Reckless Point (BBW New Adult)

by Brent, Cora

“That’s nice,” Tony said, although he sounded confused.

  “Look, I know this call is kind of out of the blue. I guess I just realized how long it had been since we talked.”

  Tony cleared his throat tiredly. “Yeah, I guess it’s been a year or two.”

  “Three, actually.”

  “If you say so.”

  I nervously pushed my hair behind my ears. Tony wasn’t exactly warming up. “It was weird being home again. You don’t really think about the old days, the memories, until they are right in front of you again and then you catch yourself in odd moments, believing you never left.”

  My brother yawned. “That’s why I don’t go back.”

  I sighed. “I ran into an old friend of yours. Marco Bendetti. He’s managing The Cave now.”

  “Well, okay. Good for him I guess.”

  I didn’t know what I’d hoped to accomplish by calling Tony. Did I expect after all these years to find an earnest, caring brother who would actually want to hear from me?

  “Look Angie, I got to cut this short. I’m heading out to work in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, where are you working?”

  He laughed. “In a shithole. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Tony?”

  “What?”

  I felt a sob rising in my throat. I could not have said why. “I wish I knew you better.”

  His voice came through irritable and fatigued. “No you don’t, Angie. No you don’t.”

  This time it didn’t matter if I hung up the phone. The line was already dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  On the morning of my birthday Lanie stopped by my desk and surprised me with two tickets to see Stevie Nicks in concert at Fenway. I managed to smile. “I love Stevie Nicks.”

  Lanie rolled her eyes. “I know that, dammit. Hence the tickets. And don’t try to back out. You’ve been in this funk long enough.”

  “Long enough,” I agreed.

  Lanie looked at me sternly. “We’ll have fun, Angela. I’m worried about you.”

  I coughed. “I’m fine.”

  “You keep saying that. Look, we’re going out for a liquid lunch and then after we’ve enjoyed an extraordinarily unproductive afternoon we’ll rock out with Stevie and then go prowling for some ass.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t for lunch. I’ve got plans. But yes on the concert and we’ll see about the ass.”

  Lanie shrugged. “Good enough.”

  My phone line rang twelve times throughout the morning. I knew the likelihood was high that it was one or both of my parents, eager to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t answer it.

  After I returned from my lunch hour appointment I was utterly drained. I sat at my desk with my hands in my lap and listened to the clamor of the office wrapping up the week. A pair of brokers stopped by the water cooler and told a raunchy joke involving a banana and a two dollar hooker.

  Michael Cranston lumbered past at four o’clock. Usually he didn’t pay me much notice but today he looked right at me and frowned. “Everything all right, Angela?”

  “Fine, Michael. Thank you for asking.”

  He propped a hand up on the cubicle wall. “You know, I’ve got an open door policy. All employees welcome, any time you need to talk.”

  “All right. Thank you.” As he started to walk away I called to him. “Hey, good luck with Hamlet.”

  The CEO’s face lit up. “Yes, thank you. It’s been a long cherished wish of mine to perform that piece. I read it for the first time in high school and it’s been in my heart ever since. I can think of no greater challenge.”

  I found myself moved enough to feebly grin over his enthusiasm. “I can’t either.”

  Lanie came by promptly at five to collect me. “Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner first. No arguments.”

  I allowed myself to be pulled along like a child and deposited in an ornate booth at a fancy steakhouse. Lanie chatted brightly about everything under the sun and downed red wine as if it were water. I gnawed on breadsticks and tried to force bites of charred steak down my resistant throat.

  “Excuse me,” I choked, running in haste for the restroom as Lanie ogled me with suspicion. Closed inside of a narrow stall, I sank to the floor and tried to fight down the waves of nausea. But my deep breathing only intensified the mingled stench of stale toilet water and sizzling meat. After I was finished heaving into the toilet I washed my face and reapplied my makeup. My skin was very pale and dark circles still showed under my eyes.

