Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles)

by Paisley Ray

  “Rach,” Katie Lee said. “Have Bridget do something with yours.”

  “I’m susceptible to hair-headache. A ponytail is as much confinement as I can tolerate. Meredith, is the Ackland Art Museum within walking distance? I want to see the exhibit they’re running on Paul Cezanne.”

  “Is he a male entertainer?” Macy asked.

  “Sort of. He was a nineteenth century abstract artist. Into cubism. One of his landscapes came through my dad’s shop a few years ago. I wanted to see what the museum has on display.”

  “It’s just off Franklin. You can borrow my I.D. to get in free.”

  Meredith was tall and had a head full of curls. Even though I looked nothing like her, she assured me that they never checked and I slipped her I.D. in my pocket. “Thanks, I’ll swing by before we leave.”

  Macy settled next to me on the faux sofa and lit a cigarette. Her ash grew like a weed, and I held an empty beer can under her ciggy to collect the charred tobacco remains before they landed on my lap. “Try not to set anything on fire tonight.”

  “Can’t guarantee that,” Macy said. “Some lucky guy is going to need an extinguisher when I finish with him.”

  WE’D WALKED ACROSS CAMPUS with guys that Meredith knew. One of them held a clear plastic funnel normally used to pour oil into the engine of a Mack truck. Gray duct tape adhered it to a long clear tube. “Anyone want a turn?” he asked.

  On campus, Bridget always acted so southern: polite, pulled together, apologetic. When she stopped to snap open a beer can and volunteered to hose, I realized I’d misjudged her.

  When I was a kid, my mom and I played a game in line at the grocery store. We turned people into food, imagining what they most resembled. Before we arrived, I’d pegged Bridget as orange Jello – a refreshingly sweet food that can be molded, or served with a whipped topping. You can add fruit or serve it plain, and it has the flexibility to be a salad or dessert. Seeing her gulp an entire can of beer, without choking, made me realize I’d mislabeled her. There was an unexpected tart lying under her sweetness, and I made a mental note – lime, not orange.

  I declined to guzzle from the funnel. Certain customs, like drinking beer from a can, shouldn’t be broken. Besides, someone wearing a fly-fishing vest over a plaid shirt caught my eye and I needed some semblance of control so I’d remember tonight, or at least the good parts.

  Travis introduced himself. Yeah for me. Suddenly, things looked promising for Camp Rachael. The night had just begun, and I felt an instant connection. Something from inside jolted me, and I just knew he and I would end up being more than acquaintances.

  I’d never been in a mob before, but could now check it off my list. Bodies engulfed the town’s main drag and pulsed down side streets. I didn’t own a purse. Never carried one. My Girl Scout dress didn’t have pockets and Macy had given me a handful of condoms. Tonight I made an exception. I stashed the foil wrappers, a lip-gloss, ID, and twenty bucks in a Thin Mint cookie box on string.

  Crowds thickened as we neared Franklin Street. Travis asked, “Where are you from?”

  “I grew up in Canton. What about you?”

  He leaned against a tree trunk and rested a camel-colored suede-boot against the bark. Even his shoes oozed a manly magnetism that drew me in. “Just outside of Lexington. What’s your major?”

  I was lost in the dimples that appeared when he’d finish a sentence, but managed to answer, “Art history.”

  Suddenly Katie Lee shouted back to us, “Stay to the left y’all. Some perverts with stockings on their heads are buttin’ their faces into girl’s behinds.”

  “The costumes tonight are something,” he said.

  Not a lot in the way of human exhibition surprises someone from New York, but Macy stopped to gawk at a hot-pink spandex unitard that walked by. “Please tell me why a man’s black-leather shoe is tied to her head.”

  “She’s bubble gum under a sole,” Travis said.

  The Hubba Bubble took off running, and I heard her shout, “Get that sperm away from me.”

  In this crowd, if someone yelled fire, we’d all get our bazookas trampled. Meredith must have felt my sentiment. “Y’all,” she said, “I can barely move. Let’s get a cold beer at Alpha Delta.”

