“Interesting theory.”
“It’s not a theory. It’s the truth. Everyone in the sixties messed up their genetic codes. The next generation’s brains were compromised. I read it in a magazine.” Carol had a way of stating everything as if it were the gospel.
“Oh.”
We continued walking together under a clump of threatening clouds.
Chapter Seventeen
That evening, I went to the on-campus grill to meet Adrienne for dinner. Our argument last night about the sexism in heavy metal videos must’ve really made her mad for her to leave me a note with a meeting place on it. Would she be carrying a gun to shoot me? Of course not. That was paranoia. After all, a restaurant was a public place.
I walked into The Meat Grinder and scanned the blazing red walls, which were covered with artsy black and white photographs of bare body parts. It seemed a little racy, but I reminded myself that I was now a college student and a long way from Bible school. I soon found Adrienne standing in a long line at the counter, straining to read a chalk-scribbled menu.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey.”
“I’m surprised you wanted to meet me.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, but of course I knew why. Adrienne made me feel like an activist who would tie myself to trees or something. It bothered me. Why should I feel the need to curb my opinions when I was around her?
“Can we get hamburgers?” Adrienne asked.
“Yeah, it’s the first one on the board. Can you see it?”
“No.” She strained so hard to see the menu that she almost fell on the person in front of her.
“Put on your glasses,” I said.
“I don’t want to.”
I smiled to myself as I realized that she was embarrassed to be seen wearing her reading glasses. I liked knowing a secret about her. It made me feel good…special…confused.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. This wasn’t exactly the conversation I’d imagined when I came here tonight.
“Is there a chicken sandwich?” Adrienne asked.
“No, that would be the duck à l’orange.”
She shot me a dirty look. “Bite me.”
When it was her turn, she said, “I’ll have a chicken patty sandwich.”
The counter guy looked at me. “The Cobb salad,” I said. I’d heard stories about the “Freshman Ten,” and I swore I wasn’t going to come out of here with an extra butt.
“We’ll bring ’em to you,” the guy shouted over the noise.
As we moved through the tightly packed tables, I said, “How do they know where we’re sitting?”
“They do this all the time. They have a system.” I could tell she had no idea what she was talking about.
We took a seat beside a photo of a woman’s bare torso. Adrienne looked at it a long moment. “It’s pretty.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “What happened to the rest of her?” I often made jokes when I was uncomfortable.
“I understand what you’re saying…about the videos.” In a rare moment, Adrienne seemed absolutely serious.
“Really?”
“Well, yeah. I just never looked at ’em like that. I mean, I don’t take that stuff as seriously as you do.”
I was too serious because I thought about what the image meant? Having an opinion meant that I didn’t have a sense of humor? That I was uptight? Adrienne made me feel this way more than anyone I’d ever met.
“Well,” I responded, “you never see men dressing that way. And they sure as heck wouldn’t be put in a cage.”
“Oh, I’ll bet some have done that,” she said. “Some guys like freaky stuff.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I know.” She grinned. “I guess I’m not…as political as you.”
No one had ever called me that before. It would be my dad’s dream come true. “Political?” I repeated.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I get pissed off at a lot of things, like how guys still have the power. I mean, how many female rock bands do you see?” She took her chicken sandwich from the waiter.
I tried to hide my surprise. She had a brain to go with that face. Darn.
“You should do something about it,” I urged. “Start your own band.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. I can’t play anything. You know, I always wanted to play guitar, but my mom said girls should learn piano. I hate piano. She made me take lessons for two years! Could be worse, I guess. At least I can read music.”
“I was forced to take piano too!” We laughed. “I couldn’t get beyond a very basic song called ‘Tuba Tune.’ It was awful. I said, if I can’t play like Chopin, I might as well hang it up right there.” As I got my Cobb salad, I could tell she was still watching me. She was always watching.
I proceeded to drown my lettuce in the ranch dressing they’d placed in a container on the side. Honestly, the salad was merely an excuse to have the dressing. So much for avoiding the “Freshman Ten…”
When the laughter subsided, I said, “I have a confession. I don’t completely dislike every heavy metal song I’ve heard. Actually, I like a few of them. It’s strange.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, yes, it is. For me, I mean.”
“You mean because you’re so uptight?” She winked at me.
“Shut up.”
“Or because you’re too good for the music of us common folk?”
“Bite me.” I surprised myself. I guess she was rubbing off on me, a scary thought.
“You wish.” After a pause, she asked, “Which one’s your favorite?”
I thought a moment. “That song about being alone again?”
“Oh, ‘Alone Again.’” Adrienne nodded.
“That’s the title?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course it is,” I laughed.
Soon we were both laughing. When I dared to meet her shiny brown eyes, they were crinkled up above her full cheeks as she laughed. She had the most joyful grin I’d ever seen. And in the dim light, her eyes seemed to dance as she looked at me. My face flushed with heat, and I tried to cool myself down by sipping my soda. I wasn’t sure how I would survive the year.
Chapter Eighteen
The Atlanta crowd loved Robin Sanders, roaring with applause at every point she made.
