Tricks (16 page)

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Loren won't cheer for me

when I get my diploma.

He isn't including himself in the rest of my life. He

isn't coming back. Ever.

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Why didn't I get that sooner?

All the hurt I've been holding

dissipates, like a ghost in sunlight.

Something dark replaces

It--a black tidal wave of anger.

*

How could Loren dare say he loves me? You can't

walk away from someone

you love, leave them

drowning in your desertion.

*

If love has no more meaning than that, you can keep it.

I don't want it now or ever

again. Don't want to hear the word or wear its scars.

*

I'll go back to the farm, to fields rich with hope.

Go back to my books, prep for finals. I'll celebrate leaving

high school. And then what?

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Suddenly I'm Thirsty

And not for water or soda.

What's calling is a stiff

shot of good old' Kentucky

bourbon. Maybe Loren

left a little behind. I go to

*

the kitchen, half-hopeful.

But the cupboards, like the closet, are not only

empty but spotless. That's

Loren, okay. OCD clean.

*

Hell, I need to get out of here anyway. I'll go downtown, find a way into Fringe.

I remember Loren saying,

All you need is a sponsor.

*

So I'll go find a sponsor.

Some old Viagra-stiff

queen, hopeful that buying a drink means buying a lay.

They were thick as flies

*

last time Loren and I went to Fringe. And hey, if I find

one, he can think whatever he likes. Wanting and getting are two different things.

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Sunday, Late Afternoon

The sidewalks aren't especially

crowded. I don't want to look like I'm anxious for a date, so

I hang out a half block from

Fringe, trying to find the balls

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to go up to some strange, lone, obviously gay older dude and ask if he'd like to sponsor

me past the familiar bouncer at Fringe's front door. And what

*

will that guy think? And why

do I care about that anyway?

Just as I'm sure I should give up on this idea, an attractive

man, maybe fifty, gives me

*

exactly the right kind of smile--

interested but also hesitant, as if he's not positive why

I'm checking him out. Yes,

I think this one might just do.

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The Smile

I return leaves zero room for misinterpretation. Where

did I learn to be such a flirt? This is a whole new

side of the not-so-static me.

*

Wonder if it's business as usual for the guy, who on further inspection may

be a few years beyond fifty.

Still, he's not bad-looking,

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very well dressed. Familiar.

I've seen him before. Here?

I can barely make out his face....

Yes, here. Oh, I remember.

The guy who stormed off,

*

leaving the younger guy to follow him out the door.

He's a regular, then. He'll

know what I mean. I smile, and he takes that in stride,

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doesn't flinch or look away.

I'll take that as an invitation.

I walk right up to him, hoping he likes the straightforward

approach. "Hi. I'm Seth.

*

I was hoping to get into Fringe."

His eyes, an odd, almost clear

blue, travel my body, starting around thigh level. Finally

they lock onto my own eyes.

*

Pleased to meet you, Seth.

I'm Carl. And I happen
to be heading there myself.

I imagine you're in need
of an escort. Care to join me?

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Escort?

Seems to me I'm the one

escorting him, at least in the classic sense of the word.

I guess he's using it in place of "sponsor." Sounds less

*

like Alcoholics Anonymous, but more like Rent-a-Guy.

Whatever. I've got my

ticket inside. "Thanks, Carl.

I appreciate the invitation."

*

I fall in a step or two behind him, note how well his pricey

clothing fits his slender body.

The security dude waves us

right through the door, not even

*

checking IDs. He recognizes

both of us, and if he's surprised

I'm with someone other than

Loren, he hides it really well.

What I want now is whiskey.

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Carl reads my mind, or maybe

it's written all over my face.

The first drink is on me.

What's your pleasure?

Kentucky permeates his accent.

*

"I'll have a mint julep, please."

In memory of Loren. Bastard!

I can't believe he'd leave without saying good-bye.

One drink will not be enough.

*

Carl gives me a funny look but goes to the bar and returns with two frosty, mint-trimmed

glasses. He takes a long swallow.

Oh my, that is good, but not

*

for a novice drinker. Tell me
who introduced you to this

li'l libation. If it's a long

story, so much the better.

He settles back into his chair.

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I sip my julep, fight the sudden

blitz of memory. The second

swallow is bigger. The minty

burn clears my throat, trickles down the esophagus, into my

*

rumbling belly. A little voice

warns, "Could be trouble."

I tell it to shut up, look at

Carl to see if he might have

heard it. Or at least intuited it.

*

He wears a patient smile. Oh, yes. He asked for the story.

I don't want to talk about

Loren. But what the hell?

I'm drinking in his honor.

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"I actually had my first one of these right here, with my..."

The word sticks in my craw.

A gulp of bourbon clears

it, raises a nice, warm buzz.

*

Suddenly I want to talk, and before I know it, I have

vomited the whole tale, going all the way back to Janet and how I lusted

*

after her football-player

brother, forward past

Mom and Dead Mother's

Day, to Loren's promises.

Betrayal. Ultimate desertion.

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Carl Listens

Without comment, except a nod every now and again.

