After pretending to excuse herself to the restroom, Barbey sneaked outside into the summer heat to the back parking lot. The contrast between the air conditioned building and the outside was stifling. It was already so hot out that greasy waves of heat seemed to be wafting up off the black baking asphalt. When she opened the door to her Jeep, hot air exhaled stale and thick onto her face. She reached over to the passenger seat and pulled her pink teddy bear tote bag onto the driver’s seat, burning her hand on the hot leather upholstery. The pain was sharp, but quickly faded. Sifting through the bag, she retrieved a piece of paper and an envelope that she had placed in the bag prior to leaving for school early this past morning. Her delicate hand now wobbled slightly as she tried to use the surface of the seat to write this letter:
Dear Farrell’s,
Last night we ran out of your restaurant in a hurry because of the smoke. Here is the money for our bill and the waiter’s tip. Enclosed is $35 ($30 more than covers the check and $5 is for John, the waiter).
Sincerely,
A Concerned Customer
She wrote the letter in a disguised handwriting that she figured could not be detected as her own and put it in the stamped envelope with the cash, grimacing at the taste of the sticky glue as she licked it. Her hair was dampening at the nape of her neck from perspiration and the chatter running through her mind down the brown locks, like mud slides. Shutting the car door, she scurried weakly away, with the baking sun beating down upon her head, over to the telephone booth behind the cosmetology building. The heat was smothering in the booth, so she pushed herself to quickly look up Farrell’s in the phone book, but her hands fumbled through the pages. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she scribbled the address in the same non-distinguishable handwriting on the envelope.
Stepping out of the phone booth, her pulse raced when she noticed the school receptionist standing outside, leaning against a telephone pole, watching her, as she smoked a cigarette. She couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing. The thought reassured her, though beads of perspiration rolled down her chest. Now, self-conscious that she was being observed, she pushed her shoulders back to feign confidence. And as a distraction, she waggled the front of her blouse up and down to let in some air, attempting to dry the perspiration. She waved briefly to the receptionist and walked briskly through the thick air over to the mailbox at the corner of the street and dropped the letter in.
“What are you doing?” John Prince walked up from behind, just as she dropped the envelope in the mailbox, her hand still hot on the handle.
“Oh my gosh!” She released a sudden loud yelp. “You totally scared me!”
“I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her shoulder.
“You dyed your hair black?” She glanced over at the receptionist who was looking down the street in the opposite direction. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
He smiled and brushed the thick over grown bangs out of his eyes as he asked, “What were you doing?”
His touch made her feel awkward and uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to be rude, so she let him keep his hand on her shoulder, though she felt like screaming from the heat. “Oh, I was just mailing something.” She saw the receptionist walk back inside the school.
“Like, wow, what was it?” He asked sarcastically, his armpits perspiring in large wet rings through his shirt.
She rolled her eyes at him without thinking, surprised by his sarcasm. “Gosh.” She tried to step back to get him to release his hand without making it obvious that she was uncomfortable, but he just moved in closer to her. “I was, like, mailing my friend in Japanese a pen pal letter.”
“In Japanese? Where’s…where’s that? You…you mean Japan?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Killer…wow!” He released his hand from her shoulder and smiled. “I thought…I thought you…you were sending a love…love letter to someone!”
“Oh,” Barbey laughed uncomfortably. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled and looked up at the sky. “Barbey…” he paused staring at the clouds for a moment and then gazed at her silently before continuing. “I…I was look…looking for you.”
“What?” She was visibly uncomfortable. The way he paused between words reminded her of Rave. She hadn’t remembered John Prince talking that way in the past.
“Hey, light…lighten up. I…I was just…just kid…kidding.” He stared at her a moment intensely. She noticed that his eyes weren’t neon blue anymore, but were dark and black like Rave’s. He held the stare unusually long, which also reminded her of Rave, but made her feel queasy in the stomach. “I just…I just met a client at the coffee house across…across the street and I saw you walking.”
“Oh, ok. Well, I’d love to chat, but, like, I have to get back to class, so I’ll catch you later. Ok?” She hurried away feeling like the heat was going to consume her.
“Wait!” He jogged to catch up to her. “When do you want to meet for the photo shoot?”
“I’m not sure. I’m super busy lately, so I’ll give you a call if my schedule clears.”
“Can I…I take…take you out on a date?”
“What?” She stopped. “That’s so sweet of you to ask. I didn’t realize you were interested in me like that.” She was trying to be nice so not to embarrass him for revealing his interest in her.
“Oh.” He adjusted the hair on his head which seemed to be sliding to one side. “I don’t know. I thought…I thought maybe we could…could spend…spend some…some time together and see what happens.”
