by Tracy Ellen
Mike and I had been planning to spend that upcoming weekend at a big blowout party at one of his friend’s cabin up north. The day we were due to leave, NanaBel and several of the bookstore staff came down violently ill with a nasty stomach virus. It was impossible for me to take off the time to go to the cabin. Totally bummed, I had still encouraged Mike to go ahead and have fun with his friends. I’d be working all the time that weekend, anyway.
Mike went to the cabin on Friday, and at first, I had been amused as the reports started trickling in from concerned friends late on the following Sunday afternoon. Nobody knew the precise details, but several people called or came into the store to exclaim over my break-up with Mike. Candy had been boasting she had been with Mike up north over the weekend. The grapevine was working at top speed. Casual friends assumed we’d broken up and they just hadn’t heard yet.
It was news to me, too. Mike and I had talked briefly on Saturday afternoon and there had been no talk of breaking up. It was the opposite. Giggling, I had to beg him to hang up and let me get back to work while he continued to say very sweet things to me. He hadn’t even mentioned Candy and my sister Kenna were at the cabin party.
I’d checked my cell repeatedly and had no calls from Mike, but I still blew off what I was hearing. I was sure he’d come over Sunday night the minute he got back in town. He’d tell me what was up, if anything, in regards to Candy’s gossip. There was no way Mike would ever be seduced by Candy.
Not too long after I had closed the shop, my sister, Kenna, came to see me. I’ll always give Kenna credit for facing me and telling me the truth. She had understood I’d be hearing stories and had come immediately to the apartment after the store closed.
“Yes, it is true,” Kenna had uncomfortably confirmed for the second time. She was miserably sticking to her guns. I had gotten in her face and accused her of bullshitting me, despite the swear to God I’d hotly demanded from her at the start of the conversation.
When push came to shove, Kenna had shown up at the apartment to tell me what she knew out of loyalty as my sister, and to clear herself of any wrongdoing or involvement in my eyes. She may be buds with Candy, but she has no problem looking out for number one.
Kenna had sheepishly admitted she’d noticed Candy was flirting quite a lot with Mike, but he hadn’t seemed interested. She hadn’t thought anything of it really, it was just Candy being Candy. She said Mike had spent his days boating on the lake and his nights hanging with a group of guys.
Everyone had spent Saturday night drinking around a bonfire. After her second beer, Kenna started feeling really wasted and tired, probably from all the exercise and sunshine. She had gone to the tent she shared with Candy and passed out.
Kenna woke up early the next morning to go pee and she had been shocked speechless to see a nude Candy atop an obviously naked Mike. They were going at it. She’d realized then it was his disgusting moaning and groaning that had jarred her awake. She said it was like he was being tortured.
Not knowing what to do, Kenna had crept out of the tent. She ended up in their car. She had slept in the backseat until Candy found her a few hours later. Candy assured my pissed off sister on their drive home that Mike had come on strong after Kenna took off for bed. He had informed Candy that he was planning on breaking up with me and had always wanted her.
After my initial burst of enraged disbelief, I never said a word during Kenna’s recital. Once I knew Mike had fucked Candy, the rest of the story didn’t register past my numb misery. Except maybe the bizarrely odd detail of Mike’s tortuous moaning and groaning. I never knew him to be such a moaner, but if I was a dude; I’d find it tortuous to screw Candy, too. They’d have to draw and quarter me first.
Unfortunately, there were no circumstances I could come up with that could mitigate what my sister had seen with her own two eyes. Believe me, I tried.
Mike McClain, the love of my young life, screwed my cousin. The moment Kenna appeared at the top of the stairs and I saw her guilty, evasive expression, my brain knew Mike McClain was not worth another moment of my time.
It just took a couple of years for my broken heart to catch up to my brain.
Other than briefly telling Anna what Kenna divulged to me that night, and informing my family we’d broken up, I never said Mike’s name again. I never spoke to him again. What was done could never be undone with words.
