Skin Games

by Adam Pepper

  I stood up, too, and said, “No problem.”

  “We can do this again tomorrow if you want.”

  “Cool. Same time?”

  “Yeah.”

  She walked to the door and waved to the pizza man. “See you, Gino.”

  “Bye, honey,” he said to her; then he nodded to me.

  I nodded back.

  Once out on the sidewalk, I stopped next to her car. She walked around the freshly-waxed hood. There was a ticket stuck in her windshield wiper. Nicole picked it up, crumpled it and tossed it behind her shoulder.

  “Not gonna pay that, I guess.”

  She smiled. “Nope. Never do.” She put her key in the door and asked, “So, where you headed?”

  “Home, I guess. It’s just around the corner.”

  “Where’s your car parked.”

  Sheepishly, I said, “Uh, I don’t have a car.”

  “Really? That must suck.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “You should get one.”

  “We don’t all have a rich daddy to buy us one.” I laughed when I said it but really wanted to reach out and stuff those words back into my mouth.

  She tossed her handbag into the car and crossed her arms, puckering her lips and squinting slightly. At first, I couldn’t tell if she was pissed off, offended, amused, or what.

  “You think my daddy gives me whatever I want, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, Nicole. I shouldn’t have said that. I was only kidding around. It was a bad joke.”

  She got in her car and started the engine. Then, she opened the passenger side window.

  “Truthfully Sean, he does give me anything I want.” She revved the engine, two quick pumps of the accelerator pedal. “See ya.”

  Then she sped off, blowing right through the red light at Tremont and Randall Avenues. She tooted her horn as she passed a patrol car parked at the Shell station. The cop sitting in the car waved at her.

  I shook my head in disbelief. She sure was something else, that girl. Something else entirely.

  It was the last thing on my mind at the time, but looking back on it, I bet Scrubby Mike was watching us the entire time. Maybe Griff was right there with him. Maybe they were across the street sipping coffee at a corner booth in the Fountainhead Diner. They could have been inside the gas station with Benny, the grease monkey who worked there most day shifts. Or maybe they were parked in a car I didn’t recognize; I’m sure they could have had Vinny rustle something up for them to borrow. Especially seeing as though they were on official business and the assignment was given out from the highest authority.

  Most likely it was the corner booth at the diner. Scrubby and Griff watching our every move. Scrubby muttering what a piece of shit I was and what a pair of balls on me and Griff agreeing, not because he agreed that I was a piece of shit but because he felt obligated to agree with Scrubby Mike.

  But I had no idea at the time. None whatsoever. Not a care in the world. At that time, as I watched the BMW make a left turn and head off towards the thruway, I was whistling a sweet song, intoxicated by the purest drug known to man: infatuation.

  * *

  A horn honked. It wasn’t a thundering, powerful toot. It wasn’t a happy, peppy beep. The noise was more of a pitiful, tortured waa, the sound so pained you could tell the mere pressing of the center of the steering wheel was sucking life from the car’s battery.

  I was sitting on my couch and I turned and looked out the window. I saw a rusty, brown Datsun Sentra. Jose’s car.

  I hopped up, grabbed my keys and wallet, then walked out the door. I got inside the car.

  “Hey, man. Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem,” Jose said. He put the Sentra in gear and the engine let out a high-pitched squeal, sounding more like a lawnmower than a car.

  “How much you pay for this, Jose?” I asked.

  He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. “You wanna buy it?”

  “Hell no.” We both laughed. “I want to get my own.”

  “Your own piece of shit Sentra?”

  “Stop being a wiseass. I want my own car. I’m tired of bumming rides.”

  “Talk to Vinny. He’ll hook you up.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he will.”

  We got up to Hunts Point, and Jose parked the car out front of Vinny’s shop. Jose walked inside and I followed. There was a Pontiac parked in the middle bay that we went right to work on. Routine maintenance, nothing to speak of. I could hear Vinny yelling at someone on the phone in the back room. He didn’t even come out to tell us anything. We knew what needed to be done.

  After we tightened the lug nuts on the Pontiac, I got up the courage to go ask Vinny about a car.

  “Hey, Vinny,” I said, poking my head into his office.

  Vinny had his feet up on his small, wooden desk and was looking into a hand mirror that he was holding with one hand while tweezing his thick black eyebrow with his other.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “I need a car.”

  He dropped the mirror and tweezers and sat up in the chair. “No problem.”

  “One I can register and get legit plates on. A car I can drive in public without worrying about the cops.”

  “I know. I know. I’ll take care of you. How much you got to spend?”

  “Not much.”

  He nodded. “I figured. Okay. Come around back with me.”

  Vinny walked out the back door of the shop. We walked past rows of clunkers, Vinny heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the junkyard.

  “You sure about this, Vinny?” I heard the dogs barking from somewhere behind us.

  “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got just the car for you.”

  He stopped in front of a car. Vinny rubbed the hood of a small, green convertible and said, “Alfa Romeo Spider, clover green with a black ragtop. This is a nice vehicle, Shamrock.”

  “Yeah?”

