1981: Jessie's Girl (Love in the 80s #2)

by Lindy Zart

  “Well. That was just fucking fantastic. I think I puked a little in my mouth.” Jessie grabs two beers from the supply of them. “Come on, Cat, let’s go for a walk.”

  “It’s going to storm soon,” I warn unsteadily as Catherine stands and moves toward her boyfriend. I run a trembling hand across my face. Shit. I never should have kissed her.

  “Good,” is Jessie’s curt reply.

  “Dickie, that was a really sweet thing of you to say to Catherine, about her dreams,” Hannah tells him quietly after the couple has left.

  Each time she looks at me, she quickly averts her eyes. I want to ask her if she liked the kiss, which is a totally lame thing to ask, let alone think. I want to kiss her again. My head is screwed up and I can’t seem to straighten out my thoughts. This is Hannah. I don’t think things like this about Hannah. You don’t kiss her either, my conscience points out.

  Dickie fixes the collar of his shirt and clears his throat. “I was only being truthful. She should have that, if it makes her happy.”

  Hannah leans in and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re going to make someone very happy one day, Richard Theodore Dean.”

  Watching Hannah and Dickie interact over the years has always filled me with warmth, a feeling of completeness. The moments when Hannah tells Dickie, in a way only Hannah can, that he’s special, and how he believes her, in a way he only does with her, makes it seem like I’m viewing a little bit of perfection in a wholly flawed existence.

  Their bond is better than mine and Dickie’s, and maybe even mine and Hannah’s. Their love is simple. I don’t know if I can say that about me with anyone. My eyes move to Hannah and my throat tightens. If that kissed messed up our friendship—

  Hannah slaps at her arm and shoots to her feet, brushing another hand across her neck. She knocks over a beer can and a stream of liquid leaves the mouth of it. “I’m getting bit by something.”

  Dickie rubs his forehead, moving on to scratch at his stomach. “Me too.”

  I frown at my friends. “I don’t feel anyth—” A buzz sounds near my ear before I feel a faint prick on the back of my neck. I reflexively smack a hand to my flesh and it comes away smeared with a mosquito and something dark. Blood.

  “The little bastards are everywhere!” Hannah moves in a circle, shaking her arms and kicking out her legs in an attempt to keep the bugs off her.

  A few bites turn into multiple, and I vault to my feet along with my friends. I grab the full, unopened cans of beer, tossing them into the car without any regard to their safety, and sprint for the motel. The high pitched buzzing sound multiplies, and I fear if we don’t take cover soon, we’ll be the bloodsucking insects’ feast of the night.

  Hannah quickly catches up to and passes me. I fixate on her calf muscles flexing and releasing as she races for sanctuary against the tiny flying insects. Hannah has on microscopic black shorts and a flimsy, worn dark blue tank top. I shake my head, wondering what the hell my problem is lately. I’m not interested in Hannah that way. The kiss calls me a liar. I enjoyed that kiss more than I enjoy breathing.

  “Dickie?” I call.

  “Right behind you,” he wheezes.

  Our room is at ground level, which is good, but Hannah and I reach the room way before Dickie, which is bad for us. He wasn’t right behind me. Slapping at myself crazily, I wait for Dickie like the good friend I am. Hannah bounces up and down, drawing my eyes to her chest. Shit, when did she become a girl and not just a friend? Right about the time you kissed her.

  “Did you suddenly realize I have boobs? Take a picture, Sam, it’ll last longer.”

  My eyes shoot to hers, finding humor and awareness in them. “Sorry.”

  One shoulder lifts and lowers. “I’m not.”

  My stomach spins in a circle. I want to ask her what she means by that, but Dickie finally makes it to us, hair sticking out around his head and struggling to breathe.

  He grasps my arm and squeezes. “I need…sit…water. Bed.”

  I unlock the door and fling it open, allowing Dickie and Hannah to enter before me. It’s a basic room, nothing flashy, but clean enough with two beds, a few chairs, a dresser, and a television adorning the room. The bedding is plain brown to match the carpet. A few cheap pictures of flowers hang crookedly from the walls.

