by D. A. Bale
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
Grady’s chocolate depths made my knees go all noodley again. The back of his hand brushed against a perky protrusion when he brought the plastic bag between us. I shivered from the cool night air, though Dallas nights rarely dropped below eighty-five degrees in summer. Tonight must be one of the rarelys – or at least that was my story.
“See ya tomorrow night,” Grady’s husky voice called as he sauntered away to his sleek black Dodge Ram.
After I tore my eyes away from the boss, the plastic trash bag slid right over the driver’s seat of my Vette almost as if tailor made. Grady always took special care of me. No, not in that way, no matter how much the image of the plastic sheath sliding over my seat reminded me of a condom. I was determined to keep business separate from pleasure.
“Where were you last Saturday night?”
The question was tinged with an Aussie accent. My entire body jerked so hard my head smacked against the doorframe of my car and shattered the naughty images of me and the boss floating around my mind. Nick’s perfectly mussed hair topped off his perfectly chiseled face set upon a perfectly pumped-up body. The perfectly hung silk shirt opened a little too perfectly for my present sanity.
“What the hell, Nick?” I asked as I stood up. “You tryin’ to scare me half to death or just crack my skull open?”
The fragrance saturating his chest wafted my way on the breeze and touched me all the way down there. Cologne he likely got from one of his modeling gigs. Earthy. Expensive. Erotic.
“I missed you Saturday,” Nick said as he brushed hair from my face and pressed in closer.
I could feel how much he’d missed me. That and the accent curled my toes so tight I thought my boots would come flying off. He massaged the base of my skull where a knot formed. I swallowed the one forming in my throat and reminded myself of my vow. Didn’t the Bible say something about resisting the devil and he’d flee? How many guys did a girl have to chase away in one night before temptation fled?
“Yeah?” My voice trembled. “I-uh took the night off. Where were you earlier this week?”
“Busy.”
Velvety little kisses trailed across my forehead where Grady’s lips had rested moments before.
“You taste like old beer,” Nick said, his tongue flicking in and out all the way down to my jaw.
“Things got a little out of hand during wet t-shirt night.”
“Mmm. Did you win?”
“I technically wasn’t a participant.”
Smooth and tanned pectorals beckoned. Can you say reach out and touch someone? I can. And did.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Nick asked, sucking in a sharp breath as my fingertips feathered his six pack.
I thought girls were supposed to be the needy ones? Questions dissipated as Nick dipped to my ear and nuzzled the lobe between his teeth. Gooseflesh raced across the surface of my skin. My spine turned to pudding.
“Um, Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“Maybe you should slow down there. This is a public parking lot.”
A button popped and skittered somewhere along the pavement as my wandering hands edged deeper into his shirt. Warm lips suckled my neck where my pulse throbbed until plunging to graze between my twin peaks. A moan escaped from one of us as he pressed against me so hard I slid up and onto the hood of the Vette until I was practically lying on top of it. So much for resisting temptation.
Headlights and blinding spotlights atop the roll bar cut through the dimmed parking lot and brought Nick’s face up to mine. I pushed him away and shimmied down when Grady pulled his truck alongside, rolled down the window, and leaned out. The crooked tilt of his mustache told me he’d enjoyed our little show.
“You alright there, Vic?”
I straightened and adjusted myself, tucking a sticky strand of hair behind my ear. Any chance of getting my shorts out of my butt without surgery was a lost cause now. “I’m fine. All’s good. You can go home now.”
Grady offered a two-fingered salute before rolling up his window. The creeping crawl of his truck said he wasn’t leaving until I was safe in my car. The reprieve from temptation and self-condemning acts was handed to me on a silver platter from above – or from a black Dodge driven by my boss. I patted Nick’s arm, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“Maybe next time, mate.”
All I got in return was a husky sigh.
I hopped in my car, revved the engine of my little black Corvette then laid down a few skid marks, leaving Nick behind in my dust. Reprieve indeed. It’d take a lot more to untangle the numerous men from my life. Why’d everything have to be so complicated?