“Who says the rich don’t understand the poor! I know all about poverty!” She stood, dripping with Cartier jewelry. “My Aunt Clara slept on a dirt floor!” Everyone cheered, as if they were happy about Aunt Clara’s dirt floor. In truth, her Aunt Clara had run off with a hippie group during the seventies. She had lived in a camp out in the woods and often slept on dirt. But that detail wasn’t important now.
As the crowd reached a fever pitch, Robin was hoarse with promises: “I will never raise taxes! Ever!” If she could have thrown in a free car for everyone like Oprah, she would have.
“I’m here today,” she continued, “not just as a candidate, but as a concerned citizen. Whoever takes office next has to return this country to traditional values and stop unnatural unions from becoming law.” She looked down for the first time during her speech. Though the crowd cheered in response, these words felt a little thicker in her throat tonight.
After the speech Robin shook hands and signed autographs. She was exhausted from smiling, from handshakes, from trying to appear the picture of grace no matter what her detractors were saying. Peter was right by her side, guarding her, listening in his earpiece to every new development. He took her arm. “Lara says your poll numbers are back up.” He was beaming. She offered him a smile, knowing that all was right in his world.
Though Robin felt somewhat fatigued, her fans had kept her energized throughout the night. She signed glossy photographs of herself all the way down the front row of the audience. She was especially gratified to see young girls looking to her, as if they could run the country someday too. When Robin
reached the end of the row, though, she was handed a different photograph, a blown-up color photo of her younger self with Adrienne Austen in college. She looked up, startled.
There she was. An older, more radiant version of the girl she remembered, Adrienne Austen the woman was, as ever, stunning. Her eyes were intense, fixed on hers. And her amused smile brought everything back in an instant. “Make it out to Adrienne,” she said, raising the photograph.
Robin sometimes wondered what she’d say if she ever crossed paths with Adrienne again, but whatever she’d thought about was quickly forgotten once she met those familiar almond eyes.
The governor momentarily lost her composure, as cameras snapped, capturing the moment. She knew Peter could tell from the look on her face that this woman had meant something to her. He immediately whisked her away to the limousine and glanced over his shoulder. Two other members of the governor’s entourage were escorting Adrienne to her car. She was going to get what she wanted—a visit to the governor’s mansion.
Robin watched through her limousine window as cameras flashed at Adrienne. She was dressed to the nines tonight, like one of those glammed-up sirens in film noir movies—just before they put the final bullet in their former lover’s body.
Quickly catching on to who she was, reporters began shouting questions at her. “Did you have an affair with the governor? Are you trying to win her back?”
Robin watched as Adrienne ignored them and glided to another limo waiting with escorts on all sides. Like Robin, she had a way of moving as if nothing could touch her.
As Robin’s car began to move, Peter said, “I never worried about the outcome of this election…until now.”
Robin was obviously shaken. She decided to make use of the full bar in the backseat. “Where was security? How could she just pop up at my rally?” She was livid, her voice scratchy.
“Save your voice,” Peter replied, pouring himself a vodka tonic. Then he checked his phone. “She’s been staying at the Hilton downtown.” He was breathing funny, running his hand through his now sweaty mop of hair, growing more agitated.
“She’s following us?”
“Yes. You really need to put this thing to rest. Either now, or she screws it up for you in Tampa.” Of course he was referring to the final debate. He was really scared. “I saw you with her,” he said quietly. “If a guy like me can see it…”
“There’s nothing to see,” she insisted, staring out the window.
Chapter Nineteen
“You got plans tonight?” Adrienne asked, tapping off the ashes of her cigarette.
I coughed. “I told you, smoking will kill you. Or me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Tonight? I’m not sure,” I said. “Why?”
“You wanna party?” she asked.
“Party?”
She now rolled her eyes so far back they seemed to disappear into her head. “C’mon, you know, party. Some guys I know were gonna get six-packs and just hang out and listen to music.”
I thought a moment. My first impulse was to say no. A “get-together” with her could only lead to a raid later by campus police. I was sure of it.
There was a knock on the door. Adrienne opened it and let in this girl I’d seen sometimes hanging around the student union. She was a human Barbie with hair that was sprayed up and teased out like an exotic plant. And the way she dressed…a good wind could blow off her flimsy tank top. Maybe that’s what she wanted to happen.
I stared at her with obvious disdain before reminding myself to be polite.
“Hi,” the girl said, popping her gum.
“Hi,” Adrienne responded. “Uh, Nancy, this is Robin.”
“Robin?” Nancy repeated. “Like the bird?”
“Yeah, like the bird.” I’d never had to explain my name before.
I could tell instantly that Nancy didn’t really care if I was there or not. She was more interested in Adrienne’s cigarette pack. “Oh,” she said. “Can I bum a few? I’m all out.”
“You’re always out,” Adrienne complained, handing her the pack and lighting one for her. They had a familiarity with each other. Nancy must’ve been among the party crowd that Adrienne sometimes talked about. I didn’t like her.
