I checked Steve to see if he noticed my interest. But he was laughing at a kid who had crawled up the Skee-Ball ramp and was trying to throw his fries in the holes.
I cleared my throat, but the girls didn’t notice.
I leaned in a little closer, almost able to catch a glimpse of one of them. She did have freckles and brown hair. But I still couldn’t tell. I was bending a little closer when a kid walking absently with his iPad ran into me. I stumbled into the freckled girl.
“Hey! What’s your problem?” Finally, getting a good look at them, I knew they weren’t the girls from the site. Instead, they were about thirteen and very creeped out by me.
“Sorry, I, uh, tripped.”
“You tripped standing?” one of them asked, her hands propped on her hips.
“Damn, Cam. If this is your move, we need to talk,” Steve giggled. “Haven’t you heard of Me Too? You can’t just rub up on random chicks.”
I blushed and backpedaled. “I was not—I would never—I’ve read Simone de Beauvoir.”
That didn’t help. They clearly had no idea who the twentieth-century French intellectual was and how she related to them. Instead, the girls all stared at me like I had just exposed myself. “Gross.” The muttonchopped employee behind the counter handed them their clubs and they flounced away.
We stepped up to the hairy cashier who had just overheard the whole thing. Certain he also thought I was some creepy girl-rubber, I explained, “That was not a move.”
He rolled his eyes and said, “No shit.”
Steve watched me fumble, exasperated. “We know, Cam. Everyone knows. Your reputation is intact.” He patted me on the back. “Anyway, your move is more like an elaborate long-running scheme that allows you to hang out with other people’s girlfriends, right?” He then addressed Mr. Muttonchop. “Two thrilling games of mini golf, please.”
Blue and green dome lights made a path to the first hole. I scoped out the course for the girls. It was more sprawling than I’d remembered from when I was eight. There was a family putting at the Old West hole, a gaggle of girls whacking balls at the princess castle, and a teenage couple making out by the crocodile pond. But StevesGirls were nowhere in sight.
“That’s a lot of walking,” Steve said, and stopped. As we took in the course, I realized that there were a lot of stairs and ramps. Steve seemed to wilt a bit at the thought. Somehow, I kept forgetting he had cancer. “Sorry, I didn’t even think about the chemo. You always seemed so indestructible, you know.”
“And you always seemed so destructible.” He smirked.
For a moment we stared at each other. Part of me was waiting to see if he wanted to go home. I might have been a little relieved. Standing here together at the mini golf course, my rage toward him had diminished a little.
“Is it too much?” I offered him a way out.
Considering it, he looked back at the arcade where we had come from. Then he exhaled. “Cam, eighty-year-old dudes with heart failure play real golf. I think I can manage.” He then headed down a series of steps to the first hole.
“Think I can beat cancer?” Steve asked.
“I . . . uh . . .” Did I miss something? I thought it was highly curable. . . .
“I mean the hole,” he clarified. And I realized he was talking about the smiling animatronic crab whose orange claws were swiping slowly back and forth, blocking the path to the hole.
“Oh, right,” I said, and laughed, relieved.
“So serious,” he said, and tapped his ball toward the crab. It scooted between the pendulating claws, under its belly, and right into the hole. “Eagle!” he cheered.
Of course he’d get a hole in one.
I put my ball down; it dribbled out of the tiny groove in the Astroturf and I had to replace it. Then I tapped it but not hard enough, and it rolled back to me.
“One,” Steve counted.
I stopped the ball’s return and put it back on the groove. I tapped it again. It rolled back.
“Two.”
With increasing annoyance, I put it back on the groove. Tapped it harder. The crab smacked it back.
“Three.”
“I know!”
Groove. Tap. Roll back.
“Four.”
“I can count.”
Grove. Tap. Roll back.
“Does your ball need training wheels?”
“Shut up.”
Groove. Tap. Smack. Roll back.
“Should I get a chair?”
Groove. Hard tap. Bounce. Onto the concrete. Hit a post. Tapped a ceramic bird. Banked off the corner of a bench. Was guided by a discarded Slurpee cup. And wobbled onto the green.
