“I’m not going,” said Ian.
“Really?” I said. “I thought you of all people wanted to get out of here.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to go to college in order to do that. I want to travel. Go cross-country on a dime via freight train. Go backpacking through Europe. Sleep in monasteries. Earn my meals by playing guitar on the street corner.”
I laughed, but I knew he was wholly sincere in his declaration, which made the idea all the more appealing.
“For all I know, my experiences could spark the inspiration for me to write the next great American novel. Or imagine what kind of scenery I’ll pass along the way. If I bring a camera with me to document what I see, I could open my own photography gallery. College isn’t going anywhere. It’ll be here when I get back. So if worst comes to worst, and all I have is a spectacular adventure, then I can consider pursuing a real profession after the matter of fact. Fuck the aptitude test. Pipe-dreamer isn’t a listed career title to academics, so don’t listen to what a piece of paper has to say,” declared Ian.
“That’s the thought I had going into the school year, but it took the administration's office just a glance at my GPA to realize my ‘potential.’ Next thing I knew, I was on the fast track to high expectations and curriculum overload. No one ever even bothered to ask me what I wanted,” I said. “And now, here I am, burdened by the impossible standard of academic perfection.”
“You know that Winston Churchill failed the six grade? Look where he ended up. Being one of the greatest prime ministers in history. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to know what you want.”
For the first time since last week, I actually smiled. “You know, if this whole globe-trekker thing doesn’t work out for you, I’m pretty certain a career in motivational speaking would be right up your alley. You give one hell of a pep talk.”
An unexpected high tide rolled overhead, submersing our heads under the icy waters. We kicked back up to the surface, our bodies stinging from the piercing temperatures.
“Ready to go?” Ian asked through stifled vocals.
“Yeah.”
We painfully stroked through the oceanic waves, which thankfully carried us to the shore with little effort. Locking his fingers into the dimples of the rocks overhead, Ian pulled himself up to the top of a ledge before helping me as well. Hiking up the hill as quickly as possible, we took refuge in his truck with the heat cranked on high as we tried to pull our clothes on over our dampened skin.
Ian drove us as quickly as he could to his house, where we immediately tore off our shoes and coats and raced upstairs. Convulsing from the cold, we both immediately jumped fully dressed into the bathtub and put the water on as hot as we could tolerate. Exchanging turns under the showerhead, we eventually recovered from our near-hypothermic state.
“I really needed this,” I said, resting my head against his chest.
“Reassurance that you won’t lose any toes or fingers?” he laughed.
“Peace.”
“I know,” he said, gently wrapping his arms around me. “I’m not exactly the prying kind of guy, but can I ask what happened, between you and Jack?”
“He found out about me almost being expelled, and threw it in my face,” I said, the back of my eyes burning as I tried to suppress the inevitable.
Ian pulled away. “He what?”
“I don’t know how he found out, but he did nevertheless.” I couldn’t fight it anymore. Salty tears poured down my face, my chin trembling as I choked on the lump growing in my throat.
“It’s okay.” Ian’s thumbs ran over my cheeks, removing the smudges of mascara. Kissing me on the forehead, he pulled me back into his embrace. “It’s okay.”
My body shuddered, but not from the cold. I dug my fingers into Ian’s back, holding him as tightly as I could. Here was safety.
Chapter 23
Restless
After an exhaustible hour in front of the bathroom mirror with my blood deprived hands barely managing to hold the hot iron in place as the final strands of my hair curled, my cell phone sounded off from down the hall exactly as the master clock chimed at a quarter to eight. I released my hair from the iron and unplugged everything before hastening to narrowly catch the call before its last ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m on my way,” said Gwen.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to go to this thing,” I said, looking at the outfit hanging on the hook of my closet door. “Especially since it’s a school night.”
“Yeah, well, this is the only time Grayson could get the place to himself, so just think of it as Halloween come early. It’ll be good for you. A distraction is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
I put my cell on speakerphone and started to change clothes. “This isn’t exactly my cup of tea. The only reason I did this kind of stuff at my last school was because my sister was the one hosting the parties,” I said, fiddling with the long black ribbon laced up on the front of my garment.
“Just try and relax for once. You’ve been far too on edge lately. It’s time you let your hair down.”
“I always wear it down,” I said.
“You know what I mean. Just be ready. I’m gonna be there in about three minutes, and I don’t want to be late. Last thing I need is Stacy’s grimy little paws all over Jeff on the dance floor. I saw her batting those ridiculously long, fake eyelashes of hers at him during Algebra yesterday, as if she’s ever given him the time of day before,” puffed Gwen. “She’s only into him now because she knows he’s interested in me. And I’ll be damned to let her reduce Jeff into being just another notch on her overpriced belt.”
“What happened to taking it easy?” I joked.
“I was referring strictly to you,” she said. “I’m engaging in psychological warfare, on matters of the heart.”
“How very Shakespearian of you,” I laughed, putting on the finishing touches to my outfit.
