The Love Machine

by Nicholas Bruner

“So what’s the problem?” Jason said. “Just give Tina a call. She sang with you before.”

  Monica pointed at him with a chip. “She’s kind of upset with Corn.”

  “She has a point.” Alva leaned forward over his keyboard rack. “Corn, you’ll have to apologize to her.”

  “Oh, no no no. Use that big brain and come up with something else.”

  “But the band,” Barrow said. He put a hand on Corn’s shoulder. “Think about it. Up on stage again. This will be our biggest audience ever.”

  Corn looked skeptical. “So some people will see us play.”

  “And the girls,” Barrow said. “Imagine how many girls are going to be there watching us.”

  “Girls?”

  “Oh yeah. Hundreds of girls. And after we’re done, they’ll probably be lining up to meet you. You’ll have ‘em all to yourself. Grunt’s taken, and you know I’m not interested. And Alva, well, he’s not half the man you are. You’ll have to fight the chicks off with a baseball bat.”

  “With a baseball bat,” Corn repeated. He glanced at the ceiling, as if looking for guidance. “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thursday, May 23rd, 10:32 a.m.

  Tina hefted her backpack and flipped her locker closed, only to see Corn leaning against the locker behind it.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Her tone was flat.

  Corn had his hands in his jean pockets. “Can we talk?”

  Tina shrugged. “Go ahead and talk.”

  “Can we maybe go to the junior parking lot and talk in private?”

  “No,” Tina said.

  Corn glanced at the people walking past in the hallway and sighed. “I guess…I guess I need to apologize to you.”

  “That’s a good start. What exactly are you apologizing for?”

  “For using the Love Machine. I see now it wasn’t, you know, fair to you.”

  “You’re damn right it wasn’t.”

  “But I wasn’t going to turn you into my love slave or anything. I just wanted to be with you.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Tina said. “I wasn’t going to be your love slave. Mighty generous of you.”

  “The problem was, I didn’t know how else to approach you.”

  “Ha!” Tina laughed. “Is this a joke? The famous Corn, big talker, ladies’ man, scared to approach a girl?”

  Corn grinned self-consciously and avoided eye contact. “It’s not as easy as I make it look sometimes. I mean, you’re so fine and all. You probably didn’t even know my name.”

  “I knew your name. You ever think of just walking up and asking me? ‘Hi, I’m Corn, I thought maybe we should go out to a movie sometime.’ Or is that too difficult?”

  “But then you might have said no.”

  Tina’s mouth fell open. “Of course I might have said no, you idiot! That’s the point, the girl gets to decide!”

  “Yeah.” Corn took his hands out of his pockets and pressed his palms together, pointing his fingers down. “Yeah. You’re right. I should’ve been a man about it in the first place.” He looked at the tile floor. “So. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted, I guess.”

  Corn continued standing there, swaying a little from leg to leg.

  Tina raised her eyebrows. “Is there something else?”

  “There is,” Corn said. “Do you wanna come back and sing with the band again?”

  Thursday, 4:46 p.m.

  The basketball crew played one-on-one, their t-shirts sweat-soaked in the hot sun, except Andre bare-chested. Taffy drove hard, dribbling with his left side, going up for a lay-up that bounced off the backboard and dropped through the hoop. Eric got the ball, dribbled back a few steps and turned for a quick three-pointer. The ball spun around the rim a few times before whirling out. “Dammit, get your hoop fixed Lauter!” he yelled.

  Barrow waited meekly at the end of the driveway, observing. These guys were good. Not like when we play, Barrow thought. Shooting around until Grunt gets a hand cramp. Taffy went up for another shot but this time Andre blocked him and the ball skidded off into the bushes.

  “In yo face!” Andre said. Retrieving the ball, Taffy noticed Barrow and elbowed Andre, nodding in Barrow’s direction. He tossed the ball to Eric.

  “Um. Hi, guys,” Barrow said with a little wave.

  Eric slammed the ball against the ground, hard, and caught it on the bounce. “Well, well, well. You didn’t get enough Saturday night? You want some more of that?”

