“Yeah.”
Tank took another drink.
“My mother called me twice when Jamal drove out. The first call was to tell me it was going to be on my head. The second call, two days later, was to say she had been wrong and wanted me to bring him to Christmas. He is not ready for any of that, so we are doing Christmas in L.A. He may not be ready next year either. I watched what that did to him, how alone he felt. I wasn’t going to let it happen to my other brother.”
Piper was still on his back, looking at the ceiling. Tank drank as Piper sat up and grabbed his beer and lifted the bottle. “To Jamal.” They clinked bottles. Tank leaned over and embraced Piper.
“I got you.”
“I love you, dude,” Piper replied.
“Love you too, brother.” Tank wiped away a tear.
“Why the fuck are you crying, Edgar?” Piper laughed.
“Fuck off, Piper.”
“Well I guess you can’t escape the fucking gays now, can you?” Piper laughed, punching Tank in his arm.
Chapter Forty-Three: Los Angeles
Vivienne called at eleven on Wednesday morning.
“What do you want from Erewhon?”
“Chicken Salad,” Piper replied.
“What the fuck, did Bethenny Frankel review it, is that why you want it?”
“Just get me the fucking chicken salad, please.”
“Good. At least you are eating. I’m running late. The traffic on La Cienega is a real fucking situation. Be there in forty minutes.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
She hung up. Tank was in the living room watching ESPN on mute. The house was the quietest it had been for days, it was the quiet underneath the sound of three generators at the curb and multiple camera vans still outside.
Piper walked to the living room.
“Tank.”
Tank looked up.
“Vivienne’s coming over.”
“When?”
“She said forty minutes,” Piper replied.
Tank looked at him.
“She will be here in an hour and a half, then,” Tank said with side eye, turning the television off, and setting the remote on the coffee table. “Stay in the kitchen. Do not open the door to anyone. I need to go take a shower.”
He went upstairs.
***
