by P. Dangelico
It didn’t happen right away. I mean, it took me a while to wear her down. There’s not much I want, but when I do I go after it with relentless patience and determination. Once I finally got her to admit that she was attracted to me too, it happened naturally. I convinced my parents to let me finish my junior and senior year in the Bay Area––she helped with that––and we carried on. It was the first time in my life I can recall being happy.
Shortly before the end of my senior year she told me she couldn’t see me anymore. That if it ever got out, she could go to jail, be branded a pedophile. Her name would go on the registry, and she would never be able to teach again. Her life would be destroyed. And although all those things were true, they had been true from the start. And yet she’d chosen to love me despite the risk.
I was blindsided. Nothing I said or did changed her mind. Shortly after that, she transferred to Princeton and I never saw her again. In a matter of weeks, she went from being the love of my life to a ghost, a painful memory.
“How? What happened to her?”
“Car accident…Her husband called me.”
“What did he say?”
Every word of that letter is forever seared in my mind. “He said she left a letter with her lawyer to be sent in the event of her demise…” The exact word the lawyer used. “I don’t think she ever imaged it would be at thirty-three.”
“I always liked her.”
My gaze flickers over to find Brenda’s rapt attention on me. She was the only one I ever told about Beth.
“She apologized. Said she loved me and hoped I was doing well. She said she never had any intention of leaving me but the family threatened her…”
Jumping off the couch, I walk to the wall of windows that overlooks the Pacific, watch the sun melt into the horizon and leave behind a wake of color. Built on a bluff, this house has the best view in Pebble Beach that money can buy. The entire structure is modern, the furniture large and sparse. All of it meant to showcase the beauty of the environment.
“She said she was offered a hundred thousand to leave or face charges.” My skin feels like it’s going to split open and reveal every emotion I’ve ever had.
I came here for one reason only, to get answers from my grandfather and the old bastard is in the fucking Caribbean getting his pole shined by a soft porn wannabe.
“I thought it was Dad at first, but he hasn’t given a hot shit about me since I was conceived so it has to be Grandpa.”
The frustration I’ve been feeling since I opened Beth’s letter boils over and actual fucking tears fill my eyes. The one person that ever really cared about me and he had to ruin it.
Back against the glass pane, I slide down to the floor, legs weak, a feeling of powerlessness coming over me.
“He thinks he can play me, mess with my life, and get away with it. That I’m just a pawn…”
“It wasn’t Grandpa,” I hear a few minutes later. I glance up into my mother’s face. Her bright blue eyes the same exact shade as mine are filled with sympathy.
“What?”
“Grandpa didn’t threaten her.” She sits up straighter, snatches the half-empty glass off the coffee table and downs what’s left of the wine.
That piece of shit. “Dad…” Anger, raw and ugly, rises up in me.
“No…it was me. I offered her the money.”
The sound vibrates through the air and reaches me but I can’t make sense of it. It can’t be possible. “You paid Beth? You did?”
Brenda nods, looks off, her fingers nervously pulling at the fringes of the blanket on her lap. “I thought…I thought it was just a phase for her, you know. A thrill. And you…you were so emotionally needy. So young and lost. She played you Dallas. Not Grandpa. Not me. Beth was old enough and smart enough to know that you were a very fragile young man––and a rich one to boot.”
“You?” I’m in so much shock I can’t even form a sentence. It’s hard to breathe. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. “But I thought you…” I suck in a deep, ragged breath that sears my lungs. “You made me believe you were cool with it! That you thought it was all romantic and shit!”
“I was trying to do the right thing,” comes out a quiet whimper.
“You fucking selfish bitch! You’ve never done anything to please anyone but yourself!”
Standing, I freeze in place because I’m so angry right now I may do something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. “You were the only one I trusted…”
Tears stream down her face. She wipes them away, swallowing hard what is probably a fuck load of guilt. I hope she chokes on it.