  “Actually, I have a favor to ask of y’all.”

  “A favor!” Andre wiped sweat from his forehead and laughed out loud. “Look at the balls on this one!”

  “I…” Barrow hesitated, then plunged in. “I was hoping you’d use the Love Machine on me.”

  Eric tossed the ball to Taffy, stepping forward as he reddened. “You little faggot! Who the hell—”

  “No! I mean with a girl! I want you to use it on me, and have a girl there, that I’ll fall in love with.”

  Taffy strode between Eric and Barrow. “All right Eric, settle down. I see what’s going on here.” He tossed the ball back to Eric and put an arm around Barrow’s shoulders. “You want to get over it, right? Be a real man. Be normal.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” Barrow said. “I was thinking. Maybe if I can get with a girl once, I’ll know how to do it. Like, maybe it’ll reset that part of my brain or something.”

  “We could probably arrange that.”

  “What?” Eric shouted. “Are you crazy, Taffy?”

  Taffy held his hand up to silence Eric and walked Barrow over to a folding chair next to the garage door. He gestured for him to take a seat and leaned against the door frame with one hand. “Yeah, that sounds like something we could do. But what’s in it for us?”

  “I can pay you,” Barrow said. “I have one hundred fifty dollars.”

  Taffy grinned at the mention of money. Eric stepped over and shoved the ball into Barrow’s chest and grabbed the front of his t-shirt, pulling him to his feet. The folding chair rocked back. Barrow closed his arms around the ball reflexively and his eyes widened.

  “Maybe Taffy loses his mind when you mention money,” Eric said. “But not me. I want to know what brings this on all of a sudden. One minute, you’re trying to get the Love Machine back with your little butt buddy, talking all about how dangerous it is, and now you want us to use it on you?”

  “Jason said—”

  “We don’t say that name!” Eric shouted in his face.

  “Okay, okay.” Barrow held up his hands and the ball fell and bounced pitifully down the driveway. “It’s because of my dad, okay? I told him how y’all beat me up, and he said, ‘Well, if you’ve decided to be a sissy, you have to expect people are going to beat the shit out of you.’”

  “That’s enough, Eric,” Taffy said. “Let him down.”

  Eric released Barrow and he tipped back into the folding chair with a jarring thunk.

  “You have to excuse him, he has anger management issues,” Taffy said. “But what Eric is getting at in his charming way is, how do we know this ain’t some trick of y’all’s, to get it back?”

  Barrow bit his lip. “Actually, they do have a plan to get it back. If you help me out with this, I can tell you what they’re up to.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Saturday, May 25th, 3:31 p.m.

  Paul Zabonski pushed his sunglasses up and squinted at the address: 12 Heron Street. Yep, this was it. He took in the huge beach house, its tree-trunk stilts rising from the base of the last line of dunes before the drift line, balconies and wrap-around decks and wall-length windows stretching four stories into the sky. Man, this place is a frickin’ mansion. And as close to the beach as you can get without falling into the waves.

  He didn’t bother with the front door. Nobody ever did with these beach houses. Instead he strolled through the stilt-lined garage and up the staircase to the first floor. Inside, some mean-looking long-haired metal dudes in black t-sh
irts were setting up musical equipment in a corner of the expansive great room. All the couches and chairs had been pushed up against the walls. A red-headed dude lounging on one of them looked up at him in surprise.

  “Who the hell are you?” the redhead said. He stood and unfolded himself to his full height.

  Whoa, tall. Paul recognized this kid. Captain of the basketball team at Hillard. Everybody called him some kind of candy. Gumdrop? No, that’s not it… Taffy, that’s it. ’Cause it’s so sweet when he sinks the ball. “So y’all havin’ a party up here tonight?”

  Taffy’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care about—”

  “Paul, my man! There you are!” Eric Cartwell walked out from a corridor at the back of the house.

  “You know this guy, Eric?” Taffy didn’t bother to disguise the huffiness in his voice.

  “Settle down, man,” Eric said. “Just buying some shit for the party tonight.”

  “Whatever. You contacted all the freshmen, right?”

