Finders Keepers

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Finders Keepers Page 4

by Karin Kallmaker


  “Milk’s good for us, ’Rissa. C’mon, give us a taste.”

  The pack made smooching-sucking noises and that was when she got it. She turned on her heel, books clutched across her chest.

  It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked for them to grow.

  They just did.

  Boobs mashed hard against the cliff face, Marissa felt the punch of that old familiar resentment. She didn’t hate them any longer, but for the middle and high school years she’d loathed her bust.

  They’d ruined her slow pitch and left her feeling graceless. Every catcall, lewd gesture and rude remark had been like a slap. She hadn’t been able to walk down a hallway without some boy saying something crude, that is, until she was a sophomore in high school and some of the other girls had finally caught up. They finally grew breasts too—those pretty, conventional girls who didn’t like math or computers and thought everything boys did was cool.

  Her arms were screaming for relief. There were only two more handholds left to go but the light made it hard to see them and gauge the distance. She knew if she fell now she’d break something and die because there was no doctor up there nor some genius who would figure out how to give her blood transfusions with a ball-point pen.

  “That’s right,” Linda crooned. “You’re doing fantastic. Nearly here. One more and I can help. Fabulous, just one more.”

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  “Just one more cookie, Mom, come on.” Marissa eyed the perfect oatmeal chocolate chip rounds and reached for the closest.

  Her mother slapped her hand back. “Your waistline is bigger than your bust these days. You look sloppy enough. How are you going to get a date for the prom looking like that?”

  “Who said I wanted to go?”

  “Of course you want to go.” Her mother shook the rest of the cookies into the storage jar. “You’re not a real girl if you don’t.”

  Marissa wondered if her mother suspected she wasn’t a real girl.

  She didn’t like the things other girls liked—the most important of which was boys. She didn’t like boys. That didn’t make her gay like dad, she told herself.

  “I’ll get Jean to ask her son. You like Darren, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “He’s a little quiet but he’ll be a lawyer some day, just like his father. You’re suited to each other, I guess.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m suited to a nerd?”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “I’m not being mean, Mom. I’m a nerd. I like some nerds.”

  “You are not a nerd. Don’t say that.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Mom.” Marissa gave another hard push with her legs, sobbing for air. She couldn’t control the shaking in her arms. Soon she was going to lose her grip and fall anyway. After all this work, that would be a shame.

  I am a nerd, Marissa repeated to herself. I like talking to machines and working on my own. I like who I am, even though my mother hates every bit of me. She doesn’t even know I’m gay and she doesn’t like anything about me. Short of wearing pink and not putting out until some guy gave her a ring, nothing she ever did would make her mother happy.

  You just figured out something important, she told herself. You need to remember that. But she had no energy to write a letter to herself at the moment.

  She ought to tell her mother that after getting drunk at the prom, Darren hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer. She’d known what he was thinking. Fat girls appreciate any kind of 31

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  attention. He hadn’t really believed her until she’d caught his hard penis in the zipper of his pants and then leaned on it with every ounce she could, watching him turn purple.

  She was angry about that night, even all these years later. Angry at her mother for making her go and at Darren for touching her, trying to put her hand on his dick and sticking his tongue in her mouth.

  “One more, come on,” Linda called.

  She was angry at Linda but she supposed Linda didn’t deserve that.

  What she was really angry about was having to climb this cliff while she had to pee, damn it. She didn’t know yet who she was angry with about all the Oreos she’d eaten in college but she’d find someone to blame.

  “You can’t do this,” her mother whispered.

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Mom.”

  “Come on, one more!” Linda looked anxious now.

  Marissa realized as hard as she was stretching for it, she couldn’t quite reach that last handhold. Her other hand felt numb and suddenly there was air between her and the cliff face.

  She looked up at Linda but breathing was more than she could manage. Talking was out of the question. The world went a kind of shivery yellow.

  “Don’t you dare!” Linda shouted. “Don’t you even dare. Get your butt up here!”

  She had no breath to say, “I can’t.” Then she felt a hand brushing up her thigh, then pushing on her butt. She had no breath to scream, “Don’t touch me!”

  The pounding in her ears was split by a flash of white-hot rage.

  She lifted herself out of the reach of that terribly personal hand, recalling just in time she was in no position to kick at it too.

  Linda suddenly seemed much closer, then her hands closed around Marissa’s wrists. Marissa grunted as she tried to find the energy for another surge up the cliff side but nothing responded.

  She was going up anyway—Linda’s face was strained and red with the effort.

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  More hands reached down from the edge, grabbing her sleeves.

  With a feeble kick, she got one foot over the lip, then let herself be unceremoniously hauled away from the edge to safety.

  Through a haze of red she watched Linda collapse onto her side, panting for breath. The remaining climbers appeared in short order at the spot they had just vacated.

  “I’m sorry,” Marissa finally managed to gasp. “Sorry for every brownie I ate during all-nighters.”

  Linda spluttered with laughter. “That wasn’t the most picture-perfect climbing demonstration I’ve ever seen but you’re here.”

