His expression was attentive but wary. “What?”
I took a deep breath. “Before I say anything, I love you, and I have never loved anybody, meaning another man.”
“I realize that, I think.”
“No one before you meant anything to me. But something happened. I didn’t want it to, but it did, and I can’t change it no matter how much I wish I could.”
Pete stiffened beside me and bolted upright. “What happened? When?”
I started to cry.
“Anna, tell me. C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.”
“I’m…I’m not…a virgin.” I whispered the last word.
“Fuck!” His fist hit the beach, and pebbles went skittering off in multiple directions.
Tears cascaded down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It was that asshole, Alec, right?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Why, Anna? Why that dickwad?”
“I didn’t want it to happen. I didn’t love him.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“I didn’t!”
“So what? He forced himself on you?”
I averted my gaze, brushing away more tears.
“Son of a bitch. It makes me sick to think about it.”
“But we can get past it, right?” I reached for his hand.
He shrugged me off, looking away again. “I don’t know. Shit!”
“I’m sorry, Pete. I’m really, really sorry.”
He sprang to his feet, grabbing his shirt and pulling it roughly over his chest. “I’m taking you home.”
We drove in silence the entire way. When I tried to say something, he told me he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He said he needed time to think. When he pulled up at my house, I looked at him imploringly. He stared straight ahead.
“Please don’t do this. None of that even matters,” I pleaded.
“Then why did you tell me?”
“Because I love you. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”
He shook his head. “I gotta go.”
I reluctantly stepped out of the car, shut the door and stood rooted in place, tracking his taillights as he peeled out and sped off into the night.
21
Go!
It took Pete less than a day to come to his senses. After spending a restless night and half of Sunday in misery, relief flooded me when I found him looking sheepish on my front doorstep. He held a lopsided cake with Hot Tamales bleeding out a red “I love you” in the white frosting. I needed no such sentiment. I threw my arms around him in forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into my hair.
“Me, too.” I kissed him. Pulling away, I examined the miniature dessert more closely. “You made that all by yourself, didn’t you?”
Pete grinned. “How can you tell?”
“It’s a bit scary looking.”
“I beg your pardon? All I see is a work of art.”
I laughed. “They do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“It’s actually one of those cakes you bake in the box.”
I had heard of the concept, but never seen one. I gauged it to be the same dimensions of a store-bought boxed mix. “That explains everything, including the size.”
“Small but mighty.” He held it out. “Don’t you want to taste it?”
“Um, maybe later.” I took it and walked inside. Pete followed.
“I’m headed to Berkeley to get a few records. Want to come?”
I finagled permission from my parents, who were hacking away at shrubbery in the backyard, and we hopped in the station wagon, driving the fifteen minutes to Telegraph Avenue.
As Pete searched for a parking place, I took in the familiar sights: various street vendors along the sidewalk in front of restaurants and boutique stores, a group of long-haired hippies in tie-dyed clothing playing instruments on a corner, and a number of tourists snapping photos with their instamatic cameras. We drove by three record stores without a parking place in sight and soon dead-ended at the sprawling U.C. Berkeley campus. Pete turned right and slid into a spot one block up.
We held hands as we made our way back to Telegraph Avenue. We passed homeless people in front of a large department store. Pungent ethnic spices assaulted my nose, along with the mouth-watering scent wafting from Blondie’s Pizza. The distinct tone of a wooden guitar met my ears and moments later, the musician came into view. He sat on a cement stoop of a shop with strange objects in its display window.
“What are those?” I said.
“Pipes and bongs. You’ve never been in a head shop?”
I shook my head.
He steered me in. “Today’s the day.”
My nose wrinkled from the strong odor of incense, its drifting smoke crisscrossing with the few shards of light coming through the front windows. My eyes fought to acclimate in the dingy store, first spying the black light posters along the walls, followed by shelf upon shelf of drug paraphernalia. It screamed psychedelic between the bongs in every color of the rainbow and the glaring neon-colored art illuminated by the fluorescent tubes.
“How can they sell this stuff? Isn’t it illegal?” I whispered.
“It’s what goes into the pipe that’s against the law. These items are sold as multi-purpose. For instance, the bongs could be…vases.”
I guffawed. “There ain’t no flowers going in there.”
“Poppies maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“They make opium.”
“But that’s our state flower!”
“I don’t think anyone’s making opium out of the California poppy. It’s more of a South American crop.”
We browsed a little longer. Pete bought a pack of rolling papers, and we left. A block up, he steered me into Rasputin’s, which he called the quintessential record store. The vast selection of new and used records was prolific indeed. We walked to the rock section and he flipped through albums. I enjoyed the huge posters and read through all of the category sections: rock, pop, soul, funk, jazz, classical, blues, rhythm and blues, punk, reggae, Motown, salsa, country, bluegrass, Broadway and more. Music blared from well-placed speakers throughout the establishment. As usual, I was clueless about the artists. Hippie clerks roamed, helping customers, or worked the registers.
“This is exactly what I wanted,” said Pete, “Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy.”
