Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  I nodded, and with a mountain of regret watched her pull away from me.

  Beatriz

  My aches intensified as I walked, but I didn’t mind. I turned on the shower and looked in the mirror for signs that I was as different on the outside as I was on the inside. Same me, yet it wasn’t. I could see a rare happiness and tranquility etched across my face, and I loved that I felt both because of Ben.

  Ben

  She came out wrapped in a towel and I knew I’d never seen anything more perfect in all my life. Desire got the better of me and I stood up and engulfed her in my arms and tried to ease the towel off of her, but she pulled away. My arms dangled pointlessly and I nearly lost it. What was all of last night about if we were just going to return to this absurd tug of war?

  But then she shook her head, smiling the cutest embarrassed smile, and kissed the under part of my chin. “Sorry, Ben, but I’m afraid I’m going to be an idiot a bunch more,” she said. “I have to get used to this.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, and it was.

  “Breakfast?” she asked.

  I wanted to drag her back to the bed, but I got the sense that she needed a break and I really was starving.

  Beatriz

  The strip of a town had a gun store, a motel, a coffee shop and a coin operated laundry. We definitely stood out, but no one did more than nod or a shrug before going back to whatever they were doing.

  The day had an after-Christmas feel to it — a fading glow, a fresh memory of joy just past, a sadness that you’d have to wait a whole year for it to happen again, and a wondering if it was worth all the effort and anticipation. Then Ben squeezed my hand and the melancholy of the day became someone else’s problem.

  “Are you running from or running to something?” asked the waitress whose uniform was an unfortunate shade of orange polyester and seemed like it hadn’t fit her in quite some time.

  We look at each other. “Kind of both,” I answered.

  Satisfied, the woman extended her plump arm and gave us one menu to share. “Our coffee’s not gourmet, but it’s hot. Can I get you any?”

  We both said yes.

  I sighed. “I don’t want to go back. We’ve been driving so fast to get back home, and I don’t even want to face what’s waiting there. It all seems like too much right now. I want this here to last a little longer.”

  Ben wrapped a strand of my hair around his fingers. “So let’s stay.”

  “Here?” I asked looking around at the sorry non-town.

  “Not necessarily here, but let’s see stuff. The Grand Canyon. Or Vegas. Or Monument Valley. Those are all on our way.”

  I wanted to but I didn’t think I could, so I didn’t really answer. I was feeling awful about not having called my family, but this place and this moment were good and I didn’t want to ruin it.

  We ate and went back to our room, and when the door opened and I looked at the rumpled bed that we had shared, I felt like hamsters had been let loose in my skin. Now what? The possibility of sleeping together was there in a way it hadn’t been before, and I wasn’t sure what I was expected to do.

  Ben

  Her darting eyes and clenched fists broke the mood. “You okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I knew she was lying. “We can take off if you want,” I said. “You didn’t sleep much, though, so if you’re tired we can lie down and sleep and not even touch. Or we can. Whatever, B.” Now I was lying. I felt pressure building. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to the bed, but I didn’t want to scare her more than she was clearly scaring herself. But it sucked. I had to wait. Again.

  “I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what I’m worried about,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m just . . . kind of afraid that this is all we’re going to be, or that the second time won’t be as . . . I don’t know.”

  I took her chin and turned her face to me. “The rest doesn’t go away because we sleep together.”

  “Then how come so many couples we know are just about sex?”

  “We were friends first, B. It makes a difference.” My mouth twisted in an attempt not to smile. “As for the second time . . . no way to find out unless we try.”

  Beatriz

  The boy had a way with words, so I was charmed back into his arms.

  An hour later, there was a knock at the door. We looked at each other. Was it past checkout? Did housekeeping need to get in?

  Ben threw on some clothes and answered.

  He opened the door, and a police officer was standing there. “Benjamin Richardson?”

  “Yeah.”

  The officer’s hands were grabbing him and spinning him and throwing him against the door.

