The Opportunist

by Tarryn Fisher

  “Yes, but a special talent is needed for not acting like a fool when you are drinking.” She was drawing hearts on the corners of the board and making little smiling faces in the center of each one.

  She was such a waste of good air.

  I sighed dramatically.

  “I will do your project for you—if you come with me.”

  Cammie rolled over onto her back and waved her arms in the air like she was swimming the breaststroke.

  “Glory hallelujah! You’ve said the magic words.”

  I grunted. I would have done it for her anyway. I’d be damned it I let my roommate turn in a business plan that looked like a Valentine’s Day card.

  On Saturday I got ready with the precision of a spinal surgeon. Everything had to be just right. I was going to win this battle—be it with Mad Merlot lipstick and Sexy by Victoria Secret. At ten o’clock Cammie and I were floating up the stairs of the Zax house surrounded by clouds of exhaled nicotine. My head was spinning and my dress, which was a size too small, was hugging my chest like a boa constrictor.

  “It’s a good thing you look like a normal girl,” Cammie said, smiling at me in approval.

  “Normal—as opposed to what?”

  I was tugging at my dress trying to cover the exposed swell of my breasts, which were rising like two plump muffins, out of Cammie’s push up bra.

  She smirked at me and tugged the dress back down again.

  “Well, you have those for one thing,” she poked me in the chest. “You’ve been hiding them in those ugly, outdated shirts you wear. And makeup makes you look sexy—exotic even. You clean up nicely my friend.”

  I hoped so.

  "Are you ready O?" Cammie asked squeezing my arm. I felt a little sick actually but I took a deep breath and nodded.

  "Good, because this is going to be the most interesting night of your life.”

  The door opened and we stepped into a room so thick with bodies and the stench of beer, my first instinct was to step back. Cammie shoved me through the doorway and toward a table corrupted with bottles.

  “A drink first,” she said handing me a red plastic cup, “then, you do what you came to do.”

  Cammie splashed vodka into my cup and added a stingy dash of cranberry. I was so nervous. I took a sip too large for my mouth and spilled the concoction down the front of my dress.

  “Careful, Julia Roberts. The plan is to be smooth.” Cammie eyeballed me disapprovingly and I took another sip, carefully this time. It was worse than I thought. People were sweating and touching everything, breathing their alcohol breath into each other’s faces…germs! Horniness! They were acting like animals. I suddenly felt a rush of panic. This was too hard—being someone else. There had to be another way to do it.

  "I don't think that I can—” I said turning around. The door was ten steps away. All I would have to do was dodge a couple of bodies and I could slip into the cool night air before I had the chance to humiliate myself.

  Cammie grabbed my arm.

  “There he is," she hissed into my ear. I turned. He was in a room to our left, playing pool. Raucous laughter drifted over to where we were standing and I caught the words “vibrator and locksmith.”

  “Well, maybe we can stay for a bit,” I said weakly. Caleb was taking his turn. He bent over the table with hard concentration and knocked two balls into their pockets.

  “What do I do now?”

  “You have to get his attention without getting his attention.”

  “I don’t speak girl games.”

  Cammie waved to someone across the room.

  “Look, just don’t be obvious,” she said. “There’s nothing more unattractive then a girl who throws herself at a guy.” This was coming from the same Cammie that rubbed baby oil on her cleavage every morning to draw attention to her “better parts” as she advertised them.

  “How the hell do I do that?”

  “You were the one who wanted to come. You figure it out.” And with that, she left me. Freshman scum. I hovered at the drink table for a few minutes then realized that I must look like a loser and wandered away. Okay, I had to do something to get his attention, to let him know that I was here.

  I spotted the DJ’s booth and an idea wiggled its way into my brain. Dancing! My secret weapon!

  A guy wearing a “Korn” t-shirt was typing something into a laptop behind the table. He nodded at me when I approached and his eyes immediately found my cleavage.