  “Of course.” Eric raised his arms with his palms up. “I got it all set up.”

  “Great,” Taffy said. He leaned over and hooked his thumb towards the door. “I want this guy out as soon as you’re done.”

  “Cool, man.” Eric nodded to Paul. “Why don’t you come up with me so we can work this out in private?”

  Up the stairs and down a long hallway lined with bedrooms they passed an open door. Inside a black dude was arguing with a black chick, real pretty, cheerleader type. Paul caught just a snatch of their conversation.

  “C’mon, not this again,” the dude said. The chick replied unintelligibly, but Paul distinctly made out the dude’s next line: “Me or it. I ain’t gonna compete with no gadget, not even the Love Machine.”

  Paul froze. The Love Machine, here?

  “Hey, over here,” Eric waved from the entryway to a bedroom further back. “We still doin’ this?”

  “Yeah, there you are.” Paul decided when he was done with this deal he would head over to the pier, have a couple drinks, and amble back later when the party was underway to see what he could see.

  Saturday, 4:12 p.m.

  “Cindy, you’d do a favor for me, wouldn’t you?” Taffy asked from where he sat on the bed.

  Cindy put her book down and leaned forward in the loveseat, her too tight t-shirt stretching around her breasts. “Anything you want, baby.” She made a kissing motion with her lips. “Should I pull the curtain closed?”

  Taffy smiled and settled back on the pillows stacked at the head of the bed. He glanced out the window at the green waves rolling onto the sand, the beach grass waving on top of the dunes. “No, this is something for later. I have a friend. And he’s kind of naïve, you know? I was thinking if I could introduce you two, you could, ah, hit it off with him.”

  Cindy sat back and pouted. “You mean, you want to get him laid.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But there’s one other thing. You’ll have to use the Love Machine.”

  Cindy sighed. “I’m tired of the Love Machine. I’ll do it, okay? I don’t have to fall in love with him for that.”

  “No,” Taffy said. “I mean, you’ll have to use it on him.”

  Saturday, 4:26 p.m.

  Eric whistled while he strode through the house. In the great room he stopped to watch the band setting up, running cords between equipment and power strips, arranging microphones and amps. Something seemed off though.

  “What the hell you looking at?” one of the long-haired freaks snarled.

  Eric snorted. “Is it normal for a grindcore band to have keyboards?”

  A couple of the band members exchanged glances. One of them, blond hair hanging to his waist, spoke up. “It’s kind of a new direction we’re taking. Less grindcore, more industrial. You know. Gotta keep up with the new music.”

  Look at these pansies, Eric thought. “Huh. Industrial. Looking forward to hearing that tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Blondie said. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Eric headed for the garage. He could hear snickering behind him and it sounded like someone muttered “Tool,” but he didn’t sweat it. He was in a good mood because in just a few hours, he would be pounding some nerd.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Saturday, 8:21 p.m.

  Cars lined the roadside of Heron Street and knots of people hung out on the decks and balconies of the beach house at the end of the road. Alva, Barrow, Grunt, Corn, and Jason strolled along, trying to look inconspicuous. Barrow spotted a freshman basketball player sprinting toward the house behind the sea grasses and decorative bushes lining the road.

  “Everything okay, Barrow?” Alva asked.

  I could still tell them. It’s not too late. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Jason broke in. “So I figure we go up the back way and hang out in one of the bedrooms ’til it’s time. There’ll be enough people around we shouldn’t be noticed. Plus this place is huge, so it’s easy to hide.”

  “You got it all worked out with Halitosis Demon, right?” Grunt asked.

  “Definitely,” Alva said. “They’re going to take a break at nine o’clock exactly, and then we’ll come out and just start playing.”

  “How’d you convince those dudes?” Corn asked. “Won’t they have a problem with us playing their instruments?”

  Alva smiled. “I tutored Scorp in Algebra II last year. His mom said he’d have to quit the band if he didn’t pass. He got a B. Let’s say he owes me one.”

  “Nerd power for the win,” Corn said. “I hope Tina’s ready.”

