Dirty Stepbrother

by Alycia Taylor

  If I was a praying woman, I would have prayed. As it were, I got on with my fingers crossed.

  We drove down the street I lived on and he got onto the freeway. Before too long, miles of the beautiful Pacific Ocean stretched out along either side of us. He exited the freeway when we got to Venice Beach. We drove down Abbot Kinney Boulevard, a really cozy little place in L.A. with mom and pop stores that lined either side of the street as well as specialty boutiques, casual bars, and top-rated restaurants. It was known as the place where the rich hippies went to party and shop.

  It was one of the few places in L.A. where you saw only a handful of chain stores or restaurants. Instead, it was a proud mix of writers, local artists, and young dot.commers. On the first Friday of every month, you could buy just about anything out of the market they did on the street. They would have food and drink vendors and live music. Susie and I came down sometimes just to hang out and shop. It surprised me that Tristan brought me there, especially when everything seemed so quiet.

  He drove past the shops and nightclubs and restaurants and bars until we came to a narrow little street at about a forty-five degree angle towards the beach. He followed it down until we came to a small parking lot where he parked and turned off the bike. I slipped off, pulled off my helmet, and looked around.

  “It’s so peaceful,” I said.

  He got off the bike and said, “Ahem! I think you owe me a thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Driving so nicely and getting you here in one piece,” he said.

  I had to admit, he hadn’t scared me once on the way there. Maybe I was just getting used to him; that was a scary thought.

  “Yeah, this is where I come sometimes to clear my head. This time of night, you have the beach to yourself. You want to go down by the water?”

  “Sure.” I watched him sit down and pull off his boots and then his socks. He sat them next to his bike and then bent down to roll up the legs of his jeans. He looked at me then and said,

  “You’re not going to take off your shoes?”

  “What if I step on something?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “Live a little, Elly,” was all he said. He started walking down the steps that led to the sand that stretched out towards the ocean.

  “Wait for me,” I told him as I slipped off my shoes and bent down to take off my socks. I rolled my socks together and then sat my shoes next to his boots. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs with an amused expression on his face. I made my way down towards him and he started walking again. He was definitely in no danger of ever being called a gentleman.

  The beach was deserted and the moon, almost full, hung down low in the sky. If you looked right out into the ocean, the moon seemed to be dipping down in it. The beams shot silver up towards the clouds and made them look like they’d been dusted with something shiny. The tide had rolled in and the sand underneath my feet was wet. It felt good as the skin of my feet and toes molded to it with every step. Tristan was walking next to me, but he seemed to be in his own little world as he looked out onto the ocean. He seemed to know where he was going.

  After a bit, he stopped abruptly and said, “Tide pool.”

  “What?”

  “Look down.”

  I looked down at my feet and sure enough, there was a little tide pool with water swirling around the rough skin of one gray and one purple sea urchin. There were a few tiny little shells and when I reached down to pick one up, I felt Tristan’s hand on my arm.

  “Look,” he said, taking one between his thumb and finger and pulling it up out of the sand. As he brought it up towards me, tiny little legs dangled out. Within seconds the sand crab had pulled himself back up into the shell.

  “Cool,” I said. Where I grew up, we didn’t have beaches close by. We went on a trip to the beach only every other year or so. I’d never seen a crab that wasn’t in a tank waiting to be eaten. “Can you eat those?”

  Tristan looked at my face like he was trying to figure out if I was being serious or not. When he realized that I was he busted up laughing. He was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes as I waited him out with my arms folded. Finally he stopped and I said, “What is so funny?”

  “Give me your hand,” he said. I didn’t put one out right away and in a mock wounded voice he said, “You don’t trust me?”

  “What do you want my hand for?”

  “You really don’t trust me,” he said. Annoyed with him, I put out my hand. He sat the shell on my palm and said, “Hold still for a sec.” I held it still for quite a few seconds before something tickled my hand and I saw the shell start moving slowly towards my fingers. “Look at those tiny little legs,” he said. “When you asked if people ate them I just had this image of someone using a cracker and trying to get meat out of them.” I just gave him a look. I had the same image now and it was so ridiculous it was funny, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him. All of a sudden I felt a sharp pain.

  “Ow! It bit me!” I said as I tossed the little crab back down into the sand and watched it scurry away.

  He laughed again and said, “It pinched you.”

  “Same difference,” I said, trying to see if he’d drawn blood on my hand.

  Tristan reached over and pinched my shoulder.

  “Ow! Now you pinched me.”

  “Exactly,” he said, “That was a pinch.” He leaned forward then and lowered his head to my shoulder. I felt the gentle pressure of his teeth on my skin and then he bit down. “That is a bite.” I shivered and, with a gleam in his eye, he said, “Are you cold?”

  “No, it was just…never mind.”

  “That bite turned you on, didn’t it? We could go use your bed and I could bite you more…all over….”

