by Ray Garton
Gwen scooted her chair closer to Adam at the end of the oval table, leaned close. He smelled whiskey on her breath.
“An ex of mine, before I met Michael,” she said. “He’s in prison right now. At the bottom of the food chain, you know what I mean?”
“What’s he in prison for?”
“Child molestation.”
“Is he a child molester?”
Gwen laughed. “Of course not. Rain was never a child, not even at twelve.”
Adam shook his head, rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“Rain seduced him. And when he wouldn’t give her money, she cried rape. Poor Taylor. He wasn’t such a bad guy. Now he’s in prison, probably with some big guy’s bitch.”
The image terrified Adam, made him feel nauseated. But it confused him, too. He could not understand Gwen’s attitude toward what had happened. “Gwen, the man fucked your twelve-year-old daughter!”
“I think everyone will fuck her eventually. Probably before she’s twenty. You didn’t see her when she was twelve, Adam. She developed early. Looked like an expensive whore before she was thirteen.”
“But this guy, your boyfriend, he knew she was twelve, right?”
Gwen reached over to stub out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table. Instead, she dropped it in when she heard Michael’s voice.
“Who’s been smoking in here, Goddamnit?”
Adam turned to see his dad standing in the kitchen with his attorney, Roger Menkin. Rog was Michael’s age and short, midway between five and six feet. He tried to make up for his lack of height with clothes and jewelry. One of Michael’s oldest friends, he had been his attorney long before Michael had become a success and amassed an army of attorneys. A freshly-lit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, shit,” Gwen breathed as Michael came toward the breakfast nook. Rog stayed by the kitchen doorway.
“How many times have I gotta tell you, Gwen?” he said angrily. “This is a non-smoking family. We’ve all gotta die, but nobody in the Julian family’s gonna do it because their lungs don’t work or they’ve got cancer.” He reached down and stubbed out the butt in the ashtray.
Gwen stood and went to him, kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I was being naughty.” She reached down and squeezed his ass. “What brings you home so early?”
He softened quickly, put his arms around her and smiled. “My baby’s health, that’s what,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t want anything to happen to your lungs. You know how much I love your...lungs.” They laughed together.
Chuckling, Rog said, “Am I going to be able to get you out of here, Mike?”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta go. I just came to pick up some stuff I left in the office.” He kissed her again and started to leave, but turned to Adam. “Hey, what about July Fourth? We need to know how many to plan for. You coming? Gonna bring anybody?”
Adam cringed inside at the thought of a week on the yacht with his dad. Michael Julian went out on his yacht occasionally throughout the year, usually with assorted industry types. But every year on Independence Day, he took his family out for the week. It had been fun when Adam was a kid. Sometimes they went to Mexico, or north up the California coast to Oregon, Washington. On the night of the Fourth, Michael always shot off some elaborate fireworks. But as Adam grew older, the fighting between his parents had grown worse, and being with them for a week became less enjoyable every year. He had stopped going after his mom died, and now the very sight of Money Shot, as Michael had christened the yacht, depressed him.
But it might be fun if Alyssa were with him. He liked the idea, but would have to decide if he was ready to expose her to his dad yet.
“Yeah, I might go,” Adam said with a nod.
“Might? What, you gonna check with your personal assistant? See what your schedule’s like?” Michael guffawed. “Okay, Adam, you have your people talk to my people. But do it by tomorrow, Goddamnit.” He kissed Gwen again, then left the breakfast nook saying, “I’m out of here.” Rog followed him out of the kitchen, and his cigarette trailed a ribbon of smoke.
Gwen sighed. “I suppose I should try to accomplish something today.” She stood, picked up the coffee mug, and winked at Adam. “See you later.”
After she was gone, Adam picked at his breakfast for a while before deciding he could not finish it. He wanted to get out of the house.
NINE
It was a typical summer day in Los Angeles. Hot and humid, smog that clung to the insides of nostrils like a greasy film. And always in the air, the exhaust of cars, the sound of their engines, and the cars themselves. So many cars, endless columns of them, everywhere, stopping, going, honking.
