In the Heat of the Light

by Stephen Kearse

  Sol quietly belched, shaking her head again. The tennis talk and the Jack were bringing up memories of Jerry. “Tennis Titan,” she’d used to call him. He actually wasn’t particularly good at the sport. As Sol improved her game, she realized that Jerry’s only skill was his reaction time. He didn’t control space like a veteran player. He simply defended it well, chasing the ball to every crevice and cranny of the court like a determined puppy. His pursuit of the ball was so dogged that he seemed to forget the possibility of injury. Matches with him used to last forever because even if he was obviously outmatched, he’d trap his opponent in a purgatory of deuce, refusing to relinquish a game until his opponent collapsed from fatigue or frustration.

  His specialty was the high-flying return lob. No matter how impossible the odds were of him reciprocating a well-placed shot, he’d accelerate toward it at inhuman speed, committing life, limb, and racket to a cloud-chafing return that would make the ball linger in the air like an escaped balloon, then casually glide back toward the court like a Tony Parker teardrop. His opponent would then smash it when it finally touched down and repeat the cycle. Their coach used to call it the float-a-dope method, much to Jerry’s goofy satisfaction.

  “I just can’t, guys. I’ll go and watch you,” Sol offered, slipping on some worn flats.

  “That works!” Kai said, leaping from the couch and heading toward the door. Her head suggestively turned from the open liquor cabinet to Sol, but she didn’t say anything. Sol didn’t either.

  Zed followed behind Kai, twirling her car keys. Sol stayed behind to take a quick swig. Her empty stomach erupted into a ruckus as the whiskey slithered down her throat, but she felt calm. Derrick could wait.

  ° ° °

  Zed drove cautiously, the FBI press conference from earlier still haunting her. It was midafternoon, but traffic was light. Maybe Riverdale was more spooked than she realized. All Things Considered, her favorite NPR show, took on a new meaning as she noticed the traffic cameras at every stop along Highway 85. She’d never been pulled over before, but the ambient gaze of the law suddenly seemed to be confronting her head-on, vis-à-vis.

  Her anxiety brought back memories of the day in fourth grade when she realized that her classmates knew she was Asian. She thought she had camouflaged herself well, hiding in plain sight among the Mexicans and Puerto Ricans, but when she took out some khmer num krok at lunch, the eyes that fell on her were observational, not incidental. They were still friendly eyes, but she could sense the re-sorting, the recategorization. Nothing was the same. Within days, the boys were suddenly eager to discuss anime and video games, and the girls wanted to talk about K-pop and skincare.

  Zed had survived and eventually thrived in this odd environment, but not without effort. In order to thwart the egg roll jokes and the dumb questions about the geometric orientation of her vagina, she’d had to learn how to see herself as she was seen. It wasn’t too hard, especially since most people weren’t particularly committed to how they initially saw her, but Zed had always wanted to reverse the situation, to wield that power of seeing rather than just redirecting it in her favor. Last night, Apollo had briefly wielded it. She’d have to ask him about it, maybe experience it herself.

  Highway 279 slowly eased into sight. Zed hit a right and continued toward Kenwood Park, their destination. She hated that she had to go all the way to another county for a decent park, but Kai refused to play at Flat Shoals, and Sol was banned from Independence Park for life.

  The park was active. The sun had reached its merciful phase, its rays suddenly inviting after a day-long barrage of heat. Zed, Sol, and Kai filed out of the MINI armed with rackets, water bottles, and tennis balls. Noticing that the tennis courts were momentarily empty, Zed gestured for Sol and Kai to pick up the pace. Unwanted whistles and stares grazed them as they passed the fenced basketball court. “This is for you, Charlie’s Angels!” a shirtless white guy shouted at them, launching a three-point shot. It air-balled spectacularly, slinking toward the ground like a Raid-rinsed wasp. The other players laughed, but their stares intensified as the girls’ backsides came into view. Zed could feel their eyes on her ass. Sol rolled her shoulders back and hurled her arms skyward, extending her middle fingers.

  “Fuck Fayette County,” Zed huffed, walking onto the tennis court.

  “Word. It’s just Clayton County with golf carts,” Kai seconded. “And nice tennis courts.”

