by Jeff Strand
"All right. Sounds good."
We kissed one last time, then she opened the door. I was ready for a steel-toed boot belonging to Malcolm to kick my teeth out, but I didn't even see Malcolm through his window.
"Oh, not to bring us down," I said, before stepping outside, "but please don't walk outside by yourself until the Allen situation is resolved."
"I won't."
She walked over to Malcolm's house, and I walked over to my car. I still kind of felt like I should stick around, but...no. Right now, anything I might say to Malcolm was irrelevant. I wasn't auditioning to be Rachel's guardian; I wanted to be her boyfriend. She needed to make her father understand that this was her decision, and she needed to do it alone.
In the spirit of pure honesty, I'll admit that when I heard the door close, I picked up my pace.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was going to go not-so-silently crazy if I had to be alone with my thoughts right now. With Ignatz in the car I could pretend that I wasn't talking to myself, but until I knew how Rachel's talk with Malcolm went, I was going to be a mess. I needed human interaction to distract myself.
I supposed that I could call Chuck.
Nah. He was unlikely to lend a sympathetic ear.
It was Sunday afternoon. There might be somebody at Doug's Booze Wasteland, where this whole adventure started. A game of billiards would relax me.
"What do you think, Ignatz?" I asked. "Am I crazy?"
Ignatz offered no opinion on the matter.
I decided not to talk out loud to my dog. But was I crazy? It wasn't as if I was withering away from loneliness. My lack of a romantic partner really was just because I didn't bother to get out there and meet anybody. Even if you disregarded every other bizarre element, this was a long-distance relationship, and those rarely worked out.
I was going to start dating a twenty-three year-old disfigured virgin. Wow.
Had I really gotten over her appearance so quickly? I honestly believed that I had. I just flat-out liked her. I liked spending time with her. I liked talking to her. If it weren't for her face, I'd be leaping at the chance to be with her, so if I was supposedly above the concept of judging somebody based on their looks, what was stopping me?
Not a damn thing.
Well, okay, there were plenty of damn things. She was not exactly free of emotional baggage. She was fun and funny, but there had to be a lot of waking up screaming happening in that shed.
I could handle her baggage. I'd dated a woman with a moody pre-teen. This was trading up.
Was I cool with the idea that everywhere we went, people would stare at us?
I liked to think so.
And I didn't go out that much anyway. We could stay home and watch movies.
Anyway, she wanted to take it really slow. It wasn't as if she'd be moving in with me. I'd visit her here in Lake Gladys on a regular basis. See how things worked out. Keep it casual. We weren't making any lifelong commitments. If it felt weird and either of us wanted to bail, no problem. I wasn't promising her the moon.
Hell, once she got used to being out in public again, she'd probably trade me in for a younger model.
I parked in front of Doug's Booze Wasteland and went inside. The place was mostly empty, but there at the pool table was my good buddy Louie. Though Erik was nowhere to be seen, Louie had his arm around a pretty girl. I hoped it was his fiancé.
"Hi," I said, walking over and shaking his hand. "I'm Jason. We hung out a few days ago." I felt the need to remind him of this, since he'd been quite drunk.
"Yeah, yeah, I remember. This is my fiancé Holly."
"Hi, Holly."
"Hi," she said with a smirk. The smirk put a crease in the extremely generous amount of makeup that she wore.
"Can I play the winner?"
"Oh, this game's already over," said Holly. "He knocked in the eight-ball on his second turn. We're just messing around. You can play me."
I put two quarters into the slots and we started a new game. "I hear your life has been interesting since we last spoke," said Louie, as Holly racked the balls.
"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I'm not a fan of playing dumb.
"You've been hanging out with Blister, right?"
"Rachel, yeah."
Louie let out a really annoying cackle. "I can't believe you admitted it! You mean it's true?"
"Yeah, it's true," I said, suddenly not wanting to play pool anymore. "She's great. You'd like her."
"Aw, man, that's too much. Does she drool?"
"No."
"How does she even talk? Can she talk?"
"Yes, she can talk fine. Her lips didn't get burned as bad as other parts of her face."
"No offense, but that's deranged that you're having lunch with her and shit," said Louie. I bristled, even though, to be fair, I'd thought the same thing at various times. "Doesn't her face make you want to puke?"
"Nope."
Louie grinned at Holly. "You should've seen him when we peeked through her window! He just about pissed himself. Say what you said. Say it for her. It was funny as hell."
"I don't remember what it was."
Louie recoiled. "What the fuck is that?" he said, in what I hope was a poor impression of me.
"Yeah, okay, I remember now. The thing is, that was really uncool of me. I was mortified by my behavior the next morning. That's why I went over to apologize, and that's how I discovered that she's a great person. She's the opposite of people who get drunk and peep into stranger's windows after dark. So I'm going to propose that we drop the comments that we wouldn't say to her face, and get this game started."
Louie chuckled. "To her face. That's funny."
"No, it wasn't. That wasn't intentional or clever."
"Are you really defending that freak?" asked Holly.
