Rage: A Love Story

by Julie Anne Peters

  There’s no wall clock in Bling’s. I rearrange the watch display over and over to check the time. 9:58. 9:59—she’s here.

  She picks up a digital watch and tries it on. “Pretend you don’t know me,” she says.

  My stomach somersaults. She wanders over to the hair scrunchies as a horde of girls surges in, dispersing in pairs. Robbie’s in a corner playing with his string.

  I check the time. Ten exactly.

  Shondri has a line at the register. The store is small and cramped with this many people in it. Now Reeve is trying on shades.

  I slip between bodies down the main aisle, attempting to look inconspicuous. Forcing myself not to scream, Everybody out!

  Reeve catches my eye and smiles. I can’t wait for these stragglers. Behind the counter, I press the button for the metal grate to lower.

  “What are you doing?” Shondri asks.

  “It’s closing time.”

  “Johanna, we have customers.”

  “But I have to leave. I have curfew and, uh… I’m grounded.” I’ve never been grounded in my life.

  Shondri’s eyes slit. “You mighta told me that.”

  I hunch my shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Reeve disappears behind a rack of earrings, then materializes on the other side. She mimes, Don’t stare.

  “Go on,” Shondri says. “I’ll close.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Do I got a choice?”

  I rush to the storeroom for my bag and when I come back, Reeve and Robbie are gone. I skid out into the mall and see Robbie at the photo booth. “Hey!” I call. “Where’s—”

  Hands cover my eyes. “Trick or treat,” she says.

  “Definitely treat.”

  She’s in front of me. “Ready?”

  I’ve been ready forever.

  “Where’s your car?” she asks.

  “This way.” I start for the northwest entrance, by Target.

  “Butt crack!” Reeve calls. She takes my hand, just like that. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  My eyes drift down to her wrist, to the watch.

  She forgot. She’ll notice later and go, Shit. She’ll return it to Bling’s.

  So there’s no problem. And if she really wants it, I’ll buy it for her.

  Amanda Montero lives in Glenarm Canyon, in one of those cozy cabins that cost a million dollars. It’s weird how geography dictates status. The poor neighborhoods, the ghettos, are built on a floodplain. The middle class is mesa. The upper crust, geographically speaking, claims the summit.

  Why would Amanda Montero want to use my apartment? Her house is a four-star resort. There are signs and arrows directing people to the party out back, in case the strobes and blasting bass aren’t enough. We, Reeve and I, and, oh yeah, my other date, Robbie, make our way up the driveway.

  Reeve looks amazing tonight. She’s wearing this straight, full-length skirt with buckles and grommets that’s made out of nylon, like a backpack. Not new. Everything she owns is vintage cool. I have on my black pants and white shirt from work. So glam.

  People glom together on the patio in cliques. Three or four girls in bikinis lounge at the pool. Brr. It’s chilly in the mountains at night.

  The pool is shaped like a scalloped oyster. A waterfall splashes down fake boulders, making me think of Fallon Falls. If we’d kept going up Terra Haute Road, we’d have come to Fallon Falls. Maybe I’ll take Reeve there later? Throw Robbie off the cliff?

  “I didn’t know it was a pool party,” I say to Reeve. The only parties I’ve ever been to were at Novak’s, where I immediately gravitated to the greenhouse.

  “It’s whatever,” Reeve says. “You know.”

  One of the bikini chicks leaps to her feet and bounds over to us. Her boobs jiggle. “Oh, you are so leaving,” she says to Reeve.

  Reeve goes, “I was invited.”

  “By who?”

  “Britt.”

  Amanda’s eyes narrow. I survey the area but don’t see Britt.

  “You fucked my little sister,” Amanda says.

  Reeve goes, “Only ‘cause she wanted it.”

  “You lying bitch.”

  My eyes dart back to the pool. One of the girls is Nameless, from Rainbow Alley. Is that Amanda’s sister?

  Amanda says, “She’s not a dyke.”

  “Okay. You’d know.”

  Reeve and Amanda have a stare-down.

  Amanda blinks over to me. “You can’t bring him here.”

  Reeve says, “He’s staying.”