  ° ° °

  The tennis court was thoroughly baked. Sol slumped to the hot ground, convinced her ass would catch on fire. Her mind started to swelter as well. What had Derrick been doing? Sol concentrated on Kai and Zed’s forms, hoping they could keep her from feeling violent.

  Kai’s strokes were works of art, kinetic compositions. The fabric of reality seemed to dissolve and reform when she hit the ball, redirecting Zed’s wild shots with an impossible calmness. Sol remembered Zed as a staunch fundamentalist. Her frantic shots were a new development. Even if the ball’s trajectory was obvious, she would decide how to hit it at the last second. It was an odd style, but Sol could see its utility. Kai was returning the shots every time, but each return was less strategic and more reactive. Sol couldn’t believe these were just warm-up shots. She’d missed so much while she was away.

  “First to eight games, win by two, switch every odd game,” Zed announced.

  “Yep,” Kai agreed, throwing her racket into the air. “W.”

  The racket clattered onto the ground, the “W” of the Wilson emblem facing down. She’d lost the toss. “Your serve,” Zed decided. Solemnly, they lined up on opposite ends of the court, tapping their rackets on the ground in tandem, their ritual.

  “Love, love!” Kai roared, tossing the ball into the air and pummeling it toward the earth. It landed directly in front of Zed, who sidestepped it and responded with a quick backhand.

  Sol’s neck stiffened as she watched the ball continually whizz over the net, propelled by grunts and devastating swings. Zed and Kai were only on the first point, but they were playing as if the point decided the match.

  “Hey, Angel,” someone whispered to Sol. She turned around, fists clenched. The white guy from the basketball court smiled back at her through the fence, his eyes scanning her body, the sweat on his unformed muscles gleaming in the dim sunlight. Sol stood, meeting his gaze. He was shorter than she was.

  “You girls from around here?” he stammered, feigning coolness. His eyes plunged to his feet like anchors in air as Sol silently stared him down, her arms crossed.

  He spoke rapidly, his words dropping from his mouth like loose change from an overturned purse. “I’m throwing a party tonight. It will be pretty casual. Lots of guys. Only ten bucks.”

  Sol remained silent, her gaze unbroken. “Lots of girls too…” he added.

  The silence continued. “We’re not paying to get into a rando house party,” Sol finally said.

  “Okay, you can get in free. Can I text you the address?”

  “No, just tell it to me. Give me your number too.”

  Sol was irritated by how quickly he obliged. She hadn’t shown him the slightest interest, but she could see the gears turning in his head, the fantasies unfolding.

  “Is your name Charlie?” she asked.

  “Yeah, what’s your name?”

  Leering, she walked backward, away from the fence, swaying her hips and beckoning him onto the court. He sprinted to the entrance then stepped onto the court, slowing to a confident waltz, an erection gleefully pushing through his sweaty gym shorts. Sol stood in place as he approached her, her hips protruding unnaturally, like a damaged action figure. Charlie’s swaggy promenading strut continued, his boner leading him forward like a divining rod. Sol held steady, awaiting his arrival.

  One punch sufficed. Before Sol could even unclench her fist, Charlie crashed onto the asphalt, his body expanding in all directions like spilled rice on a kitchen
floor. “My name’s not Angel,” she scoffed.

  With equal scorn, he looked up at her and sneered. “I bet you’ll still be at my party.”

  “No contest,” Kai suddenly announced, shrugging and holding up her broken tennis racket. Sol grimaced. The splintered wires reminded her of Jerry’s braces.

  “Are you sure they’ll be here?” Theo asked Apollo, pulling into the long driveway of an extravagant Fayette County house and turning left at a fork.

  “They should be,” Apollo answered. “Tim said they were headed to a party, and this is the only party happening in this area. Even the barber knew about it,” he continued, stroking his smooth head. Theo groaned as he heard Apollo reach toward the dash, turning off the air conditioning. “Why don’t you ever ride with the windows down? Even when it’s hot, real air is always better,” Apollo said.

  Keeping his eyes on the driveway, Theo flicked the air conditioning back on, ignoring Apollo’s obviously stupid question. “My car, my rules.”

  “Word. Oh, I meant to tell you, I saw like four people get parts in their head while I was there.”