Adam originally planned to go see Carter first, maybe even go to the gym, then drop by The Book Place late in the afternoon. But he needed to feel the way Alyssa made him feel, and he did not want to wait that long to feel it.
When he stepped into the bookstore, the bell rang and Adam smelled smoldering rose petals, a hint of honey and cinnamon. Behind the counter, a woman removed books from a brown grocery bag, stacked them on the counter until the bag was empty, then started on another. She stood up tall and straight and smiled at Adam. Her hair was thick, long, and frizzy. Once a light brown, silver had infiltrated and blended nicely, turned it the color of ash.
“Hi,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Can I help you find something?”
“Um...Alyssa? My name’s Adam. I came by to see her.”
She had a lot of teeth, but they were white and shiny, and the slightly crooked one in the front gave her smile a sexy bite.
“Hi, Adam,” she said, extending a hand over the counter. “I’m Sunset. But everyone calls me Sunny.”
Smiling, Adam asked, “Is Alyssa around?”
“Not right now. She could show up anytime. Or not. We’re not much of a clock-watching family.”
“You’re Alyssa’s mom? Nice to meet you.”
Sunny wore no makeup, didn’t need any. Her skin was fair, healthy, and lightly freckled.
“Guess I should have called first,” Adam said.
“She’ll be in sooner or later. Find something to read.”
“Do you know where she might be?”
“No idea. We pretty much let Alyssa go her way. We figure the only way to learn about life is to live it, right? That’s how we were raised. Where did you meet Alyssa?”
“Here, in the store.”
“Ah! You must be the customer she mentioned. She hardly ever talks to us, but she mentioned you. So, you’re Alyssa’s suitor?”
Adam laughed at the word. “Sounds like I came to fit her for something.”
Sunny slapped the counter as she laughed, made her braless breasts sway beneath her white peasant blouse. Adam was sure he would be able to see her nipples through the thin cotton if not for the colorful, intricately-beaded bolero vest she wore over the blouse.
“You’re a book lover, too?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. When I’m not reading, I’m watching a movie.”
“Do you want to direct?” She laughed, shook her head. “Sorry. It just seems everyone in this town wants to direct.”
“Including my dad.”
“What does he do when he isn’t wanting to direct?”
“He’s a screenwriter.”
“Ah, a writer.”
“No. A screenwriter. In his case, there’s a difference.”
Behind her, an old black-and-white poster was tacked to a door. John Lennon in a fetal position beside Yoko Ono, both naked on a bed. The door opened and a lanky man taller than Sunny came out to the counter. The top of his head was bare. The thin reddish-brown hair that wreathed his skull fell just past the collar of his shirt. The shirt was not tucked into his jeans, but its bagginess could not conceal the pot belly that stood out on his otherwise skinny frame. Gold wire frames held thick lenses before his gentle eyes. The t
hick mustache was too big for his face.
Sunny introduced Adam to her husband, Mitch. As they shook hands, Sunny said, “He’s Alyssa’s suitor.”
Adam asked, “Is that, like...a tailor, or something?” Sunny and Mitchell laughed, but did not respond. He still had no idea what “suitor” meant.
Mitch told Sunny to let him know anytime she wanted a break. He put an arm around her waist, kissed her. Squeezed her ass and sneaked a quick finger between her legs, then disappeared behind the grim John and Yoko.
Adam and Sunny chatted for a while about books, found they both liked Carlos Castaneda and Sidney Sheldon.
“But sometimes Sheldon gets a little too metaphysical for me,” Adam said.
Sunny laughed and slapped the counter again. “Would you like a cookie? I made them just this morning.” From beneath the countertop, Sunny produced a plate piled with large chocolate-chip cookies.