Now, as a reasonably intelligent, reasonably perceptive adult, I knew exactly what was happening here. Holly was well aware that I was not going to try to kick her ass. She was bored in a small town on a Sunday afternoon, and knew that if I reacted poorly to her comment, Louie would have to defend her honor. She simply saw the opportunity to watch her fiancé kick somebody's ass and seized it.
Therefore, the proper response should have been to chuckle, shake my head, and walk out of Doug's Booze Wasteland, leaving Louie and Holly to play another game of pool so as not to waste my fifty cents, after which they'd perhaps return home for some joyless sex.
On the flip side, at least I didn't smack the pool cue into Holly's face. That would have been incredibly inappropriate. I didn't smack it into Louie's face, either. I completely held my temper. All I did was, in a very even tone of voice, say, "Please don't call her a freak."
Holly glanced over at Louie. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"
Louie looked a bit surprised, since my request hadn't been the slightest bit rude. Then I think he immediately got where this was supposed to be headed, because he stood up straight, puffed out his chest, and said, "I'd like you to apologize to my fiancé."
I don't know. It's hard for me to get behind the idea that I should have apologized just to diffuse the situation. Sometimes you have to say "I'm sorry" for something that requires no apology, and sometimes, as I did, you have to say, "Go fuck yourself."
Louie blinked. "Did you mean me or her?"
"Take your pick."
"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" Holly said for the second time in two sentences.
"I'm not sure he was talking to you."
"We'll say that I was talking to you," I told Louie.
"Okay."
"Are you going to let him talk to you like that?" asked Holly.
"I don't actually care how he talks to me."
"Well, I do. He's putting his dick in a freak and you're going to let him talk to us like that?"
"Are you going to let her talk to me like that?" I asked Louie. At that moment, I was too pissed off to be aware of the escalating absurdity of the conversation.<
br />
"Honestly, that was a little uncalled for," Louie told Holly. "You should probably apologize."
Holly gaped at him. "Are you kidding me?"
"No." Louie quickly realized that this was the incorrect answer. "I mean, yes. I mean, we should all apologize to each other. You haven't even broke yet and this game of pool is getting out of hand."
"I'll find something else to do," I said, turning around.
"Hey!" said Louie.
"What?"
"You didn't apologize."
"Let's just part ways."
"You owe my girlfriend—"
"Fiancé," Holly corrected.
"I know that."
"You said girlfriend."
"Yeah, but I know what you are."
"Then say it right."
"You owe my fiancé an apology," Louie notified me.
"Are we really going to do this?" I asked. "Are we really going to get into a bar fight? We're better than this."
"Then apologize."
Sometimes you have to say "Go fuck yourself," and sometimes, as I did, you have to say "I'm sorry" for something that requires no apology.
"I'm sorry." There. Done. I could get back to worrying about how Rachel's talk with her father was going.
"I don't think he meant it," said Holly.
"Obviously he didn't mean it," said Louie. "I wouldn't expect him to mean it. I just wanted him to do it."
"I totally meant it," I said. "That was the most sincere apology ever to pass through a human mouth. Now, if you'll so kindly excuse me, I've got to be going."
"He must be in a hurry to put his dick back in the freak," said Holly, who obviously figured that since this line had worked so well last time, it was worth a reprise. Holly was all about the greatest hits.
I wanted to ask her a second time to apologize for calling Rachel a freak, but we were trapped in the conversation from hell, and unless somebody broke through to the exit, we could be imprisoned in an endless loop forever.
"You two have a happy life together," I said. Of course, my own contribution to our shared misery was my need to get in the last word. There was no reason to say "You two have a happy life together" instead of just walking away. But I am a flawed human being and I accept that.
"I've never had sex with a crispy chick," said Louie. "You think she just flakes off onto the sheets? That's nasty."
Holly looked at Louie as if he'd gone too far. Louie looked back at her as if to say, "I thought this was what you wanted!"
I raised my fist.
"Oh, here we go!" said Louie, raising both of his fists.
"Kick his ass!" said Holly. I secretly hoped that she'd switched allegiances after the distasteful flaking comment and was speaking to me, but, no, she was still rooting for Louie.
"Wait, I can't fight you," I said, lowering my fist. "I'm a cartoonist. I can't risk hurting my hands."
"You joking?" asked Louie.
"No. It's how I make my living."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You don't see surgeons going around getting into fights, either." He lowered his fists.
"You're going to let him get away with that weak excuse?" Holly asked.
"I like the guy," said Louie. "We had a good time. We had some drinks, we went out for a walk, Erik and I showed him Blister...it was fun. I wish you'd been there."
"I can't believe I'm marrying a coward."
Louie put his fists back in the air.
I sighed and put mine back in the air as well.
"Hey!" shouted Doug from behind the bar. "You want to fight, you take it someplace else!"
Louie and I lowered our fists.
"I don't feel like going someplace else," Louie muttered.
I decided that perhaps it was time for me to evolve into somebody who didn't need to get in the last word. So I turned and headed for the exit.
"So, are you leaving?" Louie called after me. "Or are we supposed to fight outside?"
I ignored him.
"I'll just assume that you're leaving," Louie called out as I reached the door. Without looking back, I gave him a thumbs-up.
