Page 83 of Caught in a Storm
“Well, if you feel like having a puke, aim that way,” says Lawson. “I only brought this one pair of jeans.”
The restaurant tables are full of people eating brunch. The bar, though, is empty. Lawson chose a corner spot, which means everyone here can see him. It’s the exact opposite of how Margot handles being in public. She hides, angles herself away from crowds, stays as low-key as she can, while Lawson announces himself to the world.
A girl in a Roland Park Country School hoodie approaches with her iPhone. “Can I…” She’s unable to finish her sentence, though, stricken by shyness.
“ ’Course, love,” Lawson says.
A pose, a smile, a blushing teenager with braces, and they’re alone again.
Along with putting Lawson on display for the entire restaurant, their seats have camped them directly across from the big mirror behind the bar, so every time Billy looks up, he’s treated to a side-by-side comparison of himself and the most handsome man he’s ever seen in real life.
Lawson nods at Billy’s eye. “Give us a look.”
Billy removes the baggie, and Lawson hisses. “Is it bad?” Billy asks.
“Seen worse. Hurts, I reckon. Had my share. Colin Farrell caught me good once on set. Was all pretend, but I missed my mark. Boom. Saw me dead nan waving me to the light.”
When Margot and Robyn returned from the farmer’s market earlier, things got weird. Aaron stormed off into the house. Robyn went after him. Caleb gave Billy a pained look, like he was torn, but then he followed after his mom and stepdad. Margot and Nikki Kixx stood on opposite sides of the driveway staring at each other. Finally, Nikki said, “Hey, rock star.” And then, “Your hair looks really great.”
Billy wanted to help Margot—to protect her—but how do you protect someone from something that so dramatically predates you? He felt irrelevant—still woozy, too, from the basketball to the face. Which was when Lawson suggested they take a walk. “Grab a pint, mate? You and me?”
“So, who was the guy with the ponytail?” Billy asks.
“Oy, that cunt?” says Lawson. “Axl Albee. Big muckety-muck at Mar and Nikki’s label. Not a nice fella.”
“You didn’t know he was coming? That they were coming? Him and Nikki?”
Lawson looks surprised at the accusation. “You think that was my doing? No, sir. Woulda been clever, though, yeah? Whole thing’s bloody perfect, you ask me.”
“What?”
“I came here to get Mar back,” he says. “Entice her to leave your quaint little town here. What’s better than getting half her band back together in your bloody driveway?”
Lawson’s bluntness is jarring but informative, like the villain revealing his plan to the audience.
“And as long as we’re talking about who knew what when,” says Lawson, “I take it you didn’t know about Robyn having trouble with the bloke with the hair?”
“No,” says Billy. “His name’s Aaron, by the way. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“That’s perfect, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Pieces are falling right into place. Mar comes with me. We go about our lives, fame and what have you. Aaron exits stage left, takes his hair with him. You move into the big house like a proper adult. Bob’s your uncle. You and Robyn make a go again. Why not? Fit bird, mate, if you don’t mind me saying. You’ve already got an enormous child together. Symmetrical. Ready-made family. Cheers.”
Billy understood most of that. “Did you say ‘Bob’s your uncle’?”
“It’s an expression.” Lawson clears his throat, rolls his shoulders, then begins speaking in a perfect American accent. “Would it be easier if I talked like this?”
“I don’t like that,” says Billy. “That’s creepy.”
“Good, right?” he says, still as an American. “The trick: slower and lower. Tough at first not to sound like you’re trying to be a cowboy. Got it down pat, though. It’s like the Queen’s English, but with all the sophistication and grace stripped away. We can all do it, we British film stars. Our goal is to make American actors obsolete by decade’s end. Well on our way.” Lawson winks at Billy, then orders two cold Budweisers, briefly confusing the bartender.
“Well, you’re wrong,” Billy says.
“ ’Bout what? I said a lot of things there.”
“I don’t want symmetry. I love Margot.” Billy removes the baggie again, pokes at his swollen cheekbone.
