“Do your parents know you’re out drinking?”
She snorted a laugh. “My parents are so clueless they should be in the FBI. It takes more than a depressed and humiliated daughter to keep them from their important lives.” She patted the seat beside her. “Now get over here and drink with me.”
“You will not drink in my house—you’re underage!”
She chugged the remainder of the bottle and tossed it toward an imaginary garbage can, shattering glass across the kitchen floor. “Maybe you should save that lecture for your wife.”
“Did you drive here? I can’t even begin to tell you how dangerous that is, or how a DUI could affect your admission to BC.”
“What can I say, I’m just a crunk. No wonder my boyfriend ran off with his teacher. Can you blame him?”
“I don’t have time for this—I gotta get to Lilly.”
Becks hit her palm to her forehead. “You must be kidding! Are you planning on joining them on their honeymoon?”
She sat glued to the chair, sipping on another beer, and not giving any sign that she was going to be moving any time soon.
“So you haven’t told me why you are really here,” he said.
She stood and stumbled toward him. She wrapped her arms around his neck like they were slow dancing. “There is nothing better than revenge sex.”
It took Darren a moment to figure out she was talking about him. “I’m married,” he replied in an embarrassed high-pitch. He lightly pushed her away and she almost fell over.
Becks fumbled through her purse until she found her cell phone. She pretended to take a call. “The gander just called and said if it’s good with the goose then she’s cool with it.”
She reached in her purse again and pulled out her wallet, removing her driver’s license. “And for your information, I turned eighteen last month—so I’m no longer jailbait. So let’s go hook your line, sailor!”
She tried to hand him the license, but he rebuffed her. “I’m calling your parents.”
Becks shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Tell them I’m going to a party and if I had a curfew I’d be breaking it.”
Darren took out the phone directory, but found twenty-four Ryans listed in Chandler alone. Becks wasn’t about to offer a hint. He grew frustrated and snapped, “How can you go to a party on a school night?”
She laughed like he just told the funniest joke ever. “Were you born this boring, or is there something in the water out here in Suburbia? Now please point me in the direction of the changing room so I can get ready for the party.”
“The only place you’re going is home, and I’m driving you.”
“Ooh, I’m scared—please have mercy on me, Mr. Truant Officer.”
“Let’s go.”
“Fine, then I’ll change right here,” she announced. Before Darren could stop her, she had begun a striptease that included slurred singing and tipsy dancing. She lifted her shirt over her head, exposing a lacy bra and tight abs. Darren looked away.
He grabbed her by the arm, still looking away, and directed her into the master bedroom. “You can change in here,” he stated tersely.
“I thought you’d see it my way,” she replied with a beer-buzzed grin and hopped on his bed.
Darren shut the door. “Just hurry it up, I don’t have all night.”
“You’re missing out,” she shouted.
Darren had no intention of letting her go to any party. He grabbed her keys off the table. He would drive her home and explain to her parents why their teenage daughter was drinking at his house while his wife was away. On second thought, he would just drop her at the door and drive off. He would then head to Sky Harbor and catch the next flight to Las Vegas to deal with the nuclear fallout of his marriage.
A minute turned into ten. He was just about to check on her—fearing she might have passed out from the alcohol—when a loud crash sent him into action. Darren dashed into the room to find Becks sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by fallen boxes.
“What are you doing?” he asked angrily, viewing the items the nosy teenager had taken down from their perch on the shelf.
Sporting a wide grin, she held up his dust-covered high school yearbook. “You weren’t born boring—I knew it!”
The picture she held up was of Darren McLaughlin the all-state wide receiver they nicknamed Run DMC after the popular rap group, which coincided with the initials of his name. And run is what he did really well on the field. But he no longer recognized that person.
“And how rock star were you? Look at your long hair!” Becks gushed, turning to a picture of Darren’s band, The Flying Aces, performing at the homecoming dance. He and a couple of friends started the band in his garage, hoping to be the next Aerosmith to come out of Boston.
