Punk and Zen (26 page)

“The only place Candace really mentioned going to was
Staten Island,” Fran said conversationally as we walked down the hall toward
her apartment. Snow dripped in gray and muddy bunches off the bag and my coat.
“She said she wanted to know about Samantha’s hometown.”

I swallowed nervously as she keyed the lock. God, I
knew that door and how strong it was—I’d fucked Candace mercilessly against it.

“That’s cool,” I answered noncommittally.

Fran swung the door open and flicked the light switch.
“Yeah, I guess,” she responded with a shrug. “The only thing,” she said as she
reached down to unlace her boots, “is that she met someone,” she placed the
first boot on a nearby mat and reached for the next, “and I know she and Sam
have an arrangement, their understanding, but,” and she got the other one off,
“it made me a bit uncomfortable, you know?”

“Hmph,” I responded blankly. This had the potential to
get Mama-don’t-know-ya ugly, and I didn’t have the first clue as to what to do
about it.

“Boots here, give me your coat,” Fran indicated with a
sweep of her arms.

Wordlessly, I took off my coat and handed it to her,
then began to carefully slide off one boot.

“Yeah,” she continued as I eased my foot out, “she
said it was the DJ at the Red Spot—you go there?” She moved into the kitchen
with our coats.

“I used to work there,” I called back as I eased off
the other boot.

“Oh, hey, then you must know who it is,” Fran called
back from the kitchen. “Is she as hot and wild as Candace said? You know, her
hair up in a sort of half Mohawk and with what Candace called her Elvis smile?”

My hair was no longer sopping wet, and though I hadn’t
worn it like that in a while, I maintained the cut, and there was still some
gel left in my hair from earlier. Even though it had been some time, I’d done
it so often for so long that I set it with one hand as I walked to the kitchen
and carried the shopping bag in the other. I could feel that wave settle
perfectly into place.

It was time to settle this. Elvis smile—I never knew
Candace had thought that, but I was pretty sure I knew which smile she meant.
That was pretty cool.

I got to the kitchen and leaned in to put the bag on
the counter, then put my hands on either side of the archway that led to the
kitchen, watching as Fran hung up our coats. Then I cocked my head and my hips
and set that half-pursed smile I knew Candace meant on my lips. “You mean…like
this?” I asked. Funny how all it takes is the slightest changes in the angle of
the head and the way the lips are held to be “on.”

When she finally saw me, she was obviously surprised.

Well, we were a long way away from our
high-school-uniform days, after all. But I had to let her know who I was, who
I’d been, and who I’d become so she could make her own decision as to whether
or not she wanted to continue our rediscovered and renewed friendship. If she
did? Great—that would make me pretty darn happy. And if not, well, I’d lived
without her for four years. She might end up wishing I was still only a
pleasant if sad memory.

I tracked her as she came closer and watched her eyes
go from serious ABC surprise to smoky contemplation as they traveled
from my head to feet and back again.

Slinging a thumb through a belt loop, I leaned
arrogantly. The look in her eyes told me that she—at least a part of her—liked
what she saw. It also told me…well, I didn’t want to think about it. As stupid
as it sounds, it would’ve really bothered me to think of Fran as “easy.” But
still, that look she threw? Smokin’.

With a last lingering glance, she took the milk and
eggs out of the bag on the counter and put them in the refrigerator; those were
lucky eggs—none of them broke. Fran pulled out a coffee pot and walked over to
the sink.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know where the bathroom is,”
she said finally, a sly smile edging the corner of her mouth. “Go take a
shower—there’s fresh towels—and I’ll toss some sweats in before you’re done.”

I dropped back half a step and glanced at her sharply.
I’d intended to dry off as best I could, then change into the clothes I’d
packed; they’d be drier than what I had on. She finished setting up the coffee
pot, then peeped over at me.

“It’s not as if I’ve never seen you naked before, you
know,” she reminded me with a wry grin.

