It was cruel to torture her this way. But it was also kind of fun. "Hold on a minute," I instructed her. "I'll walk you to your car."
She watched apprehensively as I threw on a pair of jeans and fumbled with the zipper. My post-fuck dexterity was never impressive. I pulled a T-shirt over my head, then walked over to where she stood and took her by the arm. Her whole body tightened in response. "Ready whenever you are," I said cheerfully.
Her walk was so fast that I quickly gave up on trying to match it and just let her pull me along with her. I let go of her when she reached her car. Looking intensely relieved, she threw open the door, jumped inside and sped off, flinging gravel against my legs.
I stood there blinking in the sunlight as an unmistakable (and ungodly) noise filled my head. A gigantic oil-burning, noise-polluting truck turned onto my driveway, going almost as fast as Mary's Corvette had left. It missed me by an uncomfortably small margin and ground to a stop.
Amber leapt down from her seat in an instant. "What the fuck are you doing standing in the middle of your driveway?! I almost ran you down, you idiot!"
"I noticed."
Amber shook her head in disapproval. "And was that Mary I saw on my way here? What the hell did you do to her? She must've been going 80!"
"I threatened her with a nice cuddle. You know how she is."
"That is one weird chick," Amber agreed. "And doesn't she know that you can see right through her shirt?"
"I guess not. And I'm sure not gonna tell her."
"Me neither. Are you kidding?" Amber looked around the yard, her forehead wrinkling. "Wait a minute. Where's your truck? Where's Vegas?"
"That's not important." I studied Amber. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be working?"
Amber's hand flew to her mouth. "Ohmygod. I almost forgot. I quit my job this morning." Her eyes sparkled. "I feel so free! It's unbelievable." Her smile faded abruptly. "Except I have no way to pay my rent."
She was talking too fast, and giving me too much information. And now she was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something profound. No chance of that happening. I cleared my throat awkwardly, stalling for time. "Amber. I just had sex. Give me a minute."
"THAT'S ALL YOU CAN SAY? I just quit my job! I don't know what I‘m gonna do! This is important, damn it!" I could sense the fear in her voice as she berated me.
She made a move to storm off, and I caught her by the arm. "Wait," I said gently. "We'll figure this out."
She softened. My words were generic, but at least they were genuine. "Give me a ride to the LPC so Wilson doesn't repo my horse. Then we'll talk."
She agreed to my plan, and I climbed into the cab of Amber's truck with some foreboding. "Don't drive too fast," I pleaded as I buckled my seat belt.
Amber snorted. "You crack me up, dude." The engine roared to life, and the truck accelerated with surprising (and frightening) enthusiasm. Off we sped down the dirt road.
“You’re going to run over those chickens,” I pointed out. My neighbor Mandy let her chickens live free, and they were scratching, taking dust baths and having good, chicken fun in the middle of the road.
Amber rolled her eyes. “No I won’t. They’ll get out of the way.”
“At least honk your horn at them,” I suggested feebly. “Give them some warning.”
“My horn doesn’t work. I think I wore it out.” Amber grinned at me. “Besides, you can hear this truck from seventeen miles away. They’ve had plenty of warning.”
“Then why aren’t they running for it?”
“Because they’re stupid, mindless chickens, for fuck’s sake! What is wrong with you?” Amber rolled down her window and stuck her head out. “HEY, STUPID CHICKENS! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY, OR EAT MY TIRES!”
The chickens scattered, flapping, squawking, and duck-and-covering. I glanced in the rearview mirror as we left Mandy’s chickens in the dust, relieved to see that none of them had become flat and bloody. “Looks like you missed.”
“I told you so.” Amber glared at me. “Now do you think you can shut up and stop worrying?”
“Maybe. If you slow down.”
I spent the rest of the drive sitting in silence, with Amber’s middle finger in close proximity to my head.
Amber parked in between Mary’s Corvette and a Porsche, and I went off in search of my truck and trailer. Everything was packed already except for Vegas, so I went to get him. He looked disappointed to be taken away from the grass, but he loaded easily. My keys were on the driver’s seat, where I’d left them. People with sports cars don’t steal old Ford F-350s.
