by Tif Marcelo
“That this is what I’m meant to do.”
“You surprise me every day, Victoria,” Tara says. “And that’s why you were hired. Because you can catch us in a moment like this. You know how to talk to people.”
My eyes flash up to Joel, suddenly embarrassed for him.
Adrian cracks up.
Tara’s cheeks pink at her faux pas. “Shit. I didn’t mean that you don’t know how to talk to people, Joel.”
Joel clutches at his heart, feigning anguish.
Tara lifts a hand. “Hear me out! Every show has a vibe, and your vibe is a little more serious, geekier. And what this show needed was some fun, some flare. We’re trying to get people to come to these festivals without feeling intimidated.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel says. “I get it. I think we can move on from all of that, okay?” He glances up at me with a sincere expression, and it warms me from my toes all the way up to the smile that’s about to burst onto my face.
“Aw, this is good you guys.” Tara balls up her napkin. “But it’s time for us to get on the road. We’ve got two hours of travel left in front of us before we get to our campground in Richmond. The Suburban can lead.”
“Sounds good. It’s my turn to drive. I’ll keep up,” I say.
When Tara and Adrian leave, I slide into the driver’s seat, adjust the mirrors, and hitch the chair up closer to the steering wheel. I snap in my seat belt, turn on the radio to find a channel that works, and pull down the visor for a quick peek at my face. I feel the heat of Joel’s eyes on me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“I know, but I filmed you and I thought . . . I assumed . . .”
“Well, you know what cures assumptions, right?” I turn the key, fire up the engine, and give him the side-eye. “It’s called talking about things.”
“Is that what it is?”
“Yeah. But don’t worry. I’m patient.” I drive the RV out of the truck stop and onto the freeway, following the Suburban. When I’m finally up to speed, the radio cuts out.
“Here, let me.” Joel fiddles with the radio, and finally, pounds on it once. “Crap. It’s broken.”
I harrumph and frown. “I guess that’s that.”
“I’ll turn on my phone.” Joel sets his phone up on the dashboard, and I watch him scroll through his playlist. My eyes briefly glance down at the artists’ names, and a grin wiggles its way onto my lips.
Boys II Men.
Marky Mark.
Savage Garden.
And more.
“You do have a nineties fetish,” I say.
His finger pauses on the touchscreen. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Um . . . nothing . . . except that some of the songs they recorded back then were so cheesy.”
“You did not just call them cheesy. Marky Mark’s ‘Good Vibrations’ is still played at every club today.”
“If you say so.” I belt out a laugh. “And please . . . let’s not even get into nineties movies.”
After pressing the play button, Joel leans back into his chair. Will Smith starts singing through the phone. “I’m not going to let you insult nineties movies. All great movies were made in the nineties.”
“Like?”
“Pulp Fiction, The Matrix. Silence of the Lambs. Need I say more?”
I roll my eyes. “And let’s not forget Dazed and Confused with the problematic, sleazy pedophile trolling innocent high schoolers.”
“That’s one charac—”
“Oh, and of course Clueless, where Cher calls everyone the R-word. And oh, the gross generalizations, stereotypes, and sexism in American Pie.”
“Okay, okay.” He puts his hand up. “I agree. We were even less enlightened twenty years ago, but you can’t deny the deep exploration of choice in The Matrix. Do you take the red pill or the blue? I mean, isn’t that the existential crisis of life? Isn’t it all about choice?”
“But isn’t it also about fate? Don’t you believe that things happen just because, that sometimes they’re meant to be? And don’t get me started about faith, and how that changes perspectives and, quite possibly, the future?” The Suburban changes lanes, so I glance at the passenger-side mirror, and then at Joel.
He’s looking out the windshield, contemplative. “No.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “So you don’t think that the universe or God or Mother Earth had anything to do with us? That we somehow ended up right here, together, discussing The Matrix in an RV that’s a million years old with a radio that doesn’t work out of pure choice?”
“Yes. We happened to choose to submit to West Coast Eats, which happened to choose to bring us back in for a second audition, and we chose to come here.”
“You don’t think there’s a magic in that? In the combination of all those things happening?”
“You know what I think’s magic?” His voice takes on a mischievous tone. “Your lips, how they’re so damn tempting.”
Despite the heat that shoots down to my core at his bravado, I shake my head. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I am.” He unbuckles his seat belt.
“Wh . . . what are you doing?” My heart beats in my ear as his body nears. My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter as he hovers behind me, slipping his hands over my thigh. His breath tickles my ear, and I feel his cool tongue flick my earlobe. I shiver from the inside out, and it takes all of me to keep from shutting my eyes as his hands wander to where I’m now hot and wet, in between my legs.
His voice is teasing. “I’m choosing to end this conversation and pick up where we left off earlier today.”
18
JOEL
Oh, the privacy of being up high on the road. No one had any idea how I teased Victoria with my fingers and brought her to climax on Highway 101 in the middle of rush hour traffic. It’s a miracle we got to Richmond Recreation Park without incident with the way the RV jerked at Victoria’s reactions to my advances—it was a whole new level of distracted driving. And, in a move I had never undertaken in my thirty-one years of life, we even switched places in the driver’s seat when traffic slowed so she could slip into the bathroom and “freshen up.” Her words, not mine. I kind of liked the glow she was sporting and the lazy look in her eyes. I wished we could have taken a detour for some real alone time.
