by Tina Ferraro
He needed to hear what I’d learned about her tonight, about her being a first rate BS-er. No saying her promises about her dad’s support were above-board, either. Of course, Saffron would hate my guts over all this, and probably try to make my life miserable for taking up with him.
But Flea would stick by me. (Wouldn’t she?) I’d deal with it. Somehow.
He was worth it. We were worth it.
“It’s because of her, right?” I forced out. “Saffron.”
His jaw clamped. “No.”
Feeling a numbness take over me, I could barely process that. “Randy, then?” I managed, reaching. “You couldn’t possibly think—”
He killed that idea with a shake of his head, while running a slow hand down his face.
And since clearly, I was the only one on the planet who would bring my make-believe boyfriend into play, that left only one thing.
“It’s me, then,” I said and tensed so fiercely that I could barely see through my squinting eyes.
When nothing but the sound of his breathing floated back to me, I widened my eyes and forced a look his way. To see him grimacing and shrugging in a noncommittal way. And definitely nodding.
Chapter 16
My hand dropped to the contours of the passenger door in a desperate search for the handle, while my brain tapped out a steady beat of “Omigod, Omigod.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Courtney,” Adam spoke in a rambling rush. “You’re totally cute. Hot, even.”
I cringed, remembering him saying something similar about Saffron—right before saying he’d delivered the I-don’t-have-time-for-a-relationship line to her. I shot up my palm like a stop sign, which thank God he understood, and shut up. If I’d had to listen to a clichéd it’s-not-you-it’s-me line (which of course, really meant “it’s totally you”), I might lose my mind.
So what if he stayed to make sure things with Randy didn’t get out-of-hand? Friends did that. (Probably.) And I was a big girl. I could deal with this. (Definitely.)
“No problem,” I managed, finally locating the handle and somehow jerking the door open. “That was totally stupid of me.” I stood, turned and bent down to meet his eyes. “Forget this happened, okay? And have fun with Saffron tomorrow night.”
Slamming the door behind me, I was pretty sure I’d heard him say “I won’t...” but told myself I didn’t care what came next. Whether he wouldn’t have fun or wouldn’t even go to the
dance. Not my concern. My not problem. Not my life. Anymore.
I was, after all, pretty adept and even experienced, at picking up the pieces after catastrophes. I knew how to work it. You go on autopilot and focus on what needs to be accomplished, throwing yourself head-first into making that happen. No big picture, no yesterday, no today.
Just you, taking care of business, of others, surviving. On your own.
I ran-walked to my car and jumped in, feeling his watchful gaze burning a hole in the side of my face, figuring he’d idle beside me in this empty parking lot until I pulled out. Inhaling, I turned on the engine and threw the car into reverse. I knew that was I leaving, just not where I was going.
Home didn’t feel like an option. It was early enough that Jennifer might still be there, watching TV. She was exceptionally intuitive, and I feared her asking why I was so upset, and having to rehash the embarrassing, frustrating and humiliating moments of the night. Then she’d likely try to help me fix things.
The sad truth was I didn’t want anything fixed—not with Adam or with Randy.
I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anybody.
At least, not any body. What I did need right now was an ear that only listened. A heart that only beat in my imagination. And a shoulder so satiny smooth that my tears would roll right off.
I needed to find out if the truth did indeed set you free.
Pulling out, I gave Adam a bogus “Thanks and see you later!” honk and wave, then made a right instead of a left. Feeling like for the first time in forever, I might know what I was doing.
* * *
I’d never been at the shop this late, and was a little spooked by the darkened street and crackle of leaves blowing down the empty sidewalk. Peering in the plate glass window, I cupped my hands around my eyes, but could barely make out Tux’s outline, let alone feel any real connection with him.
I made my way to the lock by memory and inserted my key. When the bell rang over the opening door, the noise jarred like a lightning rod to my nerves. I had to grab the door jamb and remind myself that the sound was normal, and that as a salaried employee with an owner-sanctioned key, this wasn’t breaking-and-entering. It was just visiting.