  “Let’s keep walking.” I told him. I was becoming fond of having sex in strange places since I met Tristan, but sand in all of my crevices was not an appealing thought at all. Besides, I’d never done it out in the open before when anyone could walk up and see us in all of our glory. He hadn’t made me quite that twisted…yet.

  I took off walking further down the beach, and he followed me. The water kept coming out further each time and after we’d walked a few feet it was up to our ankles. It was cold and my feet were getting numb. I looked down and saw something pink. As I bent down to get it, Tristan held onto my waist with his hands. It wasn’t sexual at all, it was to steady me. It was nice. He’d never actually touched me for the sake of being protective before. I liked it. I was thinking about how much I liked it and then I chastised myself for it. He wasn’t my boyfriend, he was barely my friend…I had to stop thinking about him like that. It was only going to lead me to getting hurt.

  The shell I picked up was coral in color. It was perfectly shaped and intact with its condyle’s and spirals twisting around its outer surface.

  “Look,” I told him, “a perfect seashell.”

  Tristan stepped closer and I held it up towards the moonlight so that he could look at it. I could see the reflection of it in his eyes and feel his warm breath on my hand. I felt my stomach flutter, and for the second time that night, I wondered what we were becoming to each other.

  “Nice,” he said. “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” I said, putting that wondering what we were to each other stuff out of my head for now. We got back on the bike and just when I thought we were headed back home, he turned onto Sunset Blvd. and then parked in front of a bowling alley. I got off the bike and said, “Bowling?”

  “Nope, karaoke,” he said.

  I laughed, I thought he was kidding. He took me by the hand—that was another first, and it didn’t do anything for me being able to tell myself that we were nothing but fuck-buddies to each other. He led me into a dark little bar that was attached to the end of the bowling alley. There were only about ten people there, four of them were belly up to the bar and the other six were spread out across three tables. There was a tiny little stage in front of the tables and
a big sound system.

  Tristan led me up to the bar and said, “Two club sodas.” I had to smile at that. It was something I was sure I’d never hear—Tristan ordering soda in a bar. The bartender poured our drinks and we carried over to a little table next to the stage.

  Once we sat down I said, “You’re kidding about the karaoke, right?”

  He laughed and said, “Why? Are you a virgin?”

  “What?”

  “A karaoke virgin. You’ve never done it before?”

  “No,” I told him, “I have stage fright.”

  He laughed again and said, “A week ago you sang in front of nine million people and now you’re nervous about singing in front of ten? Besides, look at them. They all look about half dead anyways.”

  I shook my head. “It’s worse this way, I can see them looking at me.”

  “Picture them in their underwear,” he said. He was still teasing me.

  “You too?” I asked him.

  He grinned and said, “You can picture me in mine any time you want. I picture you in yours all the time.” He was always one ahead of me. “You’ll do fine,” he said.

  I started to protest again when loud music suddenly blared out of the speakers and a man came out of the door at the back of the stage.

  “Hello all and welcome to Kyle’s Karaoke night! How are ya’ll doing this fine evening?”

  There was a low rumble of response across the bored audience. Kyle, if that was who he was, would not be deterred,

  “I said how is everyone doing tonight?” That time he yelled it and people clapped just to keep him from asking again. “Great!” he said, once again overly enthusiastic. “We have some great prizes tonight for those of you who are brave enough to come up on the stage. The audience will vote after each performance, and the end, the person with the highest number of votes wins. He hit a button and there was a drumroll—it was all very cheesy. I looked over at Tristan. He was looking up at Kyle, but he didn’t seem to be watching or listening to him. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

  “What I need now, are guinea pigs…ah…I mean volunteers…”

  Tristan must have been listening. He put his hand in the air and looked over at me. I shook my head at him. He reached over and picked up my arm.

  “Tristan!”

  “Elly!” he grinned again. He loved to antagonize me.

  “Perfect, I have two fine volunteers; anyone else?” Kyle ended up with two more. He handed the song choices out to us and wished us good luck.

  After he walked away I said, “It will be good luck if I don’t puke or faint. What if I faint?”

  “I wouldn’t just leave you lying there,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? I’d move you over far enough so the next guy could sing without stepping on you.”

  “You’re so good to me,” I told him, sarcastically. “I have no clue what I would do without you.”

  “I know,” he said, “I’m glad you have me to look out for you too. I can’t imagine all the trouble you might get yourself into if you didn’t.”

  He was talking to me while looking at the song list. He looked like he was concentrating on choosing a song as if it were for Fresh Voices. I looked down at mine. The song choices were all cheesy wedding songs and I didn’t know all of the lyrics to any of them. I’d have to stare at the monitor. It was going to be terrible.

  When Kyle got back on stage and he asked who wanted to go first, a large, drunk man who had taken a list of songs volunteered. He looked a little wobbly as he climbed up the steps to the stage. He was definitely buzzed, if not drunk. He cleared his throat and the music for Staying Alive came on. He cleared his throat again and then he started singing. He wasn’t terrible, and the music was so loud you could hardly hear him. But what I found the most entertaining was that he started disco dancing. He even ripped off his jacket and did a John Travolta thing over his head with it.