I walked outside. Technically, this had achieved the desired purpose of distracting me from my thoughts for a while, and I hadn't injured my delicate hands, so all was well.
Except that Allen was standing next to my car.
Suddenly I was right back to white-hot rage.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, walking toward him, fully prepared to break his nose.
"This isn't private property."
"I am done with you," I said. "Whatever fixation you've got on me is over, do you understand? I've already told the sheriff about your little stalking game."
He didn't move. I reached him and shoved him away from the car. I didn't care if I couldn't draw for a few months—it would be worth it to shatter my knuckles against his chin.
"I'm tired of this," I said. "Just go away. What's the matter with you?"
He reached into his inside jacket pocket, and I had about a second and a half to wish I'd been more cautious. Then he was pointing a gun at my stomach.
"Get in my truck," he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I did not want to get into his truck.
But Doug's Booze Wasteland wasn't exactly a high traffic area. I couldn't count on delaying Allen long enough for somebody else to walk out of the building, or a car to drive by. And I wasn't even sure that this would make him put his gun away—he might just shoot me and run.
I opened my mouth to say something, and couldn't think of a single thing, not even "Please don't."
Allen took a couple of steps forward, closing the gap from when I'd shoved him, and pressed the barrel of the gun against my stomach. "I'll do it," he said.
I looked into his eyes, and yeah, he would put a bullet in my gut, no question. Even if I found my voice, I wasn't going to waste his time by suggesting that he wouldn't really make good on his threat.
There was only one truck in the parking lot, and it was right next to my car. Not a lot of opportunity for a daring escape. For the immediate future, I was going to do whatever Allen wanted.
"Open the passenger door and get in," Allen told me.
I nodded. Moving slowly, but not too slowly, I walked over to his truck, carefully opened the door, and got inside. The interior of the truck was immaculate; nothing I could pick up to use as a weapon.
Allen climbed in on the driver's side. He pointed the gun at me. "Close the door and fasten your seatbelt."
I did both of those things without a word.
Allen closed the door and fastened his own seatbelt. I tried to figure out my odds of success if I were to suddenly lunge at him and try to wrestle the weapon out of his grasp. I decided that they were almost non-existent. Until I became certain that his plan was to execute me, I'd just play it cool and hope that we could reason this out.
He started the engine.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before," I said. "I didn't realize how strongly you felt about the matter." That sounded kind of sarcastic, which was not my intent. I was probably better off being too frightened to speak.
Allen drove out of the parking lot and down the dirt road. It was broad daylight and he didn't seem to care if anybody saw me in his truck. I wasn't sure if that was a good sign, or a really, really bad one.
"I told you to go," he said. "You knew you were supposed to leave and you didn't. This isn't my fault. This is your fault. This is completely your fault."
"I know," I told him, hoping to hell that playing along with him was the right way to go. "I screwed up, okay? It won't happen again."
"It sure won't."
"Are you going to kill me?"
Allen said nothing.
"Are you?" I asked. "I think it's a fair question."
"No," said Allen. "I'm not going to kill you."
Did this mean he was goin
g to drop me off at the edge of town and sternly tell me not to return? I hoped so. That would be awesome.
"Then what are you going to do?" I asked.
"Don't ask any more questions."
We drove in silence for a few minutes. A couple of cars passed us going the opposite direction, but Allen didn't order me to duck out of sight. I wanted to believe that Allen simply thought he was within his rights to drive me out of town at gunpoint without legal ramifications.
He turned onto a narrower dirt road without a street sign.
"Why did you have to mess things up for everybody?" he asked. "Things were fine. Everybody had moved on. Why restart it all? None of this is any of your business. Why not leave things the way they were?"
"Things weren't okay for Rachel," I said.
"She was fine. She was getting better than she deserved."
"Why? Because she's unpleasant to look at?" Don't argue with the crazy guy, I warned myself.
"You think she's such a great person, this ray of sunshine that brings joy to the world, but she's not. She's a liar. A lying, selfish bitch."
"What makes you say that?"
"Look what she did to Brandon!"
"Maybe I'm missing part of the story," I admitted.
"Maybe you are."
"So fill me in. What did she do to him?"
"They'd talked about what they were going to do on her eighteenth birthday! They'd planned it! She teases him for weeks, and then she's in this dress that shows off half her tits, and they drive out to the spot where they'd decided to do it, and then she goes, 'Ha ha, just kidding!' I'm not saying that girls have to put out, but they'd planned it! They'd discussed it! She told him to bring a condom!"
Allen was so angry that spit was flying from his mouth and hitting the steering wheel. I didn't think that pitching the idea of "no means no" was going to work with him.
"So may I debate your point?" I asked.
"I guess."
"The way I heard it, Brandon was being a complete jerk. Rachel may have said they were going to have sex, but if he was being obnoxious and disrespectful, it's his fault. He had his chance and he screwed it up. That's on him."
"The clown necklace was a harmless joke."
"Maybe, but when you're trying to get laid, sometimes a harmless joke isn't the right play. Look, I was eighteen, and I totally understand the raging hormones, but you're blaming the wrong person."