Becks began sifting through a box of ancient pictures. She held up a photo of Lilly and Darren kissing at a sidewalk café.
Looking at the picture seemed to slightly sober her. “It’s your honeymoon, isn’t it?”
He nodded, his heart bouncing in his throat.
“I know honeymoons aren’t the best subject right now, but where is this? It’s beautiful.”
“The French Riviera.”
“Impressive—not a bad deal for a poor girl from a Mexican ghetto.”
Darren was offended by the insinuation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All I’m saying is that your wife seems to have a trend of trading up. From daughter of illegal-alien drug-dealer to marrying a pilot and having her first honeymoon on the French Riviera, and now upgrading to the heir to the Buckley software company? What’s next, Lilly Rockefeller-Gates?”
Darren angrily pulled her to her feet, refusing to dignify that with an answer. “Let’s go,” he commanded.
“But I haven’t even changed yet.”
“You had your chance.”
She smiled at him. “Cheer up, Run DMC. We’re going to a party.”
Chapter 46
The party was at the Questa Vida Golf Course. Darren had played there a couple of times with Treadwell, or as Mark Twain noted, spoiled a few good walks. When he asked Becks what kind of party it was, she shrugged and replied, “Typical high school.”
If there was any lesson learned today, it was that adults and high school parties don’t mix. But on the ride over, Darren saw it as a chance to put together the puzzle of what happened. People like LaPoint and Mara Garcia thought they knew what went down, but these kids had firsthand knowledge. Going to this party was like infiltrating the enemy on an intelligence-gathering mission.
The party centered around a beer keg that was planted in a sandy bunker on the eighteenth hole. The night was lit by a full moon that reflected off the dewy emerald lawns. Teenagers huddled in circular groups, sucking beer from plastic cups, their voices bouncing off the desert night.
Becks explained that a classmate of hers, Kevin Chambers, was the son of the club pro, which unofficially allowed them after-hours access. Darren studied the attendees and recognized a few of them from Lilly’s tutoring sessions. He got stares, but was convinced they were related to his age. He had changed into an Air Force Academy sweatshirt and jeans. He also wore a faded Red Sox cap that he pulled down as far as possible.
“They think you’re the bacon,” Becks informed him, noticing the stares. Because he didn’t speak teenager, she translated—‘bacon’ meant police.
Their attention was diverted by a screech. All heads turned to witness two speeding golf carts crash into the bunker and roll over, just missing the precious keg.
“Total morons,” Becks said with a sad shake of her head. She explained that it was the Meyer brothers, who would always play “drunken crash up derby” with the golf carts, despite having ended up in the emergency room on several occasions.
“What kind of parents let their kids go to a beer bash on a school night? Darren asked. He couldn’t get past it.
“Pretty much everyone here has been accepted to college. That�
��s all parents around here care about, so they can brag to the neighbors and return to their Oxycontin. Any excuse to get rid of the kids is a good excuse.”
Becks led him into the bunker. Darren didn’t think drinking alcohol with minors seemed like a good idea, but wanted to make it look good to help him fit in, or at least not be seen as the bacon.
A surfer-looking kid wearing a Steve Nash basketball jersey was manning the keg like a bartender. Becks gave Darren the impression of being the high school outcast, but she seemed to have a bond with the surfer guy, whom she greeted with a complicated handshake. “Good seein’ ya here, Becks. Totally whack what Brett did to you. You’re way better than that beggar.”
“Thanks, dude,” Becks replied, as he filled her cup with beer, expertly removing all foam.
“You’re looking butter tonight. If you’re looking to rebound like Rodman, I’m your man.”
“You know I’m always a sucker for an old-school NBA reference, but I already got me a new guy,” she said and introduced Darren as Run DMC.
The surfer looked at him with a spacey grin, “I like your look, dude—you got that creepy molester thing going on.” Darren didn’t know how to take that, but the tone was complimentary, so he just nodded his head and accepted his cup of beer.