“Of course,” Steve said. “You had to find the most convoluted way.”
“Ha. Ha,” I said as we followed the path to the hole. We came around the other side of the crab and I saw three girls heading down the main stairs. They were wearing tight black dresses and seemed ready for a more exciting night than eighteen holes of mini golf. They were checking out the crowd, looking for someone. This had to be them. They had texted me their names—Nika, Haedyn, and Sophie—but I didn’t know which was which. Then they stopped and saw me. I think it was Nika who gave me a look that said, “Is that you?” I nodded and motioned for them to follow us. I had told them to pretend not to know me. Steve would be too embarrassed if he thought I was setting him up, I’d explained.
“Finish your awesome shot off, Tiger Woods,” Steve said.
I turned back to him and tried to pretend nothing was up. My ball plopped into the hole just as the girls appeared behind the crab claw. “Steve Stevenson?” Maybe-Nika asked.
Steve glanced up, surprised. He took them in for a moment, clearly confused. “Yes?”
I plucked my ball out of the hole as the girls made their way toward him. “Oh my god, how are you?” asked Maybe-Haedyn.
Steve watched them approach cautiously. “I’m good . . . and . . . do I know you?”
As they reached our green, the heavily made up girls whispered to each other, seeming to confer on who was going to speak first.
Steve looked at me and joked beneath his breath, “Do we need security?”
Finally, Maybe-Sophie stepped forward. “You don’t know us, but we’ve been following your brave journey online and . . . we’re, like, your biggest fans.”
Hearing the word fans, Steve lit up, accepting the role of celebrity with ease.
“You’re cuter in person,” Maybe-Haedyn added.
“I think so, too,” he flirted. The girls laughed way too loud. This was working exactly as I’d imagined.
Maybe-Sophie approached Steve. “You look amazing without hair.”
“Like a bald Ansel Elgort.” Maybe-Nika swooned.
“Can I touch it?” giggled Maybe-Haedyn.
“Why not?” Steve said, and tilted his head a little to make it easier for them. Maybe-Haedyn rubbed her hands gently all over it, being sure to keep her bright red nails safe from scratching him.
“Are you smooth all over?” she asked suggestively.
Maybe-Nika leaned in and raised her hands. “Let me feel.” Now they were both running their hands over his head and Steve was purring. The girls tittered and “awwwed.”
“I should have shaved my head a long time ago,” Steve said. He was totally eating it up. If he’d had a wedding ring on, he would have pocketed it.
“Well, time for the next hole,” Steve said. “You guys wanna join?”
“Yes!” they all agreed at once. Operation The Real Steve was a go.
I pulled out my phone, ready to snap the picture that would take him down. Over the next few holes, there was no shortage of flirty shots. Steve bought them all sodas. The girls couldn’t stop touching his arm. They laughed at his dumb jokes about balls and putters. But none of my pictures would be proof enough to get Kaia to dump his ass. He could easily explain them away. I needed the money shot.
At the circus-themed hole, I saw Maybe-Haedyn standing by hers
elf, sipping her Coke. Maybe-Nika and Maybe-Sophie were taking a selfie with Steve and the giant clown. I felt the need to push things forward.
“Isn’t Steve amazing?” I asked Maybe-Haedyn.
“He really is. It must be so hard,” she said as she watched Steve with a dreamy glaze in her eye. “His girlfriend must feel so lucky to have this time with him.” I was surprised that she was even considering Kaia, since the girls had clearly come out to paw all over Steve.
“Oh . . . yeah . . . ,” I agreed softly. Then added (somewhat truthfully), “But I heard they were having problems.”
Maybe-Haedyn’s eyes lit up and she looked over to me with a sly smile. “Really? That’s terrible.” But she clearly didn’t think it was.
At the pirate ship hole, the girls huddled together in a cluster, whispering. Maybe-Haedyn was filling them in. They eyed Steve speculatively as he lined up his next shot. “You’re awfully quiet, Cambo.” He swung, but his ball rolled right past the hole.