  “What the—”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” the officer began and I was fumbling to get on a t-shirt and was shouting along with Ben, asking what was happening. But by the time I got pants on, Ben had already been shoved into the car.

  “Hey!” I shouted, slipping my shoes on and grabbing my keys. I followed the squad car twenty miles down the highway.

  At the station, I bolted out of my car and to the front desk. “My boyfriend was just arrested!” I shouted at a balding man who looked like he did not want to be disturbed.

  He set down his paper coffee cup slowly and pursed his lips. “What’d he do?”

  “I have no idea!” Had he stolen a car? Robbed a bank? Murdered someone? There was no way, so what was going on?

  The man leaned his chin on his palm slowly. So slowly. “What’s his name?”

  “Ben. Ben Richardson.”

  At a snail’s pace, he reached for the mouse and clicked a few times. “Says here . . . kidnapping.”

  “What?” My mind reeled. “Who?”

  “Let’s see. Uh . . .”

  I was ready to leap over the desk and see for myself.

  “A girl. Beatrice Rah-jus.”

  “Row-has. I’m Beatriz Rojas and I haven’t been kidnapped.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Well, someone thinks you have been.”

  All the blood drained from my head. My parents. God! I reached into my bag and turned on my phone for the first time in three days. Twenty-three messages were waiting for me, and dozens of texts. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Sir,” I said, unable to see clearly because my pulse was pounding so hard in my eyes, “is there someone I can talk to about this?”

  “I suppose,” he said, and reached slowly, so slowly, for the phone. “I’ve got a Beatrice Roh-jus out here and she’d like to talk to someone about the Richardson fella.”

  I looked at my phone, thinking I should listen, but with twenty-three messages waiting, it was going to take a while.

  An older man in uniform came out. “You say you’re Beatriz Rojas?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, rushing forward.

  “We had a complaint of kidnapping.”

  “Yes, but you can see I’m fine.”

  He asked for ID, and looking at it, said, “You’re over eighteen. I’m surprised—” He stopped himself. “Carl!”

  He waved me through the door and we went back to a small booking room and I saw Ben in the one cell with a scary looking guy whose neck was tattooed. Ben leapt off the bench and came to the bars.

  “Carl,” said the officer, “did you talk to the girl before you brought this kid in?”

  A younger officer, Carl, I presumed, looked at me with some shock. “Is that her?”

  “Yes!” said the officer with not a little exasperation. “She said she hasn’t been kidnapped at all. And she’s not a minor. And she’s perfectly fine.”

  Carl scratched the back of his head. “Well, I thought—”

  “No ya didn’t! You never think, which is why you’ve made three false arrests this month. You and I will have to talk, but let’s let Mr. Richardson out of there first.”

  Ben

  I didn’t know who I wanted to kill first. Why hadn’t I insisted B call her parents? Why had
I kept my phone off, too? Christ. Was this staying on my record? Would colleges take an accused kidnapper? I swear to God, if it was B’s mom, I was gonna — What? Nothing. I would do nothing. But damn it. Friggin’ Carl and friggin’ B and friggin’ everything.

  “Sorry about that,” said the officer B’d come in with.

  I nodded so I wouldn’t curse him out.

  He opened the cell and explained, “You need to sign a couple of papers and then you’re free to go.”

  B touched my arm but I pulled away.

  In five minutes we were in the parking lot and I was trying my damnedest not to yell at her. “Call your mother, B.”

  “I’m—”

  “Call. Your. Mother.”

  She hesitated and looked really pained, but I didn’t want to feel bad for her. I felt bad. My turn. I had just been thrown in a goddamned jail cell with a possible murderer and definite freak all because B wouldn’t turn on her friggin’ phone. Jesus.

  “Give me the keys,” I said. “You call, I drive.”

  She fumbled around in her bag and finally handed me the keys. When she opened her mouth to tell me something, I said again, “Call.”

  Beatriz

  Like I didn’t already feel bad enough?