“What can I say? I’m deep.”
“Or just psychotic.”
“It’s a tossup.”
A few minutes later, the headlights from the Saturn glared up into my bedroom window as the car hit the bump on the curb at the end of the driveway. I grabbed a small red clutch on the nightstand and threw my cell in it.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
“Hold your horses,” I said, trotting down the steps.
I unlocked the front door and pulled it open to see Gwen standing in a provocative pose typically saved for vixen models on the cover of gentlemen’s magazines.
“And what are you supposed to be?” I teased, aping the same sugary tone parents use when answering the door for trick-or-treaters.
“Ha-ha,” she said, readjusting the stand-up collar to her black satin, belle sleeved overlay jacket.
Taking in the full image of her red mini dress that accentuated her God-given assets, bustled skirt, fishnet stockings, spiked stilettos, and the pair of sequined devil horns resting on her head, I rubbed my chin ponderously. “Let’s see. Wearing next to nothing, seemingly promiscuous, and appears to be a spawn of Satan... I know! I know! You’re Stacy!”
Gwen crumbled over in laughter. “Kudos, Foster. But the packaging simply said 'Sexy Devil Woman.'”
“Aha, I see it now.”
“Speaking of sexy,” she said, giving me a good, long look. “I’d say Lil’ Red Riding Hood’s never looked so temptingly delicious.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually don’t mind this getup,” I said, admiring the lace embroidered corseted bodice to my long and flowing crimson gown.
“Lovin’ the heels, too,” Gwen added, noticing my ornate, knee length stiletto boots that peeked out of the high slit of the skirt.
“All of this is courtesy of Ian,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, he knows this guy who used to be a costume designer for the movies, and now I guess he runs his own gothic-steampunk shop. So Ian
was kind enough to make a trip out to see if he could find anything that seemed like something I might want to wear.”
“He picked this whole thing out himself?”
“Yep,” I said, pulling the hood to my red silk cape over my head. “You can say what you like about his taste in fashion, but he nailed this one on the head. I actually feel sexy.”
“Huh,” Gwen simply said, bouncing back down the steps. “Think he’s trying to send a message?”
The front of the Jacoby’s saltwater farm was already flooded with several dozen cars parked across the lawn. Grayson Jacoby was the youngest of his three siblings and the only one still living at home. Good fortune kept his folks away until tomorrow evening while they visited his sister upstate, leaving him with twenty-five acres, no neighbors, and a massive, currently unoccupied barn to entertain all of New Haven’s adolescents with for the whole night.
Bass vibrations from the blasting sound system could be heard even before we came up the hill to the property, and once Gwen and I climbed out of the car, the pulse of the music could even be felt through the ground. Despite my aversion to parties, especially ones of a rowdy sort, I was happy to return to the natural order of things. No life threatening incidents, creeping suspicions, or ghostly encounters. Just my friends and some fun.
I stood beside the Saturn, waiting for Gwen to wrap up her conversation with some of Jeff’s friends that she strategically parked by in hopes of running into him.
“Well, aren’t you just a vision?” said a voice from behind.
I turned to see a handsome Zorro impersonator, donned in the iconic black mask, hat, and sweeping cape, along with black knee-high leather boots, and a long, deep v-cut linen shirt cinched in at the waist with a gold filigree belt.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “Might I say the same? You look great!”
“You two know each other?” asked Gwen as she returned to the car.
Pulling the stiff black hat off his head, the front strands of his chestnut locks fell into his eyes.
“Callaghan?! Oh my god, I didn’t even recognize you. You look-”
“Like I blend in for once?” Ian countered lightly. “And where’s your costume, Meyer?”
“Very funny,” she cracked.
“Alright, before you two end up in a bizarre sword-meets-sickle duel, let’s remember why we’re here,” I said.
“To dance, and hope for a reckless, drunken corporeal encounter with a certain star basketball player,” answered Gwen happily.
“Seems you already started on the drinking part,” said Ian, taking notice to her overly jovial attitude.
“It’s called being high from pure and utter ardor,” she replied, yanking my arm and motioning us toward the farmhouse.
Her initial tug put enough space between Ian and us for Gwen to whisper softly, “Is it just me, or does Houdini look CUTE tonight?”
“Are you rethinking your position on, um, wanting to become a horse?” I asked, struggling to not snicker.
I was met with a shove and a quick retraction back into her grasp. “No! I meant for you.”
“Gwen-”
“Food for thought,” she replied.
“Am I interfering with your gossip hour?” asked Ian, consciously keeping a few paces back for our discretion. “If so, I can leave to go get us something to drink.”
“Terrific!” said Gwen. “Grab me a beer.”
“I’ll just take a can of soda,” I replied gratefully.
“Oh, come on, Foster. Live a little,” said Ian. “I’m grabbing you a beer.”
“No,” I protested. “You know I’m a complete lightweight.”
“All the better,” he chuckled as he walked away. “You need to loosen up. Have some fun.”