“I’m focused on my game.” I held up my scorecard. “And now I’m only one shot behind.”
“I’ve been a little distracted,” he said with a goofy smile, and nodded in the girls’ direction.
“Well, you’re going down,” I said in my best playful jock tone. I had never really done the whole competitive dude joking thing. But I figured it was the best way to keep him from suspecting anything.
“Getting a little cocky. That’s how you make a mistake.”
“Just sink your ball,” I teased. It was weird to banter like this. I kind of liked it, even though I was in the middle of a sting.
At the Dutch windmill, Maybe-Haedyn swung and missed three times. “I suck at this,” she said helplessly, and looked to Steve. “Can you help me?” My talk had worked. She was now untethered by the guilt of a sad girlfriend at home.
Steve willingly took up the offer and sidled up behind her. He brought his arms around her and adjusted the way she held the club. “It must be so hard being sick,” she said.
“It’s really just a wee bit of cancer. It’s not so bad.” His casual words only made her more moony. She leaned back into him and then they hit the ball together. It rolled up the bridge and onto the main green. “There you go!” Steve cheered.
But she did not celebrate. Instead, she turned to look at Steve with longing, thoughtful eyes and said, “Life is so short, isn’t it?”
“It really is,” Steve agreed. She placed her hand on his arm and he looked over at me. “You’re up, buddy.”
He then stepped off the course and took Maybe-Haedyn’s hand. “Come here.” He led her into a corner and brought her close. In love with Kaia, my ass! What a phony.
This was the shot I needed. But the other girls were blocking my view and it would be too obvious to get in a better position, especially since I was up next. “Hey . . . you guys want a picture?” I asked Maybe-Nika and Maybe-Sophie. They jumped at the opportunity and leaned in close together, held up their drinks, and made the usual selfie faces. “The light’s better to your left.” They shuffled to the edge of my frame. Now, clearly in the background, were Steve and Maybe-Haedyn, backlit by the red lava of the volcano. He leaned into her and whispered something. Snap! Maybe-Haedyn giggled. Snap! She whispered something to him, her hand on his neck. Snap! Then Steve led her behind the volcano and out of my sight line.
I took one more photo of the girls. “Awesome.” Then I put the phone down and they instantly resumed their normal expressions. I needed to get to the other side of that volcano. Quickly I putted, knocking the ball off the course and into a pond, where I might be able to spy better. The other photos would probably do the trick, but if I could get one that was fully incriminating, my plan would be bulletproof. I climbed over the railing but still couldn’t see them. Shuffling toward the edge of the shallow pond, I held my phone out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve and Maybe-Haedyn in full make-out mode. There was an elbow . . . and maybe a bit of knee . . . I inched a bit closer. My foot wobbled on the mossy edge. Was that a hand? My foot slipped and slid into the water. “Shoot.” I pulled my shoe out of the swampy muck and shook it off. Just then, Steve and Maybe-Haedyn emerged from their dark corner. Dammit.
I kneeled down, plucked my ball from the stupid pond, and then returned to the group. The girls were again clustered together and Maybe-Haedyn was whispering something to them. “Two-shot water penalty,” Steve said, and motioned to my scorecard. “Mark it down.” I pulled it out and penciled in the score. But when I was finished, I found Maybe-Haedyn right up in my face.
“You’re so fucking brave.”
“I am?” I asked.
“You’ve done so much for Steve,” Maybe-Sophie added. She was also right in front of me. Their proximity, their perfume, and their cleavage overwhelmed me.
“It’s the least I—”
“And you’re the one who’s really dying!” Maybe-Nika said. What the what?
“I’m sorry. I’m not—”
Maybe-Haedyn put her hand on my arm. “Stop. He said you’d deny it.” I looked over at Steve and he nodded with a little smile. “He said you wouldn’t want a pity party.”
“No, I don’t—” I tried to squeeze my words through theirs.
“Only three months to live!” Maybe-Sophie said, and touched her hand to her chest.
“And you’re still trying to cheer up your best friend,” said Maybe-Nika.