  “Can I request a song?” I shouted above the music. He nodded at my girls and pressed a piece of paper and a pencil into my hand. I quickly scribbled the name of a song and the artist onto the paper and handed it back to him.

  “My face is here,” I said reaching out and lifting his chin until he was looking me in the eye. He smiled and winked at me.

  Degenerate. I kind of liked him.

  “Yours is up next.” He shouted over the music. He gave me the thumbs up, as I sauntered away.

  I eyed the dance floor with trepidation and saw the only person out there was a prematurely drunk guy who was shuffling around, winding his hips without a trace of rhythm. This was going to kill me, but that was obsession and I was going to do it. I took a huge swig, finishing off what remained of my vodka cocktail and summoned the memory of our kiss in the pool. The thought of it gave me a temporary surge of boldness. I want to be kissed like that again—possibly every single day of my life.

  I stepped onto the dance floor as my song flowed from the speakers. It only took about ten seconds for me to take over the entire room. People simultaneously stopped what they were doing to watch me. I was good. I was really, really good. I silently thanked my mother for the eight years of free dance lessons she had wrangled out of the local studio as I twisted my hips in a complicated wind.

  I’m obsessive, when just the thought of you comes up…

  I saw Cammie’s face appear around the corner to see what was happening. Her mouth made an “O” shape and she winked at me with approval.

  It’s not healthy for me to feel this…

  Other people started joining me on the dance floor but they kept a respectful distance, swaying around me like my personal backup dancers.

  “Looks like we have a hot one in the house tonight,” I heard the DJ say over the microphone. As more people started crowding around to watch me, I saw Caleb and his pool buddies emerge from the back room. That’s right, come take a look and see what all the commotions about. I let my hair fall seductively into my eyes and swiveled my hips in his direction.

  This time, please- someone come and rescue me…

  I watched his face as he spotted me and my stomach did a little dance of excitement. Bingo! Eye contact. Other than a slight narrowing of his eyes, his face didn’t show one iota of emotion. Dammit! I threw in my signature belly dancer shake and I saw with satisfaction that he raised an eyebrow. When Rhianna sang: Just your presence and I second-guess my sanity…I looked directly at Caleb and crooked my finger. He didn’t look surprised at all. He pushed himself away from the wall and walked casually over to me, hands still in his pockets. He allowed me to dance around him for seconds, smiling at the hoots and catcalls before grabbing me by the waist and dancing in-sync with my steps. He was good- all smoothness- like I expected.

  When that song ended, we danced to the next one, and the next one. My hair was damp and sticking to the back of my neck, when Caleb finally pulled me off the dance floor. I held onto his hand as he steered us through the ocean of bodies and out onto the porch. We leaned our elbows on the railing, and let the cool air run her fingers across our sticky skin.

  “You’re full of surprises.” These were the first words he had spoken to me in months. I savored the sound of his voice before I answered.

  “Why? Because I can dance?” I lifted my hair off of my neck and looked him in the eye.

  Caleb shook his head and did something with his lips that almost made me keel over.

  “No. Because you came…because you’re wea
ring that dress,” he smiled, eyeing my cleavage. “and not because you can dance, but because you did dance.”

  “You think I’m uptight,” I sigh, watching a girl throw up in an Azalea a hundred yards away.

  “Everyone thinks you’re uptight.”

  I knew he wasn’t saying it to be mean. It was just fact—like green apples being sour.

  “You’re like a pair of boots with six inch heels. All attitude and sexiness, but you make people feel uncomfortable just looking at you.”

  Well, I had officially graduated from Llama’s to footwear.

  “And after tonight?” I asked him, picking at the peeling paint on the banister.

  “I think you broke a heel and you’re wearing flip flops like the rest of us.” There was laughter in his voice.

  “I might put my boots back on tomorrow,” I said. “And why are we speaking metaphor?”

  Caleb laughed and then all of a sudden he became serious again.

