by Tim Lebbon
“I knew what I was getting into,” Dana said, looking at the picture and silently acknowledging how much crap that was. She hadn’t known at all. In retrospect she’d come to understand it all, but that was what learning by mistakes was all about.
“Right,” Jules said. “Dana Polk, homewrecker. Puh-leeze.” She moved to the dresser, and started rifling shamelessly through Dana’s open drawers. Dana loved Jules as a best friend, but sometimes she was so damn... close.
“You know what I—” she began.
“You know what you’re getting into this weekend?” Jules asked, her mood brightening again. She was holding up Dana’s little wine-colored bikini. “This. And if Holden’s as cute as Curt says he is, possibly out of it as well.”
“That’s the last thing—” Dana said, then she saw the truth behind Jules’s smile. “If you guys treat this like a set-up, I’m gonna have no fun at all.”
“I’m not pushing,” Jules said, doing exactly the opposite. She crossed to Dana’s bed, flipped up her suitcase’s lid and ran her hands over the surface of the stuff she’d already packed. “Hmm. But we are packing the bikini. Which means...” She pulled the textbooks out and dropped them on the bed, one, two, three. “...we definitely won’t have room for these.”
“Oh, come on, what if I’m bored?”
Jules gasped and looked at her, and Dana closed her eyes, realizing just how lame that sounded.
“These’ll help?” Jules said. “Soviet Economic Structures? Aftermath of the Cultural...?” She tossed one of the books theatrically across the bed, not even blinking when it bounced onto the floor.
If that cover is broken, the library will charge me, Dana thought.
“No!” Jules cried, grasping the remaining two books to her chest. “We have a lake! And a keg! We are girls on the verge of going wild— Just look at my hair, woman!”
Dana looked, and nodded, and she had to admit to herself, Yeah, this has the feel of being an epic weekend.
“It is great,” she said, and she was about to add more when a voice called from the doorway—
•••
“Think fast!”
Curt had only been listening for a few seconds— well, maybe thirty... okay, perhaps a minute—and while the idea of snooping for longer on his girlfriend and her hot friend had its attractions, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He thought of himself as a decent guy, and decent guys didn’t do things like that.
Besides, there was the risk he’d hear something he didn’t want to. And he’d been timing himself.
So swinging around the corner into the room and throwing the football had seemed a suitable way to overcome his slight embarrassment. Perhaps he should have thought to check on whether both girls were dressed.
One of them let out a surprised yelp, though he didn’t know which one. As the ball sailed between them and directly through the open window, he had an instant to register two facts about the view: one, his girlfriend’s hair had changed color; and two, Dana was only wearing a shirt and panties.
It took him only a heartbeat to confirm that he liked both things.
“Well, faster than that,” he said, grinning.
“Curt!” Jules snapped, but he was already darting into the room. He shoved them toward the window, and all three of them looked out to see what had become of the ball.
It was a nice street, with close-built three-story town houses, mostly given over to student accommodations, and a variety of vehicles parked along the curbside. Some students had new cars bought for them when they came to college, others had to buy their own— gleam sat next to rust, but both seemed very much at home here. The whole place exuded a good vibe, and that’s why Curt liked it so much.
Also out on the street was a guy dropping his duffle bag and rushing sideways into the road, hand reaching, arms stretching, feet leaving the road surface as he leapt. And the thrown football landed in his hands as if drawn by some invisible force.
The squeal of brakes was only slight—a perturbed gasp rather than an upset screech—and the car that touched his leg seemed to do so almost tenderly.
“Yes!” the guy said, holding the ball up in one hand. Then he became more contrite, backing out of the road and half-bending so he could look in at the car’s driver. “Sorry,” Curt heard him say. “Sorry. Move along.” “Niiice!” Curt breathed. Damn, the guy could catch. He detected disapproval battering him from both sides, so he remained looking out into the street. The guy saw him and waved up.
“Is that Holden?” Dana asked.