When I rounded the corner from my apartment building to a chorus of police sirens and a blaze of blue and red strobe lights, I realized my life wasn’t so complicated after all.
Chapter Six
If you would’ve told me on Sunday I’d be attending church twice in one week, I’d have laughed and patted your cheek like Grandma used to do when I said something to amuse her. The only reason I’d gone Sunday was to see what had become of Bobby in his decade-long absence since, as a pastor, it was doubtful he’d ever set foot in my present circle. Therefore I’d had to step up to his.
But a funeral is no laughing matter.
Janine’s a crier and goes through more tissues during a romance movie than we stuffed in our training bras throughout fourth grade. Me? My blouse became her secondary snot rag while I sat in stunned silence as Pastor Dennis’ eulogy droned on like a steadily ticking metronome, swiping sweat and tears in tandem. Not sure how he rattled through it all – considering.
I’d looked forward to reacquainting myself with Bobby and establishing a friendship with Amy. She’d seemed so open to becoming friends and had accepted me right where I was, unlike the rest of the holier-than-thou crowd. But for someone who for all intents and purposes appeared so content with life, why’d she commit suicide? And why do it by throwing herself off a building? Next burning question – what was she doing on my rooftop?
How could I have been so wrong about her? The death of a spouse was bad enough, but snuffing out the life of their unborn son angered me. Not just one life lost, but two. Amy’s actions were the epitome of selfishness.
I’m not sure how Bobby got through the emotional and high-strung service. If it’d been me in his shoes, you’d have had to load me up on Valium and a good dose of liquor to even get me to venture beyond the house.
Yes, I know drugs and alcohol don’t mix. I’m simply trying to make a point here. Work with me, folks.
When the church service ended with a final choked amen, like a trail of worker ants we all dutifully followed one another out of the sanctuary and behind the hearse to the gravesite. The line of cars had gawkers entertained for miles and impatient drivers cursing the interruption to their Saturday shopping excursions. As torn up as my best friend was, I’d have never thought Janine had it in her to buck the family and ride with me. I couldn’t even make out half of what she wailed between sobs and snorts, but I nodded and offered an occasional mmm-hmm until we parked.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not a cold-hearted bitch. Long ago I’d learned that public displays of emotion rarely served any other purpose than to give your enemy a peek at your weaknesses. Provide ammunition for their next attack. It’s a lesson I’d learned the hard way. But once I was alone again at the apartment, all bets were off.
Since Pastor Dennis was tight with my dad – or at least with his checkbook – our family was afforded graveside seating with the Vernets. Mom sat in the middle, keeping me separated from the other half of my chromosomal donor. It was here I got more than a glimpse of Bobby’s red-rimmed eyes and the shell-shocked slack of his jaw. Dark circles spoke volumes of how little sleep – if any – he’d had over the last couple of days. A dull ache clenched my heart in its fist as we stared at not just one coffin but two, the sm
all honorary blue one for the tiny life snuffed out too soon.
That seemed almost cruel. Whose decision was it to have this second coffin? Whoever it was, they may as well have just burrowed the knife deeper into Bobby’s heart right there in front of everyone.
A furtive glance at the familiar faces around us struck me with curiosity. What about Amy’s family? It was her funeral after all. Where were those who claimed DNA with the deceased? The woman who had carried Amy for nine months? The man who’d offered up a stray chromosome? Grandparents? Siblings?
Strange. At lunch the other day, I’d never asked Amy about her side of the family, and she’d never volunteered any information. There was only the brief exchange about being from Brownsville. Was I really that self-absorbed to have failed to pry into someone else’s genealogical history?
Apparently so.
***
The post-funeral meal was held at the Vernet family estate, a mansion dedicated to spreading their version of the gospel, which in Dennis and Mary Jo’s book was centered on money and how to gain more of it. Personally, I thought the mansion built for two reflected more fleecing of the flock than anything remotely resembling the Man they publicly attempted to emulate.