  “Dickie, I don’t know why you won’t run with me.” Hannah eyes his overweight frame with concern, scratching at her arms and leaving red nail marks on her skin. “It would be good for you.”

  “Death—it would be death,” he rasps, plopping down on a bed and sprawling out on his back. Dickie closes his eyes, his chest heaving as he breathes. Angry pink dots line his face and arms. It’s the same for me and Hannah.

  “It’s going to be if you can’t even run across a parking lot without looking like you do,” she answers with a sniff.

  He waves away her apprehension with a hand and a grunt.

  “We should probably get some bug spray,” Hannah murmurs as she turns her attention to me. She fidgets from where she stands beside the empty bed. “I want to cut off my skin right now.” Her expression is pained, her hands fisted to keep from scratching at the bug bites.

  “Well, don’t.”

  “That would be bad,” Dickie chimes in.

  “What do you think Catherine and Jessie are doing?” I walk the short distance to the peach bathroom and look in the mirror above the sink. My green eyes look unusually bright surrounded by a red face with more red lumps on it.

  “Probably getting eaten up alive, like we were.” Hannah appears in the doorway, studying my image in the reflective glass. “Whatever you’re wishing for with her, you should give it up already. She’s Jessie’s. Trust me, Jessie doesn’t let anyone go until he’s ready to move on to someone else.”

  Lightning cracks nearby, followed by a roar of thunder that rattles the room. Rain bombards the roof, making it hard to hear anything. With the addition of Dickie’s snoring, it’s that much more difficult to make out sounds. I guess we’re pretending the kiss didn’t happen. Fine. I can do that. It was just a kiss, a dare even. It didn’t mean anything.

  “She isn’t property.” I shove away from the sink.

  “To Jessie, that’s exactly what she is. I don’t know why you care so much anyway. You have literally known her for less than a day.”

  I grip the door handle and look at Hannah, the thought of digging my nails into my flesh sounding more appealing as the minutes grow. “I’m taking a shower.”

  With shadows shifting across her irises, she steps back. “Have fun with that.”

  Hannah is gone when I get out of the shower, and even as I feel guilty for it, I am glad for the reprieve. She’s intense, and sometimes I think she assumes I should be able to figure out things that I don’t. She’s a girl, so of course she would. And I’m a guy, so of course I don’t.

  The storm steals the night, flashes of lightning sweeping across the sky and thunder making its song heard far and wide. I fall asleep while watching a western on the small television set on top of the dresser. It seems like I’ve only been asleep minutes when a sharp knock sounds on the door. Frowning, I find Dickie’s large figure in the dark, lying in the same position as he was when I got out of the shower. I check the clock on the nightstand, note that two hours have passed, not minutes, and shuffle through the dark.

  I find the lock and swing open the door. I am greeted by Hannah in a skimpy pink nightgown that ends a good ways above her knees. Her arms are crossed over her chest. The air is cooler with the rain, lights from the parking lot behind silhouetting her compact frame. The first thing I think about is kissing her, and then other things, and then nothing. A fog enters my head, turns my brain into a thoughtless blob.

  “Jessie and Catherine showed up a few minutes ago,” she explains, her teeth chattering.

  I stare, glad for darkness and shadows.

  “Can I come in? I’m cold.”

  Staggering away like I’m drunk, the backs of m
y legs bump into the bed and I fall onto it.

  Hannah gives me a look as she closes the door and locks it. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t…I didn’t know…is that what you normally wear to bed?”

  Her nose crinkles up as she walks toward me. “Of course not. I stole it from Catherine’s suitcase when Jessie waltzed into the room. I was in a bra and panties. Can you imagine how short this would be on Catherine if it’s this short on me?” Hannah holds the fabric away from her legs and shakes it, revealing velvety toned thighs.

  Catherine. Catherine? “Who’s Catherine?” I foolishly ask. I know who she is, but right now, I can’t picture her. She’s a blur and Hannah is in focus. Clear and seen.

  Hannah watches me for a beat, and then shakes her head, curls swaying over her shoulders with the motion. “Can we go to sleep now? Or maybe you’re still asleep.” She puts a hand on my bare chest and gently pushes. “Go back to sleep. I just want to go to bed without having to listen to people have sex.”