In the worst case scenario and a patrol car came by, I’d make something up about a last-minute tuxedo check for one of the Homecoming guys. It was public knowledge that Sunset Beach High School was having their big dance tomorrow.
Besides, this was just a pit stop. I’d be quick and careful. Just a rush of words, a couple hugs and a sob or two and I’d be on my way. It would be like I was never here.
“Hey, handsome,” I said, stepping up into the window display. A part of me did realize this was nuts, but I figured as long as I knew that, it was probably all right. “It’s me.”
In my mind’s eye, Tux lit up at the sound of my voice, throwing an expectant look my way. What I really saw was a headlight from the street cut across his mannequin face—just barely missing mine.
Ack. If I was to make this midnight confession happen, I’d have to move him away from the window.
I slid my arms around his mid-section and lifted him. He was fairly lightweight and I knew the drawback to his fiberglass construction was the easy loss of appendages, like a finger or the tip of his nose.
Several careful steps later, I plunked his feet upon the alteration pedestal, where in the dim light of the overhead skylight, he seemed like any one of our customers getting a final fitting. Running a hand across the cool contours of his face, I couldn’t pretend there was anything normal or regular about this. But that didn’t stop me from opening up my heart.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through tonight.” My words were whispers, simply because the darkness seemed to demand it. “What a fool I made of myself with Adam. For all my big words about being over him, I fell like a ton of bricks when I thought he wanted me. I mean—me—a girl who hasn’t kissed anyone since Bobby Hoffman in seventh grade, put the moves on him. Threw myself at him. Oh, Tux...” I paused to cradle my face in my hands.
“His kiss,” I continued, looking back up, “was great. Amazing. Mind blowing.” I sighed, shuddering, maybe even shriveling. “But way too short. Then he told me he doesn’t feel that way about me.”
I leaned in for a full-body hug, and I could almost hear a compassionate, deep-throated “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” rumble up from his motionless throat. Almost.
What was clearer in my head was my own voice, reminding me that while this felt like the worst thing that had happened in my whole seventeen years, that this, too, would pass.
Like when my mother left.
Like when Jennifer called off the wedding.
Like when I realized how much ground I was losing with my teammates.
I’d carried on, right? I’d get through this, too.
I rubbed my cheek up from his lapel and along the contours of his shoulder seams, searching for that special something, that sensation of ultimate comfort and connection I could always seem to find in our alone time.
He felt and smelled and seemed as wonderful as ever, but something was wrong. Was missing.
I pulled back, dizzy with an even crazier thought. Was this because of Adam? Now that I’d felt the touch, the hold, the full-on kiss of a real guy for whom I had real feelings, was my mannequin boyfriend no longer enough?
I slumped down to the pedestal floor and pressed the back of my head against his leg. Then I let my eyes roll closed for just a moment. To rest. To clear my head. To try to let go...
; * * *
I’d long ago assigned human qualities to Tux, so to “see” him swaying under a light-reflecting mirror ball on a crowded dance floor was hardly shocking. Except that the words he kept mouthing at me were drowned out by the disco beat. I could feel myself shouting “What?” over and over at him until finally, I could read his lips.
“Wake up, Courtney!” I saw him say.
Wake up?
And then I did. To find myself sprawled out on the alteration pedestal in the eerie darkness of Tux Everlasting, the tip of Tux’s polished shoe against my cheek.
Past and present, the real and the unreal knocked together in my head, ending in a resounding: O.M.G., how long had I been asleep?
I dove into my hoodie pocket to get a look at my cell phone display. Only to find my keys, my wallet and some lint. But no phone.
Wait—no phone?
I did a quick floor scan, then did a hard squint. The last time I could remember seeing my phone was back on the log. Right before I took that dive into the sand—
What did I bet it flew out of my pocket? And maybe still sat there now? Or until sunrise, when some surfer or beachcomber saw its metal edges glinting?
