“It was bad enough for you to follow him.”
I’m listening to the angry blood of betrayal marching through my ears when I hear something else. Jack squeaks.
Squeaks?
Then his shoulders jerk a few times.
Then he breaks into hoarse, choking peals of laughter. “Really, Lisa,” he manages to say, “I was just curious.” He looks at me, then starts laughing even harder. He turns from the sink to lean his butt against it as spasms of laughter rack his body.
He finally chokes down the guffaws. “Michael and Antawne said you were ‘one whack bitch,’ and I had to come check it out for myself. And you do look pretty funny.”
“I’ve got dishes to clean,” I snap, hip checking him as I position myself in front of the sink. I grab the sink hose to rinse the dishes. But instead of turning the water to hot, I turn it to cold.
Then I aim, hit the trigger, and blast Jack right in the face.
“Hey!” He grabs my wrist, forcing the jet of water to hit him squarely in the chest. He wrenches the hose from me and drops it. The second he releases me, I have the good sense to back away.
Jack looks down at the wet spot smack in the middle of his chest, where the faded T-shirt is now soaked to midnight blue. “You are going to be so sorry that you did that.”
“What are you going to do to me?” I challenge. “Get me wet?”
He comes at me with a menacing gait. I can almost hear the distant whistle signifying an Old West duel.
“You’ve got me there,” he says. “You definitely can’t get much more soaked.” He reaches up to the shelf just above us and picks up a big canister labeled FLOUR.
“Jack, no.” I try to look serious.
“I think I remember from kindergarten that when you mix flour and water, you can make paste.”
“Jack, no,” I say again. “That belongs to HEYA. They must use it for baking cookies or brownies or something. You’d be stealing from HEYA, Jack.”
“I’ll pay ‘em back.”
I run for it. In about a step he catches me.
“Aaahh!”
With one arm clamped securely around my neck and shoulders, he dumps the flour over my head.
But it’s not flour. The can was labeled wrong. It’s sugar.
SUGAR.
Sugar stuck all over my soaking wet body. “Iiiiiiiick!”
He lets me go. As I stumble away from him, he launches the rest at me.
“Nooo!”
“Relax,” Jack says, standing back to get a look at his handy work. “You look…” he flashes me a cocky grin, “sweet.”
I glare at him.
But his stare doesn’t flinch as he moves in on me. “Let’s see how you taste.”
Just like that, he scoops me up against him, then sinks his teeth into my neck for a bite. Oh, God. His fingers dig into my hips, work their way under the soaked waistband of my shorts to my wet skin.
I grab his T-shirt with both hands, but suddenly I remember Michael and Antawne with their ever-present cell phones. Video-taking cell phones. In a flash, I imagine shots of my getting nailed in the HEYA kitchen posted all over the Internet.
“We can’t,” I say, trying to back away. “Not here.”
Jack’s off me in a second and pulling me along behind him as he dodges through the kitchen door into the back hallway. In the darkened corridor, he presses me up against the painted cinderblock wall and kisses me.
Wow. He’s never kissed me like–
“C’mon.” He grabs my hand, runs down the hall, and pulls me into the small office Jimmy and Edgar share. He shuts the door, then asks, “Which desk is Edgar’s?”
“You know Edgar?”
“Just met him. Which one?”
“This one.”
After a few seconds of ransacking, he finds a box of condoms.
“Wow,” I say, just before I jump him.
* * * * *
I’m back in the kitchen, trying to hose off all the sugar from the kitchen floor, the counters, my skin, my hair, my clothes. Jack is cleaning up the sugar trail we left all the way to Edgar’s office.
By the time Jack comes back into the kitchen, I’m back to my dish-cleaning frenzy. Without saying a word, Jack steps in next to me.
And here we are. Not like a companionable couple cleaning up the supper dishes or anything. More like the girls from The Facts of Life when they’re first assigned to KP duty together under Mrs. Garrett. Resigned, but still willing to engage in shenanigans.
