Free Gold Fame Citrus by Claire Vaye Watkins Page B

table, almost thankful to Lonnie for forcing the question. Did what they’d done have language in Ray’s mind? And what were the words?
    Ray’s Muir eyes were dry when he told Lonnie, “We found her.”
    Lonnie leaned back and smiled. “I know how that is. We found a Red Cross flatbed. We found a few dozen guns.”
    “It wasn’t like that,” Luz said, by which she meant, We’re not like you .
    “No, I’m into it. Upend everything. Snatch all the Montessori canyon babies from their cribs. I just wish we’d thought of it.”
    Rita muttered that all the Montessori canyon babies were gone.
    “Truth,” said Lonnie. “Where then?”
    They did not answer.
    “Don’t say it.”
    Ray rubbed his mouth.
    “Jesus,” said Rita.
    “Fuck me, Ray,” said Lonnie. “Some serious cats down there. Some serious cats even I wouldn’t want for enemies.”
    “I know,” said Ray, which was puzzling because he had never said as much to Luz, so either the genuine dangers of raindance had just occurred to him or—and this was the truth, she knew—he had been thinking it all along, those serious cats had been with him those sleepless nights in the canyon and he’d kept them to himself. Here comes Luz, don’t make any sudden movements. She was not a serious cat.
    Ray said, “We came here for a favor.”
    Lonnie leaned back on the sofa and stretched both his arms to rest atop it. “Naturally. Only reason anyone comes here anymore.”
    Ray took a breath. Luz saw how brutally he wished he were not about to say the thing he was about to say. “We’re leaving. Going on the list.”
    Rita scoffed. Ig body-slammed her tortoise self on the glass coffee table, shuddering some stones from the fountain and setting them spinning on the glass. Luz retrieved Ig, fetched her nini from the birkin and used it to coax the child into lying in her lap.
    Lonnie was still, then neatly took the dislodged Zen rocks into his hand. He looked stunned—even saddened, Luz saw, which was so unexpected and baffling that she kept watching him until she was sure that was the expression. Then she realized: he must have thoughtthey were coming back. That they had come now to ask his permission to rejoin the complex. Of course. He’d donned his best Krishna curtains in preparation for their groveling. He was a small, needy creature who looked now as though he might utter a disgusting phrase, something along the lines of I believed in you . (Almost as unforgivable as the bald admiration he’d whispered before he’d had her, those months ago: Oh, Luz, in another life! ) Luz rubbed Ig’s back and prayed he wouldn’t make a scene, though she would not have called it prayer.
    Lonnie sniffed once and dropped the stones back into the bowl, eyeing Ig as though she were a strange dog come upon them. Luz saw Ig then as Lonnie must have: stunted and off, lopsided head, eyes lolling of their own accord. She had the hot urge to scream that there was nothing wrong with Ig. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
    Finally, mercifully, Lonnie said just, “California, the failed experiment.”
    Ray tiptoed over his old friend’s withered pride and said, “We have to, Lonnie.”
    “Clearly.”
    “We need a birth certificate,” said Luz. “And an ID for Ray.”
    Lonnie raised his eyebrows at Ray. “So she knows? Good for you, brother.”
    Ray nodded. “Can you help us?”
    Lonnie flattened a seam of his curtain robe. “Can’t do it. No one can. Can’t be done anymore.”
    Ray said, “We can pay you.” They’d brought the hatbox.
    “Don’t insult me. There’s nothing I can do.”
    “Come on,” said Luz.
    “A clean ID, a birth certificate —it’s too much. Six months ago, maybe. But now . . . Everything’s contracting, everyone’s drying up. Even if I could, man, do you know what they do to us in those places? It’s not a vacation, Ray. First thing they’ll do is give you each anumber, next thing is split you up, paperwork or no. Men one way, women another.