by Paisley Ray
“Thanks for watching out for me.”
Macy winked, and I opened my door. My bed rested on the floor. Who pulled the loft apart?
“What happened to you? Get caught playin’ in a possum trap?”
I sunk into the armchair and looked at the digital clock. It was midnight. “Nash, what are you doing here?”
NOTE TO SELF
Jack Daniels is no friend of mine. He must be related to bathtub dew.
28
That’s Not A Speed Bump
I awoke to a room filled with gray shadows, and as lunchtime approached, the sky hung in an almost unnoticeable cast of light-hued pewter. My legs draped over the arms of the paisley chair in our room, and I squeezed a palm-sized ball filled with dried beans. Clay had stopped by the day after the loft incident to check on my shoulder. He showed me a few arm-flexibility exercises and gave the squeeze sack to me.
The way I toyed with it, you’d think I had a nervous condition. It was mental, but I liked placing my fingers on something that he’d given me. Okay, so he didn’t give it to me as a gift. It was supposed to help strengthen my shoulder, and the campus infirmary had charged me seven dollars. Regardless, it reminded me of his strong hands touching my shoulder and sent me into a dreamy fantasy of being in a hot and sweaty tangle with him under the sheets. I had Clay’s handwritten phone number, which I kept in my pillowcase, and I knew where he worked. Now I needed a foolproof plan that didn’t involve stalking or anything obviously psychotic to get some quality alone-time.
Macy popped into our room and asked Katie Lee if she could borrow her electric typewriter. “Hi Macy,” I said. She ignored me and positioned her stance, so I had a view of her back.
“I’m sorry I misplaced your hooded sweatshirt. If I don’t find it, I’ll buy you a new one.”
The back of her head faced me. “Thanks for reminding me. It cost forty-eight dollars,” she said, then marched back to her room with the typewriter.
I shrugged at Katie Lee looking for perspective regarding Macy’s chilly temperament, but she was preoccupied abusing the push button phone. She’d mangled the cord into something that resembled a macramé belt I’d made at Girl Scout camp, and when she slammed the phone into the cradle, her left ear coloration glowed like an atomic fireball. She complained, “Where the hell is he? It’s been five days.”
The night I’d slipped out of my loft, Nash had shown up on his way to a “gig,” And Bridget had let him into the dorm. Since I’d hovered in incoherence and Katie Lee was southern, our door had been unlocked while I was at the infirmary. He thought he’d surprise Katie Lee and waited. When I arrived without her, he’d paced around the room, moving from the top of her desk to the dresser. My head pounded, I wore an ice pack under my bra strap and my balance wasn’t exactly stable. Nash acted like the Energizer Bunny, and I threatened to pull out his battery. Once he anchored himself in a sitting position, I garbled semicoherent portions of an afternoon spent with my liquid nemesis. Nash half-listened. His eye wandered from the view of a passing student down below the window, to our closed door. I’d sprawled on my bed, and Nash had offered me a soda, with a straw and I washed down three Ibuprofen he’d fetched from a container of medicine in Katie Lee’s drawer. He gave me an extra pillow and tucked a blanket around me, not leaving any loose corners.
“Nash, how do you know when you love someone?”
He sat still for a minute then chuckled. “They sizzle your insides, and you do the same for them.”
“Not sexually. I mean in your heart.”
The heater under the window made a clicking noise before it kicked on and blew warm air.
Nash turned out my desk lamp. “You know you’re in love when you do what’s best for both of you.”
My eyes felt heavy. Before I closed them, I said, “Katie Lee doesn’t care about money, she cares about you. Whatever scheme your in is going to backfire.”
Nash kept quiet. I wondered what he was doing, but was too tired to check.
“Whisky-swillin’ has you talkin’ crazy. So where is Katie Lee exactly?”
Without opening my eyes, I garbled, “Making nacho-pizza with Hugh.”
I remember hearing our door click shut. When I awoke, shades of gloom streaked through open blind slats. Fully clothed, Katie Lee lay asleep on top of her bedding. Nash had vanished and I wondered if I’d imagined seeing him, but Macy verified that he hadn’t been a figment of my imagination.
