Where the Kissing Never Stops (13 page)

“Have you seen it?”

“I know it’s there.”

“Well, she’s a thousand times better than Debbie. You were never going to get anywhere with Debbie. She was just this Blarney Stone.”

“Come again?”

“Something that sat there while you kissed it and wished. But Rachel…” He raised his eyebrows lecherously. “You’ll tell me when you do it, won’t you?”

“I’ll hop right up and run to the nearest pay phone. Girls like that, anyway, so Rachel won’t mind.”

Sully shoved me playfully and I toppled over. Above me was the sky, calmly turning red and orange for the zillionth time. Had the sky ever been young?

Rachel and I watched the car disappear up the unpaved road that ran parallel to the two-lane blacktop. We stood there and waved almost till the tail-lights disappeared. Then I turned to her uneasily.

“I know I already said I was sorry, but I guess I want to say it again. I don’t know what got into me. I didn’t mean your dad wanted to be king. I don’t even know your dad very well.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. I hate myself when I talk like that. I sound like a salesperson. And as far as my dad goes, he probably does want to be king. Just because I’m so protective of him doesn’t mean he isn’t a real pain sometimes.”

I glanced around me: forty acres of recently seeded soil — the earth dark and rich as chocolate — and the rind of the sun glowing at the edge of the world.

“I’m just really attached to this place, I guess.”

“Who wouldn’t be? I don’t think I want to see this covered up any more than you do.”

“It is kind of a shame, but like you said, it’s progress. Not just for your dad to build a kingdom, but for me to go to college.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Then without saying anything we walked — my arm around her shoulders, hers around my waist — toward the nearest property line.

“Do you think they’re growing already?” said Rachel, squatting down to get a closer look.

“Germinating maybe. Getting ready. Mr. Kramer says they’ll be up before we know it. It’s so great how the seeds just wait and wait. Then one day they get covered up, and bingo.”

We made our way to the car, with Rachel looking over her shoulder every now and then just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

Politely I opened the door on her side, then settled in beside her. She smiled the sweetest, warmest smile and put her arms around me.

We didn’t even fumble all over the place; our clothes, or part of them, anyway, just receded like the tide.

I’d never seen Rachel’s skin before, and it was beautiful.

When I finally touched her, it was so completely mysterious, like nothing else I’d ever felt in my life. It was wonderful, even though it was awkward in the car, lying down like that with my forehead on the torn arm rest and the weird smell of a car’s nooks and crannies. I could see down into the crack between the seats, and as odd a time as it was for an inventory, I remember every little thing: a Beeman’s gum wrapper, a dime, a Bic pen, a button, hair, a cigarette. A cigarette? Who smoked?

“It’s okay,” she said. “Walker, it’s okay.”

Rachel and I sat up. We must have looked like profiles in a shooting gallery.

“Things kind of took me by surprise,” I said.

“It’s pretty messy, isn’t it?”

“They never covered that part in health ed.”

“You look kind of disappointed.”

The truth was, I was thinking there really wasn’t that much to tell Sully. Some great lover I turned out to be. But I said, “I’m only disappointed in myself.”

“Don’t be. You were so nice, and it felt good. Honest.”

“For as long as it lasted.”

“Did it hurt you?” she asked.

“God, no. How about you?”

“At first, and then no.”

“I guess we should get something so you won’t get pregnant.”

She got this really wary look on her face.

“Things. For birth control.”

“Could I get pregnant from this?”

“I really doubt it. I mean, I’ve heard of sperms swimming for miles but I’ve never heard of them hiking over upholstery first.”

Rachel put her arms around me again. She smelled so good. God, we’d been working all day and then we’d fooled around and she still smelled wonderful. She smelled like us.

That night I lay in bed half waiting for the sound of my mother’s car in the driveway. I had my hands behind my head and I imagined myself shot from above by a sensitive movie director. Did I look different? What would the film record? Insomniac? Pensive teen? Complacent stud? Former jerk-off artist?

