by Deanna Roy
“We’re all little people,” Dylan said, picking up his coffee. “Just some people don’t know it.”
My phone buzzed in my jeans, startling me. It had been months since I had used it. After I refused to answer or respond to anybody back home the first few weeks, interest in what had happened to me tapered off. My mom tried every now and again, but eventually I blocked her. Pretty much the only person I’d even pay attention to was Charlie, and her only because she worked at the care center where my sister was.
I tugged the phone out and glanced down to make sure the message wasn’t anything about her. The number was unfamiliar. Probably random. I was about to tuck it away again when a text came through. The first few words showed in the preview pane, and when I saw “naked,” I clicked through in a hurry.
What were you doing naked on that California beach?
“Shit,” I mumbled.
“What’s gettin’ you, Tennessee?” Paul asked.
“Why does anybody know I was naked on a beach last night?”
“You were what?” Paul exclaimed.
Dylan leaned forward. “Did a photographer follow you from that party?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Surely Jenny hadn’t sold the story somewhere.
Or maybe I was starring in a porn movie.
“Wait,” Paul said. He shook his hands next to his head. “Let me get this straight. You took off with pink dreadlocks and went streaking on the beach?”
“Among other things,” I mumbled, wondering now what all was out there.
“Who was this girl exactly?” Dylan asked.
I set down the phone, trying to cool my jets. My head felt about ready to pop off from anger. “I just met her at the party. She said the movie director guy was her boss. She felt out of place.”
“And you nailed her on the beach?” Paul’s face was full of shock.
“Did she act strange in any way?” Dylan asked.
“She kissed me unexpectedly at the party,” I said. “Some photographer took a picture.”
“Then she took you to the beach?” Dylan’s face was etched with concern.
“Yeah. But that was my idea. Not hers.” I pictured her again, curled up against me between the rocks.
Dylan slid his phone closer to his plate and began tapping. I stared out the window at the broken asphalt of the parking lot. People walked by, going about their day. I wanted to be one of them now, not having unknown numbers telling me my own private business.
“Well, you’ve hit the big time,” Dylan said. “I searched the news for ‘naked beach musician’ and I’m getting a lot of uploads of a segment from an entertainment news show. There’s footage of you and a girl skinny-dipping.”
“No shit,” Paul said, grabbing the phone. “My country boy here is in a real live LA scandal on his first day?”
He angled the phone so we could all see it. I didn’t really want to look. But seeing Jenny’s bare backside made me lean in to the phone.
“A whole segment,” Paul said. “Who’da thunk it?”
“They don’t know who you are,” Dylan said. “She’s getting the worst of it.”
My phone buzzed again. Then again. All people I used to know, ones I hadn’t bothered blocking because they hadn’t even wondered where I’d gone off to. The messages were all the same.
Saw you with that chick! Hot damn!
Who was that naked girl on the beach? Where can I get one?
You know how to get out of town all right! Saw your pictures!
Then another from the unknown number. This one made clear who it was.
Chance Arthur McKenzie! What in God’s name were you doing cavorting with some California hussy in front of cameras? You better call me right now. I’m on Aunt Gertie’s cell phone. I can’t even leave a voice mail for you when I use mine.
My mother. Just about the last person I wanted to ever see again. And Aunt Gertie was right up there. I was not going to give them the time of day.
I blocked the new number and shut off the phone.
I’d had just about enough of LA.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift back to the apartment, I need to gather my stuff and head on out of here.”
“What?” Paul said. “You can’t leave us now. Things just started getting interesting!”
I didn’t want to tell him the whole reason I’d gone away was to blend in and become invisible. LA had just blown my cover.
“Let the boy adjust,” Dylan said. He slid out of the booth and dragged Paul along with him. “It isn’t every day you become a viral video.”
Thankfully the boys were quiet as we headed out to the car and drove back to Jazz’s place. I was still in a pisser about the messages.
My mother. Of all people to chastise me about anything. She was the one making everyone suffer.
I knew it was my fault. But it was her fault too. And my pissant friends. All of them.
The image of my sister in that facility, her chest rising and falling with the ventilator, flashed through my vision long enough to remind me why I’d left the whole lot of them behind. The only one I cared about would never walk again, never talk again, never do anything but waste away until she died. If our mother ever let her go in peace.
I didn’t have a word to say to a single one of them ever again. And now this stupid video was making them all track me down.
I would toss the damn phone if it wasn’t for Charlie. But maybe even that wasn’t good enough. I could write down her number and then chuck this stupid thing. I should have done it months ago.
I would this time. And as soon as I did, I wouldn’t be able to get out of this godforsaken city fast enough.
Chapter 19: Jenny
Tina and Corabelle spent most of the day with me, probably thinking they were on suicide watch or something. But I was fine.
I practiced what I would say to my mother if she spotted the video or the tabloids. I didn’t think she went to any of the gossip sites, but who knew?