  Robbie, she means. Why is she looking at me?

  Robbie drones, “Fooood,” and elevates his arms like Frankenstein, goose-stepping toward the wet bar. There are bowls of chips and coolers of drinks.

  Reeve calls at his back, “Wander off into the hills where no one can find you!” Her fingers intertwine with mine and she says, “This is Johanna.”

  I say to Amanda, “We’ve met.”

  “We have?” Her eyes scorch me. “Do you go to our school?”

  We’ve both gone to Jefferson High for four years.

  Amanda points at me. “We had yearbook together last year. Right?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m pre-med.”

  Two guys sneak up behind Amanda, one pressing a finger to his lips. He grabs her arms while the other guy snags her ankles. They swoop her into the air and she squeals.

  My hand absorbs the rapture of Reeve’s fingers woven through mine. She has a tight grip.

  She gazes up at me. “Are you really pre-med?”

  “Do we even have that?”

  She laughs. I smile back. Her attention wavers over to Robbie, who is standing at the bar shoving chips into his mouth by the fistful. “He is so bent,” she says. “What am I going to do with him?”

  “How come you’re responsible for him?” I ask. “Can’t he—”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Reeve snaps. She releases my hand and stalks off toward the pool. I stumble blindly behind.

  She stops suddenly and turns to me. “Are you sorry you came with me yet?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I guess you heard. My lucky number’s ten.”

  I laugh. Not the reaction she expects, I guess. Somewhere in the back of my mind, at the instinctive level, I know I should be jealous. Am I?

  Reeve’s eyes graze the ground and she swings her right hand close to my body. Her wrist winds under my wrist and she tickles the tips of my fingers with hers. Tingles of desire radiate through my body.

  Reeve says in a low whisper, “Let’s go somewhere.”

  Fallon Falls.

  She hooks her fingertips under mine and leads me to the pool. The party’s gearing up.

  “Reeve? Reeve!”

  She slows.

  “Hey.”

  It’s Britt. Her eyes flit to our linked hands.

  Reeve says, “This is Johanna,” clenching my hand tighter.

  “I know,” Britt says. She has these blue-gray eyes like a snow cat’s. They stare at me intently. What? Is she trying to telepath a message, like, Lay off? I telepath back, Reeve might’ve been yours once, but your number’s up.

  “You could’ve told Amanda you invited me.” Reeve’s voice is cold.

  Britt’s mouth drops. “I did. Melia’s been telling everyone—”

  “I know what Melia’s saying. She should shut up. We have to go.” Reeve tugs me ahead.

  I turn to see Britt drilling me with eye daggers. It feels … satisfying.

  She’s negative zero.

  We cross the pool deck and round the faux waterfall. Behind us, I hear someone screech, “Nooo … !” Then a splash. People shout and laugh.

  Reeve seems to know her way around here. She creaks open an iron gate to a cobbled path leading down an incline. It’s only wide enough for the two of us, so our arms press together. Around a rock ledge past a hidden alcove is a hanging garden.

  Reeve says, “Do you want to sit or stand?”

>   For what? There’s a patio set, an arched trellis with a spray of climbing roses. Reeve follows my eyes to it, then leads me that way and we duck under a spiny branch.

  The roses are red. The archway is dark.

  Reeve lets go of my hand and straightens to her full height. She’s wearing her plats, and she’s only, like, three or four inches shorter than me. Her eyes are subtle, brown eye shadow, white mascara, natural lip gloss.

  “I don’t know you at all,” she says.

  Oh, Reeve. I know you.

  She adds softly, “But I want to.”

  With both hands spread, she touches her fingertips to mine. We stand a long moment with our hands out, wing tips pressing. Our palms never touch. As if on cue, our fists come together.

  Reeve says, “Do you kiss on the first date?”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. This is my first date.” Feminazi doesn’t count.

  She widens her eyes.

  “Except for the hookah.”

  Her eyes go black. “That didn’t happen. We weren’t ready.”

  You mean you weren’t.

  Reeve smiles tenderly. A sensuous smile that stirs the night.

  “Do you?” I ask. “Kiss on the first date?”