  Travis offered a hand and guided me through the crowd. His palm was soft yet firm, and I found myself pondering if he leaned more toward sweet: seven layer chocolate cake, gooey and decadent. Or savory, like my mom’s homemade stuffing of finely chopped, French bread and sautéed mirepoix lightly tossed with nuts and oysters, before being baked to perfection.

  Travis scanned the crowd as we pressed through and asked, “What brought you to North Carolina?” I struggled to articulate an answer, partly because I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t cliché, and partly because the tuft of chest hair escaping from the neck of his faded T-shirt led my eye to his beard stubble. The combination was making me crazy. I gave my cookie purse a lucky tap and the bottom broke, dropping the contents. Travis bent down and handed me my I.D. I picked up the twenty and ignored the condom packages, pretending they weren’t mine. If I slept with Kentucky Travis, I hoped he’d have safety gear.

  NOTE TO SELF

  Finally hanging out with a cute guy and feeling a connection. Hallelujah.

  13

  Beefcakes & Suitcases

  The porches and lawns of majestic properties were littered with students who trampled everything not attached to a trunk. Ivy vines partially bronzed from cooling temperatures blanketed brick exteriors. None of the houses in fraternity row had purple exteriors with lime green trim, or showcased decrepit porches as I’d imagined. Above a raucous drumbeat, I asked Travis, “Are these frat houses?”

  He pointed to letters above the Alpha Delta porch. “Some have been around since the late nineteenth century. There’s a historical society in Chapel Hill. The frats and sororities adhere to architectural compliances.”

  “Do you belong to a frat?”

  Throwing his head back, Travis laughed and creases appeared around his eyes. Letting my gaze linger, I found myself lost in his subtleties. I was still enthralled with the guy I hadn’t met back in Greensboro, but my odds of getting some experience were better with someone I had actually talked with. Travis’ company was better than a chocolate seven-layer cake. I’d known him for less than two hours, but had decided he was everything I wanted in a lover.

  Stepping onto the lawn, Meredith moved toward a group of people she knew. I didn’t notice a garden gnome cemented in a flowerbed until I tripped on it, spilling half the beer from the open can Macy had handed me. I’d been drinking steadily since we’d arrived. Before I took another sip, it was emergency potty time. “Anyone have to go?” I whispered.

  Katie Lee shook her head.

  “I’m fine,” Bridget said.

  Their bladders must be made of steel.

  Macy pinched my arm. “I’ll come.”

  Walking away, I overheard Bridget ask Travis, “How do you stay so fit?” Knowing she had stealthlike hook-up capabilities, my heart skipped a beat. I needed to be quick.

  A thudding drum roar from the battle of the bands energized the crowd that Macy, and I wove through. She told me, “I’m hot for Ryder Ridgemont.”

  “What movie is he in?”

  “He’s the dark-haired guy with the chiseled jaw that I’ve been standing beside.”

  I registered a blank stare.

  “The one I’ve been trying to sell my cookies to.”

  My hand reached for the front door handle on the Alpha Delta porch. “Point him out when we get back.”

  Before I twisted the knob, someone said, “It’s locked.”“Back door,” I whispered.

  The crowd thinned on the side of the house. Macy hiked up her camp dress and stepped over a low picket fence, but I took it like a hurtle. Fumbling the landing, I managed to stay off the ground. “Travis, the fly-tie-guy is hot.”

  “Is he the one you’ll always remember?”

  “Maybe.
Do you have any condoms?”

  “What happened to the ones I gave you?”

  “The bottom of my cookie box blew, and I lost them.”

  Macy and I stood under a canopy of a crape myrtle. A warm wind gust rattled the branches, shaking dried leaves like a swarm of gnats. She dug into an inside pocket of her denim jacket and handed me two foil wrappers. “Keep these in a safe place.”

  At the back door entrance, I pushed on the handle. “Locked.”

  “Of course it is. Look at all these people. They want to keep the riff-raff out.”

  “We may need to go au naturale.”

  “Forget it,” Macy chirped. “I need toilet paper.”

  I lifted the doormat, then ran my hand around a window sill.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a key.”

  “Oh please. That is so Ohio-esque.”

  I felt around until I found the key tucked underneath the sill. I dangled my find in her face, and she threw her arms in the air.