“Come on up!” Curt called, and he thought, Is that interest I hear in her sweet little voice? He took a step back so he could look from Jules to Dana, speaking to both of them. “Just transferred from State,” he confirmed. “Best hands on the team. He’s a sweet guy.” “And he’s good with his hands,” Jules said, looking pointedly at Dana.
Curt laughed out loud, then let his laughter fade away as his expression dropped into one of embarrassment.
“Um, hi,” he said to Jules. “I’m sort of seeing this girl, but, uh, you’re way blonder than she is, and I was thinking we could... ” He glimpsed the book she was holding to her chest, and abandoned the play. Time for another angle. “What is this?” He snatched the books from her, tugging lightly when she tried to resist. She growled, but he knew when her eyes were smiling.
“What are these?” he demanded. “What are you doing with these?”
“Okay,” Dana said, “I get it, I’ll—”
“Where did you get these?” Curt asked Jules, stretching the joke. “Who taught you about these?”
“I learned it from you, okay?” Jules gushed, holding one hand up to her forehead, feigning tears and storming breezily out of the room.
Curt was enjoying himself. He felt Dana’s slight discomfort, but he was also enjoying denying her the opportunity to pull on her pants. His girlfriend sure chose some cute friends, that he could say. He leaned close to Dana, struggling to keep his eyes on her face and not those long, smooth legs.
“Seriously?” he said, voice anything but. “Professor Bennett covers this whole book in his lectures. Read the Gurovsky; it’s way more interesting and Bennett doesn’t know it by heart, so he’ll think you’re insightful.
“And you have no pants.”
He smiled, threw the books on the bed and shouted out into the living room, “Holden! Crazy mad skills of catching!” Behind him he heard Dana’s small gasp of panic, and he glanced back to see her hauling her jeans up over her thighs and shapely behind.
Damn, he thought, eyes off, Curt. Eyes off.
As he left the bedroom Dana followed him out. He hoped he hadn’t upset her. It was set to be a momentous weekend; the great outdoors, beer, and sex. But probably not in that order, and in far from equal quantities.
•••
Jerk, Dana thought, but it was with intense affection. Jules and Curt had been an item for over a year now, and she was really fond of her friend’s boyfriend. He was hot, too, but not really her type. A little too... jock for her liking. Though she’d never say that to him, or even to Jules. She wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings.
As she followed him out into the living room Jules was already opening the front door, and Dana had time to think, Damn it, didn’t brush my hair, are my jeans done up, did I button my shirt up because dammit I’m not wearing a bra yet and—
Holden stood framed in the doorway. Dana caught her breath.
“You laid it in my hands, I did but hold them out,” he said, smiling at Curt. He was even better looking close up than he’d seemed out in the street. Dark, strong, short hair—way shorter than any jock would choose to wear—and he had an easy smile that was completely unforced.
“There was the small matter of almost being hit by a car,” Curt said.
“It’s never a great catch unless there’s a challenge attached.” Holden tossed the ball to Curt, and grabbed a bag from beside his feet.
“Hey, I’m Jules,” Ju
les said, holding out her hand.
“Hi,” Holden said, eyes widening slightly. “Man, Curt did not exaggerate.”
“That’s a first,” Jules said, but Dana could see how flattered she was. She was surprised her friend didn’t start giggling and hiding her face against her shoulder like a coy little girl. The compliment had sounded pure and honest, though—if it hadn’t been, Holden surely would have come out with something smoother.
And then.
“Dude, this is Dana,” Curt said.
“Hey,” Dana said. Hey? Hey? Couldn’t she think of anything... ? But they locked eyes then, and Holden dropped his bag and walked past Curt to where Dana stood, making a point of closing the distance between them. Nevertheless, his three steps seemed to go on forever.
He shook her hand, his grip strong but gentle.
“I’m Holden,” he said. “Really nice to meet you.” He held her hand for just a little too long, then grinned and looked around at the others. “And thank you guys for letting me crash your weekend. I’ll just put a disclaimer up front: you don’t have to explain any of your in-jokes. I’ll probably be drunk and think they’re funny anyway.” A soft frown. “Should I have left out the part about being drunk?”