As they ventured into the fairway, their path was cut off by a pack of scowling teenage girls wearing revealing outfits. Becks didn’t look particularly happy to see them, referring to them as her frenemies.
“Where’s Brett?” the first girl asked. Her friend than added, “Oh yeah, he married Mrs. McLaughlin.” The first girl laughed and followed up with, “An F in the bedroom equals an A in the classroom.”
Becks faked a laugh back in their direction. “You look great, Kristi—glad to see the bulimia is really working out for ya.”
Without warning, one girl began sizing-up Darren. An uncomfortable feeling came over him and he inched backward. He recognized her. She was the cheerleader-type that Becks got into the shouting match with at her locker earlier in the day. Her gawk continued to bore a hole in him, but it wasn’t because she recognized him as the husband of the aforementioned Mrs. McLaughlin.
Cheerleader turned to her friend and said, “Looks like Becks found a daddy of her own for a little payback.”
“Maybe she like joined the Cougar Hunt,” the other girl added. “Only in reverse.”
“She has a long way to go to catch Brett. I hear Mrs. McLaughlin was a ten pointer.”
They both looked at Darren. “What do you think this one’s worth?”
Cheerleader snickered. “Maybe like negative-two points.”
The girls mocked him with another laugh. Then after volleying a few more insults back-and-forth with Becks, they headed off to join the rest of the pack.
When the coast was clear, Darren asked Becks, “Cougar Hunt?”
“Cougar is a term for attractive older women who seek younger men.”
“I know that, what does it have to do with Lilly?”
“My bad—didn’t think you were up on anything that occurred after 1988. Basically, the immature guys at school have bets going on who can hook up with the most cougars. And they use a point system based on hotness level, as determined by the village idiots themselves. You should be proud, your wife is a ten-pointer,” Becks explained in her heaviest sarcasm. “And they get double points for a cougar cub.”
“Cougar cub?”
“If they get her pregnant.”
What was wrong with these kids? He thought of his wife being part of some sick game. The taste of vomit filled his mouth. “This stuff really goes on?”
“Welcome to sex-ed, Millennium Generation style,” Becks said with a shrug.
It seemed that English wasn’t the only class Lilly taught. And with that realization, Darren puked his guts out.
Chapter 47
With an assist from Becks, Darren steadied himself. The spinning slowed, and he regained his bearings.
The good news, according to Becks, was that many of the partygoers witnessed him unload his Cholla Burger onto the fairway, and they no longer believed he was the police. Sadly, it was the best news Darren had heard in the last twenty-four hours.
Becks moved toward a group of boys who were huddled on the green, and Darren followed.
She gave him the lowdown on the group as they approached. The Meyer brothers were there, still quarreling with each other over their crash. Kevin Chambers was the preppy leader with a sense of entitlement as big as the Grand Canyon. He was headed to Arizona State next year on a golf scholarship, hyped to be the next Mickelson.
Chris Westmoreland was the quarterback of the football team and was strangely proud that his mother had been the highest rated “prize” before Lilly joined the “hunt.” He greeted Becks with, “Too bad Brett couldn’t make it, I hear he’s on a hunting trip in Vegas.”
Inebriated laughs filled the air, and one of the Meyer brothers added, “Ten pointer, bro,” and imitated shooting a basketball.
Becks was not one to back down. “If Meyer knocked-up your mother, what would you two be, like, jackasses once removed?”
“My mom is divorced, her business is her business,” Westmoreland responded to the laughs.
Becks wouldn’t let up, “So Westmoreland, how many points did you get for playing hide the jockstrap with Coach Jenks? He’s quite a lollipop—I’m especially attracted to his stylish ear-hair.”
“How do you think he got the starting position,” Kevin Chambers chimed in with an arrogant laugh.
Westmoreland shrugged, “Hey, I’d be bitter too if my boyfriend climbed up Mount McLaughlin and planted his flag. I’ve got to give it up to Brett on that one.”