The sun was already below San Francisco Bay when we pulled into our parking space, the water billowing beyond the RV’s nose. The Suburban’s lights continued down the path to the designated tent camping area.
I step down on the emergency break, still giddy like a teenager, and call behind me. “We’re here.”
Victoria emerges from the bathroom in sweats and a striped blue V-neck T-shirt. Her face is open and relaxed, and her hair is loose and free, begging for my fingers to run through it. She’s already popped out her contacts and is wearing her glasses. “I’m starving.”
“Expended your energy, did you?”
“Maybe.” Her lips lift up into a grin. “Let’s just say I was doing my best to concentrate. Do I look presentable?” She looks down at her body.
Her perfect, sexy body. “I prefer you naked, but yes. You’re always presentable.” I stand and approach her, taking in her scent of detergent and shampoo. She places her hands on my waist. And, man, does my body react instantly to her touch. I’ll soon be on a slippery slope into trouble if I don’t step away. I sigh and kiss her on the nose. “Not sure how I’m going to get to bed tonight, however.”
She looks at me through her lashes. “I have room . . . in my bed”
“Only if you want me there.” I grip the bottom of her chin, chance my willpower, and press my lips on hers.
“I do.”
“Then I’ll be here once everyone falls asleep.”
Her gaze goes to the leveling gauge in one of the cup holders. “Speaking of. The faster we set up . . .
It feels like we’re pretty level and won’t need to deal with that mess. Wanna verify and then connect everything up? I’ll make sandwiches for everyone for dinner and meet you outside.”
“Sure.”
Reaching up, she brings her face to mine, kisses me on the lips. “Thank you for the enlightening ride over. I hope I can return the favor tonight.”
I growl at her response, and with one final effort, I pull myself away and head down the stairs, out of the rig.
Damn. Now that I’m outside and by myself and don’t have to pretend to be chill, I can fully grin. How the hell am I going to be able to survive the rest of this trip, when all I want is my hands all over her? How am I going to keep this up? Or the better question might be—how do I not? Kissing her last night opened the floodgates of possibility, and suddenly we went from no longer to hell, yeah. With only six—no, five—days left, it’s too long for a one-night stand, too short to think of the future, which makes all of this slightly precarious.
It’s hard to deny that together we are electric. We have that chemistry I search for when I look through a lens, that kind of unseen, though felt, attraction. Yet my conscience tells me it’s not just physical. I like Victoria. She knows how to get me to talk. We can verbally spar but come back to a thoughtful agreement. She also knows how to get me to think. Our conversation about fate and choice is weighing heavy in my brain, and I wonder if some of the struggles I’ve endured thus far were supposed to happen or if my years of assigning blame have been for naught.
I shake my head free of my heavy thoughts and take in the dimmed campground. It’s shy of 8 p.m. Fires are low, and campers are making the trek to the restrooms for their final bathroom breaks. Some sites already have their outdoor lights turned off. The smell of sugar is in the air, and my stomach growls. My last meal was those nachos, and I’m starved. Peeking over to the tent area, I catch sight of flashlights that may be Adrian and Tara. I’ll need to head there soon to set up my tent.
Coming around the other side of the RV, I pull out all our tubes and connect the sewer and water. When I connect the electricity, the RV’s lights click on a little bit brighter, like it’s gotten a dose of much-needed caffeine. I can’t help it, I put a hand against the RV’s siding. This thing is a beast. From the outside it looks like it can’t make it across the street, much less hundreds of miles through some pretty significant hills. “Thanks for getting us here,” I whisper.
Almost immediately, I feel like a dumbass. I’m talking to a fucking RV. The sappiness must be the effect of blue balls. Though absolutely worth it, there is the possibility that, maybe, my brain has suffered.
I head to the right side of the rig, flip up the storage compartment door, and spread out our camp rug. Victoria had insisted on getting one earlier today; she said it didn’t feel like home unless there was a rug under the awning. The last gas station had a slew for sale—Adrian and I picked the type that looked like Astroturf, much to Victoria’s chagrin.
The first hint of fog mists over the water, and the stars cast a dim light, so I can see a hint of dark undulating waves. It looks like a painting, where the painter’s brush provides the texture, but in this case it’s animated.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check the caller ID. Seth. My heart quickens when I see my nephew’s name and picture on the screen. I was hoping he’d call. The email he sent me earlier broke my heart despite him saying he’d forgiven me; I want to make up in person or as close to it as possible. When I click on the green button, I don’t waste any time on pleasantries. “Hey bud, what’s shakin’?”
“Hey.” His voice is sweet and crackly like caramel corn, though slightly hesitant.
I plop down into a camp chair. “I got your email.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I promise that our trip to Yosemite is going to happen. I swear it, but I just don’t know when. Is that okay?”
“Okay.” A pause. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in this city called Richmond.”
“Where’s that?”
“Remember Oakland? Northeast of it.”