“You people are so toxic…”
I force myself to move, to head for the door. I can’t stay here another minute. Happy fucking Thanksgiving.
Chapter Nine
Dora
Thanksgiving came and went. As usual, nothing much happened except that I had to keep kicking Sasha under the table while she was interrogated by Chief Ramos about the Theta party. First, it was whether the fire marshal was called for overcrowding. Then, did we observe any illicit drug use. Blah, blah, blah. The man is always on the job. The answers were yes and yes, but naturally we kept our traps shut.
My errant thoughts immediately run to the Cat Woman costume. If my parents ever saw me in that getup, I am one hundred percent certain they would both stroke out.
“This seat’s taken,” I hear the guy who’s seated next to me in English Lit. say.
You ever need someone to take that V-card off your hands let me know. I consider it my civic duty to make sure your first sexual experience is a great one…
Filthy images of our naked, entwined bodies flash in my mind’s eye and I may as well be standing in dragon fire. A blast of heat works up my neck and over my face, sweat beads along my hairline.
The last thing I need is to be reminded of my downward spiral into total humiliation. As if it wasn’t hard enough to look Dallas in the eyes before he knew with absolute certainty what a pathetic loser I am, now it’s impossible. The silver lining here is that all I have left is one more month of this class. Then I’m a step closer to never having to see him again.
Distractedly, I glance up from my tablet, the one I use to take notes in Larsen’s class, and find Dallas standing next to the guy seated next to me. He’s in his usual uniform: faded Malibu Sharks t-shirt, long basketball shorts, and pool slides. His hair is––as always––a beautiful mess. Except something is very different today. His arm is in a sling, his right eye is an interesting shade of purple, and his bottom lip is split and swollen.
Huh.
It takes me a minute to recover from the sight and within that timeframe all I do is stare. His gaze briefly catches mine and darts back to the guy seated next to me––Bryce, I think his name is.
“Is it?” he says, staring an icy hole in Bryce’s face. Bryce, for his part, looks genuinely confused at this line of questioning.
“Uh, yeah, dude, I’m sitting in it so I’d have to say it’s taken.”
Blank-faced Dallas continues. “Is it though?”
What the heck is he up to? Bryce steals a glance in my direction. To gauge if this is some coordinated effort, I’m assuming. Unfortunately, I have no answer for him other than to look just as confused as he does.
“I need to sit next to my friend,” Dallas continues. “She’s taking notes for me.”
Which is a barefaced lie. We are as far from friends as possible. But all is not lost because this is the part of the story where I find the fire in my belly––and my voice.
“We’re not f-friends.”
“Yes, we are, Dory. Don’t be mean,” he has the audacity to say. I catch him close to smiling and my anger kicks up two notches.
Bryce’s head bobs back and forth between us. I still have no idea what Dallas is up to, but I’m fairly certain that his intentions are not on the up-and-up.
“We’re not,” I repeat, wasting no time in correcting his false claim.
&
nbsp; “You wanna pretend you don’t know me now? After everything we’ve been through?”
Brain damage. He must’ve hit his head. Maybe he’s concussed. Because he’s definitely lost his mind. It’s all I can come up with as an excuse for this strange behavior.
That’s when I realize everyone else within earshot has noticed the scene he’s making. Everyone and I mean everyone is staring. The bookends included who patiently wait for their cult leader in the aisle.
“I’ll move,” Bryce announces, as frustrated with this nonsense as I am. Standing, he gathers his things, forcefully shoving everything in his messenger bag.
“Great idea,” Dallas deadpans.
“D-don’t move,” I plead. Which doesn’t do any good.
As soon as Bryce shuffles past Dallas, he takes the newly-vacated seat. Long legs splayed, his damaged arm in the sling filling the space between us.
Ducking his head into the aisle, he gives the girls a patronizing little salute with his still-functioning hand, then turns that deadly grin on me. Dallas has always been a beautiful disaster, but with the split lip and black eye, he literally epitomizes the label.