That bleak, Sunday evening, I learned I am not a forgiving woman.
Maybe some people can truly forgive, or forget, such a personal smack down. I’m not one of them. I am not forgiving, but I will forget you until you cease to exist. Not like I never knew you or what you did, but more like you are now a nothing to me.
When Mike had called several times, or came to the apartment and the store, I had ignored him and walked away. He was dead to me.
There’s a whole world out there of people willing to treat you decently, so why stay with anyone willing to betray you?
Stay out of love? Love yourself enough to deserve better. People who love you don’t betray you the first time. Unfortunately, if you stick with them, the odds are high they will do it again.
Stay out of friendship? Adults who are your true friends do not betray you, or throw you under the bus. Your true friends care enough to never seriously want to bash you around with words or actions.
Stay out of fear of being alone? Accept it and get over it. We are all ultimately alone.
Stay out of pity? Don’t get me going on pity again.
I look at the people I love in my inner circle as beautiful gifts on loan while I trek through my life. I try to treat them with affection, respect, humor, interest, and understanding. They need to return the honor, or else why are they in my inner circle?
Sure, nobody’s perfect and you don’t dump someone for quirks or minor faults- not if you value them. You need to be understanding of their issues, too. But the level of betrayal I’d been dealt from Mike McClain went far beyond a minor flaw or quirk. Time had proven that I could forget he’d ever existed, but I’ll never forgive him for teaching me that terrible lesson of personal betrayal.
My unpleasant jaunt down memory lane was cut short when a light tap sounded on the back window of the car. It was Tre J’s signal to cover the dome light. Jazy slipped into the back seat.
I couldn’t see her shadowed face in the darkness, but her voice said it all. “It’s not platonic. You want details?”
“No.” I turned and faced the front. “Let’s go.”
I sensed Tre J’s concerned glance, but she put the car in reverse without commenting.
“Wait!” I whispered fiercely. Tre took her foot off the gas immediately. I swung around to Jazy. “One.”
Jazy didn’t hesitate. “She was bare-assed on his lap with his face buried in her tits.”
Tre J whispered in abhorrence, “That is fucked-up!”
I didn’t say anything, but sat forward again and made a curt motion for Tre J to drive.
We were slowly bouncing back down the rutted lane. The headlights were still off. Tre J wasn’t using the brake, so no indicators of our presence would be visible out in the open as we were. Keeping my mind a blank, I flipped the radio back on to fill the charged silence until we pulled into Reggie’s a few minutes later.
There were several cars and big trucks in his lot. He had an outdoor light mounted high on a pole overlooking the parking area, so the side closest to the house was well lit. Tre J parked near the porch and turned off the engine. None of us made any immediate moves to open our doors.
From their expectant air, it must be customary to say something in closing to your classic move triad partners. After all, they couldn’t help but notice you were still in the car due to your target having his face buried in your almost dead cousin’s balloon breasts.
I felt cold with rage. Not a very pleasant emotion I particularly wanted to share with anyone. Luckily, I was an old expert at hiding those types of feelings.
Reflected in th
e yellow light shining down from the pole above, I smiled ruefully at their serious expressions. “I don’t think classic moves are such a good idea for me; they are stressful.”
While Jazy and Tre J were laughing in relief at my quip, I reached for my purse and opened the car door. “Come on, ladies. Don’t we have something like nine men with incredible biceps waiting for us a few feet away?”
They followed me out of the car and Jaz called over the Honda’s roof, “Nine? Are you including our brother in that total? Gross!”
“I’m gross? Au contraire, Miss Lucrezia, you are the one with the incestuous thoughts tonight. First it was Jack and now Reg. Where does your sick mind dwell?”
Tre hooted, slapping Jaz on the back and sending her forward a few steps. “Her mind is in the gutter, like always.”
“We can’t all be Vested Virgins like some woman I could name,” Jaz sniped back while squaring her shoulders. “Tell me again, how is it fun holding back from the buffet of life?”