“Were you at Dreambee’s the other night? I thought I saw you in your red Trans Am.”
He appeared uncomfortable and then slightly angry. “No. I’ve never been to Dreambee’s.”
“I thought I saw you.”
He grabbed onto her wrist.
She tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer to him.
“You’re beautiful, Barbey. I think I could really dig you.”
“What are you doing?” She pulled her hand away aggressively. “I’m sorry, but I already have a boyfriend. I have to go or I’ll be late for class.”
“I never told you but you look exactly like my mother when she was your age. She even had the same name. Isn’t that strange?”
“Yeah. Ok… take care.” She rushed away.
****
At lunch break, when the girls walked out to Kimberly Jenkin’s car, flowers started raining down cool and fresh from the hot sky. It was brilliant and colorful. Pink, yellow, orange, and purple. Violets, daisies, carnations, and roses. The flowers drifted down on their heads, between Kimberly’s sweaty cleavage and in Barbey’s teddy bear tote bag. Quickly the parking lot looked like a secret flower garden where Barbey envisioned maidens dancing gaily through the flower beds. Her mind bloomed in fantasy as she conceived skipping through the flowers in a white flowing gown, her hands thrown in the air holding her white canopy fabric as it flowed above her head, flapping in the wind. She imagined Rave gazing at her from across the garden from upon a spirited rearing white stallion; he was coming to take her to the land of happily ever after. The fantasy was so vivid that a symphony of fairy music burst out in her mind.
Barbey perceived the flowers as a sign that today was going to be an unusually blissful day of surprise and wonder. Elvira perceived the flowers as a sign that the world was coming to an end and all the flowers of the world were being plucked out of the earth to wither and die. Kimberly didn’t believe in signs and explained to them that the florist next door who had a shop on the top floor of the old high rise building placed flowers on the roof to dry and that sometimes when there was a big gush of wind, the flowers floated through the sky like some sort of stupid miracle that dopes like them mistook for signs.
Deliville was crowded inside, so after they bought their sandwiches, they sat outside in the heat under a large umbrella at one of the outdoor round tables. Barbey noticed that Elvira was sweating profusely. She was of
medium height, fifty or sixty pounds overweight with long black straight hair, dark skin, and dark eyes that gave off a chilling stare. She didn’t appear to have much of a sense of style, but Barbey couldn’t tell for sure because in school they had to wear white pants and white overcoats that tied around the waist. They didn’t have their overcoats on now though, so Barbey could see she was wearing a green polo shirt that was probably her father’s or some nerdy brother’s. She wore white sneakers and no makeup on her long droopy face.
Kimberly on the other hand, had her white jeans tugged up her buttocks and tightly synched at the waist with a pink polka dot belt and pink v-neck tank top that displayed her cleavage. In class, she always let her overcoat hang open at the top so everyone could see her breasts. When Mrs. Sanders reprimanded her, she would feign embarrassment, pretending she was unaware of the display. She would quickly close the coat over her breast only to let it fall open again. Eventually, Mrs. Sanders grew tired of disciplining Kimberly and began pretending to not take notice. Kimberly also always wore high heeled pumps and Barbey couldn’t help but wonder who she was trying to impress—I mean there was only one guy in our class and I thought he was gay.
Barbey took a small bite of her turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and vinegar without oil as she gazed out to the passing cars on the street parallel to the deli front. They rolled by slowly, exhaust sputtering from their engines as they approached the red light ahead. She felt nauseous—not from the car exhaust or the heat, but because of her usual self-consciousness that she experienced when eating in front of other people. It was usually uncomfortable for her to eat in front of others because she often felt nervous that whoever she was with would think she was either eating too much or too little. Her feet were sweating in her shoes and she could feel sweat exuding from between her and the chair both on her back and under her legs and buttocks. A spark of irritation ignited in her for agreeing to eat outside in the heat at Deliville. She should never have agreed to come. I hate Kimberly. I do! Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just hate the heat! “I hate the heat!” she said aloud. This declaration made her feel slightly relieved for the moment.
“Didn’t you win that Janet Jackson dance contest?” Kimberly asked with a piece of fruit salad on her face. She was drinking her diet soda at the same time.
Barbey blushed. “Yes. How did you know?”
Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Everybody knows.”
“Oh.” Barbey couldn’t help but smile. A splendorous rush swirled through her mind.
“When is the video coming out?”
“I think the whole process is very extensive and it won’t be out for a long time. First we have to learn the routine and then they have to film it. It’s not as exciting as I thought. Most of the time, all of the dancers are just sitting around waiting to be called. We’ve never even seen Janet.”
