Miss Adventure

by Geralyn Corcillo

  He shakes his head and I could swear in my numb state he looks a little pissed off. “Lisa, your house was built in what? 1927? And the plumbing’s never really been updated. But in these modern houses built in the nineties? There’s plenty of water. Hot and cold.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can even run the dryer and the dishwasher at the same time without losing power.”

  “Are you making fun of my house?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Now get in the shower.”

  After the door snaps shut behind him, I hold my breath, peel off the clothes, and throw them outside the bathroom door. When I step under the shower spray, I screech at the pain of thawing out. But when the scalding sensations subside, I can’t stop wailing.

  How the hell could this happen? How could I have messed up so badly? It was just a creek. A creek! We were minutes away from setting up camp for the night and I had been gamely impressive all day. Jack was about to be mine for a whole night.

  That damn, damn creek!

  * * * * *

  “It’s wider than the Mississippi.” My stomach dropped to my ankles.

  “The rainwater’s made it higher than usual.” Jack stopped along the bank at a place where he found a few rocks dotting their way across. “Just remember what I told you about crossing. Keep your momentum going forward.”

  I swallowed, needing Moses to part the waters for me.

  “You can do this Lisa. It looks nasty right now, but it’s just a creek.”

  “And Jaws was just a shark.”

  Jeez! Why did I have to think of sharks when I was about to step into the water? Okay, okay. I can do this. Think of another movie. Think of another movie. Climb every mountain/ Ford every stream/ Fol—

  “I’ll go first,” Jack said, “in case there are any trouble spots.” He chucked a finger under my chin. “Look on the bright side. You’re already pretty wet.”

  I gave a shaky laugh. The roaring in my ears drowned out the roaring of the water. “You think I’m pretty?” My voice sounded very far away, and I wondered if Jack could even hear it.

  He laughed. “See you on the other bank.” And just like that, he glided across the water like Eric Heiden.

  “It’s all good,” he called across the crashing water. “Just remember, don’t stop to balance on each rock. Keep your momentum going forward.”

  Momentum. Momentum. Momentum.

  The creek looked strong. Jack said I could do it. But the creek looked so powerful. I felt sick.

  “Ready?” Jack called.

  Oh God. I tried to remember that I’d leapt out of a plane and rappelled off a cliff.

  “Go!”

  I jumped off the bank into the raging torrent. I skipped from the first rock to the second, but just as I took off for the third, I saw the rushing water swell. It was coming right at me!

  I rushed toward the third rock, panic upsetting my balance.

  My foot glanced off the rock as the water grabbed me by the ankles and yanked me into the torrent.

  Water hit me all over. I couldn't hear or breathe. I bobbed to the top. Jack was already twenty yards away. I tried to raise an arm so he could see me. The current jerked at my pack, pulled me back under. I choked, spit, spun.

  I tried to find the surface. I felt ground under me so I pushed off, trying to kick to the top. My pack was caught on something! It held me down! I tried to wrestle my arms out, but my jacket had twisted itself all around the straps. Uuuuh! I couldn't breathe!

  I ripped the jacket off my shoulders, pushed to the surface.

  “AAAAH!”

  But the water sucked me back into its vortex, mashing my hips against rocks. The velocity of the raging water flipped me over and around. I felt a pointy rock jutting up and I grabbed on. Freezing water pelted me, pelted me, pelted me. But I didn't let go.

  “Lisa!”

  Suddenly, Jack was there, in the water with me. His arm wrapped around my waist like an iron vise. “Let go!”

  But I was too scared to move, afraid we’d both be washed away. Jack pulled, I held. He poked me in the ribs. In an automatic reflex, I jerked back and Jack hauled me into the current. In a few seconds I felt grit and pebbles scrape the backs of my thighs. Jack was dragging me onto shore. He heaved my body well away from the water, then collapsed beside me.

  “Oh…my….God. Oh…my…God. Oh…my…God.” I turned my head to look at him. I breathed and breathed and breathed. “How?” I panted. “How did you get me out of there?”