  Tristan whistled and hooted and egged him on. It was hilarious to watch both him and Tristan. I’d never seen him that animated over anything other than sex or his own performances. That jacket swing thing, by the way, was the man’s only resemblance to John. When he finished and I was clapping for him, I realized that there was suddenly a lot more noise in the bar than I thought there should be. I looked behind us and there were at least a dozen more people now than when we came in. The last group was comprised of about five or six biker-looking guys. One of them winked at me.

  I turned back around and told Tristan, “I really can’t do this…there are too many people….”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. Then, he stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s my turn,” he told me. I watched as he went up on the stage and picked up the mic. He smiled at me and then the music came on. He started singing Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues.

  He opened his mouth and I couldn’t believe my ears. The fact that he wasn’t looking at the monitor told me he knew all the words. What was even more impressive was that somehow he had made his voice sound just like the Man in Black.

  The whole bar was silent as they listened to him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him myself. I felt someone step up next to me. I didn’t pay much attention to them until I saw the chair next to me move and then I saw one of the bikers drop down in the seat. I looked at him and then back up at Tristan. Tristan was still singing, but his eyes were on the guy sitting next to me. He had a strange look on his face, I couldn’t tell if he knew the guy, or if he was just pissed that the guy was sitting in his seat.

  The biker leaned in close to me. He smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. “Hi there pretty girl,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to do. I definitely didn’t want to encourage him. I didn’t want to piss him off either though. He was a big son of a bitch.

  “Hi, that’s actually my friend’s chair,” I told him.

  “Well, your friend shouldn’t leave his pretty belongings lying around.”

  I folded my arms tightly. “I’m no one’s belonging. I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone.”

  “Let me buy you a drink, darlin’.”

  “I don’t want a drink,” I told him. “I’d like you to go back over there with your friends and let me sit here and wait for mine.”

  He reached his arm around me and I heard Tristan stop singing. I looked up and saw him coming down off the stage. The look on his face told me clearly that now he was pissed.

  I stood up when he reached the table and quickly said, “It’s okay, Tristan.” The biker guy’s friend’s saw there was something going on and started over. The music stopped.

  “That’s my fucking seat,” Tristan told the big guy. The guy stood up. He was almost a foot taller than Tristan and a whole lot bulkier.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” the guy started to pick up the chair and Tristan still stood his ground.

  “Tristan, please. Let’s just go.”

  “Tristan? Bounty Hunter, hang on there a sec,” one of his buddies said.

  “Are you Tristan Rogers?”

  Tristan looked at the other guy. He was older with a fuzzy grey beard and a black bandana tied around his head. “Yeah, who the fuck wants to know?”

  The man busted up laughing. His friends were all looking at him strangely, but he must have been the leader or the boss or whatever you call him; they still weren’t making a move.

  “Name’s Bill,” the old man said, “And I been watching you on that show, what do you call it?”

  “Fresh Voices!” One of the other guys shouted it out; he recognized him too.

  “I’ll be damned,” another one said.

  “You’re the fucking bomb man!” a young skinny one added.

  Suddenly they were our five new best friends. They tried to buy us a round of drinks; when Tristan said we were drinking club soda, they got a big kick out of that. I did my karaoke, and I didn’t know if it was good or if Tristan’s new friends just didn’t want
to hurt my feelings. They voted for me and I won two free bowling passes. Whoo Hoo!

  It was a fun night though. It gave me a glimpse of the Tristan that didn’t have to be on for the show; the one who wasn’t horny and the one who wasn’t high. This guy was fun…I liked him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tristan

  Every nerve ending in my body felt raw and on edge as I got ready for the results show. When Elly and I got back from the beach the night before, she helped me pick out what shirt I was going to wear. I slipped it on and wondered if we made the wrong choice. I didn’t want to look like everyone else and the shirt was just kind of…blah. I took it off and put another one on. That one looked like shit. It looked like an old man shirt. I took it off and put the one Elly and I picked out back on. I rolled up the sleeves and left it unbuttoned at the collar. It looked a little better.

  Once I’d been I the bathroom for over an hour, I heard a tap on the door.

  “Tristan?” It was Elly.

  “Yep.”

  “I have to pee.” She killed me sometimes.

  “Okay, thanks for sharing.”

  “Tristan!” I smiled; I could hear the agitation in her voice. I don’t know why it amused me so much, but it did. It was like wrestling with a puppy over his squeaky toy.

  I opened the door and said, “Are you about to pee your pants?”

  “No, you’ve just been in here for a long time and my bladder is full.”

  She tried to step around me and I moved over. She stepped to the other side and I moved again.

  “Excuse me!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want in here?”

  “Yes, damn it! I need to pee!”

  “Oh wow, then I guess I probably shouldn’t do this….” I grabbed her by the waist and tickled her. She squealed and screamed and cussed at me until I finally let her go. “You still have to pee?”