Becks looked ready to fight him. “Spare me the details of your man-crush. How long was it going on?”
“You’re just pissed that your teacher beat you out for prom queen.”
“I’m serious.”
“About a month ago I got a call from Chambers, informing me that Brett asked him to open up the course. He needed a place to do some hunting. So we met up here, and Brett was already waiting for us. We waited for like an hour and then a SUV pulls into the parking lot. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t that hottie English teacher, dressed totally stripper. When I see her, it blows my mind.”
“That’s not hard top do,” Becks sniped.
Westmoreland ignored her. “At first she’s totally pissed that me and Kevin are there, especially since we have her for class. She started yelling at Brett—thought I could trust you and shit like that, said you wouldn’t tell anyone. She stormed off. Brett followed and they got into this intense conversation for like fifteen minutes. But then they came back. We opened the equipment shed just off the sixteenth, and let nature take its course.”
Chambers eagerly jumped into the conversation, “There’s a window in the back where if you climb up on the garbage dumpster, you can see into shed.” He smiled coyly. “And of course, we did this to make sure the points were gained within the rules of the game.”
“Of course,” Westmoreland seconded with a big grin.
Darren’s anger intensified as he viewed this evil circle of laughter before him. He wondered how many points someone would get to mutilate these punks and use them to fertilize the golf course, but he felt Becks subtly hold him back. If Becks had become the voice of reason, then they might be in real trouble.
At the same time, Kevin Chambers began staring at Darren. Before that, it was like he wasn’t even there. When Chambers whispered to the Meyer brothers and they exchanged knowing laughter, Darren knew he was busted.
Westmoreland was not in on their discovery, and continued. “Brett said they had been flirting for a while and that Mrs. McLaughlin’s husband was a total tool who couldn’t satisfy her.” As the laughing intensified, Westmoreland flashed a stupefied look. “What?”
They looked at Darren and laughed.
“He’s the husband, isn’t he?”
Their laughter turned hysterical.
Darren was about to explode, but Becks stepped in. “You’re an asshole, Westmoreland,” she shouted as she dragged Darren from the group. She turned to Darren and said, “The problem with high school is that it’s so high school.”
If her aim was to comfort him, she failed. And strangely, Darren’s resolve to get to Lilly grew even stronger after what he’d heard. The sordid tale actually alleviated his biggest fear—that his wife and Brett Buckley were in love—she was just a physical object to him. A ten-pointer. He needed to get to her and let her know that she was part of some twisted game and the rest he was willing to work through. He would believe even the lamest of excuses—that she was drugged, that the students threatened her if she didn’t go through with it, or that she was depressed from their failure to conceive and sought the arms of another, with Darren gone all the time—he didn’t care, as long as they could be together again.
“I’m going to drop you off, and then I need to get to Lilly,” he said.
Becks said nothing this time, but instead put her hands on his chest like she was some sort of healer. She pulled them away and acted like they were covered with a sticky substance.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Seeing how much sap you actually have. Those guys might be embellishing, but they aren’t smart enough to keep a story straight. They weren’t making it up.”
“Thanks for your backseat mothering,” he turned it around on her, “but last I checked, marriage is for better or worse. When you become an adult, then maybe you’ll understand that type of commitment.”
She put her hands together and dramatically acted like she couldn’t get them apart. “So much sap!”
He ignored her theatrics and walked briskly to the car. But like a flash of lightning, she snuck behind him and grabbed the keys away. “I might be a little buzzed, but you are legally insane, so I’m the lesser of the evils to drive.”
Before he could even argue, she was behind the wheel and had started the car. He wasn’t planning on being stranded at a high school beer-bash and hopped in the passenger side. As they moved down Riggs Road, Darren became overwhelmed by what he just witnessed. “I can’t believe those kids are involved in something as sick as that.”
The Truant Officer v5 Page 16