When I finally slow to a stop, he raises one finger, gets up and goes to the bar. He comes

*

back with two more drinks and a bowl of snack mix.

Thought you could use both of these.
He watches me dive into the pair before saying,

*

One thing I've learned in one
or two years on this planet is to put myself first. Love is a fine thing while it lasts,
but rarely is it permanent.

*

We don't know each other
at all, but if I might offer a word of advice, gleaned from many relationships?

He waits for a response,

*

and when I offer a nod, he says,

In lieu of love, lust will do nicely.

Now why don't I buy us dinner?

I start to say no, and he hurries to add,
No strings attached.

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Two Hours

Four courses of French cuisine and two bottles of wine later, my stomach is churning with rich food, my head buzzing with alcohol.

Carl and I exit the restaurant

*

and I look for my truck. Where

did I leave the damn thing?

"Uh, th-thanks s-sho much for a great evening. I have to go.

It's-sh a long drive home."

*

Carl assesses my obvious

condition.
I
can't let you behind the wheel like that.

You can stay the night at my

place. No worries. It's clean.

*

"Uh I d-don't..." The words

blur. I can't drive like this.

"Okay." It's a short walk to Carl's tenth-floor apartment.

Once inside, I call Dad, make up

*

a lie about staying the night with some girl I met at a party.

He sounds relieved, but whether

that's because he can tell I'm drunk or because of the "girl," I don't know.

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That accomplished, I take a long look around. The place is beautifully decorated. Tall

windows overlook the city.

Someday I'll live like this.

*

I have to pee. Again Carl

reads my mind.
The guest

bathroom is right there. Oh,
you'll find new toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.

*

Sounds like a plan. Between

garlic, shallots, whiskey, and wine, my mouth could

use a good scrub. I take full

advantage of the guest bathroom.

*

When I come out, smelling of mouthwash and expensive

lavender soap, Carl is in red silk

pajamas. He hands me a matching

pair.
Unless you sleep naked?

*

His message is clear, in his words and in his eyes. I have the choice--

leather sofa or feather mattress.

I remember how he said,
Lust

will do,
and follow him to his bed.

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A Poem by Whitney Lang
Follow Me

That's what he said.

Follow me, and find the meaning of love in my bed.

I followed, found sheets cold as death. Neither of us

could warm them, not me, not

him.

Not a maelstrom of body heat so intense it felt like fever. After, we slept, chilled.

He tossed and turned, lost in some obnoxious

dream. And when we

woke, he ordered

me away.

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Whitney So Basically

Life sucks even more than it did before. I mean, everything's the same on the Mom and Kyra

front. Kyra went back to Vassar,

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along with two suitcases stuffed with trendy new boutique clothes.

Mom went back to tennis and whatever else she does at her club.

*

Dad went back to the city, where he seems to stay for longer and longer

periods. He and Mom barely speak, even on those rare occasions when

*

they happen to be in the same room.

Nothing much new there. What's

new is no Lucas, and it has nothing to do with his graduation, fast

*

approaching. He tells me he has to study for finals, but we both know

that's bull. He'll ace them, like he aces every test, stoned to the nth

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degree or not. He's brilliant.

Beautiful. And def avoiding me.

Near as I can tell, it started right after I gave him my virginity.

*

Since that day, he doesn't return

my phone calls, and if I happen to catch him, he always has an excuse for why he can't see me. Did I do

*

something wrong? He won't even

tell me that much. Only a couple of weeks until school's out, plus summer vacation. Then he's off

*

to college in San Diego. Not so far, but far enough I won't see him often.

I want to share this time with him, burn him into memory so I can

*

find him there when I need him. How

can he be so selfish as to take that

away from me? One thing for sure.

I'm going to find a way to ask him.

282

The Way Practically Falls

Into my lap. It's the Friday after

Mother's Day. (Still musing over how my mom got mad because

I didn't give her a card. Some bullshit

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sentimental tripe about what a great

mother she is? What's her doctor

prescribing, and can I get some?)

I'm sitting on the grass at lunch,

*

not eating as usual, when a shadow

falls over me, drawing my attention.

"What's up, Skylar?" She's never been a friend. What does she want?

*

Not much,
she says.
Just wondering

if you're going to the party tonight.

She stands, left hand perched on an all too obvious hipbone.

*

I may not eat much, but I bet she throws up what she
does
eat.

Not that I care. "Party? What

party?" I haven't heard a thing.

*

She smiles, and something in
how
she smiles activates my radar.

There's a party at Lucas's house.

You
did
know about it, didn't you?

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Obviously, she's pretty sure I didn't.

But I can't possibly admit it to her.

"Oh. That party. Um, I haven't

decided if I'm going yet."

*

Really?
Her smile grows wider.

Does that mean you and Lucas

aren't a thing anymore?
She looks like a coyote eyeing a jackrabbit.

*

Anger--and a fair bit of confusion--

throbs in my temples. What does she know? "How is my relationship with

Lucas any of your business?"

*

Her eyes go marble cold.
Guess it isn't, if there
is
a relationship.