“Oh.” His voice trails, disappointed. “I thought you would be closer to Alford.”
“I should be there in a couple of days. Remember? Tomorrow we go to Berkeley, the next day Gilroy, and then to Alford.”
“I’m sorry I got mad. I just missed talking to you.”
His words squeeze my heart like a sponge. “I miss you, too, bud. Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon, okay? Two more sleeps.”
“Okay. I love you, Uncle Joel.”
“Love you, Seth. And, hey, want me to do a quick panoramic of where I’m at?”
His voice rises through the phone, as if pleased. “Yeah!”
“Okay. I’m hanging up now, then expect a text, all right?”
As soon as I hear the click on the other end, I turn on the video app on my phone and scan a picture of the landscape in front of me. The clouds have passed and now the moonlight is casting a nice glow on the water and the San Rafael Bridge. I say, “This is the San Francisco Bay. And beyond the water is San Francisco. See all those lights? I’ll take you there sometime, too.” I press the button to flip the camera toward me. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?” I wink, then press the red button.
I send the video.
Seth texts back: OK! A slew of emoticons fills up four lines of text. I shake my head at the madness of what this kid knows at eight. Was I this precocious and interested in everything? I think back to when I was his age, when his mom and I were still attached at the hip, when I couldn’t imagine my life without her by my side.
What is Joc up to tonight? Seth, can you give the phone to your mom?
OK.
What’s up, Joc?
I stare at the screen for a few seconds. The dots that normally appear when someone is replying don’t show. I hate texting, how we can’t get away from the expectation of immediate response. I’m already gnawing on my cheek, wondering why she’s not texting me back.
A clack behind me makes me jump, and I stuff the phone into my pocket. Turning, I see Victoria has already made sandwiches.
“Hey.” Every cell in my body wakes in pleasure at the sight of her. If there was ever a time I wanted to take her to bed, it’s now. I’ve seen women dressed in costume, in designer clothes, in uniform, in skimpy bikinis. To me, beauty is when they’re stripped of the extras.
But she doesn’t return my smile. “Here’s some food to bring down to the tents.”
“Oh.” Her request takes me aback. Obviously, I didn’t expect to stay long since I’m due at the other campsite with the rest of the crew. But this feels like a dismissal and definitely not the continuation of our flirtation in the RV minutes before. I wait for her to say something more, but I’m met with silence. “Is . . . everything okay?”
“Actually, no, it’s not—”
“Suburban to RV. Suburban to RV.” A crackly voice, followed by a high-pitched noise and a squelch, sounds from the inside of the cab. Tara.
Vic turns to the RV, but I redirect her. “What’s up?” I frown.
“Who was . . .”
“I need you here, ASAP, Joel. Tent issues.” Tara says. “Hello?”
“Dammit.” I pop the driver’s side door open and grab the handheld radio. “This is Joel.”
“Took you long enough. Adrian’s on bathroom break and I can’t get this tent up for the life of me. Come now. Space 161. Same row. You can’t miss me.”
I growl, torn as to where I should be.
Victoria pastes on a smile that I know is fake. “I’m super tired and tomorrow is another big day. I want to do better than last time.” Her eyes drop, and a hint of a real smile moves up to her eyes. “I mean, anything will be better than last time, right? I’m sorry about that, again.”
“Hey, I’ve forgotten all about it. Out of sight, out of mind. Left that business up in Desert Willow.”
She peers at me. “Right. Out of sight . . . well .
. . go fix the tent.”
“She can wait.”
“Joel!” Tara says through the radio.
“Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She unloads everything from her arms into mine. I scour her face for a clue as to what’s going on in her head, what caused this hot to cold shift.
“So . . . not tonight?”
She sighs. “As much as that tempts me, I think that maybe tonight’s not a good night. Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course, it’s okay. I have my phone. Holler if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure. See you first thing in the morning.”
I lean in to kiss her, but she backs away and climbs up the stairs. I hear the click of the lock, watch her roll up the driver and passenger side windows. Then she shuts down the outdoor lights.
Well, shit. What the fuck just happened?
19
VICTORIA
September 4
“This isn’t happening to me right now.” I cross my legs as I’m being brushed sideways by people. My stomach rumbles while Adrian untangles my mic. Tara and Joel are ten feet away grabbing a shot of the thick pedestrian crowd.
Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue is packed. The social epicenter of the city, its architecture has hints of old- and new-world charm. The street itself is narrow, with a tall streetlight every half block or so, and between modern businesses are historic buildings, some about a century old. Graffiti and street art mark corner buildings, and currently there are so many people it’s as if half the world is here, both tourists and locals, professionals and students alike. Though not even lunchtime, the vibe is already that of a party, with the Labor Day festival well on its way. The road’s blocked and the white tents of vendors line the streets. A different kind of music blares from every corner, magicians and painters dot the sidewalks, and there is the occasional vendor of ganja brownies.
On a normal day, I would be soaking this up. The environment is eclectic but comfortable, inclusive and exciting. It’s perfect inspiration for my blog. I could probably write three posts about today’s experience.
But not today, not this minute, when I feel like I’m about to puke or worse . . .
