Strays. Part 12

"Seriously," says Wanda, looking for a place to put her wedge of cheesecake, "can you two do that somewhere else?"

Megan gets to her feet and tugs at her bikini. Astin gropes for a towel. Then he chases her toward the house.

"Oh, Ted!"

When I turn, Megan is standing in the doorway.

"Ted, rinse all those plates, will you? And stack them. Maria will do the rest in the morning."

Wanda says, "Don't pay any attention to her."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. She can order me around - we're friends. But you're a guest."

"Really, it's no big deal."

"Well, don't do it now. If I put on a CD, will you dance with me?"

Oh, man. "I'm not very good."

"Who is?" She gets to her feet. "You want a little drink? Her mom's got some two-thousand-year-old brandy."

"Okay, I guess."

While Wanda is inside, I rehea.r.s.e the box step I taught myself by reading a book. I'm hoping she wants to slow dance because that's all I know how to do.

Sure enough, something lazy and bluesy comes from the outdoor speakers. Wanda walks toward me with a gla.s.s in each hand and her arms spread wide, like I'm home at last. I know it doesn't mean much, but it's a good feeling anyway.

I take my drink, pretend to sip it, and watch her take a mouthful and lick her lips.

"Doo-wop," she says linking her hands behind my neck. Mine settle at her waist. Wanda's forehead touches mine, like we're aliens saying h.e.l.lo. She sings under her breath, something about the still of the night.

Luckily I can see my feet and they're still moving. Mostly, though, she just sways. She's totally relaxed. I can smell the liquor on her breath, heavy and rich. I try and remember this in case it never happens again.

When the song ends, she yawns. "Do you think sleep really will knit up the ragged sleeve of care?"

"Probably. Are you sleepy?"

She puts one hand to my cheek. "Just a little."

I lead her toward the chaises. "Go ahead. Take a little nap."

"Will you sleep too?"

"Absolutely."

"If I snore, poke me."

"All right."

She reaches across the three or four inches that separate us. "Hold my hand, Teddy."

A hummingbird fools around in the bougainvillea. On the other side of the wall, a car or two goes by. Wanda's breath evens out. Her mouth opens a little.

I remember what Astin said: "It's just a day at the pool with a couple of girls."

How cool is that?

I watch her sleep for a while, then wander into the house to use the bathroom. To get there I have to pa.s.s the study. There's that big, s.h.i.+ny desk. I remember the one I ruined at the party in grade school. I swear to G.o.d, if there'd been one girl there half as nice as Wanda, that would've never happened.

A little later, when Wanda wakes up, I'm right beside her with my eyes closed. She stirs, and I look over.

"Did I snore?" she asks.

"The earth trembled."

"Shut up!" She runs both hands through her curly hair. "Are those two still inside?"

"As far as I know."

"That just makes me tired. You want a ride home?"

"Sure, I guess."

"It's not a problem. I just live about six blocks from the Rafters, over on Elm."

Outside, we walk down the driveway and head for an old Toyota pickup.

"Megan wants me to park on the street so oil doesn't drip on her precious driveway. She says she hates her mother, but she's just like her. She told me once she wanted to burn this house down and live in the rubble. Then we went uptown and I watched her spend eleven hundred dollars on clothes."

I get in and grope for the seat belt. The truck is messy, but orange peels on the floor make it smell tropical.

"Those books in your way?" she asks.

I look down. "I kind of stepped on one."

"Let me have 'em." And without looking, she sticks one arm out the window and tosses them into the truck bed.

Wanda negotiates the wide streets, yawning a little and squinting into the sun.

"I'm not sure that brandy was a good idea," she says. "I've got a killer headache and a lot of work to do."

A few minutes later she pulls up in front of the Rafters'.

"If you ever want to do something," she says, "I'm good to go. It's not a date or anything. It's just, you know, an outing. A movie or a hamburger at Blue's."