  “There goes the boat,” someone said, but Marissa didn’t have the strength to watch.

  Dear Ms. Edwards:

  It was not a great surprise to run across your name on a list of famous lesbian entrepreneurs. My business partner, Octavia, still doesn’t believe you were my gym teacher. But I’m actually writing to tell you that you were right about chin-ups. I apologize for not listening to your excellent advice.

  Sincerely,

  Marissa Chabot, Jonas Salk Middle School

  Her backpack appeared out of nowhere. “Thank you,” she whispered to her unseen benefactor. She wondered which of the Muscle Guys had helped push her up the cliff at the very last and decided against asking. When she had her breath back, she found a discreet screen of tall ferns and took care of her bladder. She was profoundly grateful she had kept control of it during the climb.

  Feeling much better, she whispered aloud, “You’re going to live,” and for once that didn’t seem like reassuring hyperbole.

  Emerging from behind her ferns, she realized everyone was getting to their feet. With a distinct wobble, she picked up her belongings and looked for Linda. Spotting her with the Muscle Guys, she waited to catch her attention before asking, “What gives?”

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  “We’re going to hike around to the big beach—someone thinks they saw people in the trees. If not, we’ll get a signal fire going.

  Cell phones are still not getting feeds. It’s a good plan.” Linda slung a trim pack over one shoulder, looking as if she could run a marathon.

  Hiking, okay. Marissa nodded and they set out. Watching Linda stride along in front of her wasn�
��t painful. She thought longingly of the M&M’s in the depths of her pack. They could still be edible.

  Prepared to slog in misery for hours, Marissa was surprised when one of the men gave a hopeful shout only a few minutes later.

  There was excited babble, then Linda glanced over her shoulder.

  “It’s a trail, which means we’re not the only ones here. There probably will be people at that beach. Looks like we’re okay, Gilligan.”

  Marissa found herself grinning. “Gilligan? Since when am I Gilligan?”

  “You could be Ginger.”

  “My hair’s not red.” Dishwater mouse about covered it.

  “Hair can be dyed.” Linda glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve already got the body.”

  Just when Marissa thought the day couldn’t get any more surreal, Linda was . . . flirting? With her? She did not have a curva-ceous, bombshell body. And it was an absurd thing to be thinking about, stumbling along through the jungle after officially being shipwrecked.

  When they passed a primitive but clearly man-made distance marker, Marissa laughed to herself. So much for bug buffets and using eyeglasses to light a fire. Heck, there could even be a decent place to sleep and a real toilet by the end of the day. If there was such a thing as the perfect shipwreck, maybe this was it.

  On the other hand, this trail could have been blazed by other castaways and they’d find a long-abandoned camp with graves and one last skeleton watching over them. She was certain she’d seen just such a tableau in some old movie. “But your life is not a movie.”

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  “Huh?” Linda glanced over her shoulder.

  “Sorry. I have a habit of talking to myself out loud.” Marissa stepped over a tangle of roots. “Comes from working by myself a lot.”

  “What do you do? Computers?”

  Marissa nearly said, “No, I do women. I only work with computers,” but thought better of it. It wasn’t all that true, given how few women she’d actually dated, let alone slept with, in the last decade and a half. “Programming, yeah. How about you? Park ranger?”

  Linda laughed. “No, I’m just fortunate enough to spend most of my time exploring. I like rock climbing, hiking, snorkeling, spelunking—name it and I like it.”

  Marissa wanted to ask what Linda did for money but that seemed too much like she was prying. “Bungee jumping?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Then the abandon ship was an adventure to you.”

  “After the scary part, I guess so. Certainly, it’ll be a story to tell many times over drinks. Antonio said he’ll get copies of the photos to everybody, so be sure to give him your e-mail address. I wish I had one to give him.”

  “Antonio? Oh, the guy with the camera. Okay.” Marissa decided that pictures—since nothing terribly tragic had happened—would be great mementos of this experience. They’d make for an interesting holiday missive.

  “Hey, Linda?”

  “Mmm?”

  “If I’m Gilligan, who are you?”

  “I thought we agreed you were Ginger.”

  “Okay, if I’m Ginger, who are you?”

  It was only a short glance but the unquenchable humor was infectious. “I’m the financier with a yacht, come to take you away from all this.”

  “Oh.” Think of something witty, she told herself. Think of anything. But nothing came to mind, not over the stunned babbling of 35

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  her inner skeptic, the one that kept shouting, “She is not flirting with you!”

  The inner skeptic always kept company with the voice of practical truth, which was pointing out, “Nobody that gorgeous is going to look twice at you, especially given the condition you’re in right now.”

  When was the last time anyone had flirted with her? She couldn’t remember. Her annual blind dates for the Blackhawk Country Club summer ball never flirted with her. They took one look and that was that. Linda couldn’t possibly be flirting with her.

  “Can you imagine trying to walk this path in a sparkly evening gown and heels?”

  The trail widened and Linda dropped back to walk alongside Marissa. “I’m not sure I’d call what Ginger did walking.”