  I dialed and my mother picked up. “Beatríz?”

  “Yeah. It’s me, Mamá.”

  A long pause. And then she unleashed her fury. “I have been calling you for days. Days! After what happened to Hope, I would assume you’d be a little sensitive, but no. You acted more stupid and selfish than you have in your entire life! You missed the funeral. You missed the reception, and you disappeared with that — that boy you insist you have feelings for when he’s nothing but a worthless son of an actor.”

  That last part didn’t even make sense, but the rest was true. I didn’t know what to say.

  She went on. “You want to throw your future away by getting pregnant or worse, then fine, but the least you could do was let us know you weren’t dead! Can you imagine what we thought? Days with no word. Days! You were worried when Hope vanished and then you did the same. Worse even, because you went with a boy we hardly know.”

  I felt my resolve sliding away. “B-because you won’t get to know him.”

  Hurt coating every word, she said, “I thought you’d at least call last night, since it was Christmas. When you didn’t, I was sure something was wrong. That’s when I finally convinced your father that we should call the police.”

  “Ben was arrested, Mamá.”

  “Ben.” She said his name like it was something dirty.

  “Yes, Ben. I love him.”

  “Please. He deserves to be in jail.”

  “Why?”

  “For corrupting you.”

  “He didn’t corrupt me!” I was quaking so hard I could barely move my jaw to talk. “I’m–I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. But this was exactly why I did it! You never let up! When I don’t do exactly what you want, you yell at me and make me feel bad. For once I just wanted to be free of you!”

  Holy crap. I couldn’t believe I said that to her. The truth had come flying out of my mouth and I wanted to stuff it back in. Sort of.

  “Free of me?” I heard her voice catch, and my stomach flipped. Softer still, she repeated, “Free of me?” She was quiet for almost a full minute, every second that ticked by intensifying my regret. And then the phone went dead.

  Ben

  I looked at her with disbelief. “You did not just say all of that to your mother.”

  B looked sheepish and nodded. Her phone rang and she stared at her parents’ number lighting up the screen. She let it ring and ring. “B, maybe you should get that.” Visions of jail cells were dancing in my head.

  It stopped.

  Then my phone, which I had just turned back on, rang. I locked eyes with B as I pulled it out of my pocket then turned back to the road.

  “Ben,” said Mr. Rojas, “my wife is hysterical. I trusted you.”

  I felt like I might puke. “You can still trust me, sir. I’ve been here for your daughter while she’s been upset, and—”

  “You left the funeral.”

  Did he not remember why? “Yeah, because B’s uncle nearly killed my friend. Someone had to go to the hospital with Clay.” I didn’t mention that my own face still hurt where Coach had punched me.

  Mr. Rojas didn’t want to hear it. He went on about respect and sin and depravity and responsibility. I considered hanging up, but I didn’t want to make it worse. When he finished with, “I don’t know what else to say,” I replied, “I tried every day to have B call you, by the way. She didn’t want to. I kinda see why.”

  I shouldn’t have said it, but I was pissed.

  B made a little gasp, but clapped her lips shut.

  After hanging up, I said, “Jesus, B. You sure have a flair for the dramatic.” I wasn’t sure if I thought this was great or horrible, but it didn’t matter. It was B and I planned to love her no matter what. Didn’t mean I wasn’t still pissed.

  Beatriz

  Every bit of peace I’d felt was gone. When we got back to the motel, we packed quickly and loaded the car. Not a kiss, not a kind word, not a look back. Nothing.

  I drove so he could call his own family, and their conversation wasn’t much better. They wouldn’t have noticed or cared that he had vanished except that his brother, Alex, had been arrested on Christmas Eve and they wanted Ben to fly to Chicago to bail him out and bring him home. Ben refused. After much blustering by his father, his older brother grabbed the phone and told Ben not to sweat it. He thought Alex ought to stay locked up and get clean in jail.

  “Merry Goddamn Christmas,” Ben grumbled.