I heard the unmistakable sound of Wilson clearing his throat behind me and turned around. “Did you have a nice time with Barbara? Thanks for letting me play on your field. I’m leaving now.”
Wilson had a pained look on his face. “Mary?” His voice was incredulous, with an undertone of jealousy.
“Oh. Yeah. That.” My hope of a clean get-away shriveled and died. “How’d you figure that one out?”
“She arrived an hour late to our appointment this morning. And her shirt was buttoned wrong.”
“Oh.” I scrambled, trying to think of a way to ease the awkwardness. “Have you noticed that you can see right through her shirt?”
Amber guffawed behind my back. “Smooth. Real smooth.”
Wilson refused to look at me just then. His gaze shifted to Amber. “And I suppose you’re sleeping with him, too.”
I shook my head, glad to be able to correct Wilson, for once. “No. She’s gay.”
Immediately, I felt Amber stiffen behind me. “I’m in the closet, you idiot,” she hissed.
“Oh.” Now things were really awkward. “Good thing Wilson doesn’t talk, right? I’m sure he’ll keep it to himself.”
“Unlike some people.” Wilson and Amber said this in unison.
Amber beat me home, and paced around my yard as I unloaded Vegas and all my gear. After witnessing Harry and Vegas' joyful reunion (Harry nickered throatily at Vegas, then kicked him viciously when Vegas tried to graze in his patch of clover), I walked back to my front porch, where Amber sat, immobile, staring off into space.
I sat down beside her. I could tell that the thrill had worn off, and only the consequences remained, yet to be dealt with. "Hey," I said softly. "Scared shitless?"
Amber's mouth shaped itself into a semblance of a smile. "Pretty much." Her head dropped into her hands. "I couldn't stand it anymore, you know? After what happened to Soiree…things didn’t get any better. And they’re not going to. I didn't want to be a part of it. I took a stand. And look where it got me." She was shaking a little, so I pulled her close, shoving down the feelings and memories this action called up.
Amber was strong. She was resilient. She recovered quickly, and slipped away from my arms. "I guess I could live on the street," she said, without any revulsion or shame. "It's almost summer, so I won't get cold."
"But you will get gang raped," I pointed out.
Amber gave me a dark look. "I’ve done it before, smartass, and guess what? Nothing ever happened to me.”
“What’d you do, sleep with a machine gun?”
“I didn’t sleep. But I made it work. And I’ll do it again.” She stared resolutely at the towering maple that stood by my barn.
"I'm not letting you live on the street, Amber. It's a terrible idea, and it's not your only option."
"Oh really?” Amber’s dark, slim eyebrows shot up. “What, exactly, is my other option? Do tell!"
"You can live here with me until you find another job."
As Amber stared at me in shock, I was pretty sure my expression mirrored hers. "Are you serious?" she asked, now looking hopeful yet distrustful.
"Of course," I said. What else is there to say?
"But are you...okay with this? I mean, it hasn't been very long..."
"Since I spilled my guts? Amber don't worry about that. I'm totally fine."
Sometimes I wished I were worse a
t lying. Amber smiled, and threw her arms around me. She was radiant, like an angel. If angels wore grey hooded sweatshirts and cargo pants three sizes too big, that is. "Thank you," she whispered in my ear. "You're such a wonderful friend."
I clung to Amber. I clung to the moment. It was painful to hold her this way, but I suddenly realized that while what I'd done with Mary that same morning was just a vaguely satisfying blur, this moment was unforgettable, and somehow perfect.
Amber
My truck barreled down the dirt road, occasionally skidding sideways on the washboard-like surface. I glanced around at the scenery. Hay fields. Lots of them. Occasionally there was a small farmhouse and a barn with some sort of livestock scattered around it. Up ahead, I saw a bunch of little white things milling around in the road. I squinted. That chick’s fucking chickens are out again. I pounded the horn with my fist. All it could manage was a defeated little squeak. Of course. You wore it out. Duh.