I was grateful that, at the very least, the gossip rags weren’t digging into my past. I didn’t need sob stories about my poor, poor tragic family. They didn’t know anything, and if they wanted to put some sort of pathetic spin on my life choices, I’d torch every last one of their offices.
Yeah, maybe Tina and Corabelle were actually on arson watch.
I wondered if Chance had seen any of this yet and how he was taking it. Frankie had called an hour ago asking if I was okay. I told him it didn’t matter. So what if I was the naked tart? I didn’t ask if it meant none of his friends would hire me now.
Although who knows, after the naked pictures were plastered everywhere, I might have too many offers. The wrong kind.
I flung myself on my sofa after they left, sort of glad to be alone. I propped the laptop on my belly and clicked back through all the images, saving the good ones showing Chance.
Nothing had popped up showing us between the rocks, so either the photographer didn’t have anything or he was still working a deal. Judging by the limitations of his equipment in the moonlight photos and how dark it was in our hidden spot, I was guessing nothing had really turned out well, if he had it at all.
I could see the image in my mind, though. Chance, kneeling in the sand, his mouth working up my thigh. My body did a little involuntary clench just thinking about it. I could feel it today. A few aches here and there. Delicious. Just enough to be a reminder. Not enough to hurt.
I wasn’t under any contractual obligations now. I could sow my girl oats all I wanted, and I knew exactly what would fix a post-boy melancholy. Hair of the dog.
Although, I should probably get checked out first. Make sure there were no lasting remnants of Chance’s prodigious parts. Condom in the sand. God. How stupid was that?
I idly flipped through the images, studying Chance. I tried to put together everything I knew about him.
He was a singer.
He had hitchhiked from Chattanooga, Te
nnessee.
Hmm. That was about it.
Well, that and length and girth. My body hitched again, and I closed the laptop. I was tired. It had been a late night and a stressful as hell day. For once, I was actually ready to go back to class.
Now that was tragic.
Chapter 20: Chance
I didn’t intend to go back to the beach Jenny took us to, but somehow, I’d ended up there.
The waves crashed along the shore. Everything looked different in the light of day. A few stragglers in jackets walked along the sand. No one got in the spray. Far out from shore, I could see a sailboat, its white triangles disappearing into the blown-out sky.
I held my guitar case in one hand, my backpack slung over my shoulder. I was supposed to be heading north to catch a ride to Portland, maybe, or Washington State. But my feet had led me here.
I’d sold my cell to a guy on a street corner paying cash for old phones. My past couldn’t catch me now. Those old ghosts were as invisible as air.
The sand crunched beneath my boots. I didn’t know what had led me here, really. I was acting like a fool boy with a crush. After everything I’d seen of Jenny, I should be done with the whole mess. She’d singled me out and used me to get some publicity.
But she’d been so genuine, her highs and lows, passion and intensity, laughing and then letting tears flow down my hand.
I kicked at a rock peeking out from the ground. I was approaching the outcropping where we’d hidden.
We’d hidden.
If she’d wanted to get caught on camera, seems like she would have stayed out in the open. And the beach had been my idea, not hers. And she pointed out the rock.
I didn’t get it. None of it. I approached the rock. Other people had been here since us. The place was scattered with footprints and two half-buried soda cans.
I stepped into the sheltered space. I set my guitar case in the sand, and just for a moment, pressed my hands against the rough surface of the rock. In that instant, my past aligning with my present, I could see her, the shadow of her, looking up at me.
I closed my eyes and when the smells and sounds kicked in, I felt like I was back there. The sharpness of the sea air. The roar of the waves pounding the shore. The gritty feeling underneath my feet as the sand shifted.
I thought of heading to San Diego instead. Of finding her.
Then I pulled myself together.
Hell, no.
I pushed away from the rock, breaking the spell. She was probably out with her movie director guy, all glitzed up, practicing her come-hither look for some other unsuspecting sap they could laugh about over cocktails.
I snatched up my guitar and headed back to the street. One thing had been sure about LA: no matter how promising everything had seemed at first — the band, the party, the celebrities — it wasn’t my friend.
I had a long walk ahead. Nobody would pick me up until I was out of the city proper. But I was used to it. I would hightail it away from the crowded streets and back into the open. Then my next set of possibilities would split wide, and I’d forget everything. The mansions. The stars. The beach. The actresses.
As I took off down the road, heading roughly north, I did admit one thing to myself, though. It was going to take a lot to forget about her.
Chapter 21: Jenny
I went to class on Monday, big fat sunglasses on my face like I was a movie star trying to be incognito. But when that felt stupid, I yanked them off.
Then two guys started staring at me outside the library, and I just knew it was because they recognized my hair from the video, so I put them on again and tucked my dreadlocks into a bandana.
Maybe I should cut the extensions off. I went to World Lit with a chip on my shoulder, sure that everyone was looking at me and picturing me without my black bars. I hunkered down in my seat, feeling exposed. I didn’t hear a single word of the lecture. I might as well have stayed home.
