Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) (11 page)

And there they were again, the no-bra girl and her tattooed guy, back at the jewelry booth across from me. The two young women behind the counter were pretty and jewel-bedecked themselves, obviously eager to sell. They bantered and parried with the guy in the tank top, who had just slipped a heavy cross around his neck. It rested against his hairy chest wrong side up, and one of the saleswomen reached across the table and adjusted it for him. This gave him an excuse to grab her hand flirtatiously and ask about the ring she was wearing.

I couldn’t tell if the girl with him looked more annoyed or pleading. She slipped one hand through her boyfriend’s arm and gave it a gentle tug.

Stop, stop!
I wanted to call.
Laugh it off and stroll on.
Instead, she tugged more aggressively, and this time he pushed her hand away, then turned his attention to the second young woman, fondling the copper necklace that nestled between her breasts. I saw his girlfriend’s cheeks flush, and for a moment I thought she was going to intervene. She recovered, however, and fanned herself with a brochure from her green bag, lifting her long hair
up off the nape of her neck. She even playfully fanned her boyfriend. But then, when she still got no response—no recognition at all, in fact—she reached for the hem of her tank top and pulled it up over her head. Then she shook her hair out and faced her boyfriend, naked from the waist up.

My mouth dropped in astonishment, and this time the boyfriend noticed.

And he laughed.

Then the two women selling the jewelry laughed.

There was something so pathetic and sad in the girl’s complete vulnerability and the guy’s callousness that it brought tears to my eyes. She stood there helplessly, doused with embarrassment, and reminded me of Pamela, back when we were high school sophomores on our trip to New York, the way she had humiliated herself with Hugh. Of myself, the way my heart broke when Patrick and I broke up in ninth grade.

And right then I realized I needed a job where I was working with people. Baking was fun and creative, but I think I’d really miss counseling; I’d miss helping kids through some unbearable times.

When the girl finally walked away, holding her tank top against her chest this time, the guy made no move to follow. He whistled for her once, as you would call a dog. She stopped, turned around and looked at him, but when he laughed and whistled again for her to come back, she kept going, and I silently cheered her on.

*  *  *

Dad called to find out if he should meet me at the airport.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve been toying with the idea of not going back to school. Of maybe staying out here and trying my hand at the catering business full-time.”

“Alice . . . ,” Dad began.

“It’s really fun,” I said. “And I’m more creative in the kitchen than I thought. Jayne needs a baker, and the nights here in Eugene are great!”

“Alice,” Dad said.
“Come home!”

I laughed. “Gotcha,” I said. “But catering has its moments.”

“Don’t do this to me,” Dad said, laughing now. “I’m too old.”

“No, you’re not, you’re just right,” I told him. “But to answer your question, you don’t need to come to the airport. Dave’s picking me up, and I’m going to his folks’ place for a few days before school starts. I’ll be home Tuesday.”

“Okay, sweetheart. See you whenever,” Dad said.

*  *  *

On our last day in Oregon, Jayne took us tubing on the Willamette River. It was almost enough to make me change my mind yet again and stay there.

We each had a giant inner tube, and we floated along, our arms and legs draped over the sides of the tube, the rubber—warmed by the sun—blissfully comforting, a counterpoint to the cold water lapping at us from below as our bottoms bounced along with the current.

Every so often, another tuber would drift into view and
we’d wave. I tipped my head back and offered my throat to the sun, wiggling my toes in delight.

“I’m going to miss you girls,” Jayne said at one point as our tubes lazily bumped together, and we floated as a clump for a few minutes.

“Women,” Abby corrected. “Once we reach the age of twenty, we’re women.”

“News to me,” said Jayne. “I still feel like a sixteen-year-old, as long as I don’t look in the mirror.”

“Stay that way, Aunt Jayne,” Abby said. “Forever sixteen, that’s you.”

We watched another group of tubers round a bend out in the middle, where the current was stronger. One of them had a cooler on his lap and was tossing cans of Budweiser to the others.

We waved. They waved. And suddenly I said, “Abby, do you see who I see?”

