She lit up a cigarette, never taking her eyes off me. “You know, maybe you should take up smoking.”
I laughed. “Right. My aunt’s a smoker. She’s ninety-eight pounds of nerves.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I lied. “Not unless you’re planning to drive us off a cliff later.” My sarcasm always came out to protect me.
Adrienne grinned at my joke, then took out a pair of reading glasses and opened a menu. “Ooh, I want the jelly-filled.”
“Oh, no. Chocolate-glazed. And a big glass of milk.” I snapped my menu shut and unexpectedly met her eyes. They were almost hypnotic, with long, sensuous lashes. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks again. Was I blushing? I struggled out of the awkwardness by glancing away and pretending the moment didn’t exist. I looked around the shop frantically. “If he’d ever come over here.”
“He must be very busy,” she joked.
“I’m starving. Aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah. I was so nervous about meeting you, I didn’t eat all day.”
I was surprised. “You were nervous? No way.”
“Yeah. So?”
“I never would’ve guessed it.” I imagined that. Some of the things she said…it never occurred to me that she might be insecure.
Adrienne leaned forward, tapping the ashes into a tray. “Well, we’re gonna be livin’ together. I had to make sure you weren’t a psycho.”
“Like you, you mean.”
Adrienne smiled broadly, sitting back in the booth. “And that little accent of yours. It’s really cute.”
It was official. I was blushing. I wondered if it showed.
“So,” she continued, “have you ever fucked?”
“Have I what?”
“Come on. They do have fucking in Alabama.”
“Georgia.” How dare she forget. I scooted my fork in strange patterns. “No.”
“No, they don’t have fucking in Georgia, or no, you’ve never fucked?”
My eyes darted nervously around the quiet restaurant. “Will you be quiet? And stop saying that word.”
“What word? Fuck?” She seemed to be taking great pleasure in tormenting me.
“Please!” This was not a conversation that civilized people had. Adrienne was crass and rude and…
“Fuck you, Mary Poppins.”
“Fuck me? Fuck me!” I was purple. Just then, the only other patron, an older man, walked past us, hesitating at our table and giving me a look of disgust, or possibly interest, on his way out the door. I shriveled up like a raisin, turning my shoulders in as if I could make myself smaller and eventually disappear. When he left, I glared at Adrienne. “You made me say ‘fuck’ in public.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is.” She crushed her cigarette, her eyes never leaving me. “Well, you gonna tell me or not?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to continue this inappropriate conversation.” I was pleased; the words had glamour and sophistication written all over them.
She grinned. Obviously, I amused her. “I’d hate to be…inappropriate.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a good Christian and I’m going to wait until marriage.” I spoke with conviction, although deep down I knew it was easier to play the role of a good Christian when there was no real temptation.
“Oh, geez,” Adrienne spat. “Don’t do that. You’ll be all dried up by then.”
I couldn’t believe that anyone in real life talked like this. “Shut up!” Where was Bette Davis when I needed a stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks retort?
“I could never wait that long.” She rested her chin in her hand. “So tell me, why are you so uptight?”
“I’m not uptight!”
“It’s the church thing, right? Or did you have some childhood trauma? See somebody naked at a young age?”
“Shut up!”
“Wait. Was it one of your parents you saw naked? Was that it?”
“Will you just shut up?” My eyebrows raised to my forehead.
“Hey, it scared the hell out of me too. It’s okay.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My dad had gotten out of the shower—”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“He didn’t know I was there. I was like seven, and I accidentally walked into the room, and it was like, what the hell’s that?”
“Look, I didn’t see anybody naked!”
At that precise moment, of course, the waiter popped up. I wanted to sink under the table and die.
“Yeah,” the boy said in two octaves. “Most of us try to keep our clothes on here.” He replaced the old glasses with two fresh glasses of water.
I held my forehead, staring down at the table.