  “So? Parts have been back. They’re like Lil Wayne.”

  “Wayne been washed his whole life. I mention it because the parts were all Js. Apparently Insta is really fucking with what we did.”

  Theo cringed. Although the hacking plan was supposed to be a final “fuck you” to Six Flags, who’d fired him right before the summer started, he was overwhelmed by the reach of his vengeance. Homes had burned down, dogs had died, power lines had been incinerated, and massive pine trees littered the area surrounding the park. The entirety of Stone Mountain was without power and water. He’d tried following the memes for comfort, but between the jokes emerged images of scorched squirrels, fields of dead birds, cars flayed into metal husks. It was strange to party under such grim conditions, to be responsible for so many crises. He felt fortunate not to have heard any audio from the event.

  Theo caught up with Apollo, who was already out of the car and just a few feet from the front door. The house looked like an art project. Each floor of its three stories featured a different material: limestone for the first floor, brick for the second floor, and stucco for the third. The different strata of the house were coated in the same warm pink, but the hybrid composition was still apparent. Theo was reminded of his dad’s tendency to consciously dress casually when they visited their family in the hood, but to still drive his Mercedes instead of Theo’s Civic. Humility always had a threshold.

  “Man, what kind of weak party ends before sunset?” Apollo asked, pointing at the empty driveway. “There’s not even any lights on.”

  “Maybe we missed it?” Theo speculated, ringing the doorbell. A middle-aged white woman in pajamas emerged, visibly irate.

  “Jesus Christ, you kids can’t even fully comprehend a goddamn text message, and those were made for your short-ass attention spans. I wrote the text my damn self, and y’all are still waking me up. Were the directions not clear? The party is in the cluuuuubhoooooouse out back. Park in the paaaaaarking lahhhht. Do you know what a parking lot is? It’s not my fucking driveway. Jesus, Lord of Nazareth, you kids.” She closed the door.

  Theo and Apollo walked back to the car, the moon lighting their path. “Damn, their house has a parking lot,” Apollo stuttered.

  “Dude, their house has another house,” Theo answered. Theo started the car and drove back toward the fork, turning around and going right instead of left. Giant manicured pine trees lined the road leading to the clubhouse, indifferently penetrating the sky.

  Theo parked in the filled lot, still in awe of the estate, his jaw limp. The clubhouse was smaller than the main house, but much less humble. Two artificial waterfalls flanked the front door, cascading into shallow pools that were dug into the porch. Even more miraculously, there was no splashing.

  ° ° °

  The house lacked blinds and curtains, so Theo and Apollo had a clear glimpse of the ambient mirth just beyond the door. Postured bodies filled the rooms, their movements bizarrely intentional. This was a pro-flex zone. Surprisingly, no sounds were escaping the party.

  Apollo rang the doorbell then stuffed his hands back into his shorts. No one answered. Apollo twisted the doorknob. It was locked. All of this damn open-access opulence and they still managed to lock the door. Apollo didn’t feel it was an accident.

  “Looks like we finally found a door even the great Apollo can’t open,” Theo teased, bending forward, arching his back, and erratically moving his fingers, mocking Apollo’s typical posture when he typed.

  Apollo coughed out a weak laugh then pulled out his phone to call Kai. She didn’t answer, but she texted him immediately. “At a party. Zed is still mad at you. Don’t call her.” Reluctantly, he tried Sol. She probably doesn’t even have my number, he thought.

  “Speak.”

  “You know who this is?”

  “No, I’m just disrespectful to everyone I talk to.”

  “You know, it’s not really sarcasm if it’s true.”

  “What do you want, Apollo? I’m not a fucking operator. If you want to talk to Zed, call her.”

  “But she won’t answer.”

  The line clicked off. Apollo turned to Theo and shrugged. Theo pounded on the door, his last resort. Moments later, the door swung open, inundating the porch with music and light. A beefy white guy stepped into the doorway, his body so thick that both the light and sound seemed to diminish in his presence.

  “Twenty dollars,” he announced, crossing his arms.

  Apollo sighed, fishing in his pocket for some loose cash. Finding nothing but the fabric of his jeans, he turned to Theo, who nodded with assurance. Theo removed a wad of bills and paid the beefy pseudo-bouncer, who then stepped aside and beckoned them in, closing the door behind them. The party seemed to continue undisturbed, but Apollo knew they’d made an entrance.