Adam took one of the cookies and bit into it. It was delicious, but the bits of marijuana in his mouth surprised him. Made sense, though. Sunny and Mitch were hippy types, so there was nothing odd about marijuana in their cookies. But Sunny was more casual about it than most. She knew nothing about him, and yet she had given him a loaded cookie.
Then again, maybe it was a test. Perhaps Sunny was seeing what he was made of, how he would react. Don’t most parents care about who their kids are with, where they go? Adam wondered. That’s the theory, anyway. So maybe this is Sunny’s way of finding out. It was a little elaborate, but not out of the question. He stopped chewing.
“I’m sorry!” Sonny slapped a hand to her forehead and screwed up her face. “Those have pot in them, don’t they?”
He nodded.
“I forgot about that. Is it a problem?”
“The cookie’s delicious, but—” He shrugged. “—it’s a little early for me, and I’m going to be driving. The cookie’s great, I just don’t feel comfortable, um...taking it with me, in case...well, you know, in case I get pulled over for something and the cop...you know, asks to see...my cookies.”
Sunny laughed as she took the cookie from him, put it with the others. Put the plate somewhere behind John and Yoko. “That was my fault. I’ve got to quit doing that or we’ll all end up behind bars.”
The phrase made Adam wince inwardly.
Alyssa came into the store a few minutes later. Gasped when she saw Adam, quickly removed her black-framed cat’s-eye glasses. In the second he saw them, Adam thought her face made the nerdy glasses very sexy. Without them, he could see fear pass quickly over her eyes.
She was different, stiff. Glasses off, Alyssa gave him a quick, strained smile, then did not look at him again until they left. Talking with her mother, Alyssa’s voice became tight and the specter of a whine sometimes rose to the surface.
“I’m not saying you have to come, you know better than that,” Sunny said. “I’m just letting you know that Aunt Christianne is going to be here, and I know she’d like to see you. So, if you’re not doing anything, and if you’re comfortable with it, you might want to be at home this weekend, or at least drop in to see her. You could bring Adam.” She turned to him. “You’d love Aunt Christianne. She’s a scream.”
“Mom, I’m really sure Adam wants to spend the holiday meeting my relatives, you know?” Alyssa’s tone was bitter.
“Well, it was just a thought, Alyssa,” Sunny said with a dismissive wave.
Alyssa took Adam’s hand in hers. He knew by how hard she squeezed that she wanted out fast. She told her mother they had to go, as if they had plans, and they left, Alyssa holding her glasses in one hand, Adam’s hand in the other.
She spoke rapidly once they were in the car. “I’m sorry about that, Adam, I’m so sorry, I just went out to have lunch with my friend Brett, but I didn’t know you’d be coming by the store, see, otherwise, I wouldn’t have—”
“Hey, hey, you really have to lay off the caffeine, Alyssa,” Adam said.
She laughed, took a deep breath. “How long were you there? With her?”
“About twenty minutes, I guess. Your dad came out of the office and said hi.”
“Oh, God, both of them.”
“They’re nice, I like them. You’re lucky. How many people have a mom who’s so cool she gives their friends chocolate chip marijuana cookies?” He grinned at her.
Alyssa’s features seemed to slide down the front of her skull in horror. “She gave you...oh, God, I’m so sorry, Adam.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
She just shook her head. After watching the passing sights for a while, she said, “They were both raised in the same commune. Their parents were honest-to-God hippies, and they passed it on to Mom and Dad. You know, like some kind of...bad gene.”
“Hey, it could be worse. They could be Jehovah’s Witnesses. Or actors.”
Facing front, she said, “I hate them. I’d like to kill them.”
Adam chuckled. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.”
Alyssa made a noise that sounded like it might have been a laugh trying to get out. “You hate them, too?”
“No, I think your parents are cool. You should be happy to have them.”
“No, I mean, do you hate your parents?”
Adam hesitated. “My dad,” he said after a moment. “I hate my dad.”
“You don’t hate your mom?”
“No, I miss my mom. She’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know that.”
“You couldn’t have known. And don’t apologize, I’m pretty sure you didn’t do it.”