True, it wasn’t. We
had
been on swim team
together in high school, and if we did see each other nude on our way back,
forth, or in the shower, well, it was a locker room, after all, and no big deal
anyway.

“I wasn’t going to mention that.” I grinned at her. “I
was going to ask, what color?”

“What color what?”

“What color sweats?”

I gave her my jauntiest smile, and she returned a look
that almost scorched me from head to toe then back again, complete with a slow,
sexy smile.

“For you?” She licked her teeth, those perfect,
perfect teeth. “Black, of course.”

There was nothing else to say except, “Perfect. Thank
you.” We smiled at each other, then I gave a little wave and sauntered to the
promised shower. Fran was right, of course; I did know the way.

I ran the water a little warmer than usual—a trick I’d
learned from Cap. All cold water does is drive your blood farther inside and
spikes it harder through the part of your anatomy that you’re trying to cool
off. But…and this is important: a warm one dilates your blood vessels, which spreads
your blood out a bit. Yeah, you’re still hard, and you might still be aching,
but at least it’s not like a bolt through the groin. Okay, it’s still rough,
but it’s handle-able—sort of.

Showered, warmed, and dressed in the ABC Page
129promised black sweats (and after Fran had done the same), we sat there
together and caught up on everything we could. I told her about school—I wasn’t
going this semester; DJing—I was taking a break; work—keeping me crazy; and the
band—which was my obsession, while Fran told me all about being in Columbia Law
School—she had a scholarship; her summer internship in Los Angeles—in the legal
department of a movie studio; and her plans after graduation—get sunny and warm
or find people that were.

By unspoken mutual agreement, neither of us mentioned
Samantha or Candace, until later.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Driven

I’m not always right, I may not be the one

But one step closer to paradise

Is one step closer to paradise

I’ll bring you one step closer to paradise

“Dani’s Tears”—Life
Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Eventually, after about half a dozen cups of coffee,
followed by hot chocolate, the demolition of a few boxes of microwave pizza,
and a pint of ice cream, we noticed the sky outside the window had lightened to
a murky gray. I stood from my seat to stretch, then walked over to the window
to peer out, pressing my fingertips to the frosted glass.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. Holy shit was right. In the
time since we’d gotten there, the snow had apparently come down even harder and
faster than before—and it showed no sign of stopping. A thick white blanket
covered the ground everywhere, and even the few cars parked on the street had
been transformed into soft and rounded sculptures; there was no trace of color
left.

“Holy shit!” Fran whispered from behind me as she came
closer to see for herself. Her hand came up and gently held my shoulder as we
contemplated a blurred and rounded world. The scant distance between us
gradually shortened until that same hand that had been on my shoulder came to
rest lightly across my waist, while my arm draped softly behind her neck.

She sighed quietly, staring out into the stillness,
and for just a moment, one of us—and again, I don’t know who—pulled a little
closer, and I let myself enjoy the warm, solid sense of her next to me. It was
just nice, you know?

“Bed,” she announced suddenly, breaking our reverie.

“Huh?” I asked, momentarily nonplussed. I mean, I
liked Fran and all, but I wasn’t, I didn’t, well, I couldn’t—you know.

“Bed,” repeated Fran succinctly, dropping her arm from
my waist. “We’ve gone from ‘it’s really, really late’ to ‘it’s really way too
early’ again, and I know I, for one, could use it.”

She was—again—right, and I was tired, too. But I
certainly didn’t want her to think on the one hand that I was there just to get
into bed with her or, conversely—no, no conversely. I didn’t want her to think
that I was even remotely thinking about the possibility of us having sex.

“Great idea,” I agreed, following her out of the
kitchen. “Just show me where to grab a blanket.” I indicated I’d sleep on the
sofa.

Fran narrowed her eyes and gave me a strange look.
“Nina, it’s not like I don’t know you slept here before—without me.”

Memories of exactly how I didn’t sleep in her bed
flooded across my mind’s eye, and my skin grew so warm between the comment and
the mental images that I could feel my ears burn red, and I was glad my hair
was down so she couldn’t see them.