Then he arrived. This had to be the famous Sean Voight. Adrienne had mentioned him a few times in a giddy sort of way. So I knew he meant something to her. I instinctively disliked him even more than Nancy.
“Hey.” Sean came into the room with a kind of redneck peacock shuffle.
“Hey,” Adrienne replied with great interest. “Sean, Robin. Robin, Sean.” It seemed important to her that we meet. I didn’t know why.
“Hi,” I said politely. I examined him like a specimen under a microscope, trying to identify any possible reason why this boy held such a fascination for her. He sported tattoos and ambiguous facial hair on his chin. The hair on his head was long and greasy brown. There was nothing special about him as far as I could see.
Adrienne turned to me and said, “They’re gonna hang with us tonight.”
“Uh,” I stammered, desperate for a way to escape. “You know, I have to get to the library tonight. A lot of studying.” I shrugged apologetically.
“You sure?” Adrienne looked disappointed. “It’ll be fun.”
Nancy popped her gum again.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Maybe some other time. Nice to meet y’all.” With that, I hastily grabbed my books, stuffed them into my backpack and left.
Chapter Twenty
The library, illuminated with lights, looked like the Emerald City from the darkness outside. In spite of the heavy air choking me, I walked into the building with a sense of purpose and rising excitement. After meeting Sean and seeing how enamored Adrienne was with him and probably with boys in general, I’d decided to confront the strange feelings I’d been having. They went back farther than I was willing to admit. Back to high school, in fact. That was when I found Curious Wine.
I had been shopping at a nearby mall, and, after a long day of trying to find enough decent clothes to balance out the unfortunate wardrobe that Granny Inez had been building for me, I wandered into a bookstore and browsed my way into the section labeled “Gay and Lesbian.” There I picked up a book called Curious Wine by someone named Katherine Forrest. The blurb on the back said it was about two women who fall in love at Lake Tahoe. After glancing around the store to make sure no one I knew was there, I rushed up to the counter, head down, and quickly purchased it.
When I got home, I stuffed the book underneath my mattress. I couldn’t wait until after dinner to go upstairs and read it. And I did. In one night. I stayed up so late I could barely keep my eyes open the next day in school. But it was worth it. I spent the day dreaming about the two women in the cabin and what it was like for them…something about the story really drew me in. That sensual scene in the upstairs bedroom…it was quite a departure from my nightly Bible readings growing up. One night I was in the world of Corinthians, and the next minute, enjoying some perverse, delicious encounter at Lake Tahoe—and Tahoe was starting to look better and better. Another reason I worried that I was going to hell.
I couldn’t fathom something like the scenes in Lake Tahoe ever happening to me. None of the girls I’d seen who called themselves lesbians seemed to be anything like me. The girl in the dorm who spooked Adrienne—she seemed nice, but she dressed like my brother. I couldn’t relate to what I thought a lesbian had to be. It was all so confusing, this strange world of women who intrigued and scared me at the same time.
I reread Curious Wine off and on for the rest of the school year. I knew I couldn’t take it to college with me in case my roommate saw it and got the wrong idea. And I couldn’t leave it at home in case my parents found it and got the wrong idea. So as much as it saddened me, I threw it out in a Dumpster downtown, far away from school or any place where it could be traced back to me. I felt like some sort of criminal.
It was time to read it again. In the lib
rary I went to the Gay and Lesbian section in the stacks and searched for Curious Wine. Sure enough, there it was. It had become one of the most popular books in the genre, so it was no surprise to see it there. I pulled it out and sauntered over to the Psychology section to peruse it. I was a cliché, standing there reading lesbian literature in a section devoted to Freud and his “poor women without penises” books.
I opened the book to the place where I knew I’d find my favorite scene. I was so excited to read it again that tears welled up in my eyes. I scanned the pages hurriedly, with a certain paranoia, as if the lesbian police were going to storm in at any moment and announce to the world that I was one of them. I’d then be taken to an undisclosed location where I’d be forced to play softball and wear corduroy, both of which I wasn’t particularly excited about—further proof I couldn’t be a lesbian!
“Hi.” The voice startled me out of my skin. I spun around to find Andrew Bennington, dressed in bright yellow spandex shorts and a white tank top. He was definitely proud of his bare, fuzzy skin.
“Oh, hi,” I said, with some relief. I remembered him, but he misinterpreted the blank face I gave him as I tried to gather my composure.
“I’m in your Film Production?”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “The laugh.”
He sighed dramatically. “I get so much grief for that. It’s genetic.” He was so full of life and himself that he hadn’t noticed at first what I’d been reading. Now a passing glance at my book stopped him. “Ooh, I hear that’s a good book. My best friend Sara loves it.”
Involuntarily, I snapped it shut. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, look, sorry to bother you.” His hands were very expressive as he spoke, like he was playing a game of charades. “I was wondering if I could ask you a huge favor.”
“Sure.”
Though he sounded like he was going to ask me to give him a kidney, he only wanted to borrow some of my notes. “You look like you take great notes.”
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