What It Was Like (17 page)

“Gross!” I said.

“You think so?” she laughed humorlessly. “I almost threw up my Pop-Tart, he's so hairy. And you should see the way he looks at me.”

“Well, you be careful,” I warned her. “Watch yourself around him, the skeeve. You tell me if he does or says anything.”

“If my father found out Herb was sleeping in his bed,” Rachel said. “He would kill both of them.”

“Really?” I snickered.

“No,” she shrugged. “Probably not. . . . Just wishful thinking.”

When we got to the end of the Meadowbrook, I changed my mind at the last minute and drove to Point Lookout. It was generally less crowded there – at least it was the last time I was there, the previous summer – and the parking was easier. Even with Rachel sitting
super close
next to me, I couldn't wait to stop the car and hold her and really
be
with her.

After I paid the parking attendant, I found the furthest, most obscure corner of the lot and stopped the car.

I put the Ford into park, turned to her, and said, “Well, here we are.”

We kissed, etc., for a good fifteen minutes. In fact, they were the best fifteen minutes I had experienced since the last time we had kissed, etc., way back at the Burning of the Lake. That seemed like a long time ago, and we were now in a different universe.

“We can't do this here,” she said, pushing me away for air.

“Yes, we can,” I mumbled and dove back into her softness.

“No!” she said. “There are kids around.”

“What kids?”

“
Those
kids!” she said, pushing me away with a straight arm and turning me so that I could see the two little kids – a boy and a girl – looking in the car window.

“Go away! Get out of here! Go! … GO!!!” I yelled, scaring them but good. It brought back the rush of feeling I had when I was yelling at the Doggies, this instantaneous release of blind anger that I subsequently regretted.

“Don't they have any parents?” I said as I watched them run away toward an open station wagon on the other side of the parking lot. “Idiots.”

“Don't be so rough. They're only kids,” said Rachel, pulling herself together. “Come on, take me for a walk on the beach and tell me how much you love me.”

She was right to make me take her to the beach. We took off our shoes, rolled up our cuffs, and walked together alone across the sand. We held close to each other and talked about everything. One minute, she was laughing about how we escaped detection when we were in the bushes and she surprised me while I was on O.D., and the next moment she was almost in tears about how she dreaded the coming school year.

“No,” I tried to encourage her. “Your senior year can be your
best
!”

“Not with everyone worrying about college when that's the
last
thing I want to do,” she answered. “Already Eleanor is on me about this College Night they're having that I have no intention of going to!”

“You have to look at it as a chance to get away,” I reasoned.

“Yes, I want to
get away
,” she said. “I want to get away with
you.
”

“But until we can find a way to spend more time together, you've got to try to make things work there,” I said. “Don't you have any friends at school you can hang with?”

In the back of my mind, I thought:
What am I saying? Do I want to push her back into the arms of Eric, or some other guy?
Fortunately, she wasn't thinking in that direction, at least she didn't seem to be, on the surface.

“What,” she snapped. “You want me to try out for cheerleading like my mother? You don't understand; I am
finished
with all the people at Oakhurst. I can't stand it anymore!”

“OK, OK,” I said, holding her, trying to stop her tears before they flowed. “Don't worry! We have
each other
! We can talk every night, and be together on weekends. You can call me whenever you want. You'll see, everything will be all right.”

I held her for a while, then we walked for a little longer, saying nothing. I hoped that she believed me; I hoped that I was right.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I love the waves, how they go on forever,” she said. “It's so beautiful, how they destroy themselves. But they keep coming back. Just like we will, right?”

We drove back to the Lord & Taylor with her tight against my side. We didn't have to talk. I drove one handed with the other arm around her as she played with the radio, never finding a song she liked for more than a few seconds.

“What'll Eleanor say when you come home from Lord & Taylor with no new clothes?” I asked her. I probably shouldn't have brought it up, but I couldn't help myself: sometimes I have to say whatever pops into my head, especially when I'm on the lookout for trouble.

