Lust

by Robin Wasserman

  Beth, her hair pulled up into a high side ponytail and garish blue eye shadow smeared across her lids, looked even more surprised to see them. And not in a good way. She fumbled with the small notebook she used for taking orders and dropped her pen; as she was bending down to pick it up, she came within a few centimeters of smashing her head into the edge of the table. Finally, she stood again and waved a feeble hello, trying to smooth down the wisps of blond hair that had escaped from her ponytail and shifting her weight back and forth from one foot to the other.

  “Hey, honey!” Adam said giddily, oblivious to his beloved’s disarray. “Look—I brought everyone down to cheer you on. How’s the first day going?”

  “Yes, tell us, Beth,” Harper added. “We’re all eager to hear about your adventures in food service.”

  Beth flushed and shot a nervous glance over her shoulder, where a rotund middle-aged man was giving her the fish eye from behind the counter. Kaia guessed he must be the manager, or perhaps the owner—either way, she shuddered at the thought of his greasy hands coming anywhere near her food. Good thing she hadn’t really been planning to eat.

  “I—uh, hey guys,” Beth said finally, with a weak smile. “Adam, why didn’t you tell me that everyone was coming?” she added, glaring at her boyfriend.

  Kaia could easily pick up on the thinly disguised hostility in her voice. The people across the restaurant probably picked up on the hostility in her voice. But Adam, unfortunately for his peace of mind and fortunately for everyone else’s entertainment, did not. (Was he still too shaken from the afternoon’s events to participate in normal human interaction? Kaia hated to give herself too much credit … but on the other hand, she knew she was pretty damn good.)

  “I wanted to surprise you, Beth,” Adam said, grinning.

  “Well, you definitely did,” she acknowledged through a gritted smile.

  Before she could say anything else, the greasy manager guy with the bad comb-over strolled by.

  “Back to work, Manning,” he ordered Beth. “You’re on a shift, not a date.”

  “Yes, Mr. White “Beth said meekly“! was just about to take their order.”

  “That’s a good little girl,” he smarmed, nodding his head sharply.

  Beth blinked her eyes furiously for a moment, then whipped out her notebook and drew back her lips in a poor imitation of a smile.

  “So, uh, what can I get for you all?” she asked in a coolly professional voice.

  “How about the 411 on where I can find an outfit like that for myself?” Kaia asked sarcastically, gesturing to Beth’s bright green poodle skirt.” Its just stunning.”

  Everyone laughed, including—Kaia was pleased to note—Adam. A bit of the frustration of the afternoon slipped away, and Kaia suddenly realized this dinner might be a lot more pleasant than she’d thought. Goodbye damsel in distress, hello other woman.

  After they’d downed their drinks and scraped the bottom of their ice-cream sundaes, everyone left—except Adam, who waited dutifully for Beth to finish up her shift. He liked watching her work—she was so efficient, every move measured and practiced, as if she’d been behind the counter for years, rather than hours. As the restaurant emptied out, he followed along behind her as she wiped down the tables and collected the bills from a few final lingering customers, trying to keep her company, but she refused to give him more than one- or two-word responses to his steady stream of chatter.

  “Can you just let me finish this up?” she finally said sharply, as he traced his hand down her back. She shrugged him off. “You don’t have to wait around for me—just go home if you want.”

  “No way,” Adam protested. “Of course I’m waiting.” They’d planned a night out on the town to celebrate her new job—and although the options open at this hour ranged from a stale cup of coffee at the imitation Starbucks to a greasy slice of pizza at Guido’s, he was determined to give her a stellar night and make the most of the little time he was finally getting to spend with her. Not to mention, make up for whatever it was she thought he’d done. (And to make up for what he had done—though Beth could never find out about that.)