Security at the gate to enter the Vernet domain was tighter than that at Fort Knox. People were turned away left and right in a constant stream. If it wasn’t for the fact that I drove right behind my parents and carried the last name of Bohanan, I doubt I’d have been allowed through. ‘Course it didn’t hurt that a De’Laruse sat in the passenger’s seat of my Corvette.
Even with a caterer, Mary Jo buzzed from ginormous over-decorated room to ginormous overstuffed room, playing the perfect hostess and ensuring all had their fill from the massive spread. Staying in motion also kept her from holding still long enough to allow food to touch her lips. The woman was as stick thin as her husband was round.
Rumor had it Mary Jo enjoyed a nip and tuck on occasion to stave off encroaching middle-aged sag, though we all know by now that I’m not one to listen to the rumor mill. The painted smile, however, was a permanent fixture and bespoke work more along the lines of the Botox variety. Or maybe silicone. Made her look less like a real woman and more like the Joker – you know, from Batman. The grin appeared odd and definitely out of place, considering the somber events surrounding her son.
Bobby held up the Italian marble mantelpiece in the formal living room all afternoon where he received an endless parade of condolences. From the blank stare and robot-like movement of shaking hands, I rather think the mantelpiece held him up.
No matter how much I wanted to wrap my arms around and comfort one of my oldest friends, I kept my distance. Not for my sake, mind you. I’d long ago stopped caring what the sanctified saints thought of me. But I did care about what it might do to Bobby’s reputation and how it would affect his position at the church to be seen in the arms of this unholy-hell-raiser once again. It might spur memories in others better left to my gray matter. His life didn’t need any further complications. And in his present state, I doubt if he’d even remember who was and wasn’t at his wife’s funeral.
The fact that I even felt the need to keep my distance churned up more stomach acid than my internal debate over choice of tables had at the bistro Thursday afternoon. ‘Course the stares and fake smiles of the crowd as they walked by and whispered behind my back didn’t help either. They were like vultures waiting to swoop down on fresh road kill. As far as I was concerned they could all starve to death before I’d give them that satisfaction.
Mary Jo brought Bobby yet another full plate of food, which he held in front of himself as if establishing a perimeter to avoid those pressing in around him. Eventually he gave up and set it untouched behind him on the hearth. One of the four Vernet Corgi’s had picked up on his actions early on, staying close for the next available plate. The feet of those sausage rolls wouldn’t touch the ground by the end of the day if the meals kept coming.
“Hello, daughter.”
Speaking of dogs… “Hey, Frankie. How’s life?” Finally – someone I could take out the day’s frustrations on.
Grandma always had a thing for Frankie Avalon in her younger years. The affection was so strong, she named her son after the famous crooner. Too bad my dad didn’t have the head of hair left to match. Pictures from his younger days at least showed me where I’d gotten the dark hair. These days he looked more like Daddy Warbucks. Or Lex Luther – with the attitude to match. Most people now called him by the more respectable Frank, though my use of the childhood namesake was less from affection and more for barb launching. The riling never got old. At least not for me.
The sperm donor’s face remained placid, but the infinitesimal narrowing of the eyelids told me I’d hit the intended mark. The pinched thinning of Mom’s lips gave me a moment’s pause.
Just a moment though.
“Your mother and I are leaving,” Frank said, “as I have some important work-related calls to return.”
Work my ass. Work on one Lisa Padget, no doubt. The man couldn’t even take one day away from rooting around for business. Or rooting around in someone’s business.
“Enjoy your work then,” I scoffed.
“Don’t you think it’s time you left as well?” Frank returned.
“I’ve got my own car.”
All that got me was the look, one signifying displeasure at whatever transgression I’d committed this time – real or imaginary. Growing up I’d been subjected to it so many times I’d lost count, and its effectiveness had diminished. Now days I could simply ignore it. I was no longer a slave to his whims. Making my own way in the world brought freedom.