“Steve . . .” I tried to get his attention, to clear things up. But he stood over his ball, looked at me with a big grin, and tapped his shot in without looking.
“You know what? You two deserve a toast!” exclaimed Maybe-Haedyn, and held up her soda.
“Ah ah ah. Hold on. We need a top-off.” Maybe-Sophie dug into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of vodka.
I felt things spinning out of control. I didn’t even consider that they’d be drinking. That was not part of the plan. But it also explained so much. The glaze in their eyes. The wobble in their steps. What I now recognized was the liquor smell on their breath.
Maybe-Sophie tried to spike my cup, but I pulled it away. She immediately realized her error. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. You can’t drink on chemo.”
My head swam, trying to figure out a way to explain that I wasn’t on chemo and I wasn’t dying and, even more importantly, drunk girls weren’t part of my plan to get Steve to cheat on Kaia.
“Oh well, more for me.” Maybe-Sophie splashed another shot into her cup.
“Wait,” I objected, trying to get this under control. “You can’t be drinking.”
“Really? What else do you do at mini golf?” Maybe-Nika chugged what was left in her cup.
“Exactly!” Steve encouraged. “Now let’s do the volcano!”
For the next three holes I couldn’t shake the girls. My “terminal cancer” was apparently way more romantic than Steve’s real cancer. As a light fog rolled in, the girls doted on me, put their hands on my arm thoughtfully, and laughed at what they thought were my jokes. They were a drunken whirlwind of attention that made me sweat and stumble and babble incoherently. All the while, Steve basked in my discomfort.
Maybe-Nika pulled at my hair for the third time. “Seriously, it’s not a wig,” I explained again.
“But it’ll probably start falling out soon, you poor thing.”
“It won’t. I’m not on chemo. I’m fine.”
“I totally believe in positive thinking, too,” Maybe-Haedyn said. “I’ve been telling myself that I could be a server at Olive Garden for six months and yesterday I got an interview!”
“Hey, girls, can I borrow Mr. Camtastic for a bit?” It was Steve, and for some reason he had decided to save me.
“No. He’s ours now,” slurred Maybe-Haedyn. She leaned forward and whispered, “I really like bread sticks . . .” A gust of vodka breath almost knocked me out.
“Oh, okay. Which one of you ladies wants to help apply the steroid cream on his rash? It’s time for an application. He’ll flare up otherwise.�
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“Rash?” Maybe-Haedyn said. The word seemed to instantly puncture her fantasy.
Steve pulled out a tube and held it up. “Yeah. Chemo side effect. Kind of an unusual one. The doctors said they’d never seen one this bad, right, Cam?”
“Um, yeah,” I sputtered, going along with the plan.
“Though it is around the groin,” he offered. “So maybe that’s of some interest. But be warned, it does get a little crusty and you’ll have to make sure you get the cream in all the crevices. Otherwise, the sores will burst. Right, buddy?”
The drunken girls made squishy faces. Apparently, their cancer fantasy only involved looking longingly into my dying eyes.
“Uh, that seems private.”
“We don’t want to intrude.”
“Of course not,” Steve said with a smile, and pulled me away.
Once we were safely inside the bathroom, Steve dropped my arm, sauntered over to the urinal, and unzipped.
“Cancer groupies? Really, Cam?”
I looked away. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Kinda a dick move for such a nice guy. Again.”
“No, no. They just—”
He shook off and zipped up. “Cut the shit, Cam. You’re a terrible liar. Sincere people always are.” He turned to face me. There was a coldness in his expression I hadn’t seen before. He flushed the urinal with more force than necessary.
“I—”
He stepped toward me. “Did you really think I was going to cheat on Kaia with some randoms at mini golf?” I’d never realized before just how big Steve was. But in the tiny bathroom with its dirty fluorescent light buzzing, he was suddenly huge. I wanted to say something, but my mouth just kind of flopped open and hung there. Something flickered across Steve’s face as he studied my expression. “Wow. You really do have a low opinion of me.”
I knew he could see the truth in my eyes. “I—”
Save Steve Page 15