  Her shift ended at eleven, and she disappeared into the back to clean up and change. Adam fidgeted as he waited, fiddling with the jukebox, studiously ignoring her manager’s glare, and reading the newspaper headlines and vintage movie posters hanging on the wall. Revenge of the Forty Foot Woman, read one. Her love will move mountains … and her wrath will crush cities. Adam shivered—he could relate.

  Beth eventually reemerged and, hesitating for a moment, made her way toward the door, gesturing to Adam that he should follow her.

  “Hey, you did great!” Adam said, hurrying over and throwing his arms around her. Maybe if he ignored the tension, it would just go away. “How was it?”

  Beth extricated herself from his grasp.

  “It was fine,” she snapped. “No thanks to you.”

  Here it came. Adam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s just get out of here” she muttered, brushing past and stalking out of the restaurant. She walked briskly to the beat-up Chevy, one of the only cars left in the lot, and stood silently, arms crossed, waiting for him to unlock the doors.

  “So, where to?” he asked, opening her door for her. She climbed past him without a word and tossed her backpack into the backseat. “Coffee? Ice cream? Beer? All three?”

  “You know what?” she said irritably. “Just take me home.”

  Adam climbed into the car and slammed the door behind him, feeling an immediate spasm of guilt—after all, it wasn’t poor Bertha’s fault that Beth was throwing some sort of PMS shit fit. The old car couldn’t take too many more fights like this.

  “What’s your problem?” he asked, hostility seeping into his voice. He put the key into the ignition, but paused before turning the key. Better to finish this. Now. “I’m trying to be nice here,” he pointed out. “I thought we were celebrating. And you’re being a total—” He stopped himself just in time.

  “What? I’m being a total what?”

  “Forget it,” he said in a softer voice. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” she screeched, her voice rising in decibels with every word. “What’s wrong is that I was just totally humiliated in front of all of our supposed friends, and you just sat there and watched. No—no, better, you helped!” A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and she angrily wiped them away.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked helplessly. “I was trying to be supportive. We all were.”

  “Yeah, thanks so much for the support,” she drawled. “You bring them all here, without asking me, without even telling me—like it’s not bad enough it’s my first day at a new job, I have to serve my friends. Did it ever occur to you that might be a little embarrassing for me?”

  “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t—you should have said something,” he stammered.

  “Said something?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion. “When? When you didn’t tell me you were bringing them? Or when Kaia was making a fool out of me and they were all laughing at me? When you were laughing at me?”

  Adam looked down—there was too much pain in her voice, in her eyes.

  “Should I have said something when Kaia dumped her milkshake on the floor and I had to get down on my hands and knees and clean up her mess? Adam, how could you not know that would be horrible for me?” she pleaded. “How could you, of all people, not understand that?”

  “That’s not fair,” he protested, holding his hands in front of him as if to stem the torrent of accusations. “First of all, that milkshake thing was an accident—”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” she asked incredulously. “You’re defending her? I’m sitting here telling you all this, and I’ve had the worst night ever, and—and all you can do is tell me I’m being too hard on Kaia?” She shrugged and turned away from him. “I guess it’s good
to know where your loyalties lie,” she told him in a muffled voice.

  “What are you even talking about? I’m so loyal to you that I—” He cut himself off. Somehow, he didn’t think it would help his case to point out the temptation he’d valiantly resisted this afternoon. But his anger rose, throbbing beneath the surface, as he thought about the beautiful girl he’d pushed out of his arms, about everything he had given up, was still giving up, all for Beth. And did he get any credit for that? Any gratitude or understanding? Anything?

  “You know what?” she asked, when it became clear he was never going to finish his thought. “That’s not even the point. I just can’t believe you thought this was a good idea. I mean, it’s like you don’t even know me at all. How is that even possible?”

  “If this is the way you’re going to be, maybe I don’t want to know you!” he shouted back, his temper finally snapping.

  She burst into tears—but he was far too angry to care.

  Harper was tired. Tired of the whole hidden unrequited love thing, tired of being consumed by bitterness and jealousy and paranoia, tired of feeling bested by other girls—blonder girls, bitchier girls, lamer girls, and most of all, tired of sitting around waiting for something to happen.