“I'll tell her that I couldn't find anything,” she said.

“Will she believe you?”

Slowly, she said, “I . . . don't . . . care.”

I let that sit in the air for a while. I didn't know Rachel's mother well at all, but I wondered if outright defiance was the best strategy to take with her.

“Maybe you should run in and buy
something
,” I suggested. “Just to shut her up.”

“OK,” she admitted, “You're right. I'll go in and buy something really expensive. I have my father's credit card.”

“Really?” I said. “Lucky you.”

≁

Nanci was waiting right where we left her. Even though I drove at semi-unsafe speeds to get back to Garden City, we were late.

“You told
me
to be on time, and where were you two juvenile delinquents?” she huffed in pretend anger, her bangle bracelets clattering on both wrists as she posed with her one hand on her wide hip, her giant purse on one shoulder like a lump.

“Ha, ha, ha,” sang out Rachel merrily.

In the other hand, Nanci held an ice cream cone that was almost finished, gobbled down to the pointy little end. I gave Rachel's hand a quick squeeze. Rachel's body was so slim and perfect, and Nanci was so – what's a nice word? . . . chubby – that it was almost incongruous to see them together. But I didn't care. Nanci got us together that day, and it wouldn't be the last time she did favors for us. But I'm getting ahead of my story and my “state of mind.”

“You know how she'll be if I get you home late,” said Nanci. Speaking directly to me, she added, “Eleanor Prince is not the easiest person in the world.”

“I'm beginning to get that idea,” I answered dryly.

“Don't worry,” Nanci said to me. “I'll protect her.” I liked what I saw in her eyes: Nanci really did like Rachel.

“This is my guardian angel,” said Rachel, with a touch of sarcasm.

“More like a human shield,” Nanci said.

“Isn't that the truth?” muttered Rachel, as if in private conversation with Nanci. They giggled together; I wondered what exactly their relationship was as Rachel grabbed Nanci by her big, round shoulders and said, “But
now
we have to go back into L-and-T and buy something, so shut up, OK?”

“But –” Nanci sputtered.

“Just go!” Rachel ordered. She turned Nanci around so that she faced the store, and winked at me.

“Not so fast! Rachel!” said Nanci, gulping air. I could now hear a little of the asthma in her voice.

“‘L-and-T'?” I mocked her expression.

“Don't blame me,” she said as she pushed Nanci toward the store entrance. “It's how I was raised. I'll call you tonight.”

“Really?” I asked sharply, having learned to be somewhat suspicious of her phone promises.

“I
promise
!” she said. With that, she pushed Nanci into the whirling revolving glass door and followed her in the next compartment, and just like that, she was gone.

I stood there for a moment, a bit stunned at her sudden departure. I knew that she was running late and our “date” had to end, but I still wasn't ready right then for her to be gone. I felt her absence as if it were a real, tangible thing.

OK
, I thought,
she's gone. I am now out of The Zone, and I have to get on with the rest of my life. Where am I?
 . . .
 
And where did I park the car
?

When I got home, I got into a fairly big fight with my mother. Or, rather, she got into a big fight with me.

“Why didn't you call me? You were gone so long!”

“I wasn't near a phone!”

“How could you not be near a phone? There are phones everywhere!”

I went upstairs to escape the noise. I still had a bunch of things to do. I went to my stereo, a decent KLH system (nothing fancy but it sounded good enough until I could afford something better) and turned on some Dylan. Maybe the thing I missed most about being away all summer was being away from my music and the ability to change records/music/mood/environment at any moment. So I put on
Blonde on Blonde
as I had a million times before, but I kept the volume low, and took out the Columbia Freshman orientation envelope. I opened it and read through the material again. It was so official, and they had so many events planned. I was moving up to the big leagues, the
Ivy
League, and it was exciting. And, I will admit, I was a little scared. But at least I had Rachel here at home, on the Island. So no matter what happened, I had, for the first time, this absolutely fantastic girlfriend.