It’s so weird. We just had sex, but I’m pretty sure we’re still not getting along.
“I meant every word I said last Saturday,” he says quietly, out of the palest of blues.
Jesus. He is still mad at me. Damn.
He better not list all my copious faults. AGAIN.
“But,” he continues, “I didn’t acknowledge that at least you were trying to do something decent. As messed up as your plan was, you were thinking of me.” He hands me a plate to put in the rack. “Thank you.”
I swallow. Jack used sex as an icebreaker. He walked in here, knowing he had something all girly to say, something almost like an apology, so he seduced me to make it easier.
The first time we have sex indoors, plus all that fantastic kissing on the mouth? He just needed to get himself ready to say something quasi-nice to me.
Bastard. He doesn’t need an icebreaker when he’s telling me what an annoying bitch he thinks I am.
“Okay,” I say. “You’re welcome.”
What else can I say? I mean, if this is how the guy operates, I’ll just have to cope. If I have to put up with hot sex every time Jack wants to have a nice conversation with me, I’m okay with that. I didn’t even have to try to entice him or anything. I look like a refugee from a flooded Peeps factory, but still I got this totally rocketing orgasm. All for the small price of having to listen to the guy when it’s all over.
Score.
We stand there in silence for a few minutes doing dishes. I begin to wonder how much conversation the sex is good for. I know I’m pressing my luck, but I can’t seem to bludgeon my curiosity into submission.
“Jack,” I say, “I don’t get it. Not really.” Am I really going to say this? Am I really? “Why do you bother with me at all? You have a pretty comprehensive list of everything about me that bothers you. It doesn’t make sense.”
Jack lets go of the plate he’s holding. It sinks below the suds, and after a few seconds, he flicks the soapy bubbles off his hands. He turns to me. “You presented me with a unique opportunity.”
“Are you talking about the gear?” I probe. “Because there are lots of absolute beginners out there. Just throw a rock.”
“But they’re not like you.” He dries his hands on a towel that’s too wet to do the job. “I knew you’d have the guts to do what needed to be done. With you, I wouldn’t have to spend all our time together coaxing you into jumping, or swimming, or climbing, or whatever.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“That first day on the mountain, for one.”
“And for another?” That’s me. I just keep pushing and shoving.
He doesn’t answer.
“How did you know I’d work out?”
I really want to know. I mean, he’s saying I’m The One. Not in a romantic or life-partner kind of way, but The One for this project. And I’ve never been anyone’s The One before, not for anything. It’s never before been the case that someone’s particularly needed me, Lisa Flyte. Finally, I’m the star of the show. You bet I want to know all about it.
“Lots of reasons,” he says.
Really? Lots?
“The way you tried to head-butt that guy in your apartment,” he says. “Even the way you write.”
“Write?” I echo. “Write what? I haven’t written anything since a haiku in tenth grade. It was supposed to be a sonnet.”
“Anything you write,” he explains. “The way you write stuff on a page, with a pencil.
”
“Huh?”
“I noticed it in class on the first day.” He leans back against the counter. “You walked in so cool, looking like Jean Harlow or something. Like nothing could get to you. You sat off by yourself, but I watched you.”
He smiles and raises his eyebrows for a sec. “You have a way of calling attention to yourself. Anyway, I noticed your writing. You pressed really hard with the pencil or pen or whatever you were using. You couldn’t even use the back of the paper. It was all dented from your writing.”
“You noticed that I wasted paper?” I ask. “I recycle, you know.”
He smiles again. “I remember. No, I’m not saying you waste paper. But you do. I’ve seen you.”
“Hey!”
“I knew there had to be some serious intensity under the surface.”
“Intensity? Me?”
“I can work with that,” he says.
“But Jack,” I counter, “you’re the most easy-going guy I think I’ve ever met. You could work with anyone.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to,” he says, tossing aside the wet towel. “I don’t want to work with my parents. I never wanted to be a part of Hawkins United.”