I watched the little white things get bigger and wondered if they would be smart enough to run in time. I had serious doubts. I didn’t feel like screaming at them again, which was weird because normally I’d never miss a chance to scream at something. But I was feeling pretty chill, so I figured the roar of the Harley (not to mention the pounding bass of Lady Gaga pouring from my stereo) was enough of a warning for the chickens. If they were too stupid to get the fuck out of the way, they deserved a swift, crunching death underneath my tires.
As the Harley drew perilously close to the chickens, they began running for their lives. I listened to their frantic squawking, and my foot lightened on the gas pedal. The Harley slowed. I gave up on my tough stance against stupid chickens and stomped on the brake. The Harley ground to a stop, reluctantly.
"Everybody clear?" I yelled out the window. The flock was bobbing around in the grass by the side of the road now, so I stepped on the gas again and didn't look back.
I made a hasty left turn into Lawrence’s driveway and shut down the Harley. As I threw open the door and made the leap onto solid ground from the driver’s seat, Lawrence stepped out onto his porch. He smiled beatifically at me. I shot him a quick glare as I headed back to the tailgate.
After using brute force to get my tailgate down, I stared at the momentarily overwhelming mess before me. Clothes, CDs, electronics and various foodstuffs. All. Over. The. Fucking. Place. Unbelievable. Shaking my head, I crawled into the bed of the Harley. Lawrence chose this moment to amble over and peer in at me. “Maybe you should have tied it down,” he suggested unhelpfully.
“Maybe you should go fuck yourself,” I snapped.
He snickered. I raised an eyebrow. You’re gonna regret that. I picked up my studded belt with the huge-ass buckle I took from an ex and threw it at him. It hit the side of his head with an incredibly satisfying “clunk”.
“Ouch,” he complained.
"Quit whining and help me move this crap, okay?" I slid a box of CDs toward the tailgate.
He picked it up without protest. He was well trained. I watched as he carried it off. “Be careful with those,” I hollered. “My tunes keep me sane.”
“Relatively speaking.” I saw him duck, but he was out of range. Damn it all.
Within fifteen minutes, I had moved in, my stuff haphazardly placed around the furniture and piles of stuff already present. “You really should have this organized better,” I said, gesturing at the drifts of tack, clothes, paper and God knows what else. “You don’t have nearly enough square footage in here to accommodate such a fucking mess.”
Lawrence shot me a wounded look. “I have a system here. You just don’t understand it.”
“That’s because it’s completely inscrutable.”
“Definition, please? It sounds dirty, whatever it means.” He threw me one of those panty-dropping grins of his, and, as always, looked completely befuddled when it failed to affect me.
“Inscrutable? Dirty?” I shook my head at him. “Cleaning up your mind would take four gallons of straight bleach and electroshock therapy.” I stalked into the kitchen, disgusted.
The cupboards revealed more varieties of chips than I’d thought existed. I turned to the refrigerator in search of real food. I wrenched open the door and stared blankly at the contents. The levels of sugar in there were staggering. The only exception was a package of bacon. Oh, and some ground beef in the freezer, nearly hidden behind a cookies ‘n cream ice cream cake. I returned to the fridge and stared down my options. I selected a can of whipped cream, then paused. Wait a sec. This is Lawrence’s. My face contorted as I considered where and how it might have been used. I shuddered, and swiftly returned it.
I was washing my hands in the kitchen sink when Lawrence appeared at my side. “How’s it going?” He asked me, voice full of cheer and cluelessness.
“There is nothing to eat in this fucking house,” I snarled at him. “I am going to have to go shopping. How do you think it’s going?”
He looked a bit surprised, but not at all alarmed. “What d’you mean, there’s nothing to eat? Haven’t you looked around in here?”
“Of course I’ve looked around in here! I’m not an idiot.” I glared at him and his look of bewilderment. “I’m not eating any of that processed crap and sugar goo. I can’t believe you actually live on that shit. You’re going to be in a diabetic coma by the time you’re 25.” I stomped off, reaching the living room in about three strides and collapsing on the sofa.
