Tricks. Part 18

In memory of Loren. b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

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 gla.s.ses. 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.

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 h.e.l.l?

I'm drinking in his honor.

"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 l.u.s.ted after her football-player brother, forward past Mom and Dead Mother's Day, to Loren's promises.

Betrayal. Ultimate desertion.

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 relations.h.i.+ps?

He waits for a response, and when I offer a nod, he says, In lieu of love, l.u.s.t will do nicely.

Now why don't I buy us dinner?

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

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 d.a.m.n thing?

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

It's-sh a long drive home."

Carl a.s.sesses 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.

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, l.u.s.t will do, and follow him to his bed.

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.

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 Va.s.sar, 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 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.

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 bulls.h.i.+t sentimental tripe about what a great mother she is? What's her doctor prescribing, and can I get some?) I'm sitting on the gra.s.s 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?

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 relations.h.i.+p with Lucas any of your business?"

Her eyes go marble cold. Guess it isn't, if there is a relations.h.i.+p.

I heard you two broke up is all.

If I made a mistake, I'm sorry.

Off she goes, clearly knowing something I don't. But what?

And how does she know it? Looks like I'm going to a party tonight.

I Talk Paige Into driving me. Mom's not home when she picks me up, so I leave a note: Gone to a movie with Paige.

More like a soap opera, probably.

I have no real idea what's going to happen, but I've got a feeling it may not be pretty. I've been over and over Skylar's remarks, and I can only conclude that Lucas said something to somebody that somehow got back around to Skylar.

Well, fine. If he's having a party, makes sense he'll be there. And if he's there, he won't be able to ignore me. I'll see to that, though I will try playing "nice" first.

I don't feel nice right now. I feel angry. Ignored. About the same way I feel around Mom and Kyra.

Suffering from "Nothing Syndrome."

Lucas Was Supposed to Be The antidote to that illness.

Instead he has become another symptom. What is wrong with me? Why aren't I worth loving?

I say none of this to Paige, of course.

She's thrilled to be going to a party with real, live guys and probable substance abuse. Why spoil her fairy tale?

"Hang a left." We turn into Lucas's neighborhood. Holy crud. This isn't a party. This is a major sometime- tonight-a-neighbor-will-call-the-cops freaking bash. And he didn't invite me? My earlier irritation blossoms into full-bodied anger.

"Hurry up, would you?"

Where am I going to park? whines Paige, cruising slowly past a mega-line of cars. Looks like the whole darn town is here! She turns the corner and finally spies an empty slot next to the curb. Always good to get a little exercise before getting buzzed, right? She giggles.

Usually I can handle Paige's goofball laugh. But not tonight. Not right now.

Still, I'm not going to snap. I'll save that for Lucas. Because suddenly, without a doubt, I know I've been dumped. But why? Why? A wave of tears swells, hot and salty.

"Come on. I think I need a drink."

There's Plenty to Drink People leak out of Lucas's house, onto the porch and lawn. Some I recognize. Others I don't, but they all pretty much have one thing in common-sixteen-ounce red plastic party cups. "Let's go find the alcohol." I don't wait for Paige's response, just push through the crowd, into the house.

I've only been here twice before, and both times it was a lot emptier.

The alcohol seems to be in the kitchen, at least that's where most of the noise is. I work my way through the human knot, stopping twice to take a hit off lit blunts. By the time I reach the kitchen, I've got a nice little pot buzz going on, something to mellow the fog of anger. At least until I walk through the door.

to find Lucas, zipper to zipper with Skylar. No. How can that be? Oh! My! G.o.d! That wh.o.r.e was effing taunting me!