Gwen waited until he was out of hearing distance before striking up the conversation once again.
“All the better... for him, perhaps?” said Gwen, teasingly.
“We’re just frien-”
“Don’t even start with that! He’s been crushing on you since you two first met. And you’re like two peas in a pod. Sarcastic, eccentric-”
“Just friends,” I countered.
“Both irrefutably stubborn.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Hate to break up this insightful discussion you’re having here,” said Jeff, surprising us from behind, “but I was hoping that maybe I could borrow this Devilish Delight here for a dance.”
“Perhaps I can reserve one for you,” replied Gwen sportively.
“Alright, you can find me in the barn when you're ready,” said Jeff, equally flirtatious as he slinked away.
“You’re gonna leave him in a barn full of drunken party girls?” I asked.
“Gotta let him work for it a little bit, and Stacy’s not here yet,” Gwen replied. “But let’s not change the subject. Ian, like, what the hell?”
“Meyer-”
“Foster,” she quickly countered. “Don’t deny what my little blue eyes can see for themselves. You’re back on the market indefinitely, and I’m thinking he just might make a move.”
“Honestly, we’re just friends,” I said.
“Are you blind?! Seriously?!” she piped. “You’d have to be to not notice that he is completely in love with you.”
“If he was, which he isn’t, then wouldn’t he have already made a move by now? He’s had over seven months. And since when was I ever off the market?”
“You’re kidding me, right? No man in his right mind would put himself up against that gorgeously creepy jackass, who will remain unnamed for the duration of the night. Best to keep our minds clear of that egotistical-”
“Take it easy,” I said.
“Don’t defend him,” Gwen warned.
“I wasn’t going to,” I lied.
In all truth, I wasn’t sure why I felt that I needed to justify his actions. Perhaps it was to advocate my own, but it seemed unlikely.
“As you said, tonight’s our night. Let’s just enjoy ourselves,” I restated upon Ian’s return.
“I’ll drink to that!” said Gwen, tossing back her beer.
“Come on, it won’t bite,” urged Ian, handing me my bottle.
I cautiously took it from him as the crowds from the house and barn erupted as a hot dance number began to thump through the sound system.
“Don’t worry,” Ian said, bending his elbow and extending his arm out to escort me to the festivities. “I’ll protect you.”
“Much appreciated,” I said, gladly taking hold of his arm.
Gwen directed us to the barn, where we were immediately spotted by Jeff.
“I’ll see you two in a bit,” said Gwen as he took her deeper into the crowd. “And don’t hold up the wall.”
“Care to dance?” offered Ian.
“Why not?” I said, happily ditching my untouched beer.
We pushed our way through the unventilated throng of swaying and gyrating classmates. As a space opened, Ian took me by the hand and twirled me around in a tango-esque fashion and pulled me securely into his grasp.
“Well, look at Fred Astaire here,” I said. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Ian replied, whispering the words right into my ear. “The question is can you keep up?”
“Game on.”
Backing away slowly, I drew him in closer by pulling on the strings to his cape. As I let the rhythm take over and the percussive beat control my hips, Ian took hold of my waste. Harmoniously moving to the sounds, I shimmied my shoulders before throwing my head back as he released me into a dip. Pulling me back upright, we both instantly broke out into beaming smiles. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, we continued to sway to the song, that is until an unmistakable voice erupted over the music.
“Uh-oh,” said Ian. “Here comes trouble.”
Stacy came sauntering through the crowd, which freakishly seemed to part upon her presence. Dressed in the iconic Pla
yboy Bunny outfit, tail and rabbit ears included, she came up to Jeff and Gwen with wicked intentions clearly on display.
“Think we need to step in?” I asked.
“I’d say Gwen’s a big girl who can take care of herself, but that’s actually what frightens me. She won’t hesitate to rip Stacy apart, literally,” said Ian.
We made our way towards the three just as things started to unfold.
“Now, here’s a Three Musketeer I wouldn’t mind unwrapping,” said Stacy, stroking Jeff’s arm as she observed his costume.
“Are you gonna treat him like everything else you eat?” remarked Gwen. “Bathroom’s that way, so you can hurl.”
“Okay, the air is getting a bit thick in here. How about we go look for something fresher?” I said as Ian motioned for Gwen and Jeff to follow him outside.
“Of all the gin joints in the world...” called out another voice through the crowd.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” groaned Ian.
Donned in a sleek black tux with a tucked in white dress shirt and slim black tie, Jack approached us with a degree of hesitance. The tension was damn near unmistakable.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my tone clearly stating his intrusion. “I thought you were going to your friend-of-a-friend’s party tonight.”
“You’re looking at it,” he said. “A buddy of mine from Arlington used to date Grayson’s sister and he passed the word on to me, figuring I didn’t have plans.”
“How unfortunate. And who are you supposed to be?”
He tossed on a pair of dark shades.
“An F.B.I. agent desperate for a clue?” I guessed derisively. “I’ll be more than happy to give you one.”
Divine Vices Page 22