“Yeah, well…” I tried. “I didn’t want you to think I
just—”

“Want to fuck me?” she asked, an amused smile playing
about her lips.

Geez. What a loaded statement. I think if anyone but
Fran had made it, I’d have had a snappy comeback; at least, I like to think so.
I mean, sure, yeah, she was attractive, even better looking than she’d been in
high school, with that sharp jaw angle and a new humorous sparkle in her eyes.
There was also that kiss to contend with, too. Fuck it.

I couldn’t figure out if she was trying to read my
mind (and if my discomfort was that obvious) or if she was trying to
proposition me. I also had nothing to say in response that wouldn’t get me into
trouble, one way or another. Boy, did it figure that she was going to law
school.

I mean, if I said yes, was I agreeing that yes, that’s
what I’d want, that’s what I’d wanted, or thanks for offering, yes? And if I
said no, did it mean I wasn’t thinking she might be concerned about that (which
was a lie), that I didn’t want to (sort of a lie—I didn’t want to “fuck” her
like that), or thanks for asking, but no? Not to mention I might inadvertently
insult her. You know, imply that I found her undesirable or whatever, and not
only was that certainly untrue, that would also hurt her feelings—I know it
would have hurt mine. I wasn’t going to do that to her.

But…I could handle this. I was Nina, after all, and I
wasn’t going to let a nice kiss and a pretty face rattle my cage, right? Right.
I took a breath, let it out slowly, and smiled. “Does that mean you don’t have
an extra blanket?”

Fran’s eyes widened, and I could see that she
appreciated my nonresponse. “You’re still a wisenheimer, huh?” She grinned at
me. “C’mon, this way.” She laughed and led me down the hallway to her room. I
waited in the doorway to this bedroom I’d already visited several ABC Page
131times in the past while she opened up her closet. After disappearing into it
for a moment, she emerged with the disputed blanket, placed the folded brown
square in my hands, then touched my arm.

“I don’t bite, you know,” she told me softly.

I smiled and took a step back. “How do you know I
don’t?” I searched her face for her answer. It was true—I was behaving—but I
wasn’t sure how far I could push that, given the circumstances. I mean, an old
friend who happened to be beautiful, and I suspected more than willing, and not
only that, but also in a place I already had some very intense sensual history.
And…I wanted her.

Besides, my own promises to myself aside, I sensed
danger here, that this would get me even more deeply involved in something I
really didn’t want. I had this instant understanding: sleeping with Fran would
mean committing myself to her. And while I knew that even after all this time,
we probably still had tons in common, would get along tolerably well, and could
probably be quite happy together, it wasn’t that amazing bolt from the blue
that I was waiting to feel.

But even if it was, well, I had nothing to offer
anyway. I mean, she was in law school, for chrissake, hooked up with an
internship that would probably become her career, while I had not only just
stopped going to school, I was working nonstandard jobs with nonstandard hours
and spent every spare minute obsessed by music and art. The only thing I had to
offer besides my dreams and my loyalty was the one thing that everybody wanted
anyway—my participation in their orgasm. As far as I was concerned? That wasn’t
enough.

No, tempting as she was, if I slept with her and
didn’t make some sort of promises to her, I’d hurt her; and if I made those
promises, I’d let myself down—because, well, just because.

Still…holding the blanket in one hand, I put my arms
around her. She seemed surprised, but only for a moment, and as she pressed my
body to her, I allowed myself to remember that she had been a good friend to me
back then. Hell, she’d even let me borrow her car for my driver’s license exam.
She’d been solid then, and she was solid now. A few years might have passed,
but the innate person—girl to woman—was the same. I don’t know how I knew that,
but I did. Bottom line? Fran was a nice girl—I wasn’t. While I might have
previously been in the habit of following a lead, I’d never been in the habit
of breaking hearts—and I wasn’t going to start now.