  “I like your boots. They’re sexy.” His voice was throaty and seductive. I knew he could get girls—maybe even me into bed, just by using that voice.

  “I have something for you,” I said suddenly pulling out of the trance he was putting me in. He cocked his head. That small gesture got me so worked up I forgot what I was supposed to be doing for a few seconds. Grabbing his hand, I placed my token in his palm. He smiled at me, almost questioningly, and looked down. It was the penny. I found it in the pocket of his sweatshirt the morning after our kiss.

  This time, I made the first move. I stepped towards him, eliminating the space between us, just as he looked up. His hands wrapped around my waist and in one smooth motion, he whipped our bodies around until my back was pressed up against the wall. He was trying to shield our moment from the stragglers who had wandered onto the porch. I all but disappeared behind his back, but I could still hear some snickering and exclamations of surprise.

  This kiss was different from the first one. We had kissed before so there was no hesitancy or shyness this time. He did things with his mouth that purposely prompted racy thoughts. I was breathing hard when he pulled away. My hands were braced behind me pressing against the rough stucco of the house. Caleb laughed, running his hands through my hair, tugging on the split ends.

  I was still leaning against the wall, wondering if my legs would work if I took a step away. The backdoor opened, leaking out the noise of the party.

  “Come on,” he said taking my hand, “I want to see you dance again.”

  I fell in love hard and swift like Tyson’s uppercut. One day I just enjoyed his company and the next I couldn’t live without it. We saw each other every spare minute—even if it was just for a quick, hungry kiss before class. When our grades made the shitty plummet, we set boundaries; no talking on the phone after dark and no seeing each other during the week except at mealtimes. Most of the time, we broke our rules minutes after making them. It was nugatory trying to stay away from him. He was my crack. I could never get enough and when I had him I was already thinking about when I could have him next.

  We seemed happier than other couples, permanently stuck in a state of bliss so intense our mouths were curved into smiles even in our sleep. Caleb taught me how to play—something I had never known in my youth or as an adult. He brought me cupcakes and then smashed them in my face. He took me kayaking and flipped us into the water. Once when his fraternity hosted a jello wrestling night, he convinced me to attend and then challenged me to a wrestling duel. Knee deep in jello the color of Windex, I charged him aiming for his knees. I got lucky and threw him off balance. We both landed up on our backs with Caleb laughing so hard, it sounded like he was sobbing. I loved him with everything in me. He taught me who I was, something I never would have known, without his deft handling of my personality.

  That summer, I picked up a part time job at a small bookstore. I was the only employee, other than the owner, and I worked nights which required me to lock up the store around midnight. The bookstore shared a parking lot with a bar called Gunshots and most nights I had to endure catcalls and whistling from the intoxicated bikers who were lingering outside. I hated it and kept my fists balled all the way to the car, in case I had to hit someone.

  I had been working there for three weeks when Caleb dropped by to see me. His face was red and tense when he walked through the doors.

  “What’s wrong?” I said coming around the counter to hug him. I peered over his shoulder, wondering if one of the bar rats had said something to make him angry. Often they made rude comments to the customers as they were coming or going.

  “You’re alone here?”

  “Well, there are a few customers.” I said glancing around the aisles.

  “When you leave at night, do you walk to your car alone?” His voice was impatient and I wondered where exactly he was going with this.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not working here anymore,” he said, with finality.

  “What?” my jaw dropped. He had never spoken to me that way before.

  He pointed outside to the bar. “It’s dangerous. You’re a woman. You are alone and it doesn’t help that you look the way you do.”

  “You’re telling me that I have to quit my job because of the way I look?” I raised an eyebrow and walked back behind the register. He was pissing me off.

  “I’m telling you that it is not safe for you to be here alone and then walk to your car by yourself.”

  “I can take care of myself.” I began stacking books that needed to be shelved onto a trolley.

  “You’re a hundred pounds soaking wet, and those are very drunk men.”

  I shrugged.