Katie Lee slept into the afternoon. After she drank a Pepsi, she crawled back into bed, and I asked if Nash had found her.
“Rach, I never saw him. He didn’t tell me anything about a gig.” Katie Lee pressed all ten of her fingers into her eyebrows as though they were antennae providing clairvoyance. “My boyfriend shows up unannounced then leaves without a word or even a note?”
DESPITE THE FRIGID TEMPERATURES and snow on the ground, major highways had been cleared and classes resumed. Walking back from class, I longingly reminisced the August heat and humming cicadas. For four days, I’d witnessed Katie Lee unsuccessfully phone-stalk Nash. On day five, she slammed the hand-held in its cradle. She grabbed her pink ski coat and tied a scarf around her neck. As she placed a hand on the doorknob, a tear escaped her eye. “That’s it. I can’t live like this. It’s over.”
I waited a minute, weighing the sincerity of her words. I’d never seen her so rattled. She and Nash had fought before, but they never broke up. Nash, a professional smooth-talker, had always made nice before the breaking point. He’d have to dig deep in his bag of grovel to fix this one. This was epic, and before I lost my nerve, I zipped across the hall.
Macy plucked typewriter keys with a single finger. I stood behind her and peered at the words she typed. The Third Gender, Somewhere between a man and a woman, a paper for her Sex and Gender psych class. “Katie Lee is breaking up with Nash.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“I’ll give you the money, I promise.”
“Rachael, I’m not mad about the sweater. I’m pissed that you told Hugh you knew we slept together.”
I puffed an air-blast, thinking that Hugh was screwing things up on multiple levels. “I did not. Who told you that?”
“Bridget.”
“Whoa.” I motioned my left hand fingertips to my right palm. “Time out. Who told her that?”
“No one told her. She overheard your conversation.”
“Bridget needs to mind her own business or invest in a hearing aid. I didn’t tell Hugh. He blabbed to me when we were snowed in.”
“He’s bragging?”
“He wasn’t bragging.”
“What did that fucker say?”
“Macy, he likes you. He’s having a hard time reading your signals and wanted my take.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I lied. I told him it was news to me.”
“Good.”
I flopped onto Macy’s bed. “He knew I knew. I told him I didn’t have any idea what you wanted from him.”
Macy pulled the paper out of the typewriter. “Shit.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“Rachael, I don’t want a boyfriend. I want to have fun. Being tied to one person puts a crimp on fun.”
“How do you know Hugh wants a serious girlfriend?”
Macy slid a piece of paper into the typewriter. “I can tell.”
“Did he say something in your moment of passion?”
“Can we talk about something else? Is Nash dead?”
Pulling apart a mini-Russian stacking doll that sat on Macy’s windowsill, I confessed, “Not that I can verify.”
“Then I don’t believe they’re breaking up.”
“They haven’t spoken in five days —- a Guinness record. This time he’s cracked her shell. She’s a broken woman. It’s our obligation to take her out and get her mind off him.”
Poking her head in Macy’s room, Bridget asked, “Who’s going out?”
I hesitated to t
ell Bridget, but figured she’d heard portions of the conversation. If I didn’t tell her the news, she’d construe a tale that would make me look demented. “Jeez, do you wear a Miracle-Ear? Katie Lee.”
“I have something for her. Is she around?”
Macy plucked typewriter keys and hit return. “It’s over with Nash. She’s going to dump him, once she locates his ass.”
Bridget’s enchanted eyes grazed past mine. “Is she now?”
We both realized that her secret lost relevance. Telling Katie Lee that Bridget had slept with Nash would only be spiteful and result in one or both of us losing her friendship. The destruction of Katie Lee’s relationship wiped the board clean between Bridget and me, and she grinned a wide smile.
BRIDGET AND MACY WAITED OUTSIDE our dorm room. I had on my coat and Katie Lee flicked the light switch. We’d brave the cold to help Katie Lee dull the sting of her problematic soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend at the tropical bar beneath the Holiday Inn. Nothing raging crazy. Just a few hours spent with friends, away from the dorm. My fingers encircled the door handle, ready to close it when the phone rang. We all stood in a holding pattern and stared. On the sixth ring, Katie Lee spoke without southern. “Rachael, will you answer it.”