“She was murdered?”
Again, Adam hesitated. He wanted to say yes, she was, but decided not to share any of the dark stuff with Alyssa. Not yet, anyway. There was an airy, light-headed quality to their relationship and he did not want to damage it.
“She was killed in a boating accident.” The instant he said it, he heard the voice of Richard Dreyfuss in his head: This was not a boat accident!
“That sucks.”
“She was great, too. Nothin’ to hate there.”
“You were lucky to have her at all. I wish my parents had died in childbirth.”
“Jeez, what could be so bad about them? They seemed very—”
“They’re freaks.”
“Hippies, maybe, but not freaks. I think hippies are pretty...groovy. They’re with it, baby. They tune in, turn on, and drop acid. Make love, not Michael Bay movies, my flower child.”
“Stop it,” she said. She turned her face away from him and said, with some difficulty, “They have sex.”
“And that’s bad?”
“On the sofa? In the middle of the day? They walk around naked. The other day, I walked into the bathroom—the door was wide open, I figured it was unoccupied—and there’s Dad sitting on the sink while Mom gives him...well...you know.”
“A pedicure?”
“They were naked. They’re always naked. I can’t have any friends over because their idea of dressing for company is throwing a towel over their genitals. And even then, Dad’s dick is always hanging out.” She said the word “dick” the same way she might say, “Grandpa’s colostomy bag.”
“Yeah, that sounds a little too...natural for me.”
“And they’re always stoned. Naked and stoned. Letting it all hang out.”
“Stoned isn’t so bad.”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against anybody getting stoned. I don’t smoke pot, but I don’t mind if others do. It’s a lot different, though, when the pot’s in a plate of brownies Mom made and put on the coffee table like a bowl of peanuts. You know what it’s like to have a friend over and then spend the whole evening thinking, Gee, I hope Mom doesn’t offer Brett a hit off the bong tonight. When my parents leave town, the last thing they tell me before going is to take care of their marijuana plants. They’re more worried about those than about me. I hate them, Adam.”
Adam shrugged. “Maybe you’re being a little hard on them. Like I said,
I hate my dad. He’s like this big rectum on two legs. But eighteen’s a few years behind me, and I’m still living there. I guess there are things in life we all have to live with, you know?”
“One of these days, I’m gonna quietly snap, and I’m gonna get the biggest knife in the kitchen, and I’m gonna stab each of them as many times as I’ve wished they’d used a rubber.”
“And leave me without a date?”
Alyssa turned to him and smiled. “Is this a date? Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere you want.”
“Take me to my house so I can get my contacts.”
“I think the glasses are sexy,” Adam said with enthusiasm.
“Cut it out.”
“I’m serious. They’re very sexy. But they make it hard to see your eyes. I prefer to see your eyes.”
She smirked and said, “You’re just being nice.”
Adam’s surprise came out as laughter. “No! I’m serious. Your eyes...” Words got clogged together in his throat and he had to gulp them back down. He had never said such things out loud, not to mention to anyone. “You have beautiful eyes. They make me feel...I don’t know, like touching you. And not just your body, I mean, there’s something about your eyes that makes me want to reach into them. And touch you inside.”
Alyssa stared at him curiously for a long time as he drove. Something was happening behind her eyes. Adam could tell, even through the glasses.
“Pull over.” She turned her body toward him, tucked her legs beneath her in the seat.
“What?”
“Pull the car over.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere, I don’t care, just pull it over now.”
Adam pulled the car over at a bus stop and shifted to Park. A sign warned that the spot was for buses only and no parking was permitted at any time. He turned as Alyssa’s eyes closed in on his quickly. She held his face between her hands and kissed him very gently at first, small kisses, over and over. The kisses grew in intensity until her open mouth stayed on his. She continued to hold his face in her hands, stroked his eyelashes with the pads of her thumbs. Finally, she pulled back, just a little, and looked into his eyes with something that resembled desperation in hers.
