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

by Paisley Ray

  “Freak accident. I should have the sling off in a week. What happened to Lolita?”

  He hustled behind the bar giving some glasses a quick wash in an upright bristle contraption. “She’s molting. I brought Lester instead.”

  I turned my attention back to Macy. “Why are you avoiding Hugh?”

  She bent back and looked to the table where he sat. “He’s still over there?”

  “His ear is busy listening to all things Nash.”

  Macy stiffened her back. “If she’s not careful, he may want to date Nash.”

  I stared at Macy.

  “You never know. Hugh is probably the type to explore all sides of the tracks.”

  “That’s ludicrous. Hugh is as ungay as they come. He likes women, especially you.” For emphasis, I raised my pointer finger. A trick I learned from my father--scary. “If you want to end what started, you’re doing a fantastic job. But, if any part of you likes him, you need to admit it before it’s too late.”

  Macy tipped back and downed the shot in front of me.

  “You should be warm enough for sex in the snow,” I said, and turned to look at Hugh for myself.

  Macy grabbed my arm. “Don’t look. They’ll see you.”

  “Who will see me?”

  “Hugh and Katie Lee are putting coats on.”

  I waited a respectable three seconds. “I’m looking.”

  Macy drummed her nails. “Well?”

  “They’re gone. It’s just Bridget, and the guys from Hugh’s dorm.”

  Macy and I stayed put. We pondered everyone’s relationships--Katie Lee and Nash’s demise if I’d ever hook-up with Clay--or anyone, and what Macy should do about Hugh. I scanned the bar. “They’ve been gone over an hour. They should be back by now.”

  Macy stretched her shoulders, pretending not to care. “Maybe they’re doing it inside Big Blue.”

  Bridget shared a pitcher with some guys neither of us knew, and we speculated whether she navigated the more-than-friends trail with any of them. At last call, I helped Macy stand, and we made our way toward Bridget.

  Bridget pointed her camera at Macy and clicked. “Well lookie who showed up.”

  Macy wrapped her arms around Bridget’s neck and shouted more than whispered, “We didn’t want to disturb your private conversation.”

  “Where did Katie Lee go?” I asked.

  “She’s upset about Nash. Hugh walked her back to the dorm.”

  Macy’s shoulders sagged. “How are we supposed to get back?”

  Bridget slid her hand into the side pocket of her purse and retrieved a set of car keys. “I’ll drive us.”

  “Haven’t you been drinking?” I asked.

  “Only a few.”

  Macy cupped Bridget’s face. “Do you know how to drive in snow?”

  She removed Macy’s hands and slipped on her coat. “The dorm is two miles from here. How hard can it be?”

  The lights inside The Lounge flashed, and Stone jiggled keys as he locked up. We were the last to leave, and Bridget asked, “Do you need a ride?”

  Stone looked at the bleary night outside the basement window. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  A little voice inside my gut spoke to me. The same one that had kept me company when I’d played alone as a child. It shielded my ego when other kids said and did hurtful things. The older I’d become, the less often I paid attention. If my arm hadn’t been in a sling and if I’d worn boots and mittens, I may have listened to myself. Walk home, it said. Walk home.

  Stone locked The Lounge, and I climbed the stairs to the sidewalk. The winter wind ripped through my clothes and nipped at my skin. The quickest way back to my warm bed sat on four wheels.

  Macy curled into a fetal position on the industrial gray interior of the frozen back seat and rested her feet on my lap. Stone sat in front, and Bridget adjusted the driver seat. Before she started the car, Bridget said, “Smile,” and blinded Macy and me with a flash. Immune to her photo compulsion, I never bothered to pose.

  Bridget took the empty road slow and center. I didn’t care as long as I got home. The night was desolate, and as she approached a four-way intersection, she slowed, grinding and puttering Big Blue’s tires. In a sluggish motion, the car collided into a snow bank. “Bridget,” I asked. “Why’d you hit the brake?”

  She pointed to a snow covered stop sign with the letters OP showing. In front of an empty corner lot dark rested still and cold. Big Blue revved, and the dormant branches of a snow-covered elm stayed in view.

  Bridget turned to Stone. “Somebody needs to push.”

