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I look up at Donnie and he's glaring at me like I should've known better.
"Donnie, pay a visit to anyone who didn't donate last night." My dad's tone implies anyone who doesn't comply will face the consequences.
"Dad, no. I worked hard on creating relationships with those people." He kicks me in the shin, twice. It stings and I pull my legs in. I need to keep my mouth shut.
"Donnie, pay a friendly visit and get the damn donations."
Donnie nods and I know it's almost over.
"Send that Foster pipsqueak a message too. Mess with my daughter, mess with me."
"No," I cry to the floor and quietly protest.
"Got it, Dad." Donnie grins. He likes it when Dad trusts him with his errands.
God, what a sick sick situation I'm in. I wish I could go back to the wine cellar with Foster.
But I know the truth. My dad will scare Foster away just like he has anyone who has come close to me who doesn't meet his criteria. Rich, Italian, and connected.
Chapter 7 Malibu Elvis
Foster
Pulling into Henry's drive is like coming home. No flamingos. No storm debris. A place for my bike. A simple door I have the key to open.
When I walk in, Henry's sunning on the balcony. His old board shorts hang loose on his hips and he has to tie the drawstring tight to keep them up. He always says he wants to die the way he lived, with a golden suntan. He puts down the book he's reading and looks up at me.
"Foster? Where the hell have you been?"
I'm late for my Sunday morning check in. "I'm sorry. Got stuck in the storm. Had to take cover in a wine cellar." I set my helmet by the door and head to the john. "I need to take a piss. Be right back."
In the bathroom, I peel off my jeans and the long-sleeved shirt I wore to try and look acceptable to her stupid friends. I change into an extra pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the supply I keep at Henry's. When I come back out, he's engrossed in reading his autobiography.
I walk out onto the balcony and squint in the sun. Taking a seat next to him I ask, "That book still a bestseller?"
He takes off his reading glasses and grins. "Of course. Everyone wants to solve the mystery of Malibu Elvis and his Sherry." His hand rubs the picture of his wife and him on the back cover. His copy is wearing thin, he rubs that picture so much.
"So tell me about the party. Was she there?" He places the book on the small table next to his chair.
"Yeah." It seems like a long time ago I shared my plans with Henry. I'd told him I was going to the party to look for Donnie, but he knew I was hoping to see her.
"Still didn't recognize you?"
"Nope. No clue."
"Damn." He purses his lips and shakes his head.
"It's all right. I'd rather she didn't remember the night her brother pushed me in the pool."
He leans toward me, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and leveling his old blue eyes on me. "She look beautiful?"
I slouch into the chair and throw my head back toward the sun. "Fucking gorgeous."
"What was she wearing?"
I turn my head to the side and open one eye. "Frilly white sundress over a red bikini with big gold rings on the straps."
He nods. "Hair up or down?"