  Lanie insisted on paying the entire bill herself. Since I had eaten perhaps three bites of my expensive dinner I felt a little guilty. Despite my esteem for Stevie, I just wanted to go back to my bed and sink into the blackness of a long sleep, but Lanie had gone to some trouble and expense to obtain the tickets.

  I’d been to Fenway Park once before for a Red Sox game. The landmark was on my lengthy list of things to do the first year I’d arrived in Boston. I’d always been a rather noncommittal baseball fan, however I was as chagrined as the rest of my new city when that promising season ended in a crushing World Series loss to the New York Mets.

  Lanie clutched my arm as we were herded through the gates with thousands of others. I’d heard on the radio that the concert was sold out and as I was bumped and jostled from all directions I prayed I wouldn’t puke on anyone. The roar was deafening as the lady herself took the stage and launched right into ‘Edge of Seventeen’. It was among my favorites in her lengthy catalog but as she belted out the lyrics I only heard one. It resounded in my ears again and again. When I closed my eyes against the bright stadium lights it was there too, written in angular script across a well-muscled back.

  Seventeen. Seventeen.

  Stevie quieted the crowd with an exquisite rendition of ‘Landslide’. As she performed all the songs I knew by heart and loved I started to relax and simply enjoy the music. Until she began to sing ‘Talk to Me’. The lyrics struck a deep chord in my soul and brought him back. With each tortuous word I could see each moment we’d been together since he’d startled me at the block party. We had begun as something heady and dangerous but by the time he kissed me in the dark of his porch it was already something else for me. I’d caught him more than once gazing at me with a tense, waiting expression, as if there was more on his mind than I could begin to guess.

  Dammit Marco, what did you want to say? And that last night as you left me and walked away, if only you’d turned around…

  There had been so much hanging in limbo, so much unspoken; his prison time, our shared childhood, the specter of Cross Point Village, the nearly unbearable mutual passion which overcame us and the careless disregard of any costs in the quest to satisfy it.

  Lanie was so lost in the music she didn’t hear my thick sobs. I pushed blindly through the crowd, consumed by an overwhelming desire to get out of there. I’d made it outside and was leaning against a brick wall for dear life when I heard my name being called in strident, panicked tones.

  “Angie! Jesus, what the hell?”

  Lanie stopped dead when she got a look at my face. A trio of young professionals wandered past and looked at us with interest as I wiped the tears from my cheeks. Wordlessly Lanie took me by the hand and led me around to a dark corner.

  “Now,” she demanded. “WHAT?”

  Weakly I leaned my head back and in a halting, stammering voice I told her.

  Lanie was silent for a long moment as the wild sounds of the concert drifted outside.

  “Are you sure?” she finally asked.

  I nodded. “Saw a doctor this afternoon.”

  “And it’s definitely um…”

  “Marco’s? Yes.” I stared at the dirty ground, finding it unnecessary to mention that I hadn’t been with scrupulously cautious Brian since before my last period. As for Marco… “We weren’t exactly careful, Lanie.”

  My friend didn’t scold or accuse or ask me unanswerable questions about what the hell I was going to do. She just sighed and wrapped me
in a hug and let me cry.

  Lanie didn’t try to urge me to stay out longer. As she deposited me in front of my BMW, she only gazed at me with sadness. “Happy Birthday, Angela,” she said softly.

  Though there had been a brief respite from the recurrent summer rains, drops began to fall thickly on my windshield as I drove back to Beacon Hill. As I walked the short distance from the parking garage to my apartment the rain began to fall more heavily but I made no move to quicken my step or shield my head.

  It was parked illegally and sitting in lonesome fashion in front of my place. I recognized it immediately. I knew that bike. I’d had sex on that bike. He sat on the steps leading to my door, unfazed by the pelting rain. He’d let his hair grow in the six weeks since I’d seen him.

  “You look different,” I said softly.

  Marco smiled. “So you do know me.”