  “True, she did more slink than walk.” Marissa demonstrated, swaying her hips with one shoulder back. “No wait, that’s more Nora Desmond at the end of Sunset Boulevard.”

  “No, you were doing great. You’re ready for your close-up, Mr.

  DeMille.”

  “That hurt.” Marissa rubbed her shoulder. “I think I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

  “We all are,” Linda assured her. “You know, I never realized Ginger and Nora Desmond walked the same way. You’ve got that whole femme thing down pat.”

  Marissa threw back her head and laughed. “I wear pantyhose once a year and that’s on pain of death.”

  “So?” Linda gave her a sidelong glance. “There’s far more to being femme than wearing pantyhose.”

  “Like what?” She followed the sweep of Linda’s gaze over her body. The intense study left her simultaneously feeling shy and bold—and confused.

  “Bet there’s a purse in that backpack.”

  “Okay, sure, most women do carry them. I’ve never been big on labels.”

  Linda shrugged. “Me neither, mostly. They’re fun and useful 36

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  for those who find them fun and useful but they don’t change who you are or how other people with other labels might perceive you.

  Or what a person might find attractive.”

  Again, Linda’s gaze swept over her and Marissa realized that even though she was puzzled by Linda’s flirting, it didn’t make her feel dissected the way Ricky Skilecky and most men ever since had made her feel. She felt as if Linda was putting her together with her eyes, not taking her apart. Emboldened, she asked, “Are you flirting with me?”

  “You noticed?”

  “It eventually got through my dampening field, yes.”

  “Ooo, geek talk. I like that. Talk geek to me more.”

  “Maybe, if you’re a good girl.”

  “Who’s flirting now?”

  Who indeed? Marissa fought back a blush by thinking about dead puppies. She immediately felt guilty for visualizing such a gruesome thing and forgot all about blushing. “You noticed?”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  They walked for a minute in companionable silence and Marissa let her mind wander. With a shock she realized she was picturing herself in that sparkly dress Ginger had worn, slinking along the trail while Linda watched and drooled. With Linda looking at her like that, it wasn’t hard to see the entire scene.

  Just when she felt the silence had morphed from easy to lame, there were happy shouts and the front of the group surged forward.

  “Hotel” sounded the same in several languages, but Marissa didn’t let herself hope until she saw for herself that the trail opened to a plaza, at the far end of which sat a sprawling, whitewashed building with a sparkling fountain. Beyond that a curving beach embraced a deep-set lagoon, with thatched bungalows nestled under palm trees. The tableau was completed by an obviously surprised bellman who was rapidly joined by several more equally agog uniformed coworkers.

  The babble of languages was overwhelming but in short order 37

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  they were all seated in the small lobby, tumblers of fruit juice in one hand and a hunk of fresh, sweet bread in the other. Gregorio immediately went with the manager to use the phone.

  “I told you we were on Huahine!” The Brit was extremely pleased with himself, as evidenced by his repeating himself several more times.

  Marissa finished the bread—nothing had ever tasted so wonderful—and gratefully accepted a wedge of papaya and a dozen roasted filberts from the tray being circulated by a wide-eyed teen.

  If that wasn’t unre
al enough, Linda sat beside her on the small couch, looking as if she’d just finished a casual stroll.

  “It’s okay to feel like you’re on Candid Camera,” Linda observed.

  “I was thinking more like I’d slipped into an alternate reality.

  Now I’ll never get to be Ginger.”

  With a fascinating quirk to her lips, Linda said, “You can be Ginger any time you want.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be that helpless.”

  “I can see that.” Linda finished her papaya slice and licked her long, nimble fingers. Marissa did not stare. Not a lot, anyway. She wondered if near-death experiences caused people to have outrageous fantasies. “Helpless isn’t in my comfort zone either. We’re both too strong to play that game.”

  “Strong? If I tried to stand up right now I think my legs would buckle.”

  “Just reaction.” Linda again gave her a cheeky smile. “That or you secretly would like to be Ginger from time to time. Nothing wrong with that.”

  The conversation was getting as bizarre as the entire trip.

  Nevertheless, that look in Linda’s eyes was mystifying and intriguing. Marissa wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked at her like that before. She really didn’t know what to make of it. “I’m not sure a Sixties sexpot will stand up as a rigorous analogy.”

  Linda laughed. “Is there another you’d prefer?”

  She went for the obvious. “Xena? Wonder Woman?”

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  The bright smile dimmed slightly. “Go ahead, say it.”

  “You do know you look a little bit . . . Okay, a lot like . . . ?”

  Linda’s smile faded further and for the first time she looked away as if the conversation no longer interested her. “Yeah. Believe me, I know.” With an obvious effort at calm, she added, “My eyes are brown so I can’t be either.”

  “You could have your legs shortened and dye your hair gray to avoid any comparisons.”

  “No thanks. I’m doing my best to stay out of doctor’s offices from now on.”

  Marissa crunched several of the delicious nuts before saying carefully. “Sounds like you’ve seen too many.”

 

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