  Caleb looked like a ball of hot energy and he was making me nervous.

  “I’m not quitting,” I said putting my hands on my hips. “I have to work. Not all of us have rich parents and trust funds to see us through life.”

  His face became white. He hated for anyone to mention the fact that he was loaded, least of all me. He walked out of the store without a goodbye. I threw a pen at the door, wishing he was still there so it could hit him on the head.

  Later that night, when I was locking up, I saw his car in the lot.

  I walked up to the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass with my keys.

  “What are you doing here?” I said when he rolled down the window.

  He shrugged.

  Annoyed, I walked away without asking him anything else.

  From then on, anytime I worked, Caleb’s car was parked in the lot when I left. We never acknowledged each other in the parking lot, and we never spoke about it during our regular relationship hours. But at midnight, he was always there, making sure I was safe. I liked it.

  It took me a while to get used to Caleb’s vast popularity. Maybe five people on campus knew my name, but his was a name that was engraved on brass plaques in the school’s gymnasium.

  “I feel like I’m dating a celebrity,” I said, when we were out to dinner one night and a couple of girls waved to him from the next table. He rolled his eyes and played it off like I was being dramatic. But, my jealousy weaseled its way into my mind every time some bimbo paid him homage.

  Those girls had no regard for the fact that he was my boyfriend. They were waiting for the chance to pounce on him—just like I had.

  And then there was the sex issue. We hadn’t gone that far. Cammie quizzed me nightly on just how far our make-out sessions went.

  “We just kiss,” I told her for the umpteenth time. We were both in our beds, with the lights out and Cammie was sucking on a lollipop, making wet, slurping noises.

  “You need to brush your teeth when you’re done with that.”

  “And he never tries to do more?” she asked ignoring me.

  “I don’t want him to.”

  “Olivia, just looking at that man makes me want to have sex and I’m sure ninety nine percent of the female student body agrees with me. What’s your issue? Wait! Were you molested?”

 
She pronounced it “mo-lested.” I rolled my eyes.

  “No, shut up. I just don’t want to. Why do I have to be a product of sexual assault because I’m not jumping into bed with him?”

  “Hellooo, Caleb is a man. He wants to have sex and if you’re not giving it to him, he’ll find it somewhere else.”

  I rolled over and refused to say anything more. What did Camadora know anyway? Weren’t freshman infamous for being stupid and slutty? Wasn’t my father famous for ‘finding it somewhere else’?

  No. I wasn’t going to use my father as an excuse to lose Caleb again. Caleb was faithful, attentive, and he had never pushed me to do more than kiss, because he respected me. I remembered the last time we kissed. It had been in his room, lying on his bed. His whole body had felt tense, like he was wound up and ready to spring loose. What if he was using every ounce of self-control when he was with me? The word ‘cock tease’ sprung to mind and I crept further under my covers in shame.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t think about having sex with him. I thought about it all the time. But, thinking and doing were two different things. I wasn’t ready and I didn’t know why.

  Laura Hilberson was found the same week Caleb and I messed around for the first time. The police found her wandering the Miami airport, barefoot, and her eyelids hanging low over milky eyes. Laura's story was that a man had abducted her while she was jogging on a trail at a park not two miles from the school. Calling for help, he claimed to have sprained an ankle, and begged for her assistance. He asked to be helped to his car, which was just yonder, over the rise. Reluctantly, Laura agreed. She shouldered his weight and walked the short distance to his white van. The van was an old Astro van with rust eating away the metal like cancer. Hindsight told Laura that the darkly tinted windows and slightly cracked rear door was a flashing warning sign. As she helped him into the driver’s seat, he let his keys slip from his fingers and fall into the grass at Laura’s feet. When she bent to retrieve them, the man lifted a crowbar from the passenger seat and connected it with one powerful motion to Laura’s pretty temple. He then shoved her into the back and drove her to what the papers were calling “The Rapist’s Den.”