  He sighed. Stone used his mind more than his muscles. His frame was more suited to leafing pages than pumping weights. He stared at the mound of snow that pressed to his window, clouding his view. “The snow is deep. We may be legging it.”

  Walking back to campus in sockless flats didn’t hold much appeal. “I’ll push too,” I said and got out of the car with him.

  The cold had snared the night soundless. No traffic, no trees rustling, no night creatures. I took my arm out of the sling so I could use both arms to heave the bumper. Bridget gunned the engine, and the Oldsmobile’s tires screamed resentment, spinning rubber deeper into the bank.

  Stone tromped along the side of the car and rapped on the driver’s side. Bridget jammed the electric window switch. It did nothing more than click when she pulsed it. Macy unwound her window without sitting up. Stone’s breath sent fog clouds into the car. “When I count to three, gas her.”

  I crouched behind Big Blue and my numb feet stung when they flexed. Stone counted, “One, two, three,” and we pushed our weight forward. The force of my shove rippled down to my feet, and the plastic soles of my flats skidded from under me. In a swift motion, more complicated than an ass-drop, I landed face down and embraced the wet, white stuff. Chunks lodged down my shirt and stung my cheeks. When I contorted my body off my shoulder it twanged, and I knew I’d jacked it. I heard the crunch of snow under tires before a death gripping weight pinned my leg. Unsure of what had happened, I howled in pain.

  “Stop the car. My God, stop the car,” Stone shouted. It was too late. Big Blue’s tire had rolled on me, flame broiling my lower leg on a snow grill. It took too much effort to scream, and I moaned between erratic breaths like a dog delivering a litter.

  Above my head, the rear passenger door opened. Trance-like, Macy locked eyes with mine. Throwing her hand over her mouth, she stuttered, “Sh-shit.”

  White flakes descended like a swarm of bugs. I drifted into a dreamy corridor, pushing away from the pain that skewered my calf. Stone shouted against the frozen driver window. “Move the goddamn car. Rachael’s under the tire.”

  Bridget words stuck on her tongue. “My camera strap got tangled. Is she conscious?”

  “She’s fucking blinking at me,” Macy said.

  My mind crackled as if an electrical storm passed through it, and I felt the searing burn until Big Blue rolled forward, releasing the knotted pressure. With opened eyes, I hovered between reality and unconsciousness. Seeing, listening, unable to speak.

  Snowflakes dotted Stone’s dark hair like sprinkles on ice cream, and the frosty air had reddened circles on his cheeks. He threw his coat on me and gripped my hand. “Call 911! We need to get her to the hospital.”

  “If we call an ambulance,” Bridget said, “the police’ll show up, and we’ll all get busted. Let’s get her to the campus infirmary. It’s closer.”

  A car door slammed. “Macy. Macy,” Bridget yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  RACING IN AN AMBULANCE with a roaring siren through one-way streets may seem thrilling, but speaking from experience, it’s overrated.

  A buff medic with tanned skin, high cheekbones and thinning straw-streaked hair took my blood pressure. She wore orange lipstick, and in a German accent asked my name, age and address, before she severed my jeans with a swift splice. My paramedic had to be The Terminator’s sister. When I told her I was a stu
dent, she asked for my parents’ phone number.

  Tears welled in my eye. “My mom’s out of the universe and my dad has a girlfriend.”

  She nodded sympathetically.

  At the hospital, she pulled the rolling stretcher out of the ambulance and wheeled me across the surgeon’s medical loading dock. Stone trotted behind, and I asked, “How did you get here so quickly?”

  He rubbed his hands together and checked his shoelaces. “I rode in the front seat.”

  I signed some paperwork, got x-rayed, and swallowed two oversized Codeine pills. Behind an encircling curtain, I lay on a mattress the same thickness as the one in my dorm, only this one had a remote control. Stone fidgeted with the buttons. “How about here? Or here?”

  A beige blanket, all foam and no cotton, covered me. My feet had defrosted, and my plum-preserve colored calf with a torn muscle, rested in a Velcro contraption. Nurse Terminator said it would heal, and a doctor confirmed that’d I’d be released when the paperwork was completed. For eighteen years, the most injured I’d been was a skinned knee from falling off my bike. I’d only had the flu a handful of times and never had an injury that landed me in a doctor’s office let along a hospital, until now. Having been stupid-lucky, I said a heavenward thank you and promised to be more careful after I kicked Bridget’s ass.