I think of how he feels about all the Burger Barn money. “I get that.”
“My family never made any sense to me.” He hands me another plate.
I take it, even though it’s still dirty.
“Or at least, not like…” He sort of laughs. “When I was a kid, Edgar and Griselda worked for us. She was the housekeeper and he was the general handyman.”
A chill seizes my body. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up.
“It’s weird,” he goes on, “but at some point, it hit me. My parents were never around and I was always wondering if I would see them at supper or over the weekend. But Edgar and Griselda were always there. When I was about ten, maybe, I realized that they were the perfect parents. Always there, in my house, taking care of me.”
“They lived with you?”
“In the second biggest guest house.”
I swallow, feeling suddenly slovenly. I keep forgetting what kind of economic bracket this guy comes from.
“They were always nice to me,” he says, “so I started fantasizing about how they could be my real family.”
I nod, wanting to ask where Luz fits into this fantasy. But I don’t say a word.
“So, I tried to really impress them, show them what a good kid I could be. I started making sure my room was always clean. I put my own dishes in the dishwasher, and I’d sneak into the kitchen and unload it as soon as it stopped running. And I started doing my own laundry. Late at night, after Griselda and Edgar went home.”
“You were left in the house by yourself at night?”
“I always had a nanny to stay with me over night. But they pretty much ignored me as long as I wasn’t making noise. I figured out pretty young that if I didn’t cause trouble, they would leave me alone.”
“But I thought you wanted a family,” I say. “Why did you want them to ignore you?”
“They weren’t like Edgar and Griselda. They were mostly college kids who came and went. I could always tell they didn’t give a flying flock.”
“Did Griselda notice what you were doing?”
He furrows his brow.
“Probably, and I bet she even knew why,” he says. “Then one day, in the summer, I was at a Dodgers game with E.J.” Jack looks at me. “My best friend. Anyway, I hadn’t cleaned my room that day because it was Wednesday, Griselda’s day off. I’d get to it later. But I ended up sleeping over E.J.’s that night and forgot all about it. Until about five in the morning.”
He turns to me smiling and shaking his head. “I woke up in a cold sweat, remembering my room. I left E.J.’s right then.” He looks heavenward, as though he can’t believe what he did once upon a time. “So there I was, running across Orange County, trying to get home in time to clean my room before Griselda saw it.”
“Did you make it?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“She saw?” I ask tentatively.
He opens his eyes. “Worse. Much worse.”
I dare to say it. “Luz?”
He nods. “I was going into fifth grade that fall, and she was going to be a sophomore in high school. I was so in love with her. Luz.” He looks all happy and dreamy one second, but then it’s gone. “She was in a totally different world.” He sounds very matter-of-fact. “But I adored her.”
“She saw your room?”
“She was helping Griselda clean it!” He turns back to rinsing. “It was worse than the in-school-with-no-pants nightmare.”
“So, did you take off your pants?”
He pauses. “Not right then.” He shakes his head. “I must have scared the hell out of them, showing up like that, sweaty and furious at six a.m. I yelled at them to get out. I told them I wasn’t lazy and sloppy like my parents, and I could clean up after myself.”
“It must have been awful.”
“Yeah. But it was the beginning. Edgar and Griselda… we became a lot closer after that. Then, when I was twelve, Luz went to college. I think they were pretty lonely. From then on, I was practically living with them.”
“Sleeping in Luz’s room?”
“That part was awesome.”
Wham!
The kitchen doors fly open. Lupe, Edgar, Jimmy, Michael, and Antawne come marching through, bearing sauce-crusted vats, greasy garlic bread trays, depleted salad bowls. I want to shoot every one of them.
“Careful,” I warn. “Stay on the paper towel trail . The floor is pretty slippery.”
“Oooh, girl,” Lupe says taking in the mess. Then she sees Jack.
“See?” Antawne says this to the brigade, nodding to the messy kitchen. “I told you.”
Then he notices Jack. “Man, Jack. How’d you get stuck helping her?”