  Jack takes a deep breath. “I walked.”

  “What?” Pant, pant, pant. “Like, on water?”

  He turned his head toward me then. “The creek’s maybe four feet in the deepest places.”

  “But all the rain.”

  “It’s usually about a foot deep here.”

  This made no sense. I was bested by water no deeper than what’s in an assemble-yourself backyard pool? “How long was I in?”

  “About fifteen seconds, before I got to you.”

  Fifteen seconds? No way. He had to have meant minutes. Had to.

  I opened my mouth to ask him, but my teeth started chattering so hard I was sure my jaw would shatter.

  Jack stood up. He walked up the bank about ten yards, retrieved his pack, and came back. He dropped the pack, began stripping off his wet clothes.

  Was he serious? He was getting naked after all that?

  Once his clothes were off, the removal of which took about three seconds, he bent to the pack, fished out dry clothes. Then he started putting them on. Boxers, jeans, shirt. No socks, though. Mr. Survival Packer forgot socks.

  He yanked me to my feet then, and started peeling the clothes off my shivering body. “Sun’s almost down. It’s supposed to drop to forty tonight. It’ll take a little over an hour, but if we race down the mountain, we should make it before you really start freezing. We’ll have to go fast. You’ll have to keep up, Lisa.”

  “But t-testing. Y-you st-st-still have your g-gear.”

  “Too risky. You have to get warm.”

  Once he had me naked, he grabbed his shirt off the ground where it was lying under his jacket. They were both mostly dry, so he must have ripped them off before he jumped–walked–in for me. He started running the shirt over me roughly, drying me off.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s good that you can feel it.”

  Then he grabbed silk long johns out of his pack and helped me into them. Next, he put me into his jacket. Then socks. He did bring socks, after all. Huh. He put each of my feet into a cushy pair of clean, dry socks as thick as slippers. Then he took a pair of shoes out of his pack. They looked like a cross between swim shoes and baseball cleats.

  “Put these on.”

  As I did, he gathered up all our wet clothes, rung them out, put them in his waterproof pack. He got the gear onto his back, then pulled a flashlight out of somewhere and flicked it on.

  “I c-can c-carry something,” I offered.

  “Just keep up.”

  He grabbed my hand and we were off. My feet slid around, but the shoes stayed on. Branches and thorns snagged at Jack’s coat, but we kept going. Soon, my blood heated up and I moved faster. Jack, feeling my strength returning, picked up the pace. We drove ourselves down the mountain, through brambles, under brush, over logs, across puddles, into mud. It’s like Jack was hopping me through Frogger at warp speed. We cut a direct course down the same mountain we'd spent the day winding our way up.

  When we finally got back to the truck, Jack opened my door, hustled me in, scooted around to his side, got in, and blasted the heat.

  My body hummed and throbbed. I huffed and puffed.

  Jack spared a second to look at me before peeling out. “Are you okay?”

  The world came back into focus. “I lost the pack,” I said, tears rolling down my face. “I panicked in the creek. I thought I was drowning. I thought I was being swept away. And it was just a creek, hardly even waist high.” I sniffed and swiped at my cheeks. �
��You had no idea I would freak out like that. My spaz attack was off the charts. It ruined everything.”

  Jack punched the gas, speeding us up. “Lisa, I don’t care about the pack. You DID almost drown. You got scared, and you went under. I should have been ready.”

  I sniffled some more.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, sounding quiet and very serious, “when you wake up, when this has had some time to sink in, think about forgiving me.”

  “Jack, I was in the water less than twenty seconds. You said so yourself. You saved me.” I pulled back to look at him. The heat from the car started seeping through the damp clothes I was wearing. I didn’t forgive him because there was nothing to forgive. But I knew what he wanted to hear. “I forgive you.”