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm a total s.a.d.i.s.t. This number belongs to Charles Manson." She rips a piece of paper out of the nearest notebook, writes on it, and hands it to me. "Of course I'm serious. Now you be serious and call me."

I don't want to go in yet, so I sit on the porch. I like everything that happened today: Megan's house, the pool, the lunch, dancing with Wanda, watching her sleep - everything.

A few minutes later, Astin roars up, parks the bike, covers it and tucks it in, then hustles my way.

"How'd it go with Wanda?"

"Great. She's nice."

"Did you make out?"

"We danced and then she said for me to call her."

He pats his leather jacket until he finds his phone, then hands it to me. "So call her."

"She didn't mean now. I just saw her."

"When did she mean?"

"I don't know. Probably somewhere between two and five days. I saw this movie, and one day means you're desperate but anything over five means you're not into her at all."

"Screw the movies. What do they know - they're make-believe. Call her now. She'll love it."

"Are you sure?"

He watches me read off the lined notebook paper, then punch in numbers. I lick my lips while her phone rings.

"Wanda? Hi, it's Teddy."

"Teddy? What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing. You said to call, so I'm calling."

Then there's an ominous silence. Finally she says, "Are you nuts? I just saw you, and now I'm right in the middle of something. I'll talk to you later."

I hand the phone back to Astin. "She hung up on me."

"Don't sweat it."

"Hey, she was fun today. Now I can't call her back ever. I feel stupid."

"What exactly did she say? Word for word."

"Word for word she said, 'Are you nuts? I just saw you, and I'm right in the middle of something. I'll talk to you later.'"

He leans back and grins. "There you go. Talk to her later."

"No." I shake my head. "Now she's mad. I shouldn't have called her so soon. I shouldn't have listened to you."

"Oh, bulls.h.i.+t. If I did anything, I made you more interesting."

And he was right. Not that I was so interesting, but Wanda looked for me at school the next day and I called her that night.

Pretty soon we're talking a lot - me outside on the porch with the Rafters' phone and her in bed just before she goes to sleep.

It's just ordinary stuff: what happened at school, my new haircut, how Megan was mad at Astin. Sometimes I hear the Rafters arguing in the kitchen, just like my parents used to.

But there's no reason for me to get a stomachache. They aren't my parents; they're my foster parents. And I've got somebody to talk to.

It's not even a week until Astin graduates and he can't sit still: motorcycle runs up Angeles Crest, over to Blue's, even down to the beach, which he doesn't even like. Sometimes he takes me, every now and then C.W., but mostly Megan.

Tonight we're under the awning just outside Borders books on Colorado Boulevard. All the motorcycles are lined up side by side at the curb: Astin's chopper; a couple of cla.s.sic Indians; two or three big Yamahas; Noah's bar hopper, which is so cherry he only rides it at night in warm weather; and Warren's Ducati. I dial my new cell phone.

"Wanda? It's me."

"Teddy! Where are you?"

"Uptown with Astin."

"Are you wearing your leather jacket?"

"Yeah."

"Can you tell yourself from the other guys, or do you get confused?"

"I'm the one drinking the frappe."

Wanda laughs. I really like to make her laugh. She says, "One CPA, one college dropout, a children's book ill.u.s.trator, a guy who hangs drywall, a transit cop, and a funeral director. Six divorces, a felony for possession, severe liver damage, a heart attack waiting to happen, and about a dozen bad kidneys. What do you see in that scooter trash, anyway?"

"They're Astin's friends; I just keep him company."

"And then there's that. Are you two registered at the Harley-Davidson store yet? It's an all-chrome wedding, isn't it?"

"You are so funny."

"Has Scotty said his bike can blow the doors off anything on the road?"

"Only about six times."

"Do you want me to come get you again?"

"Uh-huh."

"Give me forty-five minutes."

"Why so long?"

"Those guys think I'm just a dumb Betty, but I'm not going to be a dumb Betty who smells like turpentine. I'll take a shower and put on a tank top; that'll start their hearts."