Thistle said, “Oh, no.” She kicked the dash. “Go, go, go, go.”
And then Doc was elbowed out of the way and people had surrounded the car, hammering on the windows and holding up cameras and shouting questions. There seemed to be only one word: spoken, called, shouted, over and over again by the crowd: “Thistle, Thistle, Thistle,” and every now and then, “Over here, Thistle. Take off the glasses, Thistle. Over here, Thistle.” A blond woman wearing makeup the color of a tequila sunrise slammed a fist on Thistle’s window and said repeatedly, as though it were the modern equivalent of open sesame, “Entertainment World News, Entertainment World News.”
Thistle put both hands over her face, grabbed a breath, and started to scream, a sound high enough and sharp enough to slice a hole in the roof of the car.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t give them what they want.” I reached over and put a hand on her arm gently, as flash cameras went off like fireworks. She was shaking violently. I pinched her to get her attention. “You can ruin their day,” I said. “Screw up their pictures. Don’t let them affect you.”
She shook her head, fast, “You don’t know what you’re-”
“They want to see you fuck up. That’s why they’re here. Don’t fuck up. You just behave better than they do. It’s easy. They’ll hate it.”
She went still. “How?”
“Outclass them. Class bewilders the hell out of them.”
“Outclass-”
“You have more class when you’re asleep than these people will have on their wedding day.”
“I have-”
“These people are liver flukes. They’re tapeworms. They have no talent whatsoever. They come at the smell of blood and drink some and then they go back to the studio and spit it up on camera. Are you telling me you can’t outclass this bunch?”
She pulled away the hand over the side of her face closest to me and looked at me, one-eyed. “Take care of me?” she asked.
“I will.”
“Promise? Absolutely promise?” Her teeth were clenched. “If you break it you’ll die?”
“Promise. Now take your hands away from your face and sit back. Relax your face. Don’t look at them. Don’t take off your sunglasses. Don’t even look like you’re listening to me. Don’t give them anything to photograph. They don’t exist. Do you hear me?”
“They’re not here,” she said, putting her hands in her lap again, like a little girl about to receive communion.
“We’re out in the middle of the desert. You don’t see anybody, you don’t hear anybody.”
“You’re sure you haven’t got any pills.”
“Completely sure.” I looked up and saw Eduardo and three of Trey’s black-suited threateners shoving their way toward us, literally picking people up, moving them, and putting them down elsewhere. They were almost to the car. I signaled them over to the driver’s side.
“Slide over here,” I said to Thistle. “These guys are going to bull their way through this, with us behind. You get out with me and stay right next to me. Tight, okay? I’m going to have my arm around you all the way. Don’t look down, like you’re hiding your face. Don’t look at them. Don’t say anything, don’t react, no matter what they say. Just walk with me, head up, face front, with the shades on. Got it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure I can-”
“You can. We can. Come on, I’m a cave man. I can get you through this bunch of city softies. Look at them. They wouldn’t even know how to go to the bathroom outdoors. They’d wipe themselves on poison oak. They’re afraid of bugs. We’ll cut through them like butter.”
“Like b-butter,” she said, stammering slightly. Her lower lip was trembling, and I saw that the hands in her lap were knotted.
“Good. Come on, get over here.”
She slid across the seat, lifting her legs for the console, until she was sitting thigh to thigh with me. The woman with the orange face was fighting her way around the front of the car, her eyes fierce and her teeth bared, as big and white as Chiclets. She was following her cameraman, who was swinging his expensive camera to clear a path.
Eduardo was at the door. He looked at me, eyebrows raised. I held up one finger.
“This is it,” I said to Thistle. “You and me, okay?”
“Okay.” She grabbed a breath and gave me something that was trying to be a smile. “Okay.”
“Here we go.” I nodded at Eduardo and opened the door. The crowd surged forward, but Eduardo and the other three guys formed a semicircle and pushed everyone back so I could get the door all the way open. There was an explosion of noise and a barrage of flashes. Thistle and I slid off the seat and into a standing position beside the car, and Eduardo’s crew started forcing their way through the throng with us practically hanging onto their belts. I had an arm around Thistle’s shoulder, and she was clutching my shirt with both hands.
“Over here, Thistle!”
“Thistle, give me a smile.”
“What about the drugs, Thistle?”
“Is it true you’re broke?”
“Thistle, look, I’ve got some dope.”
“Over here. God damn you, look over here.”
“Thistle-what about your mom? You talking to your mom yet?”
And then there was a blast of light to my right, and I saw the sun gun on top of the Entertainment World News camera, and the orange-faced woman pushed her way in with a concerned expression, glanced at the cameraman to make sure she was in the shot, leaned forward, and said, “Thistle. How do you feel about doing porno?”
Thistle shuddered against me and said, “Aaaahhhhh,” more a breath out than a word, and for a moment I thought she’d go limp. The woman worked her way closer and began to ask her question again, and I reached over Thistle, palm open, put my hand on the woman’s face, and shoved. She went straight back and then down, her cameraman backing up to follow her trajectory to the pavement. I said, “No comment.” There was another burst of flashbulbs, mostly aimed at the reporter on the asphalt, and we plowed on through the crowd. At some point, Doc fought his way over to us. “How’s she doing?” he asked me.
“Ask her.”
“Thistle. How are you?”
“Like a knife through butter.” She was pale, and her face shone with sweat, but her voice was steady. “But when we get inside,” she said, “you’re going to give me something.”
We made it through the gate, which slid closed behind us to shut out the horde, and Eduardo and the thugs led us to a door. One of them opened it and we went in, into a dark space, and then lights snapped on and something bright flew toward our faces, and Thistle screamed again and grabbed me. Then the bright mass broke apart into thousands of flower petals that fell around us, covering the floor at our feet.
23
“Ms. Annunziato wants you,” Eduardo said.
“That’s very flattering, but not now.” I’d hustled Thistle into a makeup chair and grabbed her a cup of water. Tatiana and the makeup people had been huddled around the chair, waiting to soothe Thistle, but Doc had shooed them all out and now stood with his back to us, a needle inserted into an ampule.
Pale in the lights surrounding the makeup mirrors, Thistle watched his movements, her mouth slightly open. She’d been shaking, but the sight of Doc at work seemed to calm her.
“Now,” Eduardo said.
“Go away. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Young man,” Doc said over his shoulder. “As this young woman’s physician, my medical opinion is that you should beat it. And Ms. Annunziato pays me big bucks for my expertise. Scram. Mosey along. There’s the door.”
“She’s not going to like this,” Eduardo said, but he turned to the door.
“It’s good for her,” I said. “It builds character.” Eduardo closed the door somewhat loudly behind him.