  “I do,” she says, sounding serious. “I definitely do.”

  I lick my lips. My mouth is dry and I swallow dust. Reeve angles her chin up and closes her eyes. I think, If I close my eyes, I’ll miss. I’ll kiss her forehead, or her nose, or …

  Reeve pushes down our fisted hands and rises up to meet me. In sync, we come together.

  Her lips part slightly and so do mine.

  Velvet night against my mouth, her lips are moist and warm. She opens her mouth and I do too, then she twists her lips, her lip gloss a lubricant. She sucks my upper lip between her teeth and holds while I tremble with the Earth.

  My hands unclasp from hers and wrap around her, pulling her into me. Her hand slides up under my hair and her rigid fingers drive down the base of my skull.

  It’s hard to breathe, hard to stand. My hands move to her lower back, to bare skin where her shirt has ridden up. I flatten my palms against her and crush her to me.

  A little “Oh” escapes from my mouth. Reeve makes a sound, a long “huhhh.” The tips of our tongues curl and touch and tickle.

  Reeve’s head jolts back. “God,” she says. “I’m going to come.”

  I’m shaking so hard, I think I might die. “Is that bad?”

  Reeve fingers my cheek, the back of my neck. I lean into her, covering her hand with mine, taking it and kissing it.

  My eyes close. This is Joyland. My alternate universe I never dare inhabit. Until now.

  It’s real. I’m finally alive.

  My eyes open slowly.

  “Wow,” she says.

  “Yeah.”

  “That wasn’t your first kiss.”

  “It was.”

  She arches her eyebrows and her eyes glisten. I can kiss! I’m a good kisser.

  She touches my lips with the tip of her index finger and I kiss her fingertips. “You’re my first everything,” I say.

  Her face changes. For a moment I think she might cry, and if she does, the depth of my desire will burst apart with her. She takes a step back, away from me. “We better go see what Robbie’s up to.”

  “Reeve.” I clench her arm and she reacts with a jerk.

  Licking my lips, I lean into her. My arms enclose her, but she twists out, pressing her hand against my hip. She says, “Let’s not get carried away.”

  Too late. I’m flying. I thought she wanted me.

  She adds in a quiet voice, “I want you to savor your first time, okay? There’s only one first time. Don’t lose it.”

  I won’t. I’ll never let her go.

  Chapter 15

  Robbie could be one of those idiot savants, I think, like in Rain Man. I read through the last part of his essay, as much as I can decipher. His spelling and punctuation suck, but the content is moving. And disturbing, of course.

  My best momen was when I kill everyone. Not Reeve. I learnd if you elimnnate the sourc of diseeze the symptms go away. but you always have the sicness inside you.

  Does Reeve feel that way? Does she think she’s got a sickness? I hope not.

  I open the door to leave for work and trip over a box on the landing. Taped to it is a note: “Enjoy these. ♥ U.”

  Novak’s loopy writing. I bring the box inside and set it on the coffee table. Inside is a DVD player. She must really be moving out. A couple of DVDs are stuck in the side.

  One is Fantasia. The other is—

  Porn. Under the player are three more DVDs. They’re all porn.

  Girls on girls! Are these Novak’s? I might watch … one. Now I wish I didn’t have to go to work.

  I surveil the entrance my entire shift, assuming, hoping, Reeve will appear. Certain she’ll come by and return the watch.

  Shondri says, “I’m giving you a promotion.” She hands me my paycheck. “Assistant manager.”

  “You’re kidding.” I stare at the check stub. Ten cents more per hour.

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  That makes me laugh. Still, I’ve never been promoted. All I can think is, I want to tell Reeve!

  How does Reeve spend her off time? She has girlfriends. Britt, others. I’ve seen her holding hands or nuzzling with them at lunch. I always imagine they’re me and then I take that scene to Joyland.

  This one time I caught Reeve in a passionate kiss with Britt. I came in early for a make-up test or something and they were outside on the quad before school. Britt was moaning and breathing hard, then she went, “Ow!

  “You bit me!” Britt said.

  “Did I?”