And there he was, Christopher, who recognized us and lifted his can of Bud in salute. The second thing we discovered is that they were all naked. We suspected it when we saw the bare breasts of the women, and we were sure of it when someone in their group upended one of the tubers and we saw his white bottom do a flip-flop in the water.

“Forever sixteen,” Jayne mused, smiling blissfully up at the sky.

What I
didn’t
tell Dad about going to Dave’s house was that his folks wouldn’t be there—they were in Boston for the week. And, not too surprisingly, Dad didn’t ask. Perhaps he just assumed, the way I’d said it, that they would be. Or perhaps he was showing respect for my privacy, now that I was twenty.

I wonder sometimes if he misses those crazy mealtime discussions we used to have that mortified Les, but who else was I to ask questions of if not Dad and Lester? Other girls had their mothers, while I had Aunt Sally, and Sally’s answers were about as helpful to a nine-year-old as a bra with a D cup.

The plane banked and turned in its approach to Reagan National, and I looked down on the familiar monuments—on the Potomac River, the Capitol—and thought how different it
was from Eugene. Not better, just different. But it was home. When you live in the Washington area, everything sort of runs together—Maryland, Virginia, DC—and what happens in one place makes news in all three.

“Are you nervous?” Abby asked, hands folded over her bag.

I turned away from the window and settled back in my seat. “Nervous?”

“You haven’t stayed in the same position for more than five seconds. Wouldn’t have something to do with Dave, would it?”

Was she kidding? It had everything to do with Dave. And yes, I was nervous. And excited. And a little bit scared.

“Just excited to be home,” I said.

“Me too.” Valerie was picking her up, and they were going out to a new club that had opened in College Park over the summer. “Hope you and Dave have a good time.” She looked at me knowingly. “A
really
good time.”

“We’ll try,” I said, and that sounded so naive and pathetic, it made us both laugh.

*  *  *

He met me at the baggage counter and pulled me into a hug, followed by a kiss about as long.

I backed away finally and smiled up at him. “Hi,” I said, and he grinned some more.

“Sure glad you’re back,” he told me. He looked a little heavier than he’d been when I’d left, a little fuller around the jaw, but mostly his shoulders seemed broader. Whatever; it looked good on him. Especially in his bright red Terrapins T-shirt.
Wanted to make sure I knew I was back in U of M territory, I guess.

He picked up my luggage, a bag in each hand, as though they were mere five-pounders, and we made our way out the double doors.

“Hope you’re hungry tonight, because I’m cooking,” he said. “How does grilled steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus sound?”

“Garlic?” I said in dismay, then felt my face flush.

He smiled without looking at me. “Or not,” he said, and we headed over to the parking lot.

We were strangely quiet as we drove. Dave looked over at me occasionally and asked general questions about Oregon. We were like high school freshmen on our first date, I thought. So weird to go from good friends to . . . something more. Maybe we should wait. . . .

I began to feel slightly panicky, and Dave must have sensed it because he reached over and caressed my arm, and his smile reassured me.

The traffic began to thin out at last after we exited the beltway, and the farther we went, the more rolling the land became until we could see the misty rims of the Blue Ridge Mountains far off. I was looking at the mountains and thinking about the matching blue bra and bikini bottoms I’d bought in Eugene.

Sex must be so simple for guys. I’d been to Planned Parenthood, got the pill, bought the K-Y lubricant, the panties . . .
Dave had probably just walked in a drugstore and bought a package of Trojans off the shelf. Done.

At his house Dave carried the cooler he had brought into the house, and we put all the food in the fridge.

“It’s beautiful here,” I said, looking out the sliding doors beyond the kitchen. “Not a house in sight from back here.”

“There are some great trails, but we’d need to go while it’s still light enough to see,” Dave said. “Are you up for a short hike before dinner?”

“Love to!” I said. “I’m wild to stretch my legs.”

Dave had put my bags in the guest bedroom, so I traded my sandals for sneakers and we set off, following one of the trails up into the foothills for a couple of miles, enjoying the rich earthy scent of the woods.