  Sex. I think of sex. I think of sex with Hannah. I bite back a groan and press the heels of my hands hard against my eyeballs. Not happening, buddy. Not now, not ever.

  We get in the bed, me with my back to her and hovering on the edge of the mattress, the sheet and blanket barely covering me. One small move and I’ll be on the floor. One wrong move and I’ll be on top of Hannah. We’ve slept together before, but not like this. When we were kids it was no big deal, and there was a time or two that we passed out side by side, but this feels too intimate. I look to the other bed. Even with Dickie snoring nearby.

  “Sam?” she whispers after infinite, agonizing minutes have ticked off the clock near my face.

  “Yeah?”

  Hannah doesn’t say anymore and I turn to my other side, facing her. At this proximity, her lavender soap cocoons me, sinking into my senses like euphoria wrapped in heat. The almond shape of her eyes becomes fascinating, as is the dip in the middle of her full upper lip. Catherine’s beauty is classic, but Hannah’s is exotic. Intriguing, like her.

  “Remember when I got my wisdom teeth out last year and you drove me to and from the appointment?”

  “Yes.” My lips twitch with the need to curve up. Drugged from general anesthesia and not herself, she laughed hysterically the whole way home.

  Her voice turns quiet as she speaks, laden with discontent. “Remember when you took me into the house, and my mom acted disgusted by the blood, and my behavior? She told me to stop being stupid and go to bed.”

  My skin heats up in memory of the anger I felt for Hannah, the injustice. The need to defend her. “I didn’t think you were aware. You were pretty out of it.”

  “Remember how you told her to back off, and you carried me to my room when I stopped laughing and started crying?” The tremble in her voice grabs my heart and doesn’t let it go. Hannah doesn’t bring up her vulnerabilities. As far as anyone is supposed to know, she has none.

  “Yes.” I reach out a hand and brush hair from her forehead.

  She grabs my hand and holds it still, hers shaking around mine. “Remember how you stayed with me all day and night, and took care of me the next day, even skipping school to be with me?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  Hannah squeezes my hand and then releases it. “Thank you.”

  She’ll never admit to it, but I think part of the reason she wants to become a stewardess is so that she doesn’t have to see her mother. If she stays in Minnesota, she will. Hannah wants to run, to escape. I don’t blame her.

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  “I would have, but I wouldn’t have thought someone would do it for me.” She turns to her side and curls up, a tiny ball of fire that burns like the biggest, most fearless, flame. “Good night, Sam.”

  “Good night, Hannah.” I shift to my back, my eyes locked on a ceiling blackened by night.

  I’m not a hero. I’m not a jock or a stud, or even all that smart. I’m not especially brave. I’m just me, reliable and generally easy-going. Nothing about me is noteworthy or particularly special. I listen to the steadiness of Hannah’s breathing, knowing she’s already asleep.

  I’m just me.

  It takes me a moment to realize why it’s so quiet, and when I turn my head in the direction of Dickie’s bed, I see why. Dickie isn’t snoring anymore. He is awake, and he was listening to us. I close my eyes and try to sleep, thinking about how I tell myself I am none of those things, and yet Hannah seems to think there’s something exceptional about me. Dickie’s silence means he’s thinking things too.

  * * *

  Something soft and warm is in my arms, and I snuggle closer, nuzzling my face against silken hair. This feels good, so good. I tighten my arms, drawing the body nearer to mine, and groan when a lush backside meets up with my—

  An elbow lands on my collarbone and I curse at the sharp sting.

  Tiny hands grasp my wrists and push them into the bed. I open sleep-heavy eyes to stormy brown ones. “Don’t be trying anything like that on me unless you’re awake and lucid. I am not a replacement for someone you can’t have.”

  I could easily overtake Hannah, but I am content to look up at her. Dark strands of hair are tangled around her face in a twisted halo. Her lips are swollen from sleep, her eyes not fully open. She looks content, recently satisfied. It makes my body painfully hard.

  “I know that,” I tell her.

  “Do you?” She shoves on my wrists before moving away.

  Hannah rips the sheet from the bed, and me, wraps herself in it, and lies down by Dickie on his bed to watch cartoons with him. I grab at the blanket and cover myself from the waist down. Hannah already felt my erection; she doesn’t need to see the evidence of it too.