It wasn’t worth big bucks, nor was this a life-or-death situation, but it was my phone. With specially saved text messages, photos I loved—like the one of Tux and me—and numbers that would be a total pain to replace. Crap!
In any case, I totally had to get home.
I jumped up and ran into the back room, where the glow of Phillip’s digital clock told me it was 12:47. Which was way late. My dad probably would have hit the hay. It’s not like he waited up for me since he trusted me to take good choices. Another half-hour would hardly matter.
The beach was only minutes from here. I could surely get street parking in front of the pavilion now, and then it was a short race to the fire pit.
Not bad. Not bad at all. Except for one thing. I had promised my dad—crossed my heart and hoped to die—that I would never drive alone after midnight. And even I had to admit that going to the beach at this hour wasn’t the safest journey for a girl on her own.
Sighing, I shuffled back to the pedestal to pick Tux up for the ride back to his window display. I’d just have to hope I got lucky and a responsible person found my phone and turned it into a lifeguard or called me.
Yeah, lucky. Who was I kidding? This was my life we were talking about.
Planting my hands on Tux’s torso, I stopped short with inspiration. One of those Eureka moments. Maybe brilliant, maybe insane. But nowhere in between.
Wouldn’t putting a man-sized mannequin in the passenger seat beside me make me appear “escorted?” I’d seen something like that on the news, how some female executives kept blow-up dolls in their trunks to prop beside them for late night highway drives. Was this so different?
Giving Tux the old up-and-down, I went to tell myself that I owed him a glimpse at the real world, anyway—then cut myself short. For regardless of what I liked to believe about him and our “relationship,” Tux was nothing but fiberglass and an old tuxedo. Not to mention the property of Phillip Manzino. And while borrowing him for a few minutes wasn’t stealing exactly, it wasn’t like I had official permission either.
Which I imagined Phillip would give to me, if he knew. He’d want me to seem safe. I could hardly call him and ask.
I had to stop and think. Going straight home meant relying on the kindness of strangers to hopefully and possibly find and return my phone. (Fail.) Taking matters into my own hands meant a good chance of saving myself a world of hassle and loss. So that I could remain a focused daughter, employee and student.
“Come on, baby,” I said, hoisting him. “We’re going for a ride.”
Chapter 17
Trying to fit Tux into the passenger seat, my brilliant idea started to lose luster. His molded physique suddenly seemed ten feet long, and it was startlingly apparent his limbs and hinges had been designed for standing-only poses. No way I was using force.
I reached down and slid the seat all the way back, and finally managed to wedge him in, the tips of his shoes pressing on the carpet, his head digging into my ceiling. Hardly pretty, but good to go.
Taking off with determination to get there and back ASAP, my tires squealed against the pavement. I went to throw Tux an “oops” look—I mean, I might as well have fun with this whole thing, right?—but what I saw stopped me cold.
His ridiculous position and the empty eyes aligned with the windshield visor took away any semblance of cool-guy swagger or lifelike intensity. And not that I was ever, ever (ever!) going to think about Adam Hartnett again, but a week ago he had occupied that very seat. In comparison, Tux seemed more like Adam’s surfboard.
Before I knew it, we were cruising alongside the beach. Vehicles hogged most of the street spaces in front of the pavilion, but when I spotted some curb space in front of the rope-closed beach parking lot, I backed on in.
Laughter rang out from somewhere nearby, and a painter’s truck with ladder racks idled nosily in the lot. Since I didn’t want to look too unaccountably alone as I charged off toward the darkened beach, I twisted around and shot a look back at the passenger seat.
“Be right back, honey!” I called out and waved, secretly proud of the ease I could display in a fake, one-way conversation.
Then I rushed into the wind, my hair smacking flat against my head. The lamps above the pavilion were still casting their pinky light a ways onto the sand, and the sight of a couple cuddled up in a blanket gave me some sense of security, that at least there’d be witnesses who could call 9-1-1 if I was suddenly accosted by a—you know—bogeyman.