A raspy drawl greeted me, “Hey Raz, how’s the arm?”
“Still attached.”
“That’s good to hear. Is Katie Lee around?”
I covered the receiver and mouthed Nash. Our mini-refrigerator chided in a low hum, but Katie Lee kept silent. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I were her. Ignore the call or give him hell and hang up. If she went soft and listened, girls’ night would be ruined. What could he possibly tell her as an excuse? Maybe he’d pull out the old alien abduction to explain his five-day, couldn’t-find-a-phone disappearance. It was the best explanation I thought of—at least the one with the most potential for flexible interpretation.
Katie Lee closed her eyes and moved her lips in a silent chant. Her normally bright lagoon blues turned murky, and she disappeared down the hall.
“Sorry Nash. She left.”
“Can you get her?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Maybe she’ll talk to you later,” I said and unplugged the phone.
OUTSIDE THE DORM LOBBY, night-air levitated cold and quiet. Katie Lee didn’t break down into an emotionally distressed ball of goo like I expected. She emitted calmness. Her demeanor conflicted with the person I thought I knew, unnerving my internal equilibrium. Would she really end her two-year relationship? I dusted off my shoulder, the good one, in case she broke down, and made a mental note to borrow a box of tissues from Macy. Despite my boyfriend inexperience, I’d help her sort through her emotional turmoil.
Katie Lee cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. “It’s too cold to walk. I’ll drive us.”
Bridget checked her camera film gauge and patted her pocket for an extra roll. We walked to the parking lot, and she brushed snowflakes off Katie Lee’s coat collar. “If you drink too much, I can always drive us back.”
Her accommodating offer jolted me with a dose of relief and annoyance. Relief that I could drink without chauffeur responsibilities—-annoyance that she presented herself to be more considerate than the rest of us.
Except for the quick trip to the campus infirmary, Big Blue had been idle since the winter storm rolled in, and her windshield glistened like an iced sheet cake. Since Bridget had a predisposed case of backseat carsickness, she automatically settled into the front. Katie Lee turned the key over. Shivering like popsicles in a flimsy cardboard box, we waited for Big Blue to cough into a purr. Bridget busied herself snapping photos of icicles that dangled below the side view mirror. Macy didn’t say much, and I guessed the cold had immobilized her inner-smartass.
Katie Lee slid the defroster on high. The plastic dashboard creaked, and the windshield blades complained as they swiped across powder and ice. Once vented air blew warmth, mini peepholes formed on the glass, eventually growing large enough to reveal the colorless landscape. I leaned forward between Katie Lee and Bridget. “I’m used to the white stuff. Maybe I should drive.”
Bridget veered to face me. Creases formed across her forehead as if I spoke a foreign language.
Shifting the car into drive, Katie Lee said, “Don’t be silly. Your arm is in a sling.”
Before we left the parking lot, Big Blue fishtailed, narrowly missing a row of parked cars. Covering my face with my non-sling hand, I whispered, “Tell me when we’re there.”
THE CAROLINA COLD SNAP BROKE the longest record for a consecutive winter chill. Most cars sat jailed until a plow or a thaw could rescue them. The Brown’s had given Katie Lee Big Blue because it was a large, safe vehicle —- the kind that could take dings and scratches, and not look the worse for it. She embraced the tank and mowed into unplowed snow that had drifted against the street curb, securing a spot in front of the Holiday Inn. My door opened into a hard-packed snow wall. I unsuccessfully straddled the drift, plunging my shoes into wet. In an effort to steady each other’s rubber soles on the slick sidewalk, Macy linked her arm through my free one. Max didn’t sit outside on a stool, and no one carded us.
Inside, students milled about, and we spotted Hugh at a corner table. He asked no one in particular, “What’s goin’ on?” and I had to respect him for holding back his inner puma from Macy.
Bridget spread her coat on a barstool and sat on it. “One of us has news.”