So now I was a man. Was my diploma in the mail? And how about my lost innocence — where did it go? Would I stumble on it someday at the car wash, hold it up fondly, and remember this girl named Rachel? Or would we still be together? Was that even possible?

I tried to analyze what it felt like not to be a virgin anymore. I had stepped away from the millions who were and joined the millions who weren’t.

Glancing at the clock, I smoothed my superhero bedspread. Batman had a thing for Catwoman, so we knew what side of the line he was on. How about the Lone Ranger? Was he that lone? Or was there someone he could go home to and gratefully take off his mask and boots? Tonto, maybe?

The next thing I knew it was two-thirty and something was wrong. Slowly I reached for my Louisville Slugger; slowly I made my way down the hall. Then, there it was — Mom’s bedroom and the immaculate bed, bigger than I’d ever seen it. And emptier.

I knew I couldn’t call Sully; his folks would go crazy. Mr. Gardner wouldn’t understand. And anyway, what would I say? That I’d lost my mother?

Quickly I checked all the places where we usually left notes for each other. She couldn’t have committed suicide; she liked her horrible job too much. Could she have just abandoned me? Did she know about that afternoon?

If she’d had an accident, wouldn’t the police call? What if she was stranded somewhere in that stupid old car with 129,000 miles on it? What if she’d gone out with someone from the club and he turned out to be a maniac?

I started to dial the police, then hung up. Probably there was a completely rational explanation. Probably she’d just had to work overtime. Probably the whole menagerie was sick again, not to mention the band and the bouncer.

But why hadn’t she called? Why hadn’t she at least called? Wasn’t I worth one rollover minute?

It was four-thirty when I heard the car coast into the garage. I was woozy with anxiety and calories. I’d finished a two-hour binge by trying to defrost a frozen pie with hot water. Finally I just gave up and ate; it tasted like a plate with apples painted on it.

“I guess,” she said, spotting me at the table, “that I hoped you’d be asleep.”

“Where were you?” My throat was frozen from the pie and I could feel the cold words.

“Out with a guy.” She put her bag down on the sink and looked in the refrigerator. “Pretty bare in here. I feel like Old Mother Hubbard.”

“I’ll bet Mother Hubbard never stayed out all night.”

“Probably not,” she said with a small sigh. Then she turned to me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“I was worried.” I was also determined not to cry.

She patted my shoulder, then rubbed it and frowned like she’d found a dirty word written there. “I know.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I should have called. I meant to, and then it was midnight and I didn’t want to wake you. I called Millie.”

“Next door?”

“She never goes to bed before twelve. She said everything looked peaceful and quiet over here.”

“I woke up a couple of hours ago. God, Mom. I didn’t know what to think.” I could feel my face scrunching up; some man I’d just become.

She leaned and put her cool cheek against my forehead.

“I know, honey. If I do it again, I’ll call you. Earlier. Every hour on the hour if you want.”

I reached for the lapels of her red jacket and hung on.

“Are you going to do it again?”

“I might. I don’t know. But not like this, I promise.”

She leaned to kiss me. She smelled like the outdoors, like night. “Are you mad?”

I shook my head. “Not much, not anymore.”

“I need a glass of wine. Will you sit with me? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

I nodded, not letting go of her, though.

She moved the carton with
MOM’S PIES
written on it. As she poured a glass of red wine she asked, “What’d you do, suck a frozen pie?”

“Something like that.”

“Lord, Walker.” She sounded more amazed than miffed. Then I felt her appraise me. “Do you want some wine? We could have a drink together. First time for everything, as they say.”

“I don’t know about pie and chili and cookies and wine.”

“I see your point.” She sat down with a whoosh. “Can I put my feet on your knees?” She looked around curiously. “You didn’t eat the other chair, did you?”

“I was standing on it in the pantry.” I turned and made room on my lap.

Mom tasted her zinfandel, put her head back so the wine could trickle down her throat, and whispered, “Ah.” Then she said to me, “This guy that I was out with?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He had a wooden foot.”