“With hindsight, yeah,” Curt quipped.
“Damn.” Holden looked past Dana at her bedroom door. “Can I help anybody carry anything?”
“Thanks, but I’d better finish packing first,” Dana said. She turned smartly and entered her bedroom again, looking at the open suitcase and the books spilled onto her bed, and the red wine-colored bikini Jules had insisted that she take. Her sketch pad still lay open on the bed beside the books, and her ex-lover’s eyes stared at her, rendered with Dana’s expert hand while they had still been together. Back then, she’d drawn him with love in his eyes. After what he’d done to her, even though she could not deny the feelings she still had for him, she didn’t think she could ever draw him again. Not that she would ever want to.
She dropped the bikini into the case. Maybe there would be some swimming in the lake this weekend, after all.
•••
Jules had many fond memories of Curt’s family Rambler. The recreational vehicle slept six at a push, but the three times she and Curt had used it, it had just been the two of them. And they’d made full use of all the space inside. One time, when they’d been parked up in the mountains, sun setting behind the peaks and bleeding orange down the mountainside, she’d sat on his lap in the driver’s seat. Then, in neutral, he’d revved the engine. Damn, those vibrations. They’d used half a tank of fuel that night without going anywhere.
Now here it was, about to take them away again, and she was certain the memories she’d bring back from this weekend would be of somewhere else entirely.
Jules was glad to see the quiet, tentative communication going on between Holden and Dana. That scumbag lecturer had done a real job on her friend, and she hated it when Dana said, I’m not ready to let it go yet. It wasn’t that she was weak or feeble, it was just that... well, maybe Dana thought about things too much. And with what he’d done, it didn’t even need thinking about. He was a shithead, and she was better off without him.
You need someone to romance you, take your mind off him, she’d said, and Dana had replied, No, not that.
Well then, maybe you need a good screw, she’d said, and Dana had denied she needed that, either.
Maybe Holden’s the one to give her whatever the hell it is she needs, she thought.
Dana was inside the Rambler storing their stuff, and Jules watched as Holden passed up her own suitcase, then the polite smile that passed between them. Was that a brief touch of hands on the suitcase handle? She couldn’t tell from where she stood on the sidewalk, but—
Stop it! she scolded herself. It was up to the two of them now. She and Curt had done their bit. It was time for nature could take its course. “That pretty much it?” Holden asked, turning around and looking at her. He had a film of sweat on his forehead. Well, maybe three suitcases was a little excessive for just one weekend.
“Fuckin’ better be!” Curt said. “Jules, it’s a weekend, not an evacuation.”
Jules took a step closer to her boyfriend and prodded him in the chest.
“Trust me when I say there is nothing in those cases you won’t be glad I brought.”
“I’m shuttin’ right up,” Curt said. He raised one eyebrow, but Jules just smiled enigmatically and turned away. He loved it when she dressed up, and she wasn’t about to reveal any of the surprises she had in store.
“Oh my God!” Dana said. She was standing in the Rambler’s doorway looking along the street, and when Jules followed her gaze it took a moment for it to register.
Martin Mikalski. Marty.
•••
He’d been part of their close circle for a couple of years, and to outsiders it might have looked like a strange combination. But whereas Curt was the wildman jock, Dana the sweet young thing with a fiery centre, and Jules the opinionated blonde type—today, literally, Marty was the most unaffected of them all.
There were no airs and graces with Marty. He called it as he saw it, was totally comfortable with himself, and seemed to want for nothing. He cherished his friends, Jules knew—he’d told her enough times, stoned and relaxed—and he seemed completely unselfconscious. And he was funny.
If Jules had been born a guy, she’d told herself many times, she would have wanted to be Marty.
But as soon as she saw him and what he was doing, Jules snorted in disbelief. It was almost a laugh, she supposed. But not quite.