I stared at the bizarre cover—silhouettes of naked kids crawling over rocks or something, the band’s name or logo strangely absent. “Freaky cover.”
“This art won a Grammy.”
I shook my head. “In the eye of the beholder, remember?”
Pete smirked. “When I play this, you won’t even recall the art, the music’s so mind-blowing. You wait.”
“What’s playing now, Mr. Know It All?”
He cocked an ear. “Sounds like Mahogany Rush.”
I huffed, secretly impressed.
“C’mon, I need one more.” He traveled up the row toward the beginning of the alphabet.
I shuffled along behind him. “Can we get pizza? I’m hungry.”
“Blondie’s?”
“Heck yeah.” I imagined the oozing cheese, tangy tomato sauce and sprinkle of oregano from a gigantic slice of pie I would gleefully struggle to negotiate with my two hands.
Pete stopped at the B section and rifled through it for a few minutes, pulling out Black Sabbath’s Technical Ecstasy album. I glanced at the cover, even more bewildered by its art than the other.
I held my hand up. “Don’t even try to explain.”
He laughed. “It’s not as bad as you think. Look again. Do you see two robots having sex?”
“Not by a long shot. I get the robots, but they look like they’re on escalators going opposite directions and one is killing the other. That is not sex.”
“Speaking of that.”
“Yes?”
“I was thinking we could date Friday night.
I have a plan.” I found his sly smile endearing.
“Sounds good.” A jolt of excitement pulsated through me.
§§
Pete wriggled out of a birthday party for one of Mrs. O’Reilly’s sisters on Friday evening, but unbeknownst to them, we planned to take full advantage of their absence.
I took special care getting ready for the big event. I showered, shaved my legs and underarms, and spread peach-scented lotion all over my body. After blow-drying my hair, I painted my fingernails a soft shade of pink. Digging in my dresser, I found the nicest underwear I owned and donned a flattering white halter-top with snug blue jeans. The contrast of the shirt against my tanned skin was striking. As Pete knocked at my door, I applied a coat of lipgloss, the finishing touch.
I hid my nervousness as he drove us back to his house, but my mind raced. I had no idea what to expect. My only history was Alec. Would it hurt again or be the blissful experience everyone alluded to, like in my steamy romance paperbacks?
As we walked to his front door, I tripped but caught myself. I let out a sigh of relief. “That could have been ugly.”
“Nothing you do could ever be construed as ugly.”
He unlocked the front door and we went inside. “Make yourself at home. I need a few minutes.”
The dining table set for two made my heart swell. He intended to make this a romantic evening. Pete busied himself in the kitchen while I gazed out the sliding glass doors at the backyard and pool, calm and still on this windless night.
He announced dinner, lighting two long tapers as I approached. He held my chair while I sat down then disappeared again. He returned with heaping plates of spaghetti and warm garlic bread.
“I know you’re Italian, but I think you’ll like it.”
“Everything looks so nice.” Warmth spread through me, tamping down the jitters in my gut.
Pete told me he’d be right back and was, with a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses in tow. The cork made a loud popping sound into his dishtowel. He poured us each a glass, spilling a little. I’m sure he was nervous, too.
“Thank you for this.”
He nodded, clinking his champagne with mine. “To us.”
“To us,” I repeated, taking a sip.
We talked through dinner, the candlelight casting a soft glow. I gazed at his handsome face, and a well of gratitude spread through me. We drank the rest of the champagne, stalling and waiting for it’s mood-altering magic to relax us.
The meal over, Pete led me down the hallway to his bedroom and shut the door. We undressed in silence, pausing now and again to grin at each other. We got in his bed, facing one another.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
I smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He stroked my body, his hand shaky. I followed suit, allowing my hands to roam across his curves and bumps. We kissed, tongues dancing as they explored. Our mouths took turns caressing each other’s bodies. Pulses quickened, our desire intensifying. He fumbled putting on the condom, and I diverted my gaze to make it less awkward. Ready, he positioned himself above me. We couldn’t help smiling at one another. For a split-second, I braced myself for pain, but it never came. Instead, it reminded me of a lock and key, fitting together like they belonged. I stared into his sage-colored eyes, intensity and pleasure mirroring back at me. The momentum built, Pete’s pace quickened, and he exploded. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment as his naked body blanketed mine.
He rolled on his back, sighing contentedly. One of his hands clasped mine as our breathing returned to normal.
I slid on my side, pressing my body against his, and stroked his chest.
“I love you,” he said.
I had never experienced that statement so fully. I loved Pete more than I was sure my heart could contain. “I love you.”
He peered at me pointedly. “You okay?”
“I’m better than okay. I’m…nearly speechless.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to be doing this a lot.” A wide grin crossed his face.
“Damn straight.”
We stayed in bed, talking and enjoying the sensation of our nude bodies against one another.
All too soon, and with reluctance, we dressed and cleaned up the kitchen, leaving no trace of our tryst except the musk on his bedroom sheets.