“That’s too bad,” Kimberly laughed hoarsely. “I guess if it takes too long, you’ll be a famous old lady.”
Barbey tried to laugh, but the idea bothered her. There was a long pause in the conversation.
Elvira seemed in a hedonistic trance as she woofed down her egg salad sandwich with tomato slices and potato chips. Resembling a wolf eating from a carcass, Elvira cautiously glanced from side to side as she ate to check for other predators who might be trying to sneak up on her prey. It was fascinating to see how seriously she took her lunch. Barbey was beginning to feel even more nauseous watching Elvira sweat over her sandwich, yet at the same time she wished she could eat as freely as her in the presence of others.
Finally, Kimberly said to Barbey, “So, do you like Rave Robinson much?”
This wasn’t how she had wanted the conversation to go, but she had figured it would be something of this nature. “Yes, I like him,” unable to hide her embarrassment, her cheeks turned the color of Elvira’s tomato.
Kimberly lifted her chin and swiftly looked her up and down like a judgmental school teacher. “Well,” she said more as a statement than as a transition into the next sentence. “Do you know about Suzie Albers?”
“No, I don’t know her. But I think I’ve heard her name somewhere. When did they break up?”
“About two months ago. Suzie has another boyfriend now.”
16
The next morning, Barbey’s phone rang, waking her out of sleep. Her parents had an extra phone line put in when she was in high school because between the four of them, the phone rang often. It was Sage on the line. Her voice dive rolled in animation as she described every detail of her date with Parker as if she were performing her high school floor routine in a gymnastics meet. Then, taking a back-flip breath, she asked Barbey if she heard about the fire at Dreambee’s.
Barbey was shocked. “What do you mean—‘fire’?”
“I saw on the news this morning that Dreambee’s burnt down last night.”
Her throat grew tight and she felt like she could barely speak, “How did the fire start?” she managed to ask.
“They don’t know yet. I guess there’s going to be an investigation probably. Nobody was hurt though. I just can’t believe it’s gone. Tell me about your date with Rave.”
“Mama’s calling me in the kitchen,” she lied. “I’ll call you back later.” After she hung up the phone, she laid there in bed feeling extremely nervous and scared. She knew she had to break up with Rave and she’d probably have to report him to the police. So many emotions were twirling in her head that she felt like a drunken ballerina. She had finally found her soul mate and now he was being ripped away from her before she had a chance to really know him. How could he set Dreambee’s on fire? The situation seemed so unbelievable. A flaming hatred of red smoke swirled around her body and she felt like the star dancer in a gothic ballet she saw once who plotted to take revenge against the evil forces that estranged her from her one true love. Then she became furious at Rave for putting her life in danger and making her an accomplice to a felony offence. She was indignant. How could he treat the star of the ballet with such lack of care? That’s it—I’m going to break it off with him. How dare he treat me with such disrespect! And how could he put all those innocent customers and Dreambee’s employees in danger? I won’t put up with this!
She started cleaning her room as she did at times when she felt the world sliding away from her like an avalanche. The snow came down upon her heavily, violently—thrashing her body to and fro. Her mind now white and frozen, she began dusting off her bedroom shelves and rearranged her princess doll collection. But now she was entirely covered in snow. In desperation, she reasoned that somewhere from beneath the snow that had rushed so unexpectedly over her physical self, there must be light—she began to dig, gasping for air. What if I get put in prison? It seemed impossible now that she was buried so deeply to discern which way was up and which way was down. What if she was digging farther into the ground and never saw the light again? Those women in the prisons are even scarier and raunchier than the women in my cosmetology school. In the clamor of her mind, she attempted to reassure herself, poking her fingers through the ice: I’ll tell the judge that I didn’t know Rave had lit the restaurant on fire and they won’t put me in prison. They’ll believe me—I know they will. But how can I rat out Rave? I couldn’t do such a thing to him. Oh, but, I hate him.
****
As the sun set brilliantly that evening with all its pink orange swirls like a giant lollipop overhead, Rave skateboarded over to her house.
When he arrived, a faint whine sounded in Barbey’s head, pink and orange. It seemed to progressively increase note by note to a torturous howl bursting forth in a colorful sugary rain as she led him to her bedroom to talk, away from the din of the living room where her parents watched wolves devouring flesh on television. She was furious and when they got to her bedroom, she told him she didn’t know why he just showed up at her house like they were friends or something after he had done such a horrible thing setting Dreambee’s on fire and lying to her about it to to
p it off! She was now exploding with pastel and the sunset seemed to be quickly seeping through her bedroom roof right on top of her rubber head.
Chageet's Electric Dance Page 17
