He exhaled, grasping a fistful of hair and joining her in looking down. “Clara, I’m sorry, it’s not you. I mean, it is you. You drive me kind-of crazy.” She looked up, confused, but he rushed on. “But mainly it’s this school and the rich kid types here. If you knew where I came from. My father was in a prison camp for six years.”
Clara drew in her breath. Prison camp? What was that? Probably different from the summer camp she’d attended where they did archery and swimming, plus when it rained macramé and popsicle stick crafts.
Now she really couldn’t manage to figure out what to say. He’d taken the conversation around a sharp turn and she felt left behind, standing on the curb and wondering what had happened.
“Forget I said that.” He put his hand up and turned away. Speaking almost to himself, he added, “I don’t know why I just told you that.”
“I’m sorry about…” She didn’t know how to put it into words without sounding stupid, saying something like ‘the whole going-to-prison thing.’ “Your father’s in a prison camp?” She took a step toward him.
“No, before I was born,” Alek mumbled. “When the Communist party was in power. When it was Czechoslovakia.”
“Well, I’m sorry. That’s…” She shook her head, looking down at her shoes without really seeing them. Prison camp. The ultimate trump card. No, she’d never done time in prison.
Then again, neither had Alek. “But you’ve never been in a prison camp,” she continued. “Why are you so angry?”
His groan spoke of extreme exasperation. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” He turned to face her. “I wonder what would happen if things didn’t go your way? Maybe things always will. But what if one day it doesn’t? Will you fold like a house of cards?”
They stood close, glaring at each other, breathing fast. And it felt familiar. Clara realized they’d stood in exactly the same position with all the same intense emotions roiling around between them the last time she’d returned to college. She had to ask, “Why do we fight like this?”
He looked down and away. “I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t know why you drive me so crazy.”
“It’s not like me,” she insisted. “I don’t get in fights.” She thought of her relationship with Gil: one long, smooth trajectory of year after year. Still waters that apparently ran pretty shallow.
Maybe next time when she came back to college she’d manage to have a decent conversation with Alek, maybe even thank him for all the time and help he’d given her. Then she remembered that, of course, there wasn’t going to be a next time.
“Let’s stop fighting.” She looked up at him, hopefully.
“There’s other things I’d rather be doing.” Clara couldn’t be sure, but he might have stolen a quick and longing look at her lips.
Nervously, she asked, “Have I ever thanked you?”
“What?”
“For all the time you’ve spent helping me? Have I ever said thanks?”
He shrugged and gave a gruff, “It’s my job. I’m a TA.”
“But I’ve come to every office hour and then some. You’ve met with me mornings, afternoons, Saturday nights.” She gestured as if to the current day.
He shrugged again and cleared his throat, repeated the line about it being his job. They still stood close from the fighting, not quite a foot apart. If she wanted to, she could reach up and give him a thank-you hug. Quick and friendly, of course.
Choosing the safer option, she simply said, “I think I would have failed this class without you.”
“You still might.”
“Really?”
“No.” He flashed a grin and she realized he was teasing her. “I think you’re in the clear. As long as you finish this lab.”
Clara glanced at the lab packet, then at the clock. Ten past seven! How had that happened? She was late!
“I have to go!” She grabbed her packet and shoved it into her bag, snatched up her coat.
“You’re not done.”
“I know but I have to go!”
“Because your life will end if you don’t get to a frat party on time.” His voice flattened under the weight of his sarcasm.
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.”
She rushed at him for a quick, friendly good-bye hug and found herself wrapped in a sudden and strong embrace. The rough stubble of his jaw against her soft cheek. A slight turn of her head and the quick, dismissive peck she’d planned brushed slow and warm along the corner of his full lips.
Suspended, her breath caught, she could feel her heart pounding. His arms held her against him, tight, and her stomach did a full, all-out flip. Without any effort at all she could feel herself melting in, leaning up, drawing closer.
But, no. She put a hand to his chest. She swallowed and pushed some space between them. Without another word, she summoned all of her remaining willpower to turn and, without a glance, walk away.
In the hallway, she winced as she again heard the loud thump of what was most likely was a man taking out his frustration by punching a wooden lab cabinet.
She paused. Should she go back and see if he was all right? No, she was late enough as it was. Her re-imagined future with Brad awaited.
CHAPTER 13
SHROOMFEST!
Hurrying through campus, Clara tried to clear her head. But what had just happened? Had she and Alek started to kiss? And had it felt like fireworks and tasted like chocolate cake, the kind with the warm, melty inside?
And what had he meant when he’d said she’d always had it easy? Looking back—or, actually back—she had to admit, she’d led a pretty sheltered life. Protected. She didn’t have the perspective, say, of a war orphan or a child soldier. But what did he mean, she’d fold like a house of cards if she faced a challenge? It nagged at her. She almost wanted to go back and resume the fight, or, better yet, pick up where they’d left off. But she had no time for that now.
Bounding up the front steps of Brad’s frat house, Clara took mere seconds to remove her coat and fluff up her hair—all while acknowledging the complimentary underclassman manning the door. In a pinch, she really knew how to multi-task.