Jack?
Antawne knows Jack?
“Owed her a favor.”
“What’d she do? Give you a kidney?” This from Edgar. I blush, thinking of his desk.
“Hey, man,” Jimmy says, greeting Jack with big, dreamy eyes.
Poor Lupe. I’m pretty sure she was dead wrong about Jimmy. And poor Edgar! He looks ready to kill Jack when he notices Jimmy practically batting his lashes.
“Wait a second,” I say, then turn to Jack. “You know everyone?”
“Met ‘em today.”
“And you guys are already best friends?” I feel so betrayed. Not sure why, but I do.
“He said you guys were friends from USC,” Lupe fills in.
Okay. That’s okay. As long as they like him because of me.
The next second, Pacquito comes charging through the door. All dog energy, ears, and tail, he skids on all the water, careening right into the army of dirty dish bearers.
“Aaaaaaahhhh!”
“What the fu—!”
“Jeez!”
“Nooo!”
Crashing, screaming, clattering.
Gabriel comes running in, just as all the pots, bowls, trays, and vats clang across the floor. “Pacquito!” he calls, flinging himself at the dog.
Pacquito actually pauses in licking all the food from off the floor to slobber all over Gabriel’s face.
“Jesus!” Edgar gets up off the floor, covered with what looks like French dressing. “Lisa! Take your damn dog.”
“It’s okay,” Jimmy says. “It’s not that bad.”
“This place is a mess!” Edgar fumes as he glares at Jack.
“I’ll stay and help clean up,” Jimmy offers sweetly.
“No!” This from me, Jack and Edgar, all at once.
“It’s cool,” Jack says. “You guys’ve all had a hard day. Lisa and I’ll take care of this.”
The tired volunteers drift out, one by one, to tidy the parking lot. “Gabriel,” I say, once Pacquito has licked clean all the pots and trays and bowls, “why don’t you take Pacquito outside to play while we f
inish cleaning up in here?”
A few seconds later, Jack and I are once again alone. We stand looking at the mess on the floor.
“How many moving blankets do you have in your car?” he asks.
“Four.”
“That’s enough to dry the entire floor.” He looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Shall we?”
For the next twenty minutes, we wash everything on the floor, right where it is. Then I hold each item aloft, Jack rinses it, and I set it on the counter to dry. A few minutes later, we’re both soaked, but every surface in the kitchen is squeaky clean. Flooded and dripping, but shiny and clean.
“Let’s go get the blankets,” Jacks says.
On the way to the car, Jack picks up the story. Yes! I didn’t push or cajole, and now I’m being rewarded with the rest of the story.
“When I’d been out of college about a year,” Jack says, “I went home one weekend to visit Griselda and Edgar.”
He’d jumped ahead about ten years in his story, but I could keep up.
“But I ran into Luz, instead.”
Oh.
“She was married by this time, but not so happily. Or so I believed.” He huffs out a huge breath. “I thought it was the greatest romance. I was going to save her from her unhappy marriage and everything would work out. Me and her and Edgar and Griselda. We would all live happily ever after.”
“You had an affair with her?”
We stop at my car.
“Yeah,” he says. “But to me, it was a desperate, unstoppable love.”
His sarcasm laced with bitterness makes my throat feel hot and huge. “What happened?”
“After a few months, and one incredible summer, we got caught.”
“Oh.”
“Luz had a choice, right then. She could throw herself on the mercy of her parents and husband, blame everything on me, or….”
He turns away, rests his elbows on the roof of my car and looks up at the sky.
“I actually thought she would choose me. I really did.”
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp. I clear my throat. “So, so sorry.”
“Edgar and Griselda quit that day. Thirty-two years and they quit without even a second thought. They were so damn disgusted with me. Luz said I’d seduced her, that she was afraid for her parents’ jobs if she didn’t sleep with me. God!” He slams a fist into Dalton’s roof and I wince. He hits Dalton again. Hard.
Miss Adventure Page 18