by M. R. Joseph
I turn to him and out of Willow’s grasp, surprised.
“Max, when I pulled up, you called out to the cop and referred to him by name. How do you know him?”
“Cruz? Cruz lives…” Before he can finish, we are suddenly interrupted by Porter, Willow’s cousin, as he pulls open the sliding door and strolls in.
“Harlow, you made it! Wills was going nutso. We were about to send out a search party to look for you.” Porter comes up to me, pulls me to his chest, and gives me a bear hug. I love Porter. He’s a great guy and has been protecting Willow and me ever since we grew boobs. Porter has the face of a noble dignitary, someone with money, aristocratic even. Tall, well over 6’2” and shoulders that are proportionally fitting for his stature. Chiseled chin, dark hair, thick and wavy, perfect nose, cleft in the chin, and a smile of epic proportions. Porter was “it”, every girl’s wet dream, except for mine. I look at him as a brother. Always have. I think I have serious problems.
“I’m fine. I was lost and my phone died, and I got pulled over by…”
Max now interrupts. “Cruz pulled her over. He brought her here.”
“Oh, so you met Cruz?” Max squints his eyes, looking at me intently.
“Wait, you said you came here last summer? To Sandy Cove? Your name is Harlow?” He looks confused, then nervous, then runs his hand over his mohawk and mumbles something along the lines of he had too much to drink tonight.
“Porter, dude, I um, I think we better let the girls get some sleep. It’s getting late.”
“Wait, Max. You didn’t answer my question. How do you know Dickcop?”
“Dickcop?” Everyone asks in unison.
“Yes. Dickcop. He pulled me over because he thought I was drinking and driving, then proceeded to give me the most farcical sobriety test in all of God’s creation, when I was clearly sober, and acted like a total ass the whole time.” Max looks to Porter. Porter looks to Max, then at me.
Thea looks up at Willow, in her drunken stupor, “She’s using the big words again, isn’t she?”
Max asks, “What did he make you do?”
My anger returns as the memories of what he made me do resurface.
“The Macarena.”
“The Macarena?” Porter asks, and I nod. I take Willow’s cup out of her hand and drink some of the contents.
Laughter erupts between Max and Porter, and my irritation grows. Porter turns to me.
“Har, are you serious? Cruz isn’t like that, he’s pretty cool. You’ll meet…”
Max tugs at his arm suddenly with force and shoves him towards the door.
“Um… We better go now. Glad you made it here safe, Harlow. We’ll see you girls tomorrow. Beach, badminton, and beers.”
“You can count on it after this night. Oh, and Max, this conversation is not over, but if you see Officer Cruz in the very near future, tell him his ass is mine.”
Max looks to me with a smirk. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you already have had it.”
He and Porter exit, and I’m left with that absurd statement.
“Is it wrong that a haircut can turn me on?” Willow says dreamily.
“A haircut?” Thea looks at Willow in disbelief.
“Do I stutter?”
I look at Thea and we watch as Willow’s head resumes its position in the clouds.
“So you are here for one day, and already in love? Seriously, Wills?”
“Well… Then what about you, Thea? Got your eye on anyone in particular?”
Willow takes a long sip from her cup and points directly at her.
“Doesn’t matter,” Thea responds quietly.
“And I didn’t say I was in love. He’s just got that, ‘I’m a bad-boy, rock and roll, mohawk wearing, sweet as pie, hot as sin, smart as a whip attitude’. I dig that, and that act of him annoying me, just exactly the way I want it to go,” Willow adds.
“You dig everyone.”
“That’s irrelevant.” I give her a look of disgust.
“You’re drunk.” Thea tells her, jokingly. “Not denying it.” Slurs a drunken Willow.
I shake my head and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. My exhaustion is swiftly taking over my body.
“Oh, God, I need to get to bed. It’s been a hell of a long day, and I have to get some sleep, so I have the energy to have a cop fired tomorrow.”
“He really made you do the Macarena in the street? And you went along with it?”