“Don’t worry, Frankie,” I continued, lowering my voice so the nearby predators couldn’t hear. “I’ve no plans to embarrass you. Even if I wanted to, your leaving would deny you the pleasure to appreciate the full effect.”
My mother leaned in and pecked me on the cheek before whispering in my ear. “Play nice.”
Frank shook his head. “Must you always try to cause a scene?”
“Hey, don’t I get credit for trying not to?”
A kiss in return for my mom accompanied by a Cheshire grin for the sperm donor, then my mom steered them toward the exit. The moment they stepped from the house, I breathed a sigh of relief. Being in the same building – the same city sometimes – as my father brought on tension thicker than an Angus beef steak.
The vultures soon tired of waiting for a public spectacle involving me and Bobby in close proximity and thinned from the premises. I was sorry to see Janine go, but she was marched out the door with the rest of the De’Laruse clan soon after my parents. I considered offering her another ride, but at this point I figured she was in enough trouble for riding with me earlier. Plus with so many leaving at once, Bobby needed my presence more than Janine needed rescuing.
When the majority of the herd had made their way to the foyer, Bobby sagged to a blue chintz sofa. The time was as good as any, so I took a chance, sat down beside him and offered a hug. I felt rather than heard the collective gasp from stragglers. Let them think what they wanted at this point. I was beyond caring anymore.
“Thanks for coming, Vic.” Bobby’s voice quivered. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”
My throat constricted to hear him call me by the pet name. Only a handful of close friends had ever called me that. Bobby was the first. The first of so many things. All I squeaked out in response was, “I’m so sorry, Bobby.”
The avalanche shifted. Then it melted all at once. After holding back all day, Bobby finally broke down in my arms. I didn’t care about tears and snot on my silk blouse – Janine had already gotten to it. I didn’t care about the stares and pictures snapped and uploaded to social media or the tongue wagging that ensued. All I cared about was comforting my devastated friend.
“You wanna get away from this for a spell?” I asked.
Bobby just nodded.
We stood and I grabbed the keys from my clutch. Then we walked through the crowd that parted before us like the Red Sea and strode out the front door. The unlocking beep of the Vette echoed loudly in the stunned silence as we got in my car and drove away before the rest of the Vernet family could raise any objection.
The gossiping gaggle could kiss my lily-white ass.
***
Years ago when Bobby and I would get together to talk – yes, we did that too – we always made sure to finish off the six-pack and get a good buzz going before he’d drop me near the family gates to sneak into the house. About the only buzz I’d get tonight would be when the need to pee hit. I always could hold my liquor better than my soda pop.
The wind slaked through the pasture grass, carrying with it the faint scent of manure, while cows lowed in the distance. My little car didn’t handle washboard dirt roads very well, but the need to get away from crowds trumped the need to protect my prized possession. Friends held more value than stuff – at least for me.
After finishing off a second can and crunching it in his hands, Bobby broke the silence. “I owe you a long overdue apology.”
“For what?” I asked before taking a swig of cola.
“For what happened eleven years ago.”
I stifled the memories of that F-150. So not the time. So inappropriate in this situation, especially because that’s what the remaining company of believers back at the Vernet mansion probably thought when we’d left together.
“Wasn’t like I was an unwilling participant or anything,” I admitted.
Bobby took a deep breath. “But then I went away to college, leaving you to face the wrath alone.”
“I survived.”
“I was a coward who ran off with my tail between my legs.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a tail exactly.”
His head jerked my direction so fast, I thought Bobby would end up with whiplash. It felt like the whole countryside sucked in a collective gasp and held it until laughter burst from his lips. It was good to hear the deep and rumbling guffaw. Lord knows there’d been little to be jovial about the last few days.
“Did you know,” I continued, “that my father even contemplated bringing statutory rape charges against you?”