  With a cry I hurled myself into his arms and he held me fiercely. His clothes were even more soaked than mine but I could feel the warmth of his body underneath and arched against him. It was more than want. I needed him inside of me. Our mouths fastened together hungrily and I struggled to get the key into the door as his hands furiously roamed my body.

  Marco slammed the door closed and threw his wet leather jacket on the corner. I helped him remove his soaking shirt and then fumbled with the buttons on my blouse. My cold fingers were uncooperative so I tore the whole thing from my body and then gasped when he crushed me against his hard chest, kissing me with wild intensity.

  As I struggled with his pants he pushed my black work skirt over my hips, wrestling me onto the braided living room rug. I cared not a whit when he obliterated yet another pair of my expensive satin panties. I was already open, ready for him, and when he entered me I came almost immediately. I pulled him in deeper and said his name as he uncovered my tender breasts and ravaged them. His thrusts became harder, faster, and finally he spent himself with a furious groan that brought me to the precipice again.

  “Jesus,” he panted, collapsing on the hardwood floor at my side. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Jesus isn’t here,” I said in a queer voice, staring at the exposed ceiling beams. Every part of me throbbed from his attentions and suddenly I felt extremely weary. Without a word I retreated to the bathroom to cover myself with a robe.

  Marco waited for me on the couch and I tossed him a bath towel. He stared at the fluffy terrycloth for a moment and then began drying his hair, peering at me cautiously as I stood facing him with my arms crossed.

  “What are you doing in Boston?”

  Surprise flitted across his face. “I thought that was obvious. Happy Birthday, Angela.”

  I snorted. “You drove all the way here to give me some dick for my birthday?”

  Marco looked confused. He started to speak and then stopped, frowning at the floor.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  “Angie,” he said cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? With me? Nothing, Marco. Only it turns out you were wrong.”

  He stared at me with a blank expression.

  I paced the floor. “You told me you were still reckless. Only that now you didn’t get caught. Well, Marco, you’ve been caught.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Guess.”

  He stared into my eyes as I glared at him defiantly. His gaze travelled lower and then back to my face and I nodded with stoic coolness.

  “And before you ask, there’s no doubt that it’s yours.”

  His voice was soft. “I wasn’t going to ask you that.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek and I swiped at it angrily. “Talk to me, Marco.”

  He spread his hands. “What is it you want to hear?”

  I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, there’s so much we haven’t covered. How about telling me exactly whose face you kicked in to land in prison for three goddamn years? Or what you hope to get out of running a seedy bar in a dying town? And by the way, why are you here? Just what the hell am I to you? Tell me everything.”

  His bland expression hadn’t changed. “No one needs to know everything.”

  “Okay, let’s start with why you’re here. Are you planning on staying in Boston?”

  “No.”

  “That day by the creek, you talked all about finding something better, something outside of the withering world of Cross Point Village.”

  “Well, Angela, I was given a chance not many guys in my position get. With my record maybe, and it’s a hefty maybe sweetheart, I could get hired on somewhere mopping floors and cleaning toilets. I’m damn lucky my mother left me half that bar. I told myself I wouldn’t screw shit up as I always do with trouble and women.”

  I nodded, more to myself than to him. “All right, so you just breezed into the city for a quick fuck?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I have no idea what to think. I lost my way somewhere on Polaris Lane in the middle of a block party.”

  His dark eyes flashed and he shook his head with a little chuckle. “Ah yeah, the block party. It was pretty goddamn amusing watching you prance around the block party, Angela. As if everyone in your midst ought to feel blessed and hallowed that you climbed down from Boston to grace them with your arrogant presence.”

  My jaw dropped. It stung so badly because it was true.

  Marco leaned back, an amused look on his face. “And then in your bedroom when you made it plain what you were after, I thought why the hell not.” He laughed sharply. “After all, I’d always wanted to see what you were like, Angie.”