“I didn’t have a choice, Thea. I needed to do what he said so I could get here before Willow put my face on a milk carton.”
Willow gulps down the remaining liquid from her cup and gives me an agreeable eye roll, something she is famous for.
I grab my suitcase and leave the box in the living room that houses my shampoo, makeup and other girly items.
“Point me in the direction of a bed, please.”
The girls stand up from the table, shut off the lights and lead me to my room. I notice the decor of the home. Beach scene portraits line the walls of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Pale blue paint is the backdrop and light colored plush carpets under my feet. Willow shows me to one of the four bedrooms with the same decor as the hallway. A seashell embossed comforter on the bed, a million decorative throw pillows, and a nice, cozy queen size bed sits there begging for me to lay on top The girls decide to flop on it. Pillows fly off the bed from the force of the ‘kerplunk’ of their bodies. I unzip my suitcase and begin to place my clothes in the drawers of the nearby chest. My friends lay there, watching and giggling from intoxication, and I’m jealous of their cloudy brains.
“You guys had a party tonight?”
Thea twirls her hair, yawns, and looks towards me. “Not us, Porter and Max. They know a lot of people.”
“Porter’s been coming down here every summer for as long as our families have owned these homes, so he’s made a lot of friends.”
Willow’s mom and her sister, Porter’s mom, bought the twin homes when their father left them a hearty inheritance when he passed away. The sisters decided to buy the homes so their families could enjoy them summer after summer. Willow and Porter are two years apart, and might as well be brother and sister, rather than cousins.
“How do Porter and Max know each other?”
“According to Porter, Max’s band played at the same bar Porter worked at when he was in college. They became friends, but Max travels now with his band and goes to school for engineering.”
See, I knew he had a big brain. Looks and brains are a big turn on, and totally Willow’s type. I have a type as well. Assholes. Write that down. Harlow Hannum has a thing for assholes. I guarantee one of the girls is about to bring up the biggest asshole of them all.
Wait for it, wait for it… It’s coming. Which one will say it first? I’m taking bets.
“Well, at least you don’t have to see Cha…”
Ding, ding. Leave it to Willow.
Thea doesn’t even let her get his full name out before covering her mouth with her hand.
“Willow, he is a name we do not speak. He’s like Lord Voldemort from Harry Potter. You know better.”
She shoves Thea’s hand away from her face.
“Fine. We do not speak his name. So maybe you’ll find that guy you got banged by in the bathroom last year.”
I reach over and smack her.
“Ow. What was that for?”
“Because, it’s something I’d like to forget, and if it wasn’t for the constant badgering and questions like did I have diarrhea or something because I was in the bathroom for so long, you would never have known. It’s embarrassing enough, and I hold myself 100% accountable for my actions.”
Willow takes her hands away from her head and lays her head back on the pillow.
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say you were all to blame for it. I’d say Jose Cuervo was also responsible. But all in all, it was super hot!”
The thoughts of that night make me nauseous. I swallow hard thinking of how l
ater that night I expelled the contents of the Jose Cuervo from my belly into the porcelain God. I never get that drunk, and I mean never. But I had just seen the one whose name we do not speak, making out with a girl in the corner of that bar. All the while he was flashing his infamous, sexy glare at me, while his tongue probed the inside of the trollop’s mouth. I sat back down at the bar, not returning to where my friends were playing pool with some guys they met and that’s when I saw him. He was sitting four stools away from me, ordering a beer, as I was ready to consume my sixth tequila shot of the evening. A totally detrimental decision on the part of a smart girl like myself.
I bounce off the bed and pull each girl up by the hands.
“Time for bed. Summer starts tomorrow and I plan on making it a day of fun and sun, after I get a cop fired. Now, get out.” They trail off to their rooms one by one with half-hearted waves. I slip into my tank top and pajama bottoms. I retrieve my toothbrush from my knapsack, find a bathroom, brush my teeth, and I know sleep will claim me in no time.
