Shrimp (8 page)

64

appreciate my knowledge of The City and its microclimates. I explained to Iris, "That's because it's fall, which in San Fran means the arrival of the summer we were denied with fog and supreme chill during July and August. September and October are the best months in The City, warm and sunny, like practically balmy. Of course, if you live in The Mission or Noe Valley you probably get to see the sun every day, but here in Ocean Beach, and lotsa times over in Pacific Heights, you can go days without seeing sun during the summer." The early fall months, warm and sunny
and
minus the summer tourists so ignorant they thought they could experience the California Summer Beach Boys experience in San Francisco, are my fave months in The City. This fall would be the first in three years that I had been home to enjoy it.

"I understand you spent this past August in New York. How did you like it?" Iris said. "Billy and I went there once a few years ago. We protested a G-7 economic summit. We had traffic backed up all along Park Avenue. Good times."

Mental note: Never invite Iris over to meet Sid-dad.

"New York was weird and interesting and scary-cool, and I would like to go back again, but under different circumstances. If I go back I would want to stay with my brother and his boyfriend instead of my bio-dad, and Shrimp should come cuz he would love all the museums and art galleries and, um, just art
everywhere,
like the graffiti on the subways and the hip-hop spray painting on the sides of random brick buildings and on the huge water tanks that sit on the roofs of the bigger apartment buildings. Shrimp would be digging that city something serious."

Why was I telling Iris all this? These were the words

65

that should have filled my empty-air conversation with Shrimp. I was dying to tell him about New York--and I still hadn't heard about his faraway adventures.

"You have good taste in men," Iris said.

"I agree." I didn't always have such good taste, but Shrimp changed all that.

Iris announced, "Now, for our special treat." I was thinking,
Chocolate soufflé? Did someone make a chocolate soufflé?
They're really hard to make but so delectable, but Iris's idea of a special treat was way different than my own. I lifted my head from the hammock to see Iris reaching into the pocket of her caftan dress, from which she pulled out a lighter and a big fat blunt.

Iris is so the coolest mom ever.

She lit and took a nice long hit. She didn't let out one cough, and she blew rings with the exhaled smoke. Worship her! Caffeine is my drug of choice, but who was I to turn away the J when Iris passed it my way; special treat
indeed.
The smell of that baby was way too nice to bother debating the wisdom of sharing in the experience with my beautiful, unfaithful true love's mother. Mmmm, nice smell. Nice.

"Humboldt's best," Iris said. So
that
is what she meant by the little deposit left by her friends in Humboldt County.

I took a short drag--it had been a long time for me, like sophomore year, and nobody back at that boarding school ever scored bud this sweet and STRONG--but I still hacked out the exhale.

"Try another--slower, shorter," Iris advised.

I took another hit, breathing in slowly so the smoke could go down deep without being overwhelming. Ahhhhh. Nice Humboldt County, well done.

66

"Tell me about yourself, Cyd Charisse," Iris said. One more hit and I passed the joint back to Iris. I could feel the rage over the Shrimp-Autumn hookup not exactly going away but dissipating into a mellow feeling of
Well, I don't have to like it, but fair IS fair.
Loo-eese.

I kinda felt like singing but instead I talked in beats, like my words had rhythm and I was some beatnik poet. "I'm thinkin' 'bout a perm name change to CC. I'm trying to take my own identity and give that movie star back hers." Come to think of it, I will only call Java by his real name--Wallace--from now on, to downgrade his sex appeal to me.

"College?" Iris said.

"Pass, yes, I will pass," I said, but my J-inspired attempt at rap came out sounding more like
Pssst, Yoda, pssst.

"CC, I'm thinking you and Shrimp are going to have a fresh start, move past all that nonsense Shrimp and Wallace told me about involving your parents. Your folks just need to relax. You're a grown woman now, independent."

EXACTLY.

I remembered how Nancy had told me, at the time of my Little Meltdown Incident, how Shrimp had come by the house after I left for New York and apologized to Nancy for us being "young and stupid" before the events leading up to Alcatraz. I wasn't sure if that was a sign of his intention for us to get back together once I returned home or just an unfortunate case of sucking up, but suddenly I had to know, right away.