22
Day on the Green
Pete and I made love every chance we got. Most of the time, this meant in the back of the station wagon—not ideal or comfortable—or sometimes in our friends’ bedrooms at parties. He also drove me downtown to Planned Parenthood, which provided free birth control. Appointments were confidential with no parental consent required. I hid the pills from my parents, who voiced concern about my growing involvement with Pete. They had no reason for alarm; I was the epitome of responsible.
Only one other desire competed for my attention: driving. With driver’s education in the bag and my permit secured, I pestered everyone to let me drive their cars. I still had months to go until I could apply for my license, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t practice as long as an adult rode in the car, a detail the non-adults overlooked on occasion.
I did have one growing problem. Now that I spent all my time with Pete and his friends, Katy and Michelle accused me of abandoning them. They rightfully complained I was never around, saying I had dropped them in a flash for the first KSLB that came around (true), or that I ditched them for my newer, more popular friends (not true). It’s not that I didn’t care about them anymore, but they were no competition for my boyfriend. Unsure what to do, I ignored it, believing it would sort itself out.
I cheerfully shut off my alarm and got ready for my first Day on the Green, an all-day music festival featuring seven bands at the Oakland Coliseum. Boston headlined, but Sammy Hagar and Eddie Money were right under them in the lineup. I’d never gone to a concert of this magnitude, and hella mega super stoked was an understatement.
Pete arrived with Steve and his attractive girlfriend, Lindsey, in tow. We stood around waiting for the others. Jaime finally pulled up with Mary and Reese, the latter who slept soundly in the back. She rolled down her window, visibly testy.
“Rough night?” I said, nodding toward Reese.
“Who the hell knows? I doubt he ever went to sleep,” she said with disgust.
I laughed it off, hoping to lighten her mood. “Are you guys all set?”
“Don’t Look Back” by Boston boomed out of Jaime’s car stereo, and we screamed. Jaime cranked it up higher.
Reese bolted upright. “Turn that shit down!”
“Hell no,” she replied.
“That’s our cue to go,” I muttered to Pete. “Let’s roll.”
In Pete’s car, I scanned the local rock stations searching for the song. I found it just as it ended. The DJ announced, “You’re listening to 98.5 K-O-M-E, the KOME spot. You can catch Boston today at the Oakland Coliseum, but only if you hurry. There aren’t many tickets left so get your rear ends out of bed and down to the green.”
We arrived at the Coliseum in fifteen minutes and easily found parking. Now we had to wait to get into the arena. We nabbed our spot in line, downing beers and smoking weed just in case security confiscated it at the gate. People came and went from our home base, walking up and down the long line looking for friends. Two hours later, the arena opened and the line started moving. We finally reached the front of the line, where a couple of unsmiling men with ponytails searched us and granted access to the promised land.
We ran to claim our spot of “green,” a patch of lawn in the center of the gigantic field used for athletic events, and set up camp with our blankets and backpacks. The arena was half-full, with most groups staking their claim on the grass and others choosing to sit in the surrounding stadium seats. Rock music blared from massive speakers, interrupted by roadies performing the occasional sound check. The excitement and energy in the arena was palpable even though the show wouldn’t start for another hour.
>
Pete and I shared a blanket. He fetched his smuggled reefer and papers out of his bag and rolled a joint. I reclined, watching him expertly turn the loose leaves into a cigarette. Since getting back together with Pete, weed and alcohol had become a regular part of our social life. I’d come to enjoy the no-worries-in-the-world, blissed-out highs, but I monitored the situation. I didn’t want to develop a habit. I intended to continue controlling it, not the other way around.
Pete asked if I wanted a superhit, and I nodded. He inhaled deeply and leaned over until his lips nearly touched mine. As he exhaled, I sucked the smoke in and held it before slowly blowing it out.
From behind us, Reese let out a suggestive whoop. I smiled his direction, took another hit off the joint and lay back down on the blanket. Pete took a few more tokes and handed it to Reese, who quickly inhaled the remainder.
“The weather is perfect for a Day on the Green. Look at that blue sky!” I said.
“That cloud looks like a giant ant,” Pete said.
“It totally does!” I turned around to the others. “You guys, check it out. See the ant? Isn’t that hella trippy?”
“You’re on drugs. I don’t see anything,” Jaime said.
We were on drugs.
“Hey assholes!” yelled a familiar voice.
We turned to see Tez and Jim walking toward us, zigzagging around all the blankets blocking their path.
“What’s up, Paisano?” Jim said.
“The sky.”
“Girl, you are tripping. Look at your eyes.”
I flicked my thumb in Pete’s direction. “He’s responsible.”
“Break it out, brother,” Tez said. “And loan me five bucks for some chow.” We laughed. Tez was notoriously broke.
Pete rolled another joint, which the boys inhaled in two minutes. With a pleasant buzz going, I didn’t smoke anymore. I kicked back, enjoying the sights and smells. I closed my eyes, bathing in the sun’s warmth until jarred from my stupor by the arrival of popular cuties Jake Miller and Manny Rodriguez. Jake winked at me then sat down next to Mary. I guess they were friends, or whatever they were, again.
Falling Page 13