Looking at Dave’s broad back as he went ahead over the rough places, stopping to hold back branches to let me pass, part of me wanted to grab his arm and say
Now!
, and part of me wanted to go until we were both too tired to even try. I could say I got blisters. Splinters. Blisters and splinters. An allergy to pine trees. A plain old panic attack . . .

At the top of a bluff, however, we stood looking out over the valley, the dusk outlining everything in sharp detail—the trees, the shrubs, the stretch of meadow in white and yellow and lavender—and this time when we kissed, our bodies pressed together, I felt I was ready and followed him back to the house.

*  *  *

There was a wait, however.

I was in his arms again, my lips pressed against his chest. He smiled down at me and cocked his head toward the kitchen. “This?” he said, then nodded toward the bedroom. “Or that?”

“Dave . . . it’s . . . my first time,” I said.

He stood absolutely still for a moment, then gently pushed my hair from my cheek. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well then . . . I suggest we eat dinner first.”

That made me laugh, and I leaned back away from him. “What? We need extra carbs or something?”

I loved the way his mouth sort of dipped at the corners when he smiled at me. “We need extra time, that’s all. And we’ve got all night.”

I don’t remember a whole lot about dinner. I remember peeling the potatoes and cutting them up to boil while Dave grilled the steaks. I remember Dave lighting two candles in the dining room and feeding him a stalk of asparagus, which we had undercooked.

Mostly, I remember trying to get myself ready in the guest bathroom while he cleaned up the kitchen. I’d been good about taking my birth control pills, so didn’t have to worry about that. I showered from the hike and checked myself over in front of the mirror. My teeth! I had to brush my teeth. What about my navel? Any lint in there? And, horror of horrors, my pee smelled of asparagus!

I cut the price tag off the blue bra and put it on, but before
I put on the bikini, I took out the tube of K-Y jelly and read the directions on the box:
Squeeze tube to obtain desired amount of lubricant. May be applied directly onto condoms. Reapply as needed.

What was the desired amount? When did I apply it to condoms? How did I know when to reapply? Who wrote this stuff?

There was a light tap on the door. “Need anything?” Dave asked.

“Do we have condoms?” I answered, a little embarrassed to admit I had some.

“Yeah . . . I’m okay with that.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I said.

I took the tube out of the box, flipped open the snap cap, and squeezed. A large squirt of clear jelly shot across the bathroom and hit the wall.

Look how much I wasted!
I thought, and wondered if I should try to use part of the glob sliding down toward the baseboard. No, that would be gross. So I cleaned it up and tried again. This time I got a tablespoon or so and applied it the best I could. Then I pulled on my underwear, checked my teeth once more, and went into the bedroom, feeling strangely wet and gooey between my legs.

Dave was sitting up on one arm, the sheet pulled up to his waist. He smiled at me and held the sheet open for me to slide under. “Wow!” he said. “I always liked you in blue.”

I quickly got in beside him without looking under the sheet. What is the girl supposed to say to the guy when she sees him
naked for the first time? Is “wow” appropriate? If she doesn’t say anything, is it an insult?

The air-conditioning was on and the room was cool, making it natural that I snuggled up against him. And somehow, reverting to good-friend status, I heard myself saying, “This is all sort of awkward for me.”

But Dave didn’t seem to mind. He kissed my forehead and said, “You’ll get used to it.” And then he kissed me for real, and I felt myself getting excited. I touched him and felt the condom. Dave caressed my breasts and let his fingers explore me, and after a while I heard him breathing more quickly and he edged up over me. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered.

“That’s what the doctor said,” I told him, and then hated myself. Why couldn’t I think of sexy things to say?

Dave chuckled. “Oh, I love the way you said that,” he teased.

What? We were joking around? My first time having sexual intercourse and I’d made the guy laugh?

“Oh, Dave,” I said. “I’m really so awful at this.”

“We haven’t even started yet,” he said. And then he lay back on his side and smiled at me. “I can wait,” he said. “I think.”

I didn’t say anything the next time we tried, and neither did Dave. We were too intent on making it happen, but it hurt!

Somehow I thought in the back of my mind that pain was mostly an old wives’ tale. Maybe a little pain. But I found myself pushing him back a little. He eased up some.