He followed me. “I could fry up some bacon, then…”
I leapt off the sofa as if fired from a cannon. “I DON’T EAT MEAT!” I yelled in his face. I began to storm off, but froze in mid-stride at the diminutive “ding” of the doorbell. “Who the hell could that be?” I spat.
Lawrence strode over to the door and opened it as the rage simmered, crackled and popped in my veins. This action revealed a short, round, middle-aged redhead with hungry eyes. They darted around the room, taking in my presence and possessions. Then they came to Lawrence, and there they stayed. The bile rose up in my throat. I turned away. Who is this chick?
“Hi, Mandy,” I heard Lawrence say brightly.
“Well, hello again, neighbor boy,” the chick called Mandy said. You couldn’t saw through her accent with a steak knife.
“What brings you to my front porch?” He asked her.
Despite my best intentions, I glanced at Mandy. The look on her face said, Oh, honey, you know exactly why I’m here. “Well, Chuck is leaving town, so I thought I’d see if you had any plans for tonight. But you obviously do,” she said, glancing at me.
Lawrence’s head whipped around. I fought the urge to give him the finger. “Oh, I don’t think you two have met. Mandy, this is my friend Amber.” He said the word friend as if it were italicized. And underlined. And in huge capitol letters. “Amber, this is Mandy. My neighbor.”
My eyes narrowed. I didn’t like introductions. Or people. And I really didn’t like Mandy. “Hey,” I said stiffly. “Who the hell is Chuck?” I added.
Any normal, decent sort of woman would have been embarrassed. But Mandy simply waved her hand as if to dislodge a small winged insect from her bosom. “He’s my fiancé. We’re in an open relationship.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t seek my approval. And for some reason, that really pissed me off.
My mouth opened again without any pre-planning on my part. “Aren’t you a little old to be in an open relationship?”
Lawrence looked alarmed. Mandy didn’t. “Aren’t you too pretty to be such an angry little bitch?”
Lawrence wisely darted through the door. My mouth hung open ineffectively. Comebacks failed me. Mandy smirked and swaggered out the door. I struck the door frame savagely with my fist and didn’t even feel it.
When my head began to clear, I picked up Lawrence’s wallet, started up the Harley and drove to the supermarket to buy something edible that didn’t once have thoughts or feelings. When I got back, Lawrence was heading out. I ignored his friendly wave. With the house to myself, I blasted La
dy Gaga on the stereo and made a salad. Not for the first time, I wondered if normal people derive infinite pleasure from impaling spinach and iceberg lettuce on a fork, or if I was alone that way too.
Lawrence
Not two seconds after Amber finished screaming at me, the doorbell sounded off. Amber stopped dead. “Who the hell could that be?”
I quickly covered the distance and grasped the doorknob. I didn’t really care who it was. Unless Paul Miller had decided to visit me (somewhat less likely than money raining down from the sky), it was bound to be a friendlier face than Amber’s was at the moment. The moving-in process wasn’t going all that well, which I should have anticipated. I knew Amber better than anyone else, maybe including Amber. She always had to push people away so she could be angry when they didn’t stand by her, when they disappointed her. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Self-destructive patterns rarely do.
I opened the door. It was indeed a friendly face. “Hi, Mandy,” I said, relief unclenching my jaw.
Mandy smiled. Her sundress clung to her hips. “Well, hello again, neighbor boy,” she said.
I looked her over in a way that let her catch me doing it. “What brings you to my front porch?” I smiled crookedly.
Mandy’s lust-filled look mirrored mine. My pulse revved a bit. “Well, Chuck is leaving town, so I thought I’d see if you had any plans for tonight. But you obviously do,” she said. Her eyes darted behind me.
It took me a second to remember that Amber was there. I turned my head. Amber gave me the Death Stare. It looked like she wanted to give me the finger, also. My brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at that point, but I still realized how delicate the situation was. And how ugly it could get. Keep it simple. Just introduce them, and hope for the best.
Training Harry Page 14