  “I’m bleeding. You did that on purpose,” Britt whimpered. “Why’d you do that? I never did anything to you.”

  Reeve said, “You asked for it.”

  Britt crumpled to the ground and started to cry.

  Reeve would never make me cry. She couldn’t.

  I didn’t see Britt for a while after that, and I’m pretty sure they broke up soon after.

  God, this is driving me crazy. Why doesn’t she come in?

  Closing time and still no sign of her.

  I’ll drop by her place. I know I promised, but …

  As I turn onto 68th Street, the house comes into view. At night, the trash and tires and abandoned furniture look like a haunted junkyard. I pull to the curb across the street and park.

  The streetlamp nearest me has been shot out and the pole tagged. This whole ghetto street scene creeps me out. I spot a dim light on inside her house.

  The front door suddenly crashes open, scaring the bejeezus out of me. Reeve storms out. “I told you, no!” she yells back inside. “I won’t do it. I’m not doing it anymore.”

  A woman’s voice rises in a screech, “I’ll die! You know I need it.”

  That guy shadows the doorway, bracing himself with both hands in the doorframe.

  Reeve shouts, “You go buy her shit! You fucking got her hooked again.”

  “Watch your language, young lady.”

  Reeve spits at him.

  He laughs and fades into the background.

  The woman—Reeve’s mom?—staggers out, grabs Reeve by the arm, and wobbles. She’s, like, completely anorexic. She’s wearing saggy stretch pants and a bra.

  Reeve catches her in a fall. “I won’t buy for you, Mom,” she says. “I won’t do it.”

  Her mother’s reply is faintly audible. “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you! Your life is fucked.”

  Her hand flies out and slaps Reeve’s face hard enough to snap Reeve’s head back. Geez. Her own mother.

  “Bitch,” Reeve goes. Then louder, “Junkie bitch!”

  The woman hauls off to slap her again, but this time Reeve blocks her wrist, pushes her mother in through the door.

  I can’t just sit here. Can I?

  Reeve appears
again. The guy follows with a thin brown cigarette dangling from his mouth. Reeve hops down off the porch, straight toward me, and the guy comes after her. “Where do you think you’re going? Hey, dyke!”

  “Cram it.”

  From inside, Reeve’s mom yells, “You have my permission to do what you need to do, Anthony!”

  Reeve pulls up short.

  The guy approaches her from behind, cups her shoulder, and she knocks his hand off. He bends down to kiss her neck, but she whirls and kicks him in the balls.

  Good.

  He doubles over, then screams, “You fucking cunt! You cunt-licking—” He hits her with his fist square to her jaw.

  Reeve crumples to the ground. My Reeve.

  My fingers grab the door handle and I charge out. Reeve rises up and kicks him again, but I can see him lunge for her head. I yank him off her from behind. He’s about my height, greasy, stinking of booze and b.o. He has tattoos up and down his arms and shoulders.

  “Who the fuck are you?” He wrenches away from me. His eyes have no pupils.

  “Johanna,” I answer. My voice is surprisingly calm.

  “Oh yeah. The dyke’s bull dyke.”

  Reeve aims to kick him again, but he catches her ankle, twists her leg.

  “Stop it!” I push him off and kneel to her. “Reeve.”

  He launches onto the porch muttering, “Fucking freaks,” and vanishes inside.

  I hold her face, fingering her chin with my thumbs where blood is dribbling and her lip is swelling. I wrap my arms around her. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  She thrusts up both arms. “What are you doing here?”

  My mouth opens.

  “Don’t ever come here.” She shoves me backward, onto my butt. “Go home,” she says, scrabbling away from me. “Go back where you came from.”

  “Reeve …”

  She rises to her feet and storms off.

  I stand and stumble toward the street. Don’t leave her here! my brain screams. She’ll die!

  “You don’t know me.”

  I turn. “What?”

  She’s out of breath. “You never will. I don’t ever want to see your ugly face in mine again. You disgust me.”

  She’s traumatized; she doesn’t mean what she’s saying. “I can help you. I’ll phone someone. The cops or—or social services.”

  “Don’t do anything!” she shouts in my face. “Just get out of my life!”