  Vinny smiled, slapped the hood as he nodded, then said, “You bet. A wash and wax. New battery. This bad boy is perfect.”

  I scratched my head. The car wasn’t exactly what I envisioned. Smaller than a Firebird. Not as sporty as a Mustang or as tough-looking as a Camaro. The front quarter panel was dented and when I sat down inside, the seat cushions weren’t all that soft.

  “I’m telling you, Sean. This car is you.”

  Maybe all it really did need was a good cleaning. I ran my hands across the steering wheel as I said, “Okay. How much?”

  * *

  I was a new man on my way to the pizzeria the next day. Sitting in the driver’s seat of my new car—new to me anyway. My first car ever. It was all mine. I couldn’t have been prouder, couldn’t have felt bigger, badder, more like a man than the way I did in my Alfa Romeo Spider. It wasn’t new. It was a little rusty. There was a steady stream of black haze spewing from the exhaust pipe.

  It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was mine, and I drove it up to Costa’s with pride. I pulled up to the restaurant and parked. There was no sign of Nicole’s BMW. It figured.

  I put a quarter in the meter, and I walked inside. Gino was behind the counter pulling a fresh pie out of the oven. There was an awesome aroma of fresh garlic and sautéed onions.

  “Can I get a slice, please, Gino?”

  “You bet, pal. Fresh pie. First slice is for you.”

  “Great. Thanks. No sign of Nicole yet, I take it.”

  “Not yet. But she’ll be along soon, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure, too.”

  “You getting sweet on her?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer, instead taking a bite of the slice he’d just slid across the counter in my direction.

  “I don’t blame you. She’s a hot number.”

  I took another bite. Still preferring not to answer.

  “But she’s a handful. A big handful. A little bit of risk involved there, you know what I mean?”

  “I know. But thanks.”

  “Okay. No offe
nse intended. Just sayin’ is all.”

  “None taken.”

  We both turned as we heard a car come to a screeching halt. The front bumper of Nicole’s red BMW was just inches away from the rear bumper of my car. Her gears grinded as she put the car in park and then stepped out.

  She came inside and walked right by me, then sat at her usual table. I picked up my slice, stood up and walked over.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she said, smiling, then her top teeth nibbled at her bottom lip.

  “So, you recognize me today. That’s an improvement.”

  “Of course I recognize you. Are you gonna sit down?”

  I sat down.

  “That’s better.” She turned to the counter and called, “Gino.”

  “Slice coming up, honey. Fresh pie. You’re gonna love it.”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Coming.” Gino ran over with a slice on a white paper plate and a Diet Coke from the fountain with fizz bubbling slightly over the edges. He put it down in front of her then said, “Anything else?”

  “No thanks.”

  “How about you, my friend?”

  “I’m good,” I said.

  Nicole devoured the slice. She wasn’t rude. Her mouth stayed closed and her manners ladylike. But the slice disappeared very quickly.

  “You’re hungry, I see.”

  “Haven’t eaten all day.”

  “You probably just woke up.”

  “Very funny. Don’t be a wise guy, Sean.”

  “Okay. But it’s true.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “When you’re done, I want to show you something.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “No, take your time. Finish your lunch.”

  She stuffed the last of the crust into her mouth, covered her mouth with her hand and said, “I’m ready. Show me.”

  I mocked her playfully; speaking as if my mouth was full I said, “Show me. Show me.”

  She slapped me lightly with the back of her hand, gulped down some of her drink, then said, “I’m serious. I want to know what the big surprise is.”

  “Ok. Come outside.”

  We walked outside and stood on the sidewalk in front of our cars.

  “You see that car you almost hit?”

  “That green piece of shit?”

  “Yeah, the green piece of shit.”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s my new car.”

  She took a dump on my car, and a chunk out of my heart with her facial expression. “Serious?”

  “You hate it. You think it’s horrible.”

  Her mouth dropped wide open. “Oh, Sean. I’m sorry. It’s a beautiful car.”

  “You think it’s a piece of shit. You just said so.”

  She walked up to me and put her arm around my waist while nuzzling her body close to me. My stomach dropped, and I began to tingle all over.

  “I like it. It’s green. Like a shamrock. It suits you, Sean. Really, I mean it.”

  “You’re just saying that. You are trying to be nice to me.”

  “So.” She punched me playfully in the gut. “I’m not allowed to be nice to you?”

  “I guess you’re allowed.”

  She walked up to the passenger side of the car, cupped her hands over her eyes and looked in. “Nice, leather upholstery. Come on, Sean. Aren’t you gonna take me for a ride?”

  “You bet.”

  I pulled out my keys, unlocked, then opened her door. Then I ran around to my side and got in. I started up the engine and put down the ragtop.

  “I love convertibles,” she said. “That is really hot.”

  It was a chilly November day, but I really wanted to impress her.

  “You think it’s too cold to put the top down?”

  “No way. I think it’s awesome. Let’s go. Show me what this bad boy can do.”

  I looked over at her. She flipped her hair and turned towards me and winked. The rush of enthusiasm went to my brain as my foot hit the pedal. I gunned it, and the car took off. She bucked a little bit, but once the clutch was fully engaged we started to move. The light turned yellow, and I gassed the engine even more.