  Since we used a key, I rationalized we weren’t trespassing, and I bellowed a friendly, “Hello.” I waited for an answer, but all I heard was a vertical blind slat clunk against the screen of an open window.

  From outside, the property didn’t look like a frat house, but inside it met all my expectations. A globe fixture above the kitchen sink emitted yellow light, and a rancid smell stirred with the draft that crept in the open window. Dirt and grime had added a layer to the thick glass pane windows. Cabinet doors were unhinged or missing. Muddy cleats, engine parts and a dissembled amplifier cluttered the counter tops. I’d cook a TV dinner with a hairdryer before I warmed it up in this kitchen oven.

  My shoes stuck to the floor. Leaning on Macy, I pried one up to look at what variety of stick had collected on my soles. Throwing me off balance, she clenched my arm and screamed.

  “What?”

  “Something furry scampered behind the Wheaties.”

  “Where?”

  She pointed. “Over there. Next to the sink. It was licking the pile of dishes. This place is a fucking dump.”

  We’d made it inside, and despite the health ordinance warning that should’ve been posted, I didn’t want to waste time trying a different frat or sorority. “Don’t touch anything. This is an in and out potty mission. Tinkle and bolt.”

  Off the hallway that led to the front door, we peeked into a common room with chunky crown molding and distressed wood floors. Mismatched sofas lined the perimeter and above the pool table, a ceiling medallion encircled a Budweiser chandelier.

  “Are you nervous about having sex?” Macy asked.

  “If you keep bringing it up, I will be. Not to mention, the more we discuss it, the less likely it’ll happen.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll jinx me, and possibly yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that.”

  The music from outside stopped. She gasped.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Macy gestured, “Outside.”

  Halloween decorations weren’t required to give this house the creep factor. Except for the kitchen, hallway and rec room, all the first floor rooms were dead bolted. The peeling paint, missing floorboards, and stale urine smell beckoned us to leave. We’d been inside longer than we should’ve, giving Bridget time to charm Travis. The thought pressed on my bladder.

  “Up or down?” I asked.

  Macy pointed at a staircase. “Up is always better than down.”

  When we reached the top, I gripped the wobbly railing.

  A Beefcake appeared from behind a corner. “Outside ladies. This house is closed off to non-Kappa.”

  About to blow my bladder, I crossed my legs. “It’s an emergency!” I pleaded.

  Macy, always thinking, put on a come-hither look and managed to strain her C cups against the snaps of her camp dress.

  The Beefcake caved and led us down a hallway where he unlocked a bathroom. The frat boy teased Macy about the badges on her sash. I left the two and bolted inside. Macy whispered, “I can wait.” I didn’t argue with her bladder control.

  A new band with an infectious beat began to play somewhere outside. I found myself bobbing my head and using my finger as make believe drum sticks. When it was too late to make provisions, I’d discovered there wasn’t toilet paper. Not even an empty cardboard roll. “Macy,” I called, but she didn’t answer. The shower curtain was cloth, not plastic, and I broke the rule of not touching anything.

  With vigor, I washed my hands, adjusted my sash and repositioned the condoms I’d placed inside my bra for safekeeping. Reapplying lip-gloss, I eyed myself in the medicine cabinet mirror. I wondered--what do a bunch of guys keep in there? Old Spice and jock itch cream? I opened it, and my sight aligned with the middle shelf where nasty hair swam in a pool of gelatinous soap cementing a crumpled beer can. A Bic lighter and baby oil with the label peeled off sat on the bottom shelf. I shut the mirror realizing that I’d touched yet another thing. That’ll teach me, I thought and washed my hands again.

  Ready to secure quality-alone-time with Travis, I stood in the empty hall. “Macy?” I called out. Apparently, she’d been distracted and forgotten that this was supposed to be a drive-thru, not a leisurely visit. Listening for her voice, I couldn’t stop my hip shimmy that swayed to the music that rattled from outside, where I should be.