Hugh touched Bridget’s shoulder and met her eyes. “I’m not the father?”
Bridget smacked his arm. “None of us are pregnant, you nympho.”
Hugh unstacked plastic cups. “First pitcher’s my treat.”
Macy kept her coat on. She bypassed Hugh and turned toward the bar. Katie Lee wasn’t the only one with man problems and I wondered if we’d have an early night.
“What’s the news?” Hugh asked.
Katie Lee tucked herself on top of a stool next to him, and I stood. “Nash stopped by the night we made nacho-pizza. He was in our room but didn’t wait for me. He went AWOL for five days. Who does that? He only called tonight, before we left. It’s over.”
Hugh, always available to deliver thought-provoking commentary, sipped his drink and licked the foam off his lip. “Whoa.”
Since we’d driven, I hadn’t worn socks and my bare feet turned pinkish. I danced a jig in an effort to bring back circulation. Hugh motioned his head, like an opening and closing drawbridge. “Got your thong on backwards?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with my undergarments.”
Wrinkling his nose, Hugh toasted, “Cheers.”
Macy didn’t return. She’d settled onto a corner stool at the bar. Stone R, the bird-advocate-bartender, chatted to her as he filled pitchers with beer, and tipped bottles with liquor spouts into shot glasses. Tonight he’d traded his stiff cockatoo for a rigid macaw perched on his shoulder. Macy wasn’t just pretending she’d never slept with Hugh, she iced him like he never existed, and I wondered whose feathers it ruffled the most.
Two beers therapeutically relaxed Katie Lee enough to tell Hugh how insensitive Nash was to let her worry for five days. “After two days, his roommate wouldn’t even answer my calls. That or the phone got disconnected.”
Hugh whistled. “Dump him.”
Some guys from Hugh’s dorm joined our table. He stood up saying he needed to stretch his legs and tweaked his head at me.
“What?” I mouthed. He waved for me to join him. Standing behind the table, he asked, “Is Macy avoiding me?”
“I don’t have clearance to discuss whatever is or isn’t going on.”
“Rach, talk to me.”
The creases around his eyes looked vulnerable, and I caved. “I’m going to have to speak anonymously. Anything I say, I may vehemently deny.”
“Does Macy hate me?”
“Hate you? She doesn’t know what to do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s conflicted.”
Hugh guzzled his beer. “Women. Too much damn thinking.’”
“Macy’s complicated.”
“What am I supposed to do? Play along with her childish deny and neglect game?” Shaking his head, he clunked his boots toward the pitcher and refilled his cup.
Katie Lee had an audience and took an opinion poll on the insensitivity of Nash’s disappearance. I’d personally endured the five days of her manic phone, dial ‘n slam maneuvers. Backing away from the table of spectators that were about to hear the unabridged audio version, I moved toward Macy.
I envied Katie Lee and Macy’s romances minus the psycho-mind-game play. I’d blown three encounters with Clay and had an unromantic dorm visit that amounted to a bundle of nothing. Hoping for a chance at redemption, I imagined batting my eyelashes, engaging him with witty conversation, and hoping that we both drank enough to disregard any inhibitions. Maybe I should have called and invited him out tonight. I had his number, but I didn’t want to chase. Who was I kidding? Clay was smart, gorgeous and just being polite when he jotted down his phone number. Sipping cold beer only dulled the ache that had relocated from my shoulder and settled into my heart.
Having had a conversation with Hugh about Macy, I determined, would result in bad juju, so I decided to keep things honest and tell her.
I pulled a cigarette and a pack of matches out of my back pocket.
Macy spun a shot glass in small circles.
Sliding onto a seat next to hers, I asked, “What are you drinking?”
Pink dribbled down her wrist on the way to her mouth, staining her cuff. She smacked her lips. “Sex on the beach.” Pulling her head back, she assessed me. “You don’t look so good.”
“You look better than good. How many have you had?”
She motioned for another. “I gotta stay warm.”
Stone placed a napkin in front of me and poured another. “Hey Rachael, been awhile. What happened to your arm?”