  “You don’t get it,” he snapped back. “I took you up there. I should have been taking care of you. Better care. I know you’re a beginner. I know how scared you get.” He sighed. “I forget, Lisa. Sometimes, when I’m with you, I forget. Today on the mountain, you were hell on wheels, taking everything I dished out. I kept making it harder and harder, and you just kept going. I didn’t even care that you ripped your favorite jeans. Those were your Bruce Springsteen jeans, weren’t they? But you kept right on going.”

  “You know about my Bruce Springsteen jeans?”

  “You told me about them once. I figured this had to be them, when you started crying when you ripped a hole in the knee. But why’d you wear them to go camping in the rain?”

  I didn’t answer. I wasn't going to tell him my ass had gotten too big for all my size eights and I had to wear the jeans I'd retired after seeing The Boss when I was a husky teen. “Nice try, Jack,” I said, sniffling. “But I messed up. This is my fault. I’m supposed to be getting braver. I’ve jumped down a hundred-foot waterfall, but I almost killed myself crossing a creek. And you want me to believe it’s your fault because you forgot I was Lisa Flyte? You expect me to believe I tricked you into thinking I was Indiana Jones with a manicure?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he said, not even busting me about the pathetic state of my nails. “Sometimes…” he said, “I forget how different our attitudes are, how you’re not going to react to something the same way I would. I forget that what’s instinct to me makes no sense to you. Sometimes it feels like we’re on the same wavelength, you know? But we’re not. We’re not even on the same planet. Do you get it?” he asked. “I stop thinking about how different we really are, and that’s what causes all the trouble. It’s just plain dangerous.”

  * * * * *

  The hot water blasts me in the face but the tears keep coming. I’m such a mess. Such a fool. I was going to try to get closer to Jack, to spend an entire night with him. For what? To prove to myself that he wants me in his life, despite what he says?

  We’re not even on the same planet.

  I sob harder, making wracking, choking sounds like Claire Danes makes at the end of Romeo and Juliet.

  Swish.

  The curtain slides back, and Jack steps into the shower behind me.

  I sniff and look away. Oh, God. Could he hear me? I’m louder than the shower? Is he in here because he feels sorry for me?

  Without trying to get me to look at him, he picks up the shampoo bottle and squeezes a dollop onto my head. Then he puts those big hands of his in my hair and starts lathering up.

  We’re not even on the same planet.

  He slides his sudsy hands down my neck, massaging as he goes. My shoulders. My back.

  Maybe he didn’t hear me crying. Maybe he has no idea I’m having a meltdown in his shower. Maybe he just wants to have sex.

  He slides his arms around my waist, tucking me close into his body. “You’re all right, Lisa,” he says quietly into my ear. “You’re all right. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  I start to cry again, and he just holds me as the water pelts down on us.

  CHAPTER 19

  When I get into my cubicle of an office at HEYA Tuesday after class at USC, the phone is ringing.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hello to you, too,” he chuckles. “So, are we a go?”

  Crispin. His voice sounds so up-beat and happy, as if everyone loves him.

  “Next week,” I boom, trying to make my voice sound as if I’m smiling. “The investor from Rankin gets back from Detroit next Wednesday, then we all sign on Thursday.”

  “Awesome. Want to grab dinner to celebrate?”

  “Very slick,” I say, “sliding it in there oh so casually like that. But no. We’ll talk business next week.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He sounds so un-fazed by my rejection that I almost reconsider. Maybe we could skip dinner and just have sex. In a bed.

  “Bye.” I hang up quickly, before I destroy the plan to save HEYA with my desperation.

  The phone rings again. “What?!”

  “I’m working on something. Can you test Saturday, late afternoon into the evening?”

  “Jack?”

  “To quote you, ‘Duh.’”

  “But you just saw me in class,” I splutter. “And you didn’t say a word to me.”

  “You didn’t say a word to me either.”

  “But I didn’t have anything to say.”

  Which is such a big lie. I really wanted to tell him he's a terrible person for not even calling me since he dropped me home Saturday night. And for dropping me home in the first place! Mia was there to babysit the pets all night. We could have curled up safe and warm together and slept in his bed.