  My voice was ice. “You asshole,” I swore. “Time to grow the hell up. You’re not seventeen anymore, Banger Bandetti. So I was right the first time? Fucking was all it was?”

  “Wasn’t that all it was for you, at first?”

  I closed my eyes in pain and heard Marco take a deep breath. When I looked again he was examining his hands, seeming to weigh his words carefully before he spoke again.

  “The more I was with you,” he said quietly. “The more I wanted you. I wanted to own you, bring you to the point of abandon every time, to hold you, to wake up next to you. And those were not exactly feelings I was used to. My world was ugly for a long time.” He coughed, struggling. “Being with you was like finding something I hadn’t realized I’d lost.”

  I exhaled thickly. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t give me a goddamn chance, Angela. You took off.”

  “Bullshit, Marco. I gave you a chance. And you told me you didn’t have a phone.”

  He cursed, hanging his head low. “I told you I was no good at this shit.”

  “That’s your illustrious answer? You’re ‘no good at this shit’ and I’m just meant to accept that? And then what? Am I supposed to skulk back to CPV and start breeding like an animal as I bed down with a womanizing ex con?”

  I winced over my own words. They might have been the most damaging ones I’d ever spoken. But once they were out there was no taking them back. Marco slowly raised his head. He looked at me with deadly coldness. I looked back at him.

  He stood, glowering down at me, and for a brief heartbeat I was afraid. He took a step closer but I stubbornly held my ground, glaring back at him furiously.

  “Do what you will, Angela,” he said calmly.

  Then he grabbed his wet t-shirt out of the corner and was gone.

  I stared stupidly at the closed door for a full minute before something broke inside of me. I dashed outside, the heavy rain soaking me immediately. A flash of lightning broke across the sky and I saw that I was already too late. He might not have listened to anything I had to say anyway.

  “Marco,” I sobbed in pain, in futility, I was answered by the low rumble of his motorcycle engine. Or it might have just been thunder.

  ***

  He’d left his leather jacket behind. I picked it up off the floor and miserably hugged it to my chest as I curled into a ball on the couch. I felt strangely empty
and all the tears I’d spent over the last six weeks had exhausted me. There were none left. I fell asleep and didn’t dream.

  The earliest wisps of morning were peering around the window shades when I awoke. I sat up stiffly, noting that for once the day was dawning bright and sunny. I held Marco’s jacket in my lap, stroking the damp leather as I remembered everything he had said and everything I had said.

  I swung the jacket around my shoulders. No answers had come to me during the night. I did not know what to do. With a sigh I stood, reaching my hands into the deep pockets of the jacket. A piece of paper tickled my fingertips and I pulled it out.

  It was nothing, only a utility bill on which Marco had scrawled my address, which he must have obtained from my parents. That wasn’t what stopped my heart.

  Of course you always know your own address from the time you’re a toddler. After all, you’ll need to repeat it ten thousand times over the years. But everything else around you is titled differently. The Cortez House. The Gilliam House. The Bendetti House. They don’t require any more formality than that.

  Which I suppose is how the knowledge had somehow escaped me. That as I resided at 16 Polaris Lane in Cross Point Village, Massachusetts, the house across the street which stared at me whenever I looked out the window was number 17.

  Seventeen.

  Marco’s tattoo. It wasn’t a pining for the past or a wish to be that careless boy again. It was a desperate longing, likely inscribed at a grim time when the place seemed impossibly distant to him. It meant home.

  I flung open the window shade and gazed into the approaching dawn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  I arrived at the office early. A few people stared interestedly at my jeans but I didn’t see any point in the professional wear. I didn’t intend to be around long.

  “Hey Daryl,” I called, hailing a handsome young broker.

  Daryl took drank his coffee and stared at me. “You look like shit.”

  I snorted. “What a gentleman.”

  “Gay men are unflinchingly honest.”

  “Fine. I look like shit. You still looking for a place in Beacon Hill?”