over. “We just do the best we can within it.”

June 16, 2007

“Why do you own goggles?” I ask, dangling them from their strap, over my index finger.

“Hate swimming without them,” Chang says, folding up a pair of jeans in his room. “If you're in a pool, you get chlorine all stinging your eyes and everything. Or if it's a lake or something, who knows what the hell you'll swim into.”

“All right, so I guess the goggles are going to camp with you.” It's weird helping Chang pack to head off to work at camp with Brad for the summer. I can remember less than a year ago, helping him get ready to leave for college for the first time. I felt like a good friend, and a good brother, giving him my advice, and helping reduce the load of stuff he was bringing with him. It's kind of sad how little we hung out at college this past semester, and how little I've seen him this summer.

I was glad when he asked me to stop over today.

“So let me ask you something,” Chang says. “You ever get to where you're talking to someone on the phone a lot, but you really don't have anything to say?”

“”Well, usually when I don't have a lot to talk to someone about, I opt not to talk to them a lot.”

“Well right,” he says, scratching his chin. “But say it was, like, your girlfriend or something, and you were long distance for a little while.”

I nod. “Yeah, I've definitely been there.”

“So it's normal?”

“That's been my experience.”

“And it doesn't mean something's wrong with the relationship?”

I think back to the first time I really experienced that, when I was with Veronica, and how that turned out. I figure there's nothing constructive that will come out of bringing that up. “I wouldn't sweat it. I think it's what happens when you're with someone for long enough.”

“That's what I figured,” Chang says with a nod. He stuffs the jeans down into a duffel bag, already overflowing with clothes. He forces them in, before zipping the bag shut. “I was just checking.”