As she entered the party, neither sparkly lights nor rented slot machines distracted her. She did not waver at the roulette table, nor did she move toward the dance floor to claim it as her own even though the DJ was playing Pink’s “Get the Party Started.”
No. Exemplifying the laser-like determination that characterized her some-might-say obsession but she preferred relationship with Brad, she headed straight for him. Driving through the partying crowd, she set her eyes on the target. Operation Seduce Brad had officially launched.
He stood behind the bar taking his turn serving the thirsty masses, tapping kegs and filling red plastic cup after red plastic cup. A disco ball and a glittery plastic half moon hung from the ceiling above him; the magic of Casino Night!
His friend, whom Clara believed she remembered was named Slats, high fived him. Presumably to celebrate their planned post-graduation move to New York.
“We’ll see about that,” she muttered, eyes narrowed. If she had a gauntlet, she’d throw it down. Also, if she knew exactly what a gauntlet was. She pictured a Medieval goblet, all gold with rubies around it, kind-of a chalice.
Working those hips as she made her way across the room, she swayed with the attitude of a high fashion model. Then nearly tripped on someone’s discarded jacket. A beefy, sweaty guy clapped his arm around her shoulder and yelled, “Party!” Clara shrugged out his grasp. Frat parties. Those she did not miss.
Another guy behind the bar with Brad punched him on the arm, then gestured toward Clara. The man of the hour looked over, flashing her one of his trademark grins. She could nearly hear the ‘ping’ from the sparkle off his teeth.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, bare thanks to the final-scene-from-Grease number she wore. And she was going in for her Danny Zuko. Of course, Alek would make a mo
re natural choice if one were to actually cast a reproduction of Grease, given his black hair and those full lips.
But what was that thought? Behold: her golden boy awaited. Brad nodded his appreciation. She cast out her reel.
“Hey there,” she breathed in her most husky, sensual voice. She held back from adding “Big Boy.” Too many old movies as a kid; her mom had loved them. Mae West really said it best, anyway.
“Wazup?” Brad yelled at her. She realized with the noise of the party he probably hadn’t even heard her best come-hither greeting.
“Hey!” She yelled, less sexy yet more serviceable. He grasped her hand and welcomed her behind the bar, the sacred terrain of the frat brothers. “I like your crown.” She gestured up to the Burger King cardboard crown he wore on his head. Then remembered that she could reach out and touch, so she did just that, reaching her hand up into his hair and along his neck. He bent down and kissed her; hello tobacco dip! She smiled, then turned to look for a cup of water. Not finding one, she grabbed a newly filled cup of beer and took a long sip.
“That’s right,” Brad encouraged. “Don’t waste any more time.”
Adopting her super sexy seductress voice once more, she agreed. “Let’s not waste another minute.”
“What babe?” He leaned in closer with one ear while still managing to work the keg tap with the other.
So much for the art of seduction. In a crowded loud frat house mid-rager, Clara guessed she needed more caveman in her approach. Turning her lips directly to his ear, she delivered the verbal club over the head. “I want you right now.”
Dropping the tap as if it had suddenly become a poisonous snake, Brad yelled, “I’m out!” Catching the eye of an underclassman he signaled a changing of the guards. “You’re up, bro.”
Straight away he grasped her hand and led her out from behind the bar and through the crowds. Clara caught Ashley standing on the dance floor staring at her and she gained new insight into the expression “her eyes shot daggers.” Brad, however, did not falter. He exemplified Clara-style mission-driven focus. High fives were left hanging, an invite to do a keg stand rebuffed, even a spot in a beer pong game turned down—an actionable offense under fraternity law.
He led her up the wide, grand staircase past a freshman girl getting sick over the banister. Down the hallway, she remembered it all: the tattered carpet, the New York Giants and Yankees pennants on a couple of doors. One door still kept the dream alive years after Jerry Garcia’s passing with a rainbow of dancing bear stickers.
And there, up on the right, the portal to her destiny: Brad’s dorm room. She squeezed his hand. He gave her a smile.
“I’m so excited to have some time alone with you, Brad!”
“Yeah.” He leaned down, kissing her, bringing his hands around to the small of her back.
As soon as he freed her mouth she continued. “There’s so much ahead of us, you know?” He moved his kisses to her throat and shoulder. “We’re going to accomplish so much, the two of us!”
“Uh-huh.” The kisses came back to her mouth.
Clara had to wait another moment before she could add. “I’m really in love with you!”
“Then what are we doing out here in the hallway?” He smiled down at her, all golden blond reassurance and affection.
Though a slight memory started to surface involving bloodshot eyes and a lacrosse helmet, Clara shook it off and returned the smile. “I’m all yours.”
Following him into his room, they headed for his bed. And that’s where men really let their guard down, wasn’t it? There they’d lie entwined, enraptured in their intimacy. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to convince him with words about moving to San Francisco; their true destiny would simply manifest due to the sheer intensity of their physical, psychological and spiritual connection.
Four minutes later they were leaving his dorm room.