Marty had parked his car and was still smoking a huge bong while climbing out. It was an awkward maneuver, but he concentrated hard to maintain his balance and avoid knocking the bong against the doorframe. It looked to Jules as if he’d done this many times before.
They all glanced around to see who was watching, who might see, and whether there were any cops in the area. The police often cruised by at regular intervals, and sometimes if they were bored they’d park up and watch for any students they could hassle for something. It didn’t happen much... but for them, something like this would have been pure gold.
“Marty... ” she muttered, not quite knowing what to say
“Fuck is wrong with you, bro?” Curt said, a little louder.
Marty took the bong away from his mouth and slammed the car door behind him. He blinked slowly.
“People in this town drive in a very counterintuitive manner, and that’s what I have to say.” “Do you want to spend the weekend in jail?” Curt asked. “’Cause we’d all like to check out my cousin’s country home, and not get boned in the ass by a huge skinhead.”
Speak for yourself, Jules thought of quipping, but Curt sounded serious. And pissed.
“Marty, honey, that’s not okay,” she said instead.
“Statistical fact,” Marty said. “Cops will never pull over a man with a huge bong in his car. Why?” And damn if he didn’t take one more hit before continuing. “They fear this man. They know he sees further than they and he will bind them with ancient logics.” He smiled, wide and honest, and then the faintest frown creased his forehead as he focused on Jules and asked, “Have you gone gray?”
“You’re not bringing that thing in the Rambler,” Curt said.
“A giant bong, in your father’s van?” Marty asked as if the very suggestion was mad. Jules was trying not to smile, but it was hurting her face. She glanced sidelong at Curt and saw his simmering anger, but then she heard a muffled giggle from behind her. She couldn’t tell whether it was Dana or Holden, or maybe both of them.
She was going to look down at her feet, but then Marty suddenly became more animated. He emptied the bong’s water, removed the bowl, placed it into a recess inside the tube and pushed the entire length closed. Then he plucked a lid from the bottom and fitted it neatly on top, and the bong had become a silver thermos flask. “What are you?” he asked Curt, maneuver complete. “Stoned?”
>
Curt broke. His tension went and he walked forward, clapping Marty on the shoulder. As they passed her by Marty gave Jules a quick wink. She rolled her eyes.
Dana and Holden got into the Rambler, and Marty leapt in after them.
“It’s going to be a fun weekend,” she said, probing to see whether Curt was okay. He held her tight, grabbed her around the hips and planted a quick, passionate kiss on the lips.
“Damn right it is,” he said, and Jules smiled inside.
From inside the Rambler they heard Marty speak up.
“Dana, you fetching minx. Do you have any food?”
He’s got the munchies already, Jules thought. And then she thought of the keg sitting in the RV and, notwithstanding that it was barely in the p.m., she thought that a drink might be a good way to commence their vacation.
She climbed in after Marty, Curt behind her, and when he slammed the door it felt as if their weekend had finally begun. She sat up front with him, and they grinned at each other, remembering their last weekend in this vehicle. He shook a little in his seat, and she giggled.
“Everybody ready?” Curt called, and there came a cheerful chorus of assent.
“Wagons ho!” Marty called.
“Go, dude!” Holden said. “Let’s burn daylight!” Dana whooped.
Curt laughed.
“Then let’s get this show on the road!” He turned the key, Jules sighed as the Rambler vibrated beneath her, and then they were on their way.
•••
Free will is a precious commodity. It’s relished as much as political freedom, and most people believe it is a central part of their existence, whether this conviction is a tenet of their religious beliefs or born of a more secular outlook. All five people in the Rambler considered it to different degrees, and believed that they oversaw their own destinies. Perhaps Marty thought about it more than most, but then he always had been a thinker rather than a doer.
In his early teens it had been conspiracy theories and fear of the Big Brother society, but his thinking now usually went deeper. Most people didn’t see that in him at all—even the friends he had around him now— because for them, the drugs dulled his personality as much as they believe they dulled his senses.