No amount of weed can mellow out the basic hypergrrl in me.

67

I got up from the hammock. "Laters, Iris," I said. "I need to talk to your son. Thanks for the Humboldt Special."

"You're welcome, CC," Iris said. 'And just for the record,
I
have no problem if you ever want to spend the night, so come back soon. I hear you like to bake, and we've got plenty left over for Billy's favorite brownie recipe."

Honestly, Iris, join AA or something.

I walked over to where Shrimp, Helen, Arran, and Autumn were standing. They were clinking plastic cups filled with beer and saying,
"Kampei!"

Helen said, "Hey, CC, have you met Autumn and Arran? He spells it funny--A-R-R-A-N--but feel free to just call him Aryan. He's quite the fascist pig."

I ignored Autumn and said to Arran, "My brother's boyfriend is also Aaron, but he spells his the double-A way. Shrimp said you're a long boarder. What's that about?"

Arran said, "Yeah, Shrimp thinks short boards are better and long boarders suck cuz so many short boarders think that even though short boarding wouldn't be around without long boarding and hello,
The Endless Summer,
best movie in the world!"

Long boarding versus short boarding: Who the hell cares? I inspected Autumn while Aryan rambled on. Autumn was even prettier up close; had to hate that. She looked like one of those mixed-race girls for whom every best piece of DNA from a dozen different nationalities had blended together to create Dreadlocked Girl with Unaffected Supermodel Potential. Like, you could see her in some magazine perfume ad wearing your basic New York little black dress with bare feet, walking along a wet brick street of loft buildings and industrial office spaces in

68

Lower Manhattan, no makeup on, just clear lip gloss to frame those perfect full lips and fake eyelashes to make her Asian eyes even more sexy, with a posse of hot motorcycle dudes trailing after her and a caption at the bottom of the mag page reading: minimal, available in fine stores everywhere.

The need to indulge in some munchies and settle things once and for all with Shrimp beckoned, along with the nearing-eleven-o'clock Cinderella hour. I said to Shrimp, "Do you and Wallace still keep Hot Pockets in the freezer, cuz I could really go for one right now."

Shrimp leaned in close to me, his mouth grazing my ear, sending my heart racing. He whispered, "Don't tell Iris cuz she'll freak, but Java and I are back on meat. We've got some 7-Eleven burritos in the freezer behind the Absolut bottles. Can I tempt you?"

SHAH!

His hand took mine and I latched on tight, smirked at Autumn, and said g'bye to Aryan and Helen.

I followed Shrimp down the narrow stairwell back into the house, not letting go of his hand. We arrived at the fridge and I stood against it, and just like that his body pressed against mine, and the kiss, the We're Officially Back On kiss, was close to happening, when Wallace came through the door.

"Hey, kids," he chirped. He was wearing Delia's rhinestone tiara on his head. My gaze at him was
so
quick and sweet and innocent, but enough for Shrimp to step back from me. Wallace stepped between us, reaching into the freezer to pull out a frozen Absolut bottle. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Wallace teased. I was not thinking

69

about how grabilicious Java's, I mean Wallace's, wet suit-covered butt looked as he walked away--really.

Once Wallace was gone I pulled Shrimp back toward me. The new and improved Jumbo Shrimp had all this--how you say?--;
girth
that I was dying to savor, but Shrimp leaned back from me. He said, "I think we should just be friends."

Desperation Girl forgot all about the play-hard-to-get memo, and she moved in for that kiss anyway, full-throttle tongue, one hand massaging the back of his neck, the other straying to the center of his body. His mouth tasted like the old Shrimp, like espresso and Pop Tarts, for the few seconds he let me taste him before pulling back.

"I don't know that I'm ready for the craziness again," he mumbled.

The need to grind against him, through him, with him, taste more of his kisses, threatened to overwhelm me. "But the artwork!" I panted. You don't send a girl drawings from below the equator, pictures illustrating your extreme longing for her, unless you want her, bad.