I wake up to the sun beginning to shine in my eyes. I had forgotten to close the blinds before I fell asleep. I look at my watch on the bedside table. 6:45 a.m. This is only fifteen minutes later than I get up for student teaching. I roll to my back and punch the mattress. Coffee is calling my name, I suppose. I rise and head to the bathroom, run a brush through my hair, splash some water on my face, and brush my teeth. The house is quiet. I seriously doubt anyone is awake. They are normal, unlike myself. I tiptoe into the kitchen. The living room is bright from the sun’s rays, and as I go to fill up the coffee pot with water at the sink, I look out the kitchen window to see the calm waters of the bay. There is a large dock that extends outward towards the back. It appears to be in the middle of the two homes. I see a small boat on Porter’s side. It’s so peaceful.
I need peaceful.
I need relaxing.
I need stress-free.
I need not to be reminded of him. The one whose name we do not speak.
I make the coffee and stalk the consistent drip, drip of the savory grounds, working their way through the filter and pouring into the pot. I tap my fingers on my cheek, as I hold my head in my hands. The anticipation is a killer. I shut my eyes momentarily in the hopes that the coffee will miraculously brew faster if I will it to, and I hear something. A high-pitched squeal of some sort. Sometimes muffled, and I know it’s not the sound of a seagull. I walk around to investigate. I hear it again. Where is that coming from? I look out a window on the side of the house, nothing there. I look out the window to the dock, nothing. I walk to the sliding door which leads out onto the front deck. I hear it again, and jump back. Oh, God, someone is being murdered right outside this very door. I run to the kitchen, grab the house phone and a large, sharp knife from the butcher block on the counter. I once again approach the door. 911 is about to be dialed, and now I’m waiting to see the murderer. I rip open the drapes, and swing open the sliding door with the force of a Trojan solider. And I jump, knife in hand, ready to stab, and I scream.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I… I’m so sorry. I had no idea what that noise was. Oh, my God.” I turn around after I see in front of me, not a murder, not some kind of sick crime, or a robbery, but a leggy, dark-haired, tanned girl riding a guy on a lounge chair… reverse cowgirl style. Nude. I mean, butt-ass naked. I couldn’t see his face, because it was covered by Miss Big Tit’s head. All I can see is his big hands grasping her hips, and the unrelenting moans coming from both of them. And do they stop when they see a twenty three year old woman in her Minnie Mouse pajama pants, wielding a butcher knife? No. They continue. Bouncing before me, like my existence has no bearing on their activity. With my back still turned to the couple, Willow and Thea run out the door apparently after my blood-curdling screams were heard. They come to a complete halt and scream themselves. Enter Max and Porter running onto the deck from their house, Porter running over to cover Thea’s eyes, (no idea why), and Max yielding an uncontrollable laugh.
Mass confusion surrounds the deck. I still have my eyes covered. The knife I held and dropped sticks up out of the wood on the deck, and I’m annoyed. Thea tries to knock Porter’s hands off her eyes, and Willow, well Willow is just plain staring.
“Well, I’ll be damned, take a look at those tattoos.”
I slap Willow, again, but I don’t turn around until I hear Porter yell the one name that has been imbedded in my brain since last night… Cruz.
Son of a bitch.
“Cruz, man, what the hell? Get her off of you. We have girls standing here.”
I will myself not to turn. Don’t do it, Harlow, most of all, do not pick up that knife and stab that man to death. And I don’t. My mind is strong. I try to have complete control. I will have complete control over this situation. I hear some rustling of clothing, and I look to Willow, who has a smirk on her face. I ask Willow, “are they done, Wills?” She nods.
That’s when my body swings around, and I charge forward, bracing myself to tell this bastard what I really think of him.
Dickcop.
And there it is. The bile I suddenly feel rising up in my throat, the jaw dropping moment, the head-spinning, mind-blowing enlightenment when I realize I have seen those inked arms before. I have seen that face. I have seen that wavy brown hair. My hands have been through it, felt it, pulled it, and those striking blue eyes. They have crossed my path, and bore into me like some kind of a hypnotizing coercion. I’ve looked into them. I know I did.