  “She and Monica are probably already here,” Grunt said.

  Jason steered them into the garage and stopped short. “Something’s weird h—”

  Before he finished the word, basketball players were swarming them from every direction.

  “Surprise, assholes!” Taffy hollered with a grin as he leapt from where he crouched on the center staircase.

  The five found themselves under assault without time to put up any defenses. Eric walloped Corn in the stomach with a gut punch. “I’ve been waiting to pay you back for last week,” he snarled. Two other basketball players grabbed the doubled over Corn and dragged him to a storage closet at the back of the garage.

  Andre pulled Barrow away from the melee. “No, not you. You’re coming with us.”

  As Andre led him away, Barrow noticed one of the basketball players hanging back, a blond-headed kid over by a lawn mower, watching him. He pushed down the sickening feeling building in his stomach as his friends got pummeled and followed Andre up the stairs. It’s just one night of pain for them. But if I don’t fix this, it’s a whole lifetime of pain for me.

  Saturday, 8:24 p.m.

  Bruised and dazed, the others found themselves shoved along with Corn into the storage closet. Taffy slammed the door behind them. In the darkness, they heard him turn a key in the lock.

  “Shit, what do we do now?” Jason asked.

  A narrow beam of light appeared, connected to Alva’s hand. “I always carry a flashlight.”

  “Shine it over,” Grunt said. He knelt by the place on the floor where Corn lay curled in a ball. “Corn, are you okay?”

  Corn answered hoarsely. “I’ll be fine in a minute, don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about what they have planned for Barrow.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “Separating him’s not a good sign. And Eric hates him.”

  “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” Alva said. He shone the beam around the room, revealing beach balls, boogie boards, bicycles, and a layer of sand covering everything. “We have to get the hell out of here.”

  Saturday, 8:39 p.m.

  Tina nodded to the precision jackhammer rhythm and shouted lyrics coming from the huge speakers at the end of the great room. Not really her kind of music, but there was a certain pulsing intensity to it. She stood on tiptoes to get a peek at the members of the band, shirtless and swinging their long sweaty hair wildly in circles as they pounded on their guitars
. Strobe lights made their movements seem slow-motion.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Taffy Lauter and Eric Cartwell edging around the crowd with Barrow between them. Barrow’s hanging out with Taffy and Eric? That doesn’t seem right. And shouldn’t he be getting ready to go onstage soon?

  Corn had told her they were going to appear onstage at exactly nine o’clock and she should be prepared because she probably wouldn’t see them ahead of time, for some reason he didn’t elaborate on. Whatever, Corn. I think this crowd will be psyched to hear something they can dance to without ramming into each other at a hundred miles an hour. She checked her watch. About twenty more minutes.

  Now Taffy and Eric had Barrow going up the stairs. His head hung down, and they stood to either side, as if escorting a prisoner. That’s weird. What’s going on with that?

  Saturday, 8:50 p.m.

  The muffled sound of a blast beat and grinding guitars came through the floorboards, interspersed with irregular thumping sounds that could only be moshers slamming into each other. Grunt stood on a beach chair, wriggling a wood panel loose at the top of the wall, while Jason held the chair steady. Alva stood at the door with a pocketknife in one hand, trying to jimmy the latch, his other hand holding the flashlight in place.

  “How long have they been playing?” Corn asked from where he laid back on an inflatable raft.

  Alva glanced at his watch. “About thirty minutes or so. It’s 8:50.”

  “So ten more minutes,” Jason said.

  “Yeah, but if Halitosis Demon betrayed us, they probably don’t care about sticking to the schedule, either,” Corn said.

  “I still don’t think it was them who told,” Grunt called down. “Those guys are weird, but they’re solid. And they don’t give a shit about the basketball team.”

  “Who then?” Corn said. “Tina? ’Cause she’s the only one left who knew. So if it’s not them, you’re saying it’s Tina.”

  “No, I don’t think it would be Tina, either,” Grunt said. He caught his thumb on the splintered edge of a hunk of wood he’d pried out and pulled his hand back with a jerk. “Ow!”