"I didn't say I didn't want to not get back together," he said. Huh? I hate double--make that triple--negatives.

"Good, because I didn't say that either." Whatever I didn't say at this particular juncture, a little baked and a lot confused, I was just trying to get inside his pants. Big difference.

"Then we're agreed. Let's just be friends for now. I've got enough to deal with having my parents back in the house and all this schoolwork I have to make up, and Java is thinking of opening a store in the East Bay, which means I'll be working a lot of hours, and there's the surfing and time for my art and..."

70

No need to beat this subject to death. "I got it," I snapped.

"Don't be like that," Shrimp said. "There's just too much weirdness right now. Can't you feel it?"

I knew he was right, but part of me couldn't help but feel scorned, too. I mean, aren't guys supposed to be all about grabbing whatever piece of booty becomes available to them, no matter the consequences?

Shrimp opened the freezer and pulled out the 7-Eleven burrito for me, like it was a peace offering, but I said, "No, thank you." I called Fernando to come pick me up early. I knew Fernando would take me to Krispy Kreme and be silent and brooding and not ask why my eyes were bloodshot--because I was stoned or because I was heartbroken?

71

*** Chapter 9

The irony of
my senior year being all about Shrimp is that the guy I can't seem to get away from is Alexei the Horrible. Guess who was in the car when Fernando came to pick me up?

"Hiya, Princess," Alexei said when I hopped into the backseat of the Mercedes sedan. Just the sight of him was enough to ruin my Humboldt buzz. "I guess you forgot all about how to use MUNI, our city's beloved public transportation system." The sedan smelled like the pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror mixed with sweat and Alexei's atrocious CK cologne.

"Not really," Fernando said. "I insisted. You seen how many H addicts and crackheads live in this neighborhood? She's not taking MUNI home from Ocean Beach at night on my watch.
Loco"
Since Fernando had stood up for me, I didn't point out that Ocean Beach can look depressing but it's also the home of "Just Friends" Shrimp, whose sole presence could brighten any neighborhood's fundamental depressing vibe. But much as I love to think of Ocean Beach as Cyd Charisse-Shrimp paradise, Fernando did have a point. Land 0' Beach Bunnies and chirpy-sunny-happy people Ocean Beach is not, what with being overrun by fog and cold and, yeah, seedy hourly motels, grimy bars, and a small but thriving population of hard-core druggies to go along with its glorious Pacific Ocean surf.

''Alexei," I said, "would it be possible for you to get

72

your own life going and stop worrying about mine? Why are you in the car, anyway?" I reached into my Sailor Moon backpack for my audio player. The Dead Kennedys couldn't drown out Alexei quickly enough.

Pray for me to make it through a whole semester working with Alexei. My first day on work-study I couldn't even tell him it is actually possible that a punk-Goth chick can be personable and even, dare I say, beloved, to customers, or that I can help with fixing the espresso machine when it's clogged, before he snapped at me, "I am not going to spend my semester off baby-sitting the Little Hellion. I don't know what Sid was thinking, placing you in this environment. I can't imagine you have any useful skills." And I just tore into him. Did he know I was Employee of the Month two consecutive months when I had worked at Java the Hut? Did Alexei know how many customers asked for me personally at Java the Hut and The Village Idiots? Was it not a
fact
that I repeatedly worked double shifts, unasked, at both establishments when flaky employees didn't show up because they thought they were too good for minimum wage? Ask me how full the tip jar was when I was on duty--just ask me, Alexei. Then Sid-dad had popped his bald head into the restaurant, along with a group of fellow investors, right as I was about to explain to Alexei the difference between understanding what makes a
job
and what makes a
career-.
something called a
work ethic.
"Everything going okay in here?" Sid-dad asked. He looked so happy to see us, especially against the expressionless army of white men flanking him. "Great!" Alexei and I both said.

Alexei turned around to face me from the front seat of the car. His face was flushed deep red but in that healthy