  Dickie’s showered and dressed in a red and white plaid shirt and gray slacks, his wet hair covering his head like a mop. His eyes flicker to me and back to the television. “Good morning, Sam.”

  “‘Morning.”

  Sunlight makes its way through the room via slits in the brown and tan striped window curtains. Pieces of last night start to shift into some semblance of order. The kiss. And later, Hannah coming to the door, Hannah in the nightgown. Her words. Her scent. How we shifted toward one another sometime in the night. I rub my face, feeling the weight of her face on my chest, missing the way my arms held her. Something changed between us in the dark, without a word exchanged, or anything really happening.

  I held her like a woman—not a friend, and not a girl.

  I sit up and look toward her. Hannah’s eyes are already on me. I don’t know what I look for as I search her features, but I swear her heart is beating from her eyes, and mine is beating for her. As if knowing the exact moment I tell myself to get real, Hannah looks down, her fingers picking at the sheet that covers her. One bare shoulder mocks me, reminds me of how soft, how strong, it was to my fingers.

  With a sigh, I fall back onto the bed and wait for my dick to calm down before I make any attempt to leave the mattress. Jessie’s loud and obnoxious appearance does the trick. He flings open the door and catapults onto the bed, jostling me.

  Grin in place, Jessie greets, “Wake up, losers! Time to get on the road again. Pennsylvania is waiting for us.”

  “We’re awake,” Hannah says without looking at him. “And you do realize that we won’t reach Pennsylvania today, don’t you? Indiana is our next stop.”

  “Somebody’s grumpy this morning.” Jessie slaps my foot and nods toward Hannah.

  I give him a baleful look.

  “Maybe it’s because somebody got kicked out of their room last night,” she fumes, her jaw stiff as she focuses on Jessie.

  “You’re so sensitive, Hannah. Like you didn’t want to sleep with Sam anyway.”

  Hannah’s face pales.

  “Shut up, Jessie,” I warn.

  He frowns at me. “Guess Hannah’s not the only sensitive one this morning.”

  “Where’s Catherine?” Dickie quietly asks.r />
  “What do you care?” Jessie tosses back, jumping to his feet.

  Like clockwork, Dickie’s face turns red. “I…I just…”

  “Relax, big guy.” Jessie fixes his bangs and drops his hand. “She took the car and went to get doughnuts.”

  A tendril of worry slides through my guts. Driving in an unknown town can be confusing, and Catherine seems the type to get easily overwhelmed. “Is that safe?”

  “Letting her drive the car? Probably not.” Jessie leans down for his bag and grabs clean clothes before heading for the bathroom.

  The back of Hannah’s head thumps against the wall. “Seriously, what do you two find even the slightest bit likable about him?”

  “Sometimes I wonder.” I toss off the blanket and stand, pretending like I’m not only in a pair of boxers. “Can I use the shower in your room?” I ask Hannah.

  Lips parted and eyes locked on my frame, she doesn’t immediately answer.

  “Hannah?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Hannah swallows and looks away. “I’ll go with you. I need to shower too.” She gets up, going still as her words, and what they imply, sink in. “Not that we’ll be showering at the same time.”

  A vision of Hannah, naked and covered in soap suds, ravages my mind, steals any lingering thoughts of the young girl she once was, and replaces them with what is standing before me, and it isn’t a young girl. When did it happen? Why didn’t I notice before now?

  “Yes. No.” I wince. “I mean, right, we won’t be.”

  We stare at each other, both standing but unmoving.

  “I’m going to see if Catherine’s back,” Dickie says as his gaze shifts between the two of us.

  I grab clothes and my toothbrush, watching as the sheet slides from Hannah’s body, the image making my mouth go dry. I spin around, clutching the clothes to my front, and walk stiffly behind her as she leaves the room. We’re hit by sunshine and heat as we step outside. Hannah unlocks her room and enters. I follow, closing the door. I don’t move further into the room, feeling strangely timid. The room is set up the same as ours, but with green bedding and carpet. And it smells better—girls’ rooms always smell better than boys’.