“I can’t have them bumping into my injured arm. You’ll keep me safe, won’t you, Dory?” At first glance, he seems smug but then, for just a fraction of a moment, the act slips and he looks a bit lost, a little unsteady.
It’s apparent I won’t be getting him to move so I decide to make the best out of this terrible situation. Also, I’ll admit my curiosity is piqued.
“W-what happened to you?” I murmur, taking the opportunity to study his perfectly symmetrical profile while he pulls his books out of his backpack.
Turning to me, his smile drops and he runs his good hand through his sun-bleached hair, tugs on the ends. “You didn’t hear? I totaled my car.”
“The Porsche?” I ask, completely taken aback. He could’ve died. He nods. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“That I am…” He sighs then and I know there’s more to the story.
“Is it b-broken?”
“Dislocated shoulder.”
His playing days are over. With only a few games left in the water polo season––including the playoffs––he won’t heal in time to play another game. And he’s a senior, which means he’ll likely never play again.
“So…”
“Yeah,” he very quietly replies. No need to spell it out. A heavy, meaningful silence falls between us. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…” he says a few minutes later.
I say nothing in return––what is there to say. It’s not like I’m ready to forgive and forget and pretend he didn’t hurt and embarrass me. It’s worth noting that I’m feeling mighty uncomfortable, however. My heart’s beating rapidly too.
“I wasn’t making fun of you––” His low raspy voice compels me to look at him. “––or anything like that…I can’t even explain why I kept it as long as I did...I’m sorry I can’t explain why, but it wasn’t to purposely hurt you.” He exhales tiredly. “I’m just…really sorry.”
Larsen walks in and the room gets quiet. That’s when Dallas’s voice gets even quieter. “I’m not an empty vessel.”
He turns to meet my scrutiny head on, and it occurs to me––beautiful, wealthy, gifted Dallas Van Zant is insecure.
“I’m not,” he repeats in case I didn’t believe him the first time.
I’m not sure either way yet, but I’m curious to know more. “G-Give me your email so I-I can send you the notes.”
Dallas
We beat Long Beach State tonight. A lucky goal by Rea in the last minute of the fourth quarter saved the season. It wasn’t looking so good for the Sharks until then. No matter how ugly the win, however, we beat them in the opening round and advance to the semifinals of the NCAA championship tournament next weekend.
I watched from the bench, of course. Even if I hadn’t dislocated my shoulder, Coach would’ve sat me for the arrest. He wasn’t a total douche about it either. He said he was sorry to see my playing days end this way. Somehow it seems fitting, though. It feels like it’s all coming to a head––my life, that is. I just can’t see how it’s going to break when it does.
“Rook!” Warner slurs at Jake Chasen, the rookie who replaced me. The freshman had three assists and one goal. “Get your sloppy face off that poor girl and get us refills.”
Warner’s halfway to passing out on the outdoor couch around the pool. We’re all congregated there in various stages of drunkenness. Next to him, Cole and Rea are off to a good start on their campaign to get wasted.
We started partying as soon as we got home. All of us for different reasons. Rea has lady trouble as usual. Cole is being Cole, which means there’s always a reason to party. As for me, the night in jail didn’t even begin to put a dent in the low-simmering anger I’m carrying around.
My mother has always been a problem. Never knowing what each day will bring is tough on an adult, let alone a kid. Some weeks she would stay in bed crying. Other times she would wake me in the middle of the night to take the sailboat out for a 3 a.m. cruise in rough waters. I was five the first time it happened. That we survived every single time is nothing short of a miracle.
The thing is, I always thought she had a good heart. Was she irresponsible? Sure. Spoiled? Extremely. She’s always been more like a sibling than a parent. But I never thought she was manipulative like my old man.