  He surveyed the large living room. Zed, Sol, and Kai were nowhere to be found. They were probably outside, avoiding the raucous folk music that boomed from hidden speakers. Reluctant to receive any further unwanted attention, he directed Theo to a corner of a stolid dining room, where a few partygoers were huddled over a computer.

  Apollo could tell by their conversation that they were the DJs. And he could tell by the fact that there were three of them that they were self-appointed.

  “I don’t care about how crazy his concerts are. Action Bronson is not party music,” a tall redheaded girl insisted. She had thighs like a cheerleader and hair like a country singer. “If you contaminate this queue with another hookless rap song, I’ll tell Charlie to make a move on your sister. You know he’ll do it.”

  Her target, a slovenly white guy with a budding beard, stood up and left the room, relinquishing his DJ duties. The redhead began her assault on her other companion, a small Latina with shining, oily skin. She wasn’t as pliant.

  “This is a party, not a prison experiment. Just play what people like,” the small girl said.

  “Fuck people. People and their likes are why the radio sucks.”

  “Your car doesn’t even have a radio.”

  “Yeah, because it sucks. Only idiots listen to the radio.”

  “Fuck you, Alice,” the Latina sighed loudly, grabbing her beer and leaving the room. A new song began playing immediately.

  Apollo and Theo glanced at each other, smirks erupting across their face as they both saw a unique opportunity emerging right before their eyes. “Q and Bond?” they asked each other in unison. Theo approached the DJ table as Apollo slinked behind it.

  “Can I help you?” Alice asked Apollo.

  “Yeah, my phone died. I just need to send an email to my friend who was supposed to meet me here,” Apollo answered.

  “Make it quick,” Alice said, stepping aside.

  “Is this Brandi Carlile?” Theo chimed in on cue.
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  Alice’s green eyes immediately flared with interest. “Yes, it is. You listen to her?”

  “I used to,” Theo purred.

  Alice frowned at him, curious yet skeptical. All Theo needed was her curiosity. Continuing to talk her up, he led her away from the DJ table, his eyes secretly meeting Apollo’s whenever she took a hearty swig from her beer. By the time Apollo had performed his black magic, Alice was already soliciting bodily contact, her frequent laughs now entailing light taps on Theo’s chest or shoulders. Apollo quickly spirited Theo away. This wasn’t a night for full Bond.

  “I could really see myself with her,” Theo confessed with regret as they walked into a large kitchen with slick marble floors and a prairie’s worth of counter space.

  “You’ve just got scarlet fever, dude,” Apollo said.

  “You’d know about fevers, wouldn’t you?” Theo joked, picking up a pair of chopsticks from the counter and crudely tapping an Asian riff on the counter. “Scarlet fever, jungle fever, yellow fever. Nothing wrong with getting a little hot. It’s been a weird day.”

  Apollo didn’t answer, refusing to take the crudely packaged bait. Theo always got a little cocky when they pulled a Q and Bond. Kai would put him back in his place.

  ° ° °

  Zed sat up in her poolside chair and scanned the backyard, her eyes sweeping over swaying bodies and immaculately cut grass. Every time Apollo and Theo hijacked a party, T.I.’s “Be Easy” was the first song on their makeshift playlist. Apollo didn’t even like the song, but he liked the humor of telling the victims of his petty piracy to be cool about it. Zed found the gesture to be even more obnoxious than usual.

  Zed tracked Kai to a circle of skaters standing thirty feet away, circulating a quickly evaporating joint. She looked happy. Zed found Sol on a luxurious inflated chair, lying on her back as she drifted around the pool, her glossy weave shimmering in the moonlight. Both Kai and Sol were thoroughly occupied. Good, Zed thought, rising from her chair and heading toward the house. Despite feeling full of purpose, she still managed to walk aimlessly, the party’s ambient idleness seeping in. She knew Apollo and Theo would be in the kitchen, which was accessible from the pool, but she took a roundabout route, wandering through the labyrinthine house. All of the doors were locked. Confined to the home’s endless hallways, Zed began to wonder if there were more passages than rooms, more arteries than chambers.