  She wasn’t that kind of girl.

  Not usually, at least. And not tonight.

  So after the meeting in the diner (and Harper had at least derived a measure of pleasure from watching Beth twist in the wind, as Adam cluelessly dug himself into a deeper and deeper hole), Harper had decided she needed a break. A vacation from this unsettling and ineffective good girl version of herself that was trying to forge some kind of honest emotional bond with her oldest friend. A return, if brief, to reality.

  Enter Derek.

  Derek was blond, built, brainless—and had been chasing after her for months. A few dates with him had been all she needed to deem him more irritating than nails scraping on a blackboard, but tonight? Tonight he had seemed just what she needed.

  So here she was, an hour after her unabashed booty call, tangled up in his idiotic arms. It hadn’t taken much. She’d washed off the diner grease, slipped into a red camisole and black faux leather skirt, applied a fresh coat of makeup, and been more than ready to go fifteen minutes later when his black SUV pulled up to her house and honked until she emerged from the front door. Derek had, of course, been all over her the moment she stepped into the car—or, as he preferred to speak of it, his “love machine”—but after a few slobbery kisses, she’d suggested they stop off for a drink. If she was going to make it through a night with Derek, sober just wasn’t going to cut it. (Though she knew from experience that drunk was an equally unwise way to go; when dealing with Derek “Magic Fingers” Cooper, it was best to keep your wits about you. Moderation, that was key.)

  So—one drink. One long drive down a dark road, hiphop blasting from the speakers, Derek keeping one hand on the wheel and the other massaging the contours of her inner thigh. Harper let her hand creep across into his lap, returning the favor—after all, he was incredibly hot, and with the music blaring, it was too loud for him to say anything dumb that would spoil the pretty picture.

  Ten minutes more and they were there. “Lover’s Lane”—in this case, a quiet stretch of back road with plenty of cactus tree cover and open space for the picnic blanket Derek “just happened” to have in his trunk. They lay on the scratchy blanket and groped each other, with plenty of heavy petting and heavy breathing. Soon Harper was sprawled out on her back, wearing nothing but a pair of violet satin panties. She was also bored out of her mind.

  “You’re so hot,” Derek said, stroking her breast with his meaty hand and then leaning in to plant a slobbery kiss on it. “I mean, really hot,” he added, coming up for air.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Harper agreed as she shifted position, searching for a comfortable spot on the gravelly, uneven ground. No luck. She shivered—September wasn’t such a great time to be out at night with no clothes on, she supposed. On the other hand, she thought, her mind wandering as Derek kissed (or, judging from the feel, licked) a path across her chest, at least the stars were beautiful. She’d never been one for star-gazing, but she needed something to do.

  “You’re hot too,” she added mechanically, after it became clear that Derek was waiting for something of the sort. And was that the Big Dipper? she wondered idly.

  It had been like this for the whole tedious, predictable night. Sure, at first it had been good to be reminded of how desirable she was, but it had gotten old. Fast. Or maybe she was the one getting old—because, for whatever reason, she just couldn’t get into things. In the past, she would at least have had a little fun before drifting into boredom. Put her brain to sleep and let her body run on autopilot. But now, it was like she couldn’t stop herself from thinking.

  And thinking and Derek? Not a match made in heaven.

  Not that he wasn’t a pretty perfect physical specimen, Harper conceded, running her tongue along the outline of his ear and then kissing her way down his neck. She’d give him that.

  No, she wouldn’t be lying here naked in an abandoned field on a ratty blanket with some guy who couldn’t cut it on the A list. Ripped chest, deep blue eyes, cut biceps, adorable dimples on his face (and butt)—he certainly wasn’t getting through life on his wits.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like Lara Croft?” he asked, rolling over on his side and gazing at her with an adoring look that made her cringe.