Those hands, they were on me.
Those fingers in me.
Those lips upon me.
That tongue inside my mouth.
And his… His…
A flood gate of memories sweeps through my head.
Bar.
Tequila shots.
Eye contact.
Head motion.
Bathroom.
Against the wall.
No last names.
Pure, raw, uninhibited, unlawful hot sex.
He knows it. He knows it’s me by the cocky smirk on his face. I’m frozen. My legs are locked, my muscles not allowing me to go any further.
“Hello, Miss Hannum, enjoying your time at the shore?”
From the moment he speaks, it suddenly all makes sense. He’s the cop who pulled me over last night, and the guy I had my little tryst with at the bar last year. Things like this happen to only me. That’s when I see it.
I see red. Yes, it’s true, when anger gets the best of you, you do see red. Flaming red. I am an educated, smart, well brought up woman. I ooze class, but the way he bites his lip, grins at me, and winks, makes all the years of charm school want to fly out the window. The need to claw his face, have my knuckles collide with his chin, overtakes me, but I must keep my composure.
Everyone just stands there, and tall, tanned, and leggy Dickcop-rider whines after she dresses.
“Cruz, you said you would take me home. This scene is creeping me out.” She stands there, arms folded, tapping her stiletto-clad foot, while six pairs of eyes stare at her.
“Sure, baby. Give me a few minutes. Why don’t you go grab yourself a cup of coffee in the house. I’ll be right there.”
She exits, and the staring contest begins, until Willow breaks the silence.
“How do you know her last name is Hannum?”
My fists clutching my sides, I move a bit closer. There’s a panic in Max’s eyes as he moves when I do.
“You… You… You?” My last ‘you’ is a question.
He rises up from his chair, shirtless, boxer briefs staring me in the face. He towers over me, smirk still present on his face. He licks his bottom lip and invades my personal space. He’s so close. I can smell the sex on him. How repugnant. He leans in towards my ear. “Me, me, and yes, me.”
He pulls away. I feel my blood pressure rise, and my pulse quickens at the same time. I lunge forward, but Max, who is next to me grabs my arms to hold me back.
I struggle to get myself out of Max’s g
rasp. The girls are rushing towards me, and try to pry his hands off my arms.
“You son of a bitch. You made me look like a fool last night. I knew what you were up to and I am going to get your ass canned for it!”
The look on this brute’s face energizes my madness. He crosses his arms and is watching as I struggle to try to claw at his perfect face. He smirks. He’s smirking like he knows he got me, that he’s proud of what he did to me.
“What the hell are you smiling at, you bastard?”
He comes closer to me, knowing Max won’t let me go at him. I stop my struggling, and now we are practically nose to nose.
“I was getting my revenge on you, for not giving me your last name. You know who I am, baby. How could you forget?”
He licks those God damn lips of his.
Oh, now he’s done it.
So what do I do since my legs are not seized, no longer bound to the ground?
I knee him in the testicles.
Take that, Dickcop. Those self-defense classes I took in college just paid off.
“And don’t call me baby,” I scream.
He falls to the ground. Max releases me, and bends down to see how the asshole is.
Dickcop holds himself in between his legs, gasping for air, rolling around on the deck like some kind of wounded animal.
Good.
Max looks up at me, obviously horrified.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
Dickcop still can’t catch his breath, and I’m suddenly hit with a case of guilt. Did he really deserve that?
Let me think…
Yep!
“He’s pissed because I never gave him my last name.”
And the confusion between my friends and Porter continues.
“Har, he called you Miss Hannum. How did he know that if you just said you didn’t give him your last name?”
I don’t want to tell Porter. What would he think of me? I’m like a sister.
Dickcop raises his head enough to speak, gruffly, “She’s the girl from the bathroom last summer.”
Porter, God bless him. He shakes his head and studies the air in front of him to try to get around what Dickcop just said.