  Nicole turned towards the Shell station. The cop was sitting in his patrol car. She waved. I got nervous just as the light turned red but shot through the intersection anyway.

  The cop waved back.

  “He likes you, doesn’t he?” I asked, speaking loudly as the rushing wind was making a lot of noise.

  “I don’t know. I guess.”

  “Sure he does. Everyone likes you.”

  “So what? I like you.”

  I turned left on Randall Avenue and headed towards the thruway. I looked straight ahead, smiling. I felt like a king.

  Once I merged onto the thruway, I got the car into fifth gear. Nicole’s hair was flowing behind her. The wind gusts had me shivering, but when I turned to look at Nicole, she seemed oblivious to it. She was bouncing in her seat, and I was giddy.

  “Is that all this thing can do?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Faster. Floor it!”

  I floored the pedal and the engine just screamed out for mercy. The tires squealed as we entered a tight turn and shot underneath the Country Club Road overpass, but I didn’t let up. We came out the other side into a four-lane straightaway. I swerved to avoid a truck then cut back to avoid a car.

  “That’s more like it,” she said.

  “Are you cold?” I was freezing and a little nervous. This was my first car, after all. Unlike the cars I was usually driving, this one actually meant something to me.

  “Are you?”

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  “Liar!”

  I let off the gas, and we began to coast. We slowed and the engine stopped screaming, although it still seemed to be gasping. The car bucked and spit exhaust from the pipes in uneven gusts. It wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t a shiny, fire-engine red BMW, but it was mine, and I was proud of it.

  “Do you like my car?”

  “Yeah. I love it.”

  “Seriously.”

  “I am serious.”

  “It’s not fancy or anything.”

  “Sean. It’s great.”

  “Okay.”

  “Get off here,” she said as we approached the exit for the Hutchinson River Parkway. Then she said, “Do you think that little of me? You think all I care about are nice cars and stuff?”

  “No. I think the world of you, Nicole.”

  She rubbed my leg. “I like your car, Sean. It’s beautiful.”

  “No, you’re beautiful.”

  “Oh, stop,” she said, then quickly turned her attention to the road, “Get off here. Quick, you’re gonna miss the exit.”

  I changed lanes abruptly; some guy behind me didn’t like it and started hammering his horn. Nicole held up her middle finger, while the rest of her body barely moved.

  I laughed and said, “Why are you giving him the finger? It was totally my fault.”

  She stood up in the wide-open convertible, and as the car passed she shouted, “Fuck you!” Then she sat down and said, “I don’t care whose fault it was. I’m on your side. You get it?”

  “I get it.” The Spider glided onto the off ramp, and then I slowed it to a stop at a red light. I put the top up as we waited at the light. “It’s nice to have someone on your side.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’m not so used to it.”

  “Well get used to it. Because I am on your side. You got it?”

  “I got it.”

  The light turned green, and I let off the brake, and the car lurched forward. I didn’t know which way to turn and the only thing straight ahead was the entrance to get back on the parkway.

  “Which way?” I asked.

  “Turn right.”

  “Any time you want to tell me, that would be fine,” I said in a silly tone.

  “Very funny wise guy. Keep it up.”

  “S
o, where are we going?”

  “Turn right at the next road.”

  “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “Where do you think?” I got distracted for a second, and she grabbed my arm and said, “Turn here!”

  I turned quickly. The road was a quiet, tree-lined side street. The area was suburban. The houses were large. I had been in this neighborhood before with Scrubby, to look for cars to jack but I’d never seen it in the daylight.

  “I think I know where we’re going,” I said. I suddenly knew where we were going, and inside I was shitting a brick.

  “I want to show you my house.”

  “I don’t know, Nicole. Are you sure about this?”

  “Why not?”

  “I just,” I paused, not wanting to get myself into trouble. “I think maybe it’s a little soon for this.”

  “Don’t be silly. Anyway, no one’s home.”

  My relief was a bit too obvious. I must have really heaved a sigh.

  “You are scared of my father, just admit it.”

  “Well, Nicole, come on. I’m not insane. I would have to be out of my mind not to be a little scared of the guy. He’s intimidating, okay?”

  “Okay. Okay. But he’s not home so you can stop worrying.”

  “What if he comes home? That would be even worse.”

  “Why?”

  “He might get the wrong idea.”

  “What idea is that?”

  “Nicole! Now you’re the one being a wiseass.”

  “Turn here.”

  We turned down another side road, even quieter than the last. The houses became further and further apart.

  “Right here.”

  There was a house with a wide, oval driveway allowing a car to drive in and drive out without turning around. We pulled in the first opening of the driveway and it was a couple hundred yards to the house. The lawn was lush and green, and there were several large trees with just a few leaves left on them. I pulled around the semicircle and stopped in front of the house.

  She opened her door and stepped out. “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand towards me, as if she was going to yank me out of the car by force.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Bock. Bock. Bock.” She flapped her elbows like a chicken and started prancing around the driveway.

  I opened my door and stepped out. “Very funny.”