Meeting them at the front of the car, I teased my word challenged sister, “Try Vestal Virgin, not vested. Unless you meant Tre’s a western-style, cowgirl virgin?”
Tre shouted with laughter and Jazy grinned, taking my correction in stride with aplomb after years of such abuse.
“Jazy, do you really think Tre holds back at the buffet of life? I’m thinking she may not partake in a full plate of happiness, but she sure gobbles up the appetizers and desserts!”
Our guilty, blushing friend Tre commanded us to stop. “It’s not fair being Axelrod tag teamed!”
Ignoring Tre’s cry for fairness, Jazy kept laughing. “I know, right? If I hadn’t known Tre J since we wore pull-ups, I’d believe she was one of those females raised very strictly to be a virgin until they are safely pawned off and married. You know, the girls that pretend to be goodie two-shoes, but they’re actually slut monsters? They perform every sex act known to man, except vag penetration.” Jazy posed angelically, her hands together in prayer. “Then they get married a pure, innocent virgin.”
“What! You bitch!” Tre J shouted in outraged laughter.
“Do you remember Lydia Lee in my class?” Jazy asked us. She was wiping her eyes and barely able to speak over her laughter.
I nodded vigorously up and down. “Holy Crap, who could forget Lydia Chlamydia? She was famous for having anal sex with any boy who had a car in our high school. That crazy chick was something else.”
“Ahhh, but was she still a pure virgin, my sister?” Jazy asked archly.
“How dare you girls talk about anal sex while on your brother’s property!” Reggie’s deep voice calling from his front porch interrupted our huddled laughter. “Now, who is this Lydia Lee and where can I reach her?”
Tre J was groaning and shaking her head as she strode up the front steps. “Not another Axelrod to gang up on me! Besides, you probably ‘reached her’ back in middle school and have long forgotten, Reggie.”
“Well, I know I’ve never reached you before, honey. When are you going to admit you want me bad?”
I watched Reg get knocked off kilter a couple of steps by Tre’s playful punch. As we joined them on the porch, Jaz cheered her on to take our brother down.
I was getting chilly without my jacket on. Under the laughing and joking front, I ached with a heavy sense of miserable loss. I was also livid with anger every time my mind touched on the image of Luke across the road with my cousin.
I tried to shake off the depression, reaching instead for the fury. At least that kept me strong. I thought Luke was a man of character. I had given him credit for having way more depth than the typical player using any woman that crossed his path.
Upon first meeting him, I’d known Luke was driven and highly sexed; the testosterone rolled off him in waves. My mistake was underestimating Luke’s level of control of his appetites if he didn’t get what he wanted, when he wanted it. I’d also given him credit for a level of maturity and discrimination he obviously hadn’t possessed. Even in my disgust, it wasn’t like I thought he wanted a “relationship” with Candy, unless it was with her humungous mammaries.
‘My God, this sucked!’ I shuddered in repugnance at the thought of Luke being with me and then going to be with Candy a few hours later. I took solace in the thought that since Luke was that kind of man, it was better to face it now and move on. It justified my inner voices telling me to stick to my rules and walk away intact, like always.
Jazy squeezed my arm, and I glanced over to see her watching me. I dredged up a smile. “Let’s go raid Reggie’s kitchen.”
Reggie stepped over and enveloped us in a group hug. “I thought you were scared little chickens after tonight. Instead, you three are out here laughing it up without a care in the world. Don’t I finally get to be the tough, protective brother?”
Jazy snorted. “Did hell freeze over tonight when I wasn’t looking?”
Tre J and Jaz were giggling at Reggie’s offended expression as they entered the house.
“She’s so fresh. I try hard, but you can’t be nice to that girl.” Reggie sighed sadly, and then peered closely at me. “So, Shooter, how are you?”
I made a face. “Why don’t you distract me and tell me how much money you’ve won so far with your cheating ways. Let’s do it in the house, though. I’m really freezing my butt off out here.”