  Macy’s sex drive was like a corked bottle of champagne. I guessed she was still in the house, and likely to catch something that penicillin wouldn’t correct. She didn’t respond to my calls, and I didn’t see any sign of her, so I marched down the stairs. An all-out search could result in interrupting something that would cost a lot of money to have removed from my memory. My extra curricular activity waited outside, and I’d dinked around this furry Petri dish long enough.

  With one hand on the kitchen door, I wanted to leave. But, guilt, an ingenious parental weapon that I theorized to be genetically bred, pricked from inside. As much as I wanted to flirt with Travis, I needed to know Macy was safe.

  Reaching into the sink, I retrieved a barbecue fork on a long wooden stick. I’d seen the Freddy Krueger movie, and this house would suit his taste. To be on the safe side, I carried the meat prodder. If she needed rescuing, I figured I’d give the beefcake a skewer.

  First I checked the rec room sofas and under the pool table. Moving through the house, I listened for yelling or moaning, but the band-beat was all I could hear. By now, Bridget and Travis were probably making out, and I seethed. On the second floor, behind a pocket door, I discovered a staircase. I considered Macy’s ankle boot on the step a Hansel-Gretel clue and lifted it with the barbecue fork.

  A thick film of hooch hung in the stairwell. Macy was a modern Girl Scout who embraced Halloween in the company of vermin that scurried in shadowy corners, high mold count, and the Beefcake who’d lured her into his attic.

  Inside the loft, the visual of giraffes in a game of tongue-twister greeted me. I cleared my throat and sang, “Hell-O.” When they didn’t acknowledge my greeting, I propelled the boot off the skewer and nailed Beefcake in the back. Macy unsuctioned her face and ran a hand through her hair.

  I held the grilling utensil high in case Beefcake needed to be convinced to detach himself from Macy . “It’s your turn to use the bathroom.”

  “Racharoni,” she laughed. “Stewart wanted to--um show me something.”

  “I’ve got to check on things outside. Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be down.”

  I found myself torn, and leaned against the wood paneling. A mothering instinct gnawed inside of me. If I left, the chances of her reconnecting with us, or finding McIver, were slim.

  Stewart had entered a new galaxy, and spoke of a super nova in his solar system. Rocking forward, he gave Macy an exaggerated wink. Standing up, he fell back down, and then tried again, somehow managing to get to the stairs without killing himself. “I’ll got even better stuff,” he giggled.

  A lava lamp and the fla
me under a boiling bong provided the only illumination in the windowless room. I watched the back of the beefcake disappear and waited three seconds. “Macy, I’m leaving.”

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Really?”

  She curled her pinky. “He’s too stoned.”

  I offered a hand and pulled her from the futon. We skirted out of the loft and through the house. “I hope you’re not mad at me for interrupting, but I was worried about leaving you behind.”

  Macy hugged me. “I’m not mad. But you shouldn’t have worried. Stewart’s from New Bern. He knows Katie Lee and Meredith.”

  “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

  We raced out the kitchen door and didn’t bother to lock it. Before we jumped the fence, she locked her feet. “Fuck. I forgot my jacket.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Macy shook her head. In an apologetic tone, she said, “My wallet’s inside the pocket.”

  “I’m not loosing you again. Stay here, I’ll get it,” I said and went inside before she could protest.

  Where were all the frat boys? Then again, if I lived in this house, I’d sleep in the library, and shower at the gym. Midway up the stairs, I hesitated. Stewart might be in the loft. I just wanted to fetch Macy’s jacket and get back outside to flirt with Travis. If I bumped into the Beefcake, I decided I’d tell him Macy got sick on herself.

  The corner lamp bubbled red gelatinous globs, creating abstract shadows on the walls. Macy’s jacket lay crumpled under a homemade coffee table. When I picked it up, I couldn’t help but notice the shiny zipper of a bulging art case.

  The uncirculated pot air tickled my throat, and I started to cough. Sitting back on the futon, I drummed my chest. Something lacey tickled my bare thigh, and I pinched a pair of bunched-up purple panties. “Eugh,” I flung them to the floor where they landed on the bit of the silver case that stuck out. After the panty discovery, I should’ve rushed out of there to wash my hands, but I’d fostered a new hobby, and slid the flat artist portfolio out from under the makeshift table.