  Lester, the macaw’s mangled body hung by one foot from Stone’s shoulder. His feathers had been considerably thinned. I could relate to the stuffed bird’s state of disarray. “Stone, you don’t need to stay. This is above and beyond customer service.”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Squeezing his hand, I asked, “Your mother didn’t really name you Stone R, did she?”

  His eyes twinkled. “The Holiday Inn issues every employee a name badge. My last name is Rogers. Someone screwed up, and I never said anything. Kind of wish my mother had named me Stone R. The name gets me attention, interesting confessions, and way better tips.”

  Stone barely knew me, but watched over me as though I were on an endangered list. If there were more Stone R’s around, the world would be a nicer place.

  I’d drifted into a fitful sleep and awoke when Macy and Katie Lee arrived. Katie Lee held a bag of clean clothes and a box of donuts. Behind them, Bridget cradled a bouquet of flowers. “Rach, how are you doing?”

  “How do you think!? Were you trying to kill me, or are you a really horrible driver?”

  Bridget’s voice crackled. “You think I drove over you on purpose?”

  Macy sat on the foot of the hospital bed and rested a hand on my ankle. “It was an accident.”

  “Accident?” I said, in a squeaky pitch.

  A silence lapsed, and Stone whispered, “Awkward.”

  Katie Lee wrapped her arm around Bridget. “Come on, Rach. You don’t seriously believe that Bridget would purposely hurt you.”

  Rage dripped into my veins like spoiled molasses--thick and crystallized. I couldn’t look at Bridget’s sorrowful mask. I focused on the depth of greens, blues and red in Lester’s feathers. Between clenched teeth, I seethed, “Get her out of my sight.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Macy is the glue in a crisis. She walked two blocks to call an ambulance. I owe her.

  Not speaking to Bridget, obviously.

  Stone R. One rare bird.

  The only silver lining of my leg having been a speed bump--Physical Therapy with Clay.

  29

  Romance, Flowers, And Fraud

  Katie Lee’s phone warmed my ear. Travis had called to catch up. He said he’d been to the Ackland Museum in Chapel Hill for a new exhibition on local sculptors. I’d vented for an hour and kept coming back to the same question. “Why? What was Bridget’s motive?”

  Travis offered perspective. “Do you know how much she drank? Or maybe she is a really bad driver? Have you looked in her wallet? Does she even have a valid license?”

  “That’s completely outrageous, but plausible.”

  “Are you speaking to her?”

  “In Tarzan phrases.”

  “Has she apologized?”

  “Daily, in her sickly-sweet, deep-fried southern drivel.”

  “Hey now.”

  “Sorry, I’m bitter. I have to wear this contraption on my leg and use crutches. After that, I’ll have physical therapy through the spring.”

  “That sucks. Any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

  I scoffed. “You’re talking to the girl with a bum arm and a Velcro’d leg. If I had romantic plans, I’d hate to think what could happen. This holiday is a wash. What about you?”

  “Sorry, nothing for you to chew on.”

  “I should go and study or something.”

  “Me too,” Travis said. “Be careful around Bridget and take care of your limbs.”

  I hung up and analyzed the men of my Freshman year. There was Travis, who had professed he was gay while we were in bed. Mitch, whom I had one blurred, two-minute make-out session-- technically illegal since he’s sixteen. Then there was Clay Sorenson, who apparently didn’t recognize me as anything more than accident prone.

  At least The Grogan Girls aligned on the upcoming hallmark holiday. Katie Lee wasn’t speaking to Nash, Macy continued to ice Hugh and Bridget--I didn’t give a shit if romance did or didn’t orbit her planetary dome. Valentines had absolutely no appeal. It’s true. Misery does love company and having Katie Lee and Macy without relationships made coping with the wretched day bearable.

  I called for a van to take me to class. Slinging my book satchel diagonally across my chest, I locked my door and hobbled toward the lobby to wait. When I exited the elevator, my chin paid a visit to my neck. Nash held a bouquet of assorted red, pink and white carnations. “Damn girl. What the hell happened to you?”