“Could we just get one jelly-filled and one chocolate-glazed?” Adrienne said, looking over at me. “A coffee and a—”
“Milk,” I said.
The waiter pulled a pad out of his back pocket and scratched something down. “Is low fat—”
“Fine!” I exclaimed to Adrienne’s great amusement.
When the waiter scurried away, she covered her mouth, pretending not to laugh.
“You’re such a bitch,” I said. “You knew he was coming.”
“Not really.” She took a sip of water. “I swear I wasn’t really looking at him.”
My face must’ve been the color of a strawberry. I said jokingly, “I do believe you’re a bad influence on me, Adrienne.”
“Me? You’re the one shouting ‘inappropriate things’ at everybody.”
As we each recalled the moment, waves of tension-spilling laughter overcame us. In spite of myself, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was one of those gut-splitting, can’t-catch-your-breath-for-hours kind of laughs that I thought would never end. “You’re terrible,” I said in between spasms.
There was something about Adrienne. Despite all her tough talk, there was a shy girl underneath who had to say shocking things to cover up how scared she was. I could see that now. But painting her as a crude, rude, immature, tattooed monster somehow made it easier to be around her. I guess I was as strange in my way as she was.
After a few minutes, when we calmed down, Adrienne stared at me again, curiously. “So why are you here? You’ve got a lot of schools in Georgia.”
“It’s my father’s alma mater. He’s Jimmy Sanders.” I waited for some kind of recognition. “Jimmy Sanders? He’s a state representative in Georgia. He’s been on TV many times,” I said proudly.
“That’s it,” Adrienne replied. “I didn’t buy the good girl act. Now I get it. Your dad’s a politician, so lying runs in your family.”
Did she mean to be this insulting? Or did she have one of those disorders where she had no control over her mouth?
“Adrienne, I take great offense to that.”
“Honey, I’ll bet you take offense to everything.”
Before I could craft a scathing reply, the waiter returned with our drinks and doughnuts.
I was sure that to Adrienne I appeared to be this tightly wound nutcase, self-conscious to a degree rarely seen in the human species. I bet she wanted to see what I’d be like, completely undone with no inhibitions. I was going to have to disappoint her, because that was something she was never going to see. When the waiter left, Adrienne asked, “What’s your major?”
“It’s supposed to be political science.” I shrugged my shoulders, still fidgeting with the silverware. “What I really want…” I stopped myself right there. Someone like Adrienne would just make fun. Or would she? “I want to make films. I have a plan. I’m going to make my first film by twenty-five. Get a cabin on a lake. Have a husband named Brian. A dog named Truffaut.” I thought a moment, losing myself in the daydream. “But see, I don’t really like dogs, so I’ll probably just get a little one. That way, it won’t really count as a dog.”
She smiled at me. “You’re a trip.”
“Why? What?” Instantly, I returned to my defensiv
e posture, my shoulders elevated to my ears. “What?”
She watched me with great interest. “That’s cool. No, really. It’s so great that you have…a plan.” She seemed sincere. Suddenly, I didn’t regret sharing it.
I relaxed a little. “What about you? Now that I’ve told you my life story, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Some of the powder from her doughnut lingered on her lower lip. It was only a dusting, but I was distracted by it.
“You have a…” I pointed to my own mouth to indicate the location of the powder.
“Huh?”
“Some doughnut…”
She took my hand and made me touch her face. “Get it off.”
So I moved my thumb across her lip and brushed the rest from her chin. Her skin was so soft, so…I yanked my hand away as if I’d just stuck a fork in a light socket.
“So you don’t know yet?” I repeated, trying to act like a normal person.
“I like music, but my dad says I can’t make a career out of it.”
“Wow, sounds like my dad.”
“He’s not okay with you being a film major?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Yes and no. Mostly no. I think my mom is more supportive of that.”