Later I went downstairs and apologized. It's always the right thing to do with your parents, even if you don't particularly mean it. I had finished packing and gone over everything on the checklist. I was in pretty good shape.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” my mother asked.

“It's your last night,” my father said. “Last night, last meal.”

“Nah,” I said, weighing the value of a meal in a restaurant versus the value of a call from Rachel on my “last” night. “Let's call Vinnie's for something.”

“How about a large half-mushroom, half-pepperoni, extra-cheese –”

“
Now
you're talking!”

≁

I got my folks out of the kitchen quickly, after a very pleasant, memory-saturated dinner of pizza and cheese sticks dipped in marinara sauce (Vinnie's specialty). And just as I was putting the last dish into the dishwasher after cleaning up the kitchen by myself, I was rewarded with the sound of the phone ringing off the wall.

“Hello?” I said, expecting nothing.

“How soon can you get here?”

It was Rachel, whispering. She sounded scared.

“Why? What's wrong?” I asked.

“Meet me around the corner from my house. On Buckingham Terrace. Half an hour.”

And she hung up.

That was it.

Instantly I went into action. I asked my father if I could borrow the Chrysler, which he agreed to after only moderate pleading.

My mother had started in with, “But he has to be there at nine o'clock tomorrow morning!”

But I countered her with, “Check-in and registration are
all day
tomorrow, from nine to three. Plus I'll be back soon.”

My Dad saw reason, gave me the keys, and let me go.

I was out of there fast. I wondered what could be wrong with Rachel. Maybe she'd gotten home too late from Garden City and Eleanor was giving her trouble for that. Or maybe she'd bought the wrong stuff, or she'd bought too much. Rachel was just as nervous about the school year's starting as I was. It wasn't fair of Eleanor to upset her for no reason. But I had a pretty strong sense now that their fights occurred regularly, and there didn't have to be a good reason for them.

≁

I had visualized the drive to Rachel's house many times in my mind, and now I was finally going. As I mentioned, I was vaguely familiar with the town of Oakhurst and the high school. I had sort of memorized the route to her house by studying the Oakhurst street map at our public library on one of my errands – which big streets led to which smaller streets, which led to her cul-de-sac with the embarrassingly pretentious name.

The town of Oakhurst itself was pretty ritzy; one nice little shop after another, separated by cafes and hair salons. No gas stations or chain stores in this burg. I drove down the main drag at a cautious speed, knowing that the cops in a town like this
love
to pull kids over and hassle them. Not that my hair was that long, but this was known as a fairly tight-ass town. I understood: they had a lot to protect.

I turned away from the town and its streetlights and into the neighborhood of houses, snaking through the lush streets in my father's clunky Chrysler. The deeper I drove into her neighborhood, the bigger and wider apart the houses got. I mean, I knew that the Princes were rich, but not
this
rich. I had been to nice neighborhoods before – my rich cousin Ralph's in Jamaica Estates, for instance – but nothing like this. As I drove slower and slower, tracing the path I had memorized from the map, down the long, winding blocks, seeing one mansion after another with their wide, wide lawns and tall, tall hedges, I wondered just what I was getting myself into. How could Rachel be having such a hard time in a neighborhood as beautiful as this one? At least on the surface.

As soon as I turned slowly onto Buckingham Terrace, I saw Rachel standing on the sidewalk against a huge bank of hedges, looking for me. At first she didn't see that it was me; I guess she was expecting me to be driving my Mom's Falcon. From a distance Rachel seemed to be OK, but my relief at seeing her was boosted by a good laugh: she was holding a tiny, fluffy, white French poodle with a pink rhinestone collar on a long, sparkly leash. I pulled over to the curb so quickly that I scraped my front tire.

“Hi!” I said breathlessly as I got immediately out of the car, “Are you OK??”

As I approached Rachel, her little dog started to bark angrily at me.