The outline of the fire pit coming into view, I tugged up my hood and pushed my legs harder, the words, “Please, oh please be there,” tapping a steady beat in my brain. I was so focused on reaching the pit that I nearly tripped over a log.
The log, I quickly realized. After some scissor side moves to its end, I dropped to my knees, preparing to dig for treasure. When a moon-enhanced gleam caught my eye.
My phone! Yes!
I pulled it lovingly to my chest, enjoyed one long moment of sweet reunion, then stood for the return trudge.
Flipping the phone open, I saw I had a missed call and voice message, which sent my spirits soaring even higher. Had my father realized I wasn’t home and, ignoring his “I trust you to be responsible” rhetoric, gone and checked on me?
I pressed “1” for voice mail and moved the phone to my ear.
“You have one message,” spoke the automaton. “Sent. Yesterday. At ten forty-three p.m.”
A couple hours ago.
“Yeah, hey,” came a deep male voice that was so not my dad. Or anyone I wanted to hear from again. Ever. “Courtney, I hate the way we left things.”
You hate it? I wanted to scream. You hate it! Omigod, think how I feel!
I blew some loose hairs off my forehead. No way on earth was I listening to any more of this or calling him back to make him feel better about how lousy he’d made me feel. I stabbed the button to disconnect, snapped the phone closed, and kept walking. Feeling my knees jerk up a little higher and my feet pound a little heavier.
And telling myself it didn’t matter. Adam didn’t matter. As long as I was at it, Randy didn’t matter, either. Both were no more than friends, and just barely. This eternal night really was going to end soon—and likely without any further consequence since my dad either didn’t know or didn’t care that I was still out.
That’s when I heard the shouting.
“Hurry!” cried some girl.
Then laughter. Multiple voices.
And a guy. “She’s back!”
I stepped into the pink light, turning in the direction of the noise to see hot red brake lights on that painter’s truck and a couple guys out at the exit, pulling the rope away.
Moving closer—and no way I was the “she” in question, right?—I got a look at the guy closest to me. Short, stubby, and with
a glint coming off the side of his nose.
He was familiar. Real familiar. And when he called out “Duuuuude!” to the driver as he dropped the rope away, a memory kicked in. Of a short, nose-ringed guy saying “dude” just like that to Adam. When they were all playing poker together.
Still, this had nothing to do with me.
I watched Nose Ring and his buddy leap up into the back of the truck, laughing, and I counted three, maybe four people squished tight in the cab. Then I gave my head a little shake and shot my gaze back at the street, where it belonged. Where I belonged, back in my car, back on the road.
Then came another laugh. And a couple of hoots as the truck blared into traffic.
My gaze arrowed at my Beetle. Its passenger door hanging open over the sidewalk.
Its interior? Empty.
In a full-on adrenaline drop, my head swerved to the fleeing white truck. To see Nose Ring and his buddy holding something up above their heads. Something long, something darkly clad. Something definitely not theirs.
I let out a scream that must have come from my lungs, but seemed to emanate from every organ in my body.
* * *
There was no time to think. (Especially not to overthink.) I took off in hot-blooded pursuit of the mannequin kidnappers, jumping in my car for a tire-screeching U-turn to the opposing direction’s fast lane.
The truck was only a block or so ahead, and unless it developed wings, I figured I stood a fighting chance of catching up. What I’d do then was anybody’s guess. Back-up would not hurt, especially somebody who could talk the talk with these jerks.
Putting aside my vow to never to speak to Adam again, I flipped open my phone and pressed “dial” on my last received call. Then I fell back on the success of my silent “Please, oh please...” and repeated it like a mantra.
When his voice mail immediately kicked in as I watched the truck sped through a yellow light, I felt a crushing blow.
“It’s Courtney,” I managed after the beep, moving my foot to the brake to slow to a complete stop. For while I could thumb my nose at California law for talking while driving, blowing through a red light was more than illegal. It was just plain stupid.