  But what’s the point of regretting what didn’t happen, when Jack won’t even acknowledge what did. He’s never said a word about the shower. I mean, we were naked, and he was nice to me. It wasn’t just a quick, post-adventure bonk.

  I feel myself blush hotly.

  “Neither did I,” Jack says, making me blush harder. “Now I do. Can you test?”

  Back to business. “Don’t know,” I answer. “I’ll let you know in class tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  In the corner of my beautiful bedroom, as the sun streams through the filmy curtains, I look into the mirror, turning this way and that. Yup. It’s the same from every angle. I’m practically busting out of my Ann Taylor. I reach back to feel my big butt. Damn. I tighten my tummy and stand up as straight as I can, trying to streamline my figure. Who am I kidding? I can’t remember to stand like this all day.

  Forty minutes later, I clip clip clip on my heels to the classroom to see if Jack is around yet. Nope. I turn away from the door and almost slam right into him.

  “Whoa,” he says. He looks me up and down. “I thought you had HEYA today.”

  “I–I do,” I stutter. “I have a meeting with Fidelity at two, to discuss our situation. HEYA’s situation. And I have a request or two. They need to be on board for my plan to work.”

  “Well,” he says, still looking me up and down, “just ask them for what you want, nice and slow, and I think you’ll get it.”

  I stupidly look down at the suit I’m spilling out of, then back up at Jack. “I can test on Saturday. Where should I meet you? What should I wear?”

  “A dress,” he says. “A nice one. And I’ll pick you up at your house at five-thirty.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’re going to a party. But not a kegger. More like a ball.”

  I just stare.

  “With dancing,” he says, almost in a whisper.

  I step back. “You’re crazy.”

  “And you’re scared of dancing in public.”

  “That’s none of your business!” Students are starting to filter past us, so I do that harsh whisper thing.

  He lowers his voice as well. “Did you, or did you not, come to me asking me to make you braver?”

  “Physical bravery, Jack!”

  “Dancing is physical.”

  Damn it.

  “Just where exactly is it that you think you’re going to take me?” I demand.

  “Friends of my parents are
putting on this big shindig. They bug me to go to this stuff a few times a year, and when something pretty innocuous comes up, I accept.”

  “So you need a date,” I accuse. “And what? You think you’ll just humiliate me in the process and kill two birds with one stupid party?”

  “Nobody ever needs a date, Lisa. It is possible to go to a party alone.”

  “Oh, I get it. You go to stuff by yourself just to hook up, don’t you?”

  “Are you even listening to yourself? First you accuse me of needing a date, now I’m a player preying on unattached partygoers. You make no sense, Lisa. None. I’m taking you to this party because you’re afraid of dancing.”

  “I never said so.”

  “Every time you hear music you start to twitch to it, but you stop as soon as you think someone might be watching.”

  “Twitch?”

  “If you don’t go we’ll both know it’s because you’re scared.”

  “Scared, my ass! Maybe I just don’t like being hoodwinked into going to some ritzy party.”

  “That’s no reason not to go.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Jack nods. “So you won’t do it?”

  Holy hell. Does he look relieved?

  “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Underwear.

  I need to get some serious underwear.

  Why did I wait so long to try on this stupid dress? I’m not as in shape as I was when I bought it. Jack was right all along. This is what I get for splurging with my evil corporate millions.

  Once I got out of the hospital, I realized I had enough money to buy clothes I loved but would never wear. Dreamy, fabulous clothes. Long black satin gloves, boots that look like Witchiepoo’s legs, a downy soft feather boa, a mocha cowboy hat with a rhinestone band, and a shimmery white evening gown that slides along my curves as would sun-sparkled rain.

  Make that SLID along my curves.

  Past tense. Before my country-lane curves expanded into interstate highways. Now the gown sticks and clings. This is what I get for post-adventure pigging out. What am I going to do? I can’t snap my fingers and conjure up a perfect dress. I can’t even buy one. I’m on a budget now, with the house and all the pet food and everything.