“My dad really pisses me off.” Her gaze turned sad, reflective. “He thinks I should be a lawyer or something he can be proud to tell his friends about when they get drunk on the boat.” She shook her head, as if remembering something uncomfortable. I didn’t want to pry. “You need good grades for shit like that. I always got by on C’s. It wasn’t ’cause I couldn’t do better, but ’cause I didn’t care, you know?”
“What about now?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I hope to find out.” She seemed earnest. “Geez, I never talk this much to anyone.” She smiled so warmly, even shyly. “You’re easy to talk to.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I joked.
She threw a napkin at me.
The time seemed to pass so quickly; I wished I could stay longer in front of my plate of crumbs.
When we got the bill, she grabbed it immediately. “Have you met your Brian yet?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“When the right guy comes along, if his name isn’t Brian, you gonna kick him out?”
“Yes.” I laughed. “No, I just like that name.”
The waiter picked up the cash Adrienne left and smiled at me. “Come back and see us. With or without your clothes.”
She laughed, and I smiled awkwardly at him.
Walking across the parking lot, we dodged puddles of rain that had poured, unnoticed, while we were inside. I followed Adrienne’s swift boots, and all of my senses seemed heightened. I realized I’d never forget this night—the runny reflections of light on the street, Adrienne’s cute smile and the way her long hair fluttered in the breeze when the windows were rolled down. I’d have to rethink the room transfer idea…
“He liked you,” she said as we crossed the parking lot.
“Who?”
“That guy. C’mon, couldn’t you tell?”
“I didn’t notice.”
She put her arm around my shoulders. “Stick with me. I’m gonna make a worldly woman out of you yet.”
“Yes, I already feel born again.” Even with my armor of sarcasm, I knew that I was falling into a huge abyss without a safety net.
Chapter Eight
“She called,” Peter had said. His face was ashen. “She wants to talk to you.”
His words played over and over in Robin’s mind as she returned to the governor’s mansion. She told him she’d get back to him. She had to buy some time, figure out how best to handle the situation. The idea of talking to Adrienne again after more than twenty-five years…
Her stomach was rippling with nerves. The butterflies in her stomach did more than flutter. They were acrobatic, traveling-circus butterflies. She kept telling herself to breathe as it had said to do on a yoga CD she’d purchased and watched once while eating a piece of cake. Unfortunately, breathing wasn’t changing the way she felt. There had to be a spare Valium in the bathroom cabinet. No, white wine was the better choice. She knew she needed to think this over carefully, but she couldn’t do that with a clear, fully present mind. There was simply no way to deal with Adrienne Austen in reality, to meet her head-on with all of her faculties intact. She was a person who fit better in the realm of fantasy, in swirling dreams where you’re flying above the ocean or floating through outer space. She didn’t belong in Robin’s practical world and the mundaneness of day to day… Adrienne had always seemed larger than life. How strange it would be to meet her again in the real world. Robin poured the wine with shaking hands. Suddenly, the calm, careful politician was replaced with the self-conscious schoolgirl. This wasn’t happening…
* * *
Dinner that night was unusually quiet. Tom’s heavy-lidded, red eyes fought to stay open. Servants fussed around the table, refilling their wineglasses and trying to serve everything at a table that was much too long for a family of three.
Kendrick, their thirteen-year-old daughter, picked at her food, her long, dark hair falling past her shoulders and into her peas. When she wasn’t hiding behind her hair, Kendrick had her mother’s features, especially those dramatic, ice-blue eyes.
Robin raised the bowl of peas to the servant.
“These aren’t the kind I like,” she barked.
“It’s the same ones you had Tuesday.”
“I don’t care,” Robin argued. “I can tell. These are fuzzy inside.” She scrunched up her face like a child. This was what she did in times of crisis—ignore the elephant in the room in favor of some insignificant detail. “I like the kind that pop in your mouth with a burst of sweet butter.” She handed her plate back to the annoyed woman who had served her dinner.
“I’ve told them a million times,” Robin grumbled. “You’d think they could remember a simple request.”