After class I met Corabelle at the quad and we sat in our usual spot on the diamonds of grass, but I felt edgy and vulnerable.
“Can we go somewhere less public?” I finally asked.
“Sure,” she said. “You want to go sit in the chairs by the food court?”
“That’s pretty public,” I said.
“By the statue?” she suggested.
“Still public!”
Corabelle took my elbow and dragged me to my feet. I wished I had a less beautiful friend, as the two of us together tended to attract attention. “Do you have any sunglasses you could put on?” I asked her.
“Whoa, you are way over the top,” she said. “Let’s go find a quiet corner somewhere.”
I followed her through the forest of trees in the center of campus, glad she was straying off the path. We wound up at the base of the library, off to one side where nobody ever ventured. I sat down on a rock.
“What’s going on?” she asked me. “You always liked the spotlight before.”
“I wasn’t naked before!” I said. “People keep looking at me!”
She dropped her backpack to the ground and plopped down next to me. “People always look at you,” she said. “You stop traffic. I don’t think anybody’s really figured it out.”
“Lumberjack did,” I said. My ex-boyfriend, boy toy, whatever he was, a TA from astronomy last fall, had been calling me nonstop since the photos hit social media over the weekend. I’d ignored him. He didn’t seem to care about how I felt about the pictures, but kept asking if we could go to the beach sometime.
Jerk.
The station must have successfully squelched a lot of the illegally recorded segments of the show, as they weren’t getting out nearly as much as my naked butt picture on the beach. I had quit logging into anything so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at myself.
Fortunately, the dreadlocks were so new that my family hadn’t put it all together. My name had been in the segment and in the tabloids, but wasn’t attached to any of the viral images.
I was possibly getting off luckier than I could have.
“You heard from the hunky singer?” Corabelle asked.
“I don’t expect to.” I picked at a leaf near my plum Uggs boot. The color cheered me up a bit. “It wasn’t like we exchanged numbers or anything.”
“Just bodily fluids, I know. You keep saying that. Still, he has your name if he noticed.”
“Chance didn’t strike me as the type to follow celebrity gossip,” I said. “Besides, he was on the road. Hitchhikers don’t exactly get cable.”
“You think he’s gone already?” Corabelle asked.
I looked up through the spindly trees at the pale sky. “Probably. If I were him, I’d be done with LA.”
We sat for a bit in companionable silence. Corabelle was good at that. Just being outside and away from people and devices and news magazines made me calmer.
I squirmed a bit on my rock, feeling a little strange in the girl parts. “That’s what I meant to do,” I said aloud, then wished I hadn’t.
Corabelle looked up from her notebook. “What’s that?”
“Never mind,” I said.
She put her pad down with a look I recognized from my mother. It was new to her. She’d taken to being a stepmom to Gavin’s adorable four-year-old like a kid to a cookie. She had the mom voice and the mom stare and the mom hug. She was born to it. I hoped they’d get to have a baby of their own eventually, although I knew they had a long way to go to get there.
Just not now.
I needed her more.
“Spit it out,” she said.
“I think I need to go to the clinic,” I said.
“Oh,” Corabelle said. “Right. You didn’t end up with a condom, did you?”
I shook my head. “And I feel a little weird.”
“Let’s go over there right now,” she said. “You can make an appointment. The doctor there is super nice. I went for the exact same reason as you last fall.” She tucked her notebook in her backpack.
“Really?”
I asked. “A VD screen?”
“Yeah, and a pregnancy test. Not a fun combination. You feel like a two-bit tramp with no common sense.”
I got up from the rock and brushed the dirt off my wool miniskirt. “I feel like that most of the time.”
“You don’t have to keep trading them out, you know,” she said as we cut back through the trees. “You can find a good one and hold on to him.”
“That’s the trouble,” I said. “There aren’t any good ones.”
She didn’t point out that Gavin was her husband, or that even Tina, who had always sworn off second dates, was also engaged now. Corabelle was good at letting the I-told-you-so go unsaid. That’s probably why we were friends. Otherwise there would be nothing else to say. I screwed up at the speed of ejaculation.
I balked as we approached the small door of the health clinic. “I can’t be seen going in there,” I said. “I’ll just call them later.”
“I don’t think anyone is watching you,” Corabelle said.
I looked around. Students walked in every direction, talking on cell phones, listening to earbuds, or chatting with friends. They all looked legit, but then, I hadn’t known I was being watched on the beach.
“Can’t do it,” I said. “I promise I’ll call.”
“Don’t put it off,” Corabelle said. “Waiting will make you crazy, and you need to focus on your grades or you won’t graduate.”
“I don’t know. Another term at good ol’ UCSD probably wouldn’t kill me,” I said. “Not like I have anything else to do.”
We passed by the health building without going in.
“I have to get to class,” Corabelle said. “Maybe it will get quieter in a little while and you can sneak in.”
“Maybe,” I said. I really did want to get that over with.
She reached over for a quick hug. “I’m glad you came to campus today. You can’t let this derail your life.”
