Dexter's Final Cut (Dexter 7)

“What, the what what,” I said, sounding brain-damaged even to me.

“Move it, Dex,” Deborah said. “And close your mouth.”

TWENTY-TWO

HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED THAT EVERY NOW AND THEN IT begins to feel like the entire world is a conspiracy designed to make you look like a total idiot? And if you are a reasonable being with even a nodding acquaintance with logic, you tell yourself this is mere paranoia; you talk yourself out of it and soldier on. But then something happens to make you think it’s not such a far-fetched idea after all.

This was clearly one of those moments. In front of me Debs was smirking. Cody and Astor, moving around me to see into the room, glanced up and smirked, too. And when I turned around to look at Jackie, there on her face was the unkindest smirk of all.

“What, um,” I said, and I was quite proud that I did not actually stutter, “what is going on here?”

“Dexter, you get to work on a movie,” Astor said, with a certain amount of venom, though not as much as she used with Rita lately. “With stars …” She glanced at Jackie, and then at Robert. “And instead you didn’t even tell us, or bring us here, or anything.” She looked at me now, a cold and cranky glare. “You know I’m going to be an actress, and you’re supposed to care about us, and help us learn things and do cool stuff, and you didn’t even tell us.”

“You should have told us,” Cody said softly, and that hurt more than Astor’s contempt.

“Yes, but, school is … and anyhow,” I said, and regrettably, I was stuttering now.

“It’s Saturday,” Cody said.

“You’re acting like a putz,” Astor told me. And before I could wonder where she had learned that word, Deborah pushed the stroller through the door and into the room next to me.

“Rita called and asked me if I could watch the kids,” Debs told me. “Some kind of awful crisis at work involving the euro and real estate prices in Germany. Which you would know if you ever called her.”

“Yes, but …” I said. “I mean, on a Saturday …?”

“You really are a putz,” Debs said, shaking her head.

I glanced at Jackie; she smiled and nodded. “You are,” she said happily.

They all stared at me with mild contempt and amusement; it seemed like even the two babies had learned

the look, and I waited for Lily Anne to call out, “Putz, Dadoo!” Happily for me, she didn’t, and I made a valiant effort to collect the tattered shreds of my dignity.

“Well,” I said, “I’m very happy to see you all.”

I could have continued my embarrassing groveling, but Astor had locked her eyes onto Jackie. “Are you an actress?” she asked, almost shyly, which was a very odd tone coming from Astor.

Jackie looked down at her and raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I am,” she said.

“Are you famous?” Astor said.

Jackie gave her a polite smile. “I guess it’s a matter of opinion,” she said.

Astor stared a moment longer, then frowned, glanced at me, and asked Jackie, “Why are you with Dexter?”

Jackie looked at me for help, but I had nothing. The tip of her tongue poked out between her lips and she took a deep breath. “Dexter is … helping me with … a problem,” she said.

Astor shook her head. “What kind of problem could he help you with?” she said, and the old, snarky tone was back in her voice; she even snickered. “Do you have a blood-spatter problem?”

“No, of course not,” Jackie said.

“That’s all Dexter can do,” Astor said. “Except—” She caught herself just in time, looked at me, and then her jaw dropped open and she whirled back around to Jackie. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You’re having an affair.” She looked back at me. “Dexter is having sex with a famous actress! That is so cool!”

Jackie actually blushed, and my sister, Deborah, helpful as ever, let out an amused snort.

“What? No!” I said. “Astor, that’s ridiculous.”

“Well, then, what?” she demanded. “Why are you hanging out with her?”