“That was awesome, babe.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her hair, tousled but not too bad since nothing could get that messed up in so short a time. Clara’s eyes stayed open wide, not blinking. After all, if she’d blinked she would have missed their moment in heaven. Mere seconds, really. Had it always been like that? She guessed she hadn’t really had much to compare it to back in college. But really?
“Listen,” he began as he once again led her through the hallway, this time back toward the party. “There’s something I need to talk with you about. After we graduate.”
Noooooo! Clara managed to not say it out loud but every molecule in her body practically screamed it. This was going horribly wrong!
“Brad, I…” She clung to his hand, looking wildly around the hallway for some sort of intervention. Where was an out-of-control paraglider when you needed one to come crashing in through the roof? Or how about a nice earthquake? But the floor upon which they stood remained frustratingly solid.
Ahead of them, two frat brothers stopped and knocked on the door with the dancing bears. As Clara and Brad reached them in the hallway, the door burst open to a cloud of smoke and the psychedelic strains of the keyboard/guitar/drums jam in “Magic Carpet Ride.”
A guy appeared in the entryway sporting a ratty woven poncho in Jamaican red, yellow and green and a huge grin. “All right! Shroomfest!” he declared, then high-fived the two new recruits. Clara recognized him from Brad’s lacrosse team. She thought she remembered Brad mentioning something about him going abroad his junior year, then coming back with a ponytail and a backpack full of weed. And, apparently, shrooms.
Catching Brad’s eye, he asked, “You in, bro?”
Brad began to shake his head ‘no’ while Clara answered, “Yeah! Sure!”
The ponytail turned slow and lazy toward Clara, then nodded with appreciation. “I like it.”
“Hey.” Brad put one hand up to the ponytail guy as if to signal stop and used the other to give Clara a tug.
“Brad.” Clara stopped following. “Come on! Let’s give it a try! I’ve always wanted to.” LIE she mentally added. But it wasn’t every day that you travelled back in time to convince your ex-boyfriend to change his mind and move cross-country so you could begin your lives anew together as one. This called for extreme measures.
“You’ve always wanted to take shrooms?” Brad took a step toward her, looking at her closely as if wondering who she was, exactly.
“Yeah! You know, you only live once!” She shrugged, then bit her lip nervously. Then realized she was biting her lip nervously and stopped.
“Life is short, dude.” Stoner guy was on her side.
“I know it, Sketch,” Brad agreed. Clara surmised that the guy had been given his nickname after his year abroad. Brad continued to scrutinize Clara. “You don’t even smoke pot.”
“Yes I do! Or, I did. That one time.” And a couple more times with those San Francisco roommates. Though she had to be honest, it always made her too hungry and too paranoid.
“You hated it,” Brad reminded her. “You told me you thought that the Lucky Charms marshmallows were after you.”
“That’s harsh,” Sketch sympathized.
Clara gave a weak laugh, trying to shake off the memory of those tiny evil leprechaun marshmallow voices singing as they circled ever closer around her, “Frosted Lucky Charms! They’re magically delicious!” She still shuddered whenever she passed a box in the grocery aisle.
“Loosen up, Wilkens.” Sketch clapped a hand on Brad’s shoulder. “I have some prime caps with your name on them.”
“That right?” Brad glanced at him, intrigued. He looked back at Clara. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Absolutely!” Clara replied with 100 times more enthusiasm than she actually felt. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing, really. It couldn’t be called a plan so much as a deep aversion to the way events were previously unfolding.
Brad shrugged. “You only live once.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” Sketch clasped them both ‘neath his ra
sta wings. The strong aroma of Patchouli oil cloaked Clara’s senses. She remembered reading that the oil could double as an insect repellant. Also, a Clara repellant.
However. Instead of pulling away, hightailing it outta there and taking a nice, long, hot shower like she wanted, she persevered. A martyr for the cause.
“Let’s do this,” she managed, sounding a bit more like a Marine than she’d intended. But Brad seemed to like the approach.
“Let’s do this!” Brad rose his hands in a double hang-ten sign and entered the room, a gladiator before the crowds.
“Shroomfest!” Sketch proclaimed, an arm still locked around Clara’s neck.
“Shroomfest!” various voices echoed in response from the futon, the wide disc of a papasan chair, the floor. Sketch apparently packed them in for Shroomfest.
“We got us some virgins!” he declared as Brad gave the group pre-game high fives. Clara nodded her acknowledgement to the hoots and hollers. “I always knew you were down,” Sketch murmured in Clara’s ear.
The group parted to provide VIP seats on the futon. Brad pulled Clara down onto his lap.
As Sketch distributed the goods, he provided lots of instructions and tips about how to have a good trip, featuring the importance of a positive mindset. Positive mindset, positive mindset, Clara repeated to herself while wondering if anyone had ever died of shrooms.
Brad hugged her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. “This is going to be a blast.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and focused on the warm strength of his arms. She leaned back. He felt good. He nuzzled his chin against her hair. When the time came and Sketch handed her a cap, she chewed and swallowed and chased the terrible taste down with a big swig of water.
Brad felt it kicking in first. He began rubbing his palms down the length of his jeans and rocking slightly, saying “Oh yeah.”
“Are you doing all right?” Clara asked him.
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