“Will you stop with the goddamn peas!” Tom roared.
“Language, Tom.” Robin sipped her wine, casting judgmental eyes on him, then taking a brief glance at Kendrick.
“I’ve heard worse,” the girl grunted, not looking up.
“How is school going?” Robin asked, doing whatever she could to distract herself from the memory of Darlene’s sweet perfume, which she had smelled the moment she came inside the mansion, and the fact that Tom was getting plastered. Maybe Darlene had broken it off with him. Maybe it was only a fight. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she could handle one more ounce of drama tonight.
“Same as usual,” Kendrick said. “Sayin’ shit about you.”
There was an uncomfortable pause as Tom scooted his chair away from the table and stormed out to the wet bar for something a little stronger than wine.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said. “I wish my job didn’t create these opportunities for people to hurt you.”
“I’m used to it.” Kendrick seemed pretty well adjusted for someone who most likely walked through school hallways with people pointing at her and whispering every time her mother made news. While she was certainly attractive enough to break plenty of hearts, she didn’t seem to have a very big social life. She kept to herself. She had a way of shrugging off the world, not at all like her mother when she was a teenager. Young Robin had cared very much what the world thought of her. Kendrick, on the other hand, walked around like nothing could touch her. “That woman they’ve been talking about, Adrienne Austen? I know her.”
Robin almost choked on her wine. “You know her personally?”
“No, I’ve got her CD. Her band’s really cool.”
“You’ve heard them?”
“Yeah,” Kendrick said, matter-of-factly. “It’s Eye of the Storm.”
“What is?” Robin was confused.
“The name of the band?” Kendrick said in a perfectly annoyed teenager tone.
“Well, that’s certainly apropos,” Robin muttered to herself.
/> “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
Tom returned with a fresh drink, obviously whiskey straight up. Robin watched him carefully as he tried to appear steady, scooting out his chair. She set her embroidered napkin on the table and cleared her throat. “Kendrick,” she said calmly. “I roomed with Ms. Austen during my first year at college. But she wasn’t the sort of person I wanted to call attention to in my biography. Can you understand?”
“No.” Kendrick looked up and flipped her hair out of her face. “If I knew someone like her, I’d totally say I knew her.”
“You don’t understand,” Robin explained. “They’re saying things that aren’t true.”
“I know that.” A slight smile broke across Kendrick’s face. “You can hardly say ‘darn,’ let alone get it on with another chick.”
Robin wanted to laugh at her daughter’s teenage logic, but the refined mother in her prevailed. “I didn’t raise you to talk like that.”
“Oh, lighten up,” Kendrick said.
“Watch your tone, young lady!”
“I have to agree with her.” Tom laughed. “You do need to lighten up. You used to be a lot more fun.” His smile was taunting, masking his pain.
“I am plenty of fun!” Robin insisted. “But y’all need to know when to put a cork in it.”
They all laughed together, something they hadn’t done in a while. After the laughter, though, all that remained was the scraping of forks against fine china and the tension hidden behind their chewing.
When she had her own family, Robin insisted they have dinner together every day that she didn’t have official duties, saying it was “family bonding time.” Because that was what she knew. Respectable families ate dinner together. It certainly wasn’t because she actually enjoyed it. When she was growing up, the dinner table was the place where everyone was least honest, saying anything to appease their parents so they could hurry up and be excused. But dinner inevitably ended with her father yelling and someone crying, usually Robin and sometimes her mother. Acid boiled up in her stomach in recollection. Happy memories.
Robin’s eyes darted to Kendrick, wondering what she was really thinking. She knew her daughter was exceptionally intelligent, razor-sharp, in fact, like herself. She appeared to take things in stride, but Robin knew that acting also ran in the family, so she wanted to be sure that Kendrick was really as fine as she claimed to be. She would check on her when she went to bed.
Hurricane Days Page 5