  “Who?” If, in the heat of passion, he was comparing her to some ex-girlfriend, he was even dumber than she’d thought.

  “You know, Lara Croft. Tomb Raider.” Derek paused in his inch-by-inch examination of her body. “It’s kind of lame, not as good as Madden NFL or Grand Theft Auto—but dude, she’s hot.” He went back to work. The guy was industrious. “Mmm, not as hot as you, babe.”

  Okay, Harper decided, enough was enough. Seriously—video game chick? Even an ex-girlfriend would have been better than that.

  Harper abruptly pulled away from Derek and began collecting her rumpled clothes from where they’d fallen during his hasty scramble to strip her bare.

  “I’m a little tired, Derek,” she said, squeezing into her strapless bra and pulling her top over her head. “Can we head home now?”

  “But I told you, I’ve got protection,” he protested, confused. He tugged lamely at her shirt, trying to pull it off again; she wriggled out of his reach. “We were just getting started!”

  “Well, now you can get started getting dressed,” she informed him, throwing his pants in his face. “Because I promise you this—it’s not going to happen.”

  chapter

  8

  It had been two days.

  Beth and Adam still weren’t speaking to each other—and Beth was desperate.

  Which was the only possible explanation for her call. A last, the very last, resort.

  And after all, there was no one else. She hated to admit it, but after getting together with Adam, she’d drifted away from most of her girlfriends. There was nowhere else to turn.

  Desperation sucked.

  She flipped open her small Winnie the Pooh phone book to the right page—after all this time, she still didn’t know the number by heart—and began to dial.

  “Hey, Harper, it’s … Beth,” she said timidly, once the other girl had answered the phone. And they began to chat. Awkwardly pushing through all possible areas of small talk (big surprise, there weren’t too many), Harper at least had the grace not to ask, “Yeah, but what do you really want?” though Beth was sure it was at the forefront of her mind. And why not? When had she ever called Harper “just to chat”?

  As Harper prattled on about something that had happened to Mr. Greenfield’s toupee during third period, Beth asked herself again whether she really wanted to have this conversation. Whether she could actually bring herself to have it out loud. She shuffled through some papers on her desk, began doodling on the back of one, nothing but meaningless s
cribbles, but it passed the time and calmed her down. Finally, she glanced over at the bed, which she’d neglected to make that morning. The sheets and comforter were tangled and strewn haphazardly across its surface; it seemed a bigger mess than one person could possibly have made on her own, even tossing and turning all night, as she had. It was the bed that convinced her; she didn’t want to be on her own there, not forever.

  “Harper, can I ask you something?” she interrupted. Harper was still talking, laughing about whatever it was she’d just divulged, but she broke off immediately, sensing the tension in Beth’s voice.

  “Of course.”

  “Well …” Beth had no idea how to begin. “You and I have spent a lot of time together, but we don’t really know each other that well, I mean, I guess we’re not really friends.…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harper said quickly. “Anyone important to Adam is a part of my life. You know how close we are.”

  Beth felt a quick stab of pain at the words—yes, of course she knew how close Adam and Harper were. Hadn’t she suffered through hours of conversation about how wonderful Harper was? What a great friend she was? How misunderstood she was? Like she needed a reminder that her boyfriend considered some other girl his best friend, maybe his soul mate. (He’d never said it aloud … but then, Beth had never had the nerve to ask, not wanting to hear the answer.) Platonic soul mate, she reminded herself—and, after all, why else had she picked up the phone?

  “You do know him better than anyone else—probably better than I do,” Beth admitted, gritting her teeth. “That’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Well,” Beth began again, “maybe it’s been obvious that Adam and I haven’t been getting along all that well lately.”

  “Really?” Harper’s voice oozed concern. “I hadn’t noticed—what’s wrong?”

  “It’s been a lot of little things, I guess—but, I mean, there’s this one big thing hanging over us. And I think—no, I know, that’s the real problem.”