  “Nash?”

  He nodded to his left. “You remember Billy Ray.”

  Nash’s sidekick held a flat package wrapped in brown shipping paper. He shuffled his feet and constantly twitched his shoulders. Before I could protest, he wrapped an arm around me and kissed my cheek as though I was dessert. I lost my balance on my crutches, and he steadied me without letting go of the package he held. Dressed in an untucked white oxford with missing sleeves, Billy Ray polished the look with a pink bow tie. His thighs were fire hydrant thick and he wore his pink chinos, fitted. It was a country boys twist on preppy, that had gone down Easter-candy-vomit alley. Normally I’m all about the shoes, but his were something even Elvis wouldn’t have approved of. “Hey there, Raz,” Billy Ray stuttered.

  I nodded and asked Nash, “Come to woo Katie Lee?”

  Nash adjusted the flowers. “Good guess?”

  “You know me. Always observant.”

  “So how’d ya jack your arm and leg?” Billy Ray asked.

  I squinted at the streaked bands of light that glinted past the front glass doors, hoping my van had arrived. It hadn’t. Sighing, I told Billy Ray, “Fell out a loft, and got run over by a car.”

  “God damn, Razzle,” Billy Ray chuckled, “you are an original.”

  In daylight, I estimated Billy Ray to be nearer to thirty than I’d remembered. He darted his eyes all around the lobby, but rested them on me. When he licked his cracked lips, I decided to wait for the van at the curb. “I’d love to stick around and shoot the shit, but I have a lecture to get to. I’m not sure when Katie Lee will be back from class.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nash said. “We buzzed Bridget. She’s coming down.”

  AFTER CLASS, I’D MADE a pitstop at the library and inhaled old paper smell for two hours. I decided I’d given Katie Lee enough time to deal with her surprise visitors. I hoped Nash and Billy Ray had left town by now. Billy Ray’s prowl for anything female, specifically me, gave me shivers. I never wanted to see him again.

  The seventh floor buzzed with girls getting ready for make-out sessions disguised as dinner dates. Every open door I passed had something floral resting inside, mine included. A hedge of fragrant carnations hogged Katie Lee’s
desktop. I didn’t need to see the card. The assorted flowers weren’t in the garbage can. I huffed a baby tiger growl. She’d made up with Nash, and Bridget’s standing had most likely been elevated to cloudlike since she’d let him into the dorm.

  I spread a mixture of tuna and mayo onto a slice of bread and topped it with soft American cheese. Setting the timer on the toaster oven for four minutes gave me a sinister joy. My snack permeated the air, overpowering the delicate floral scent. After my first cheesy bite, a dozen long stem, pink roses glided into my room, hiding Macy’s face. Her bright red nails clutched a glass vase. “Ah Jesus. Not you too?”

  Macy placed the behemoth arrangement on my dresser and clucked her tongue two times. “Lookie what I found with your name on it.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  Like a fox chasing a rabbit, Francine followed the flower trail into my room. She sniffed a rose and stepped back. “Whoo-wee, whoever sent those must have dropped nearly a hundred dollars.” She anchored her fists onto her hips. “And look at that crystal vase. Waterford?” Francine stiffened her neck, turned her head toward me and rolled a throaty, “Um-hum.”

  “Where did they come from?” I asked.

  “Front desk,” Macy said. “I brought them up for you.”

  “Is there a card?” Francine asked. “It’d be a shame if someone didn’t take credit for those.”

  “Who would send me flowers? This has to be a mistake.”

  Macy reached for the vase. “Finder-keepers.”

  Francine slapped her arm and plucked a card out of the center.

  When I saw the handmade envelope, my head pounded, and I had to sit.

  “Have you been flirting with someone over at the infirmary?” Francine asked.

  “Maybe they’re from Kentucky Travis,” Macy said.

  I hadn’t told anyone Travis’s secret and didn’t intend to. These definitely weren’t from him.

  The envelope had been fashioned out of a gum-candy wrapper. The word Razzle centered on the front. When Macy saw it, she put her hand over her mouth. “Billy Ray.”