  I reached for his hand but he pulled away.

  Ben

  It was amazing that my arrest wasn’t news. My brother wasn’t so lucky. Tabloids loved to show him strung out, and regular news stations had gotten in on the action about a year earlier when Alex had gotten worse. It was really unfair. My brothers and I didn’t sign up for the fame thing, and we couldn’t escape it. Anything that went wrong became news because of my father. My father who was usually in some exotic locale filming or on a press junket. My father who hadn’t noticed anything good I’d done. Ever.

  I started to wonder how B’s parents were going to hurt me for taking their daughter. And they didn’t know about my connection to the video. Not yet. I prayed like hell they never would.

  I didn’t want to ruin this time on the road, though. We had a few more hours of peace. And then we’d see.

  Beatriz

  Eventually, I could hear Ben’s breathing slow and he stopped holding the wheel so hard and he looked over and gave a half smile. I could finally relax.

  As we approached Las Vegas, he asked, “So one last stop?”

  The garish lights and replicas of buildings didn’t draw me in, but I didn’t want to let him down if he wanted to go.

  His eyes twinkled. “What do people do in Vegas?”

  “Gamble. We’re too young to get in to any casinos.”

  “No, they get married. Let’s do it. Let’s make an honest woman out of you.”

  I hesitated for a second. He was kidding. He had to be kidding. No seniors who weren’t pregnant or insane got married, right? And then I saw the smile hiding in the corner of his mouth and I knew it was a joke.

  Two could play at that, so I put on my most earnest face. “Oh my God, really, Ben? You would do that for me? I was kind of afraid to tell my parents about . . . you know. But if we’re married they’ll be cool about it. Should we go with Elvis or something more traditional?”

  “Uh . . .”

  To make him squirm more — and I was loving the look of panic on his face already — I looked out my window and studied the passing buildings. “Ben! There’s a 24-hour chapel next exit. Let’s do it.” I leaned over and kissed his bad cheek and said, “I love you for this!”

  It took all of my self-control not to bust up when I noticed his pink ears
and the little beads of sweat that sprang up on his forehead.

  “Should we buy clothes or do you think they rent them? I wonder if they spray the tuxes and veils with the stuff they use at the bowling alley for the shoes—” But I couldn’t keep going, and after I began to giggle, he started to laugh.

  “Jesus,” he gasped. “You almost had me ready to—” He wiped his eyes.

  “You started it.” I smiled and he took my hand.

  Ben

  We were on her street before midnight.

  “See you tomorrow?” I asked.

  “You’d better. My folks are gone at eight.”

  “Eight-o-one, then?”

  I smiled.

  “I love you, B.”

  “I love you, Ben. This week sucked, but . . . but it didn’t. Because of you.” He straightened up and smiled, and I kissed him and let my lips drift across his cheek before I opened the door. The familiar warm, jasmine-scented air encased me, and I’d never found it less welcoming. Not even a rejection from Harvard would weigh me down more than having to leave this car.

  My parents were in the doorway. They were lit mostly from behind so I couldn’t see their expressions, but I could imagine.

  Ben pulled his keys from his bag and unlocked his own car, which had been in the driveway since the morning we’d left.

  “Want me to come in with you?” he asked.

  He was crazy to offer, but sweet. I shook my head, sighed, and held my bag against me as Ben pulled away.

  * * *

  “What will you do now that your son has been found guilty?” a reporter asks.

  “Go back to work,” Mr. Richardson says plainly.

  14

  Beatriz Garcia Rojas Happy F-ing New Year.

  Ben

  I was at Peter’s listening to him tell the little crowd he’d invited over about the black diamond trail he skied in Gstaad. It did sound like fun, but it also made me think of being cold, which reminded me of Newport and of B and how much I missed her, and it was too depressing. B hadn’t been allowed to come out for New Year’s. Actually, B hadn’t been allowed to come out for anything, and I’d been banned from her house. I hadn’t seen her in five days and every one of them had sucked.