“How do you know that?”

“When we were fooling around, it fell off.”

“God.”

“He’d told me before. We were being frank, I guess. I was talking about your dad and you.”

“So he brought up his wooden foot?”

“Something like that. There was a mine in Vietnam, V.A. hospital, that kind of stuff. Then we were at his place on the couch and, you know, the music’s playing and everything’s fine and boom, his foot falls off.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not too romantic.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “No kidding.” I couldn’t help but think of Rachel, either. What had happened that afternoon hadn’t been completely romantic either. Just premature.

“Anyway, that’s when I knew it was time to go home, when parts of their bodies start falling off.”

“So did you?”

“Go home? Yes, sort of. It took a little while.”

“What’d he want to do, walk you to your car?”

My mom started to laugh, holding her wine out in front of her so it wouldn’t spill, looking at me, laughing harder, leaning forward, then finally standing up and all the time lifting her glass higher and higher in a kind of toast.

“God,” she said, wiping her eyes with a kitchen towel, “your dad could make me laugh like that.”

“Do you ever miss him?” I asked.

“Honey, tonight I miss him so much it hurts clear through to my spine.” She took a tiny sip of wine. “And not just because his feet didn’t fall off in bed, either.”

“But you two were really different. You said so: he wanted this, you wanted that.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. You guys were different, too, Walker. But you loved him.”

“I never told him.”

“It would have scared him to death. We’d have had to leave his dinner out on the porch for a week.”

“Do you think he knew?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Like I know that —”

I interrupted. “That he loved you?”

She smiled hugely. “That you love me.”

I nodded, all choked up. God, what a day: intercourse, carbohydrate overload, tearful confessions.

“And,” she added, “disapprove of me.”

I raised my empty hands helplessly.

She took one, clasping it. “It’s all right. You told the truth and the world didn’t collapse. Besides, I’m not nuts about you all the time, either.”

“You’re not?” I said, sniffling and only half kidding. “Would you like me more if I ate less?”

“No, and I wouldn’t like you less if you ate more.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. But Rachel might feel differently.”

“I know. It couldn’t be much fun to only get your arms halfway around somebody. It’s too much like measuring a sequoia.”

“Are you two doing all right?”

“She’s really nice, Mom.”

“She seems nice.”

I thought for a second I might tell her what had happened that afternoon. Then I didn’t. It didn’t seem like the considerate thing to do. I was afraid she would worry about me, not because she didn’t trust me, but — it finally dawned on me — because she loved me.

The next day Sully was waiting for me outside my English class.

“How was it after Peggy and I left? Did you guys fight again, or what?”

I shook my head. “Just the opposite.”

“The opposite opposite?”

“Uh-huh.”

His eyes got brighter. “You’re kidding. What was it like?”

“Better than ice cream,” I said.

“Oh, my God.”

People in the halls turned to stare. It did sound like he was having a religious experience.

“And,” I added, “it lasted about twenty seconds.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “What happened?”

“I happened.”

“Oh.” Sully thought for a second. “So what? It was your first time. What did Rachel say?”

“That it was messy.” I filled in the details. “But that it felt good.”

“She was a virgin?”

“I think so.”

“Do you want some advice?”

“No.”

“Do it again as soon as possible.”

“Sully, I didn’t just fall off a horse.”

“It’s the same thing. It’s all pattern-making and behavior modification.”

“Do you really think I should?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Sure, but how?”

“At your house.”

“Are you nuts?”

“It’s perfect. Your mom’s always gone. Tell Rachel you want to study together.”

“Why not just tell her the truth?”

He shook his head. “Too risky. Just get her over there first. Then make love for about an hour.”

“Hold it. Let me get this straight: I call her and say, ‘Come over and study.’ Then instead I make love to her for an hour. Isn’t she going to suspect something when she comes in with her books and there I stand with a clock and a hard-on?”

“Just call. She wants to do it as much as you do.”