“Cheating?” Reg scoffed. “I see you’re still bitter I took your money last month.” His voice turned cajoling. “Come on, Junior, tell me what happened tonight. Hell, it’s not every Saturday night a man nearly loses all his nemeses, I mean his sisters, at once.” He grinned and opened the storm door for me. “It’s not like I paid the idiot to miss.”
I sniggered a little and obligingly filled him in. Sticking to the bare facts, it took only a minute. The house was not overly warm, but definitely better than standing outside in a thin, flouncy shirt and no coat.
Absently listening to Reg rant and rave on the ways he was going to inflict damage on The Hammer’s sorry ass if he found him first, I gazed distractedly around my brother’s place.
The entire first floor, except for the tiled bathroom, was now installed with gleaming, oak hardwood flooring. The living room was furnished with two leather sofas, a big recliner, and two end tables with lamps. Reggie had a giant flat screen TV where, lo and behold, a cable sports channel was on with the volume turned low.
Winding down on the butt kicking scenarios, Reggie headed to the kitchen for a beer. I stood back in the shadow of the doorway between the living and dining rooms, unnoticed by the boisterous group in the next room. Leaning a shoulder against the wall, I smiled faintly at the scene I observed.
A pedestal dining table and chairs had replaced the temporary card table and chairs. The table was extended open tonight to a large oval. Several men sat talking and laughing, sprawled out comfortably in their chairs. Richly fragrant cigar smoke curled lazily up through the air to be disbursed in the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Full ashtrays, beer bottles, and short glasses of hooch were scattered around the table. Bowls of chips and pretzels were at their elbows. Cards were lying face down in front of each man, and piles of poker chips in staggered heights and colors were stacked near their drinks.
It was the quintessential setting of a group of men having a good time together with no fussy female interference. The traditional male normalcy of it all made me glad I’d come over here after the last few hours of craziness. I wouldn’t dream of emptying their overflowing, smelly ashtrays.
I idly noticed the patio door was ajar to let in some fresh air, which accounted for the cool temperatures. Two chairs at the table were currently unoccupied. One had to be Reggie’s, since it had the TV remote planted front and center and the chair faced the living room. As I skimmed the room with a quick glance, I saw a few of the guys looking my way. I waved my hellos in return to their various greetings.
Jazy and Tre J were in the thick of things in the dining room, entertaining the men with our Death Race 2012 a
dventure. From the looks on their faces, nobody seemed to mind the break in the poker action.
Jazy seemed unusually animated. Her arms were gesturing in emphasis with her words. It reminded me of Stella a zillion years ago this morning talking to Eric George Jasnik in Bel’s. From my post of leaning against the doorway, I soon figured out the reason why she was so energized. Jaz was chatting primarily with a man I’d never seen before, a very attractive American Indian. The man wore his hair pulled back in a long, thick braid. On him, the braid did not seem one bit feminine. Instead, it only emphasized his chiseled profile and high, broad cheekbones.
Reggie came from the kitchen carrying three bottles of beer, handing two off to the girls. He toggled the third in my direction, but I shook my head no. Beer’s not a favorite of mine. I motioned I’d get something in a minute.
Reg slid into his chair. My eyes went to the empty chair where a larger pile of chips was stacked. I pantomimed a sad face at Reg, pointing out how he wasn’t in the lead. He rubbed his cheek with his middle finger in a brotherly gesture.
It reminded me of the last time I had given him the finger that way, and I sighed in disgust with myself. I wasn’t doing such a bang-up job of coldly putting Luke out of my mind. The problem was life had been really fun these last couple of months. Luke gave brightness to my days that I hadn’t known I’d been missing for a long time. I felt depressed knowing Luke was an asshole and not going to be part of my inner circle. I was starting to get ticked again thinking about Luke turning out to be a dickhead.
‘What a jerkface, buttwad, tailchasing…’
Sam Sheedy, a friend of Reg’s from school, stood to unfold a card chair from the pile leaning against the wall. Sam faltered when he got a glimpse of my dark scowl, but then he recovered.