Bill Van Zant was and is interested in one thing and one thing only: furthering his own success at the cost of everyone else’s. It’s an open secret that he married my mother for her last name and her money. As soon as they had me, he left. He said he couldn’t handle her crazy, which is probably for the best because I can’t handle his either. I’ve always expected the worst out of him and he’s never disappointed me on that front.
But Brenda…fucking Brenda. She betrayed me worst of all.
Never once have I thought she would use me. After all the times I covered for her when my father tried to get the courts to adjudicate her as an unfit parent…this is what I get as a thanks.
“Chase, ya hear me!” Warner hollers.
The rookie is on my couch macking on a girl I’ve seen around campus, an upperclassmen. He pauses long enough to scrub the lust from his eyes and glance at Warner.
“Reaally? But I won the game for us tonight,” Chasen complains.
“Get the fuck outta here, rook. Help us win the championship. Then we’ll consider taking it easy on you.”
“Yeah, do that and we’ll consider making Fletcher our bitch,” Cole adds.
“Heeeyyy,” Fletch whines.
“In the meantime,” Cole continues, “get our refills.” He and Warner laugh.
Across the way, I catch Reagan eyeballing me. Something is going on with him––more than the usual.
Getting up, I plant my ass between him and Cole who’s listing to the side, and according to the sloppy look on his face, close to passing out.
“Where’s your girl?” I ask.
Bailey should be here, celebrating with us. As the official Sharks videographer, she’s just as much a part of this team as I am. Not to mention Rea’s girl––whether he wants to admit it or not.
“Not my girl.”
Still in denial. Poor bastard. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You look like shit.”
His head falls back onto the cushion, he palms his forehead. “I feel like shit. I think I’m catching the flu.”
That gives me the chuckles for the first time all night. “Nah, bro. You’re catching feelings. That’s love making you feel like shit…” My mind drifts to Beth and my amusement fades. “Welcome to hell.”
He shoots me a defeated look. “I’m trying to get drunk in peace if you don’t mind.”
“At least you didn’t deny it. My new shrink would be proud of you.”
The one I don’t intend to see anymore.
With a sideways glance, he checks me out. “Why are you still sober?”
&nb
sp; I’ve spent a lot of time thinking lately. Jail and a near-death experience will do that to you. And I came to the conclusion that some shit needs to change. For one thing, I need to lay off the booze and the occasional recreational drug. If nothing else, Thanksgiving proved that those two things, plus raw emotions, don’t mix well.
“I’m gonna quit booze and pills for a while. See what happens.”
Rea searches me for signs that I’m messing with him, but he won’t find any.
“She’s on a date,” he says, out of the blue. “Alice––that’s why she’s not here.”
At first I can’t believe my ears. They must be lying to me. He let Bailey go on a date? Is he a total glutton for punishment? Then the confusion transforms into a loud burst of laughter.
“Great. That’s just great,” he mutters, his patience wearing thin.
“And you let her? Dude,” more laughing, “why didn’t you just let her take a running kick at you balls, it would’ve hurt less.”
“Why am I taking relationship advice from you?”
“Hey, I may be fucked up beyond repair, but at least I know what a good thing looks like and I know you’re pissing it away.”
His face falls. Whatever I said hit home. Karen and Tara are suddenly standing over us. “Hey Boo. You, me, and Nutella in the privacy of your bedroom?” Karen’s smile says she’s picturing it already.
Karen. Legs for days. Loves sex. Knows how to take a hint. Which is why we hooked up a few times last year. Twenty minutes ago, I had my tongue down her throat. Now I’m wondering why. I feel nothing for this girl. No chemistry. No desire. No interest….Nothing. Ever have a day where you can’t stand yourself anymore? I think I just hit that wall.
“Hi, Reagan. You know Tara?” Karen says to Rea when I don’t answer.
Rea checks the two of them out, frowns. “We’ve met.” He’s obviously no Tara fan.
I get up, careful not to bump my aching shoulder. The painkillers have worn off and I can feel every single twinge right now. Nudging her lower back, I guide her away, out of earshot.
