by Kirsten Reed
And he said, ‘Hey…Who is this?’
When he heard it was me he said, ‘Oh, hey’ again.
‘It’s my birthday,’ I blurted.
He said, ‘Oh, well, happy—Have a good one.’
‘Thanks, if you want to come over me and Stephanie are—’
He cut me off. ‘No thanks.’
I said, ‘Uh, OK.’ And then, ‘Why not?’
He started rambling a bit here. He said a few things, and then, ‘Look just forget it, all right? Just…’
I asked him what I was supposed to be forgetting.
‘You’re not my girlfriend, all right,’ he spat. ‘Just leave me alone.’
This surprised me, and I was still thinking of something to say to make us behave a little nicer to each other when he hung up.
I went up to my room, lay down on my bed, and thought a while. It’s always sad when people are jerks to you. But mostly I was sad that I hadn’t located Baby Gunther after all. I had to go back to Plan A. I needed to find Gunther, or find a way to make him come back for me. I’d tried Vampire Prodigy Telepathy Mind Control. He didn’t seem to get those messages.
I fantasized about being in some horrific accident, which would compel him to come back and sit by my hospital bed, filled with remorse. Maybe he would stroke my hand. Goodness knows he would fix those eyes on me.
Stephanie came home in kind of a state. I hoped it was just birthday excitement, but it was tinged with something else, a touch of the old raw Stephanie. And she had a bottle of Jim Beam in a brown paper bag.
She said, ‘You know what?’
‘What?’
‘Gunther used to smoke with you, didn’t he?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you handled yourself OK, didn’t you?’
I said, ‘Yep. Calmed me right down.’
‘Well, I think we should have a drink. It’s my house and I make the rules…Eighteen. God I was shitfaced when I turned eighteen! What do ya say to a birthday toast?’
I said, ‘Sure.’
We went into the kitchen and sorted ourselves out with ice and Diet Coke. Then we sat back down on the lounge, with ample supplies of cola and bourbon within easy reach on the coffee table.
Steph raised her glass so high her arm was straight above her head. ‘To birthdays,’ she said. Then she added, ‘To your birthday,’ and patted me on the knee.
‘Thanks,’ I said, and clinked her glass way up there.
We had a few under our belts, and Steph was talking about stuff I had to do. Rites-of-passage sort of stuff. She’d been on the subject for a while, and I’d been pretty tight-lipped. But the drunker I got, the harder it was to withhold information; it became a crushing burden. The next time Steph came around to the subject of virginity I said, ‘Steph, it’s already happened.’
She said, ‘What?’
I went, ‘Yeah, the other night.’ And added perkily, ‘Someone just up and stuck it in.’
Steph yelled, ‘I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend!’
I said, ‘Turns out I don’t.’
We talked a little while about Neil, and I explained his similarities to Gunther.
She said, ‘But those are only skin deep.’
‘But he reminds me of him a lot.’
‘Yes, but only physically. Gunther would have never treated you, I mean anyone, that way.’
‘Not even in his hedonistic days?’
She paused and then smirked. ‘No, not even when he was a bit more…freewheeling. Hon, he was still Gunther. He was still a good person.’
We paused and considered this for a moment.
Then I said, ‘Jimmy.’
‘What?’
‘You know Jimmy.’
Steph said, ‘Yeah, what about him?’
I said, ‘I hate that dick.’
She looked pleased and amused.
Then I added, ‘He’s a dick,’ just in case the point needed more emphasis.
The doorbell rang and Steph yelled, ‘It’s open!’ And then jolted to attention and started hastily tidying our little table. By then we were both quite smashed, and it basically just involved herding the various pieces of incriminating evidence into a tighter, more symmetrical arrangement in the middle of the table. It reminded me of all the piles she had scattered around the house when we first got there.
A bunch of frumpy looking women marched into the room, all wearing prissy dresses, all looking completely appalled. It looked like someone had cloned a mother-in-law in various stages of development. The old ugly one front and center snorted, ‘Well, Stephanie! I just don’t—what on earth do you call this?’
The younger one with red curly hair said, slightly more bashfully, ‘We thought it might be nice to drop in on you.’
‘Well, you could have called first.’ Steph seemed kind of mad.
The old battleaxe was definitely mad. ‘I did call first.’
Steph withered a bit. ‘Oh, God, I totally forgot.’ And then, ‘Was that…when was that?’
I scooched closer to Stephanie on the couch, to make more room in case they wanted to sit down. That just made matters worse. Now I think they thought we were lesbians, because the old bitch took in the scene afresh and gasped, ‘Oh, Stephanie.’
I stayed put. Hell, I didn’t care if they thought we were having some girl-on-girl action. I’ve never seen anything wrong in that. A lot of girls are damn pretty, I can see that. And apart from Gunther, a lot easier to talk to than boys. Not that I’m experienced or anything, I just don’t have a problem with it. I don’t have a problem with lots of things.
Gunther and I were on the subject once, and he called me ‘delightfully broad-minded’, which he said is a great asset to me, as long as I keep my feet on the ground, or at least one foot on the ground. He gave me a happy iceberg-eyed shimmer. I said what about all those crazy times of his, and he said he was grounded. That riled me up. I’m grounded. I may muse about him being a vampire half the time, but how is he to know that? Unless he can read minds…
Back in the living room I was asked how old I was, and replied, ‘Twenty-three.’
Then the rough formation of disgusted women turned on their heels and left. Steph looked flat. Really flat.
She said, ‘My late husband’s sister.’ Then added, her voice breaking, ‘And some ladies from church.’
I said, ‘I didn’t know you go to church.’
She said, ‘I don’t. I didn’t!’
‘Oh, Stephanie,’ I just wanted to get our party going again. ‘You’re entitled to live it up a little.’
She put her head in her hands and burst out sobbing. I gave her some weak pats on the shoulder. Then I got up and started to clear up, and realized I was too drunk. We both fell asleep there on the couch.
I woke up early, feeling like my head was a balloon about to pop. I’d thrown up on myself a little. Steph was still out cold. I got up and took a shower.
When I got back to the living room, with my wet hair and my clean clothes, feeling slightly less like shit, Steph was still there. She was just beginning to unfold herself from her curled-up position into a more vertical one. She moved a few bottles and things around on the coffee table, then she looked up at me and said, ‘Hair of the dog?’
I said, ‘Um…OK.’
I had been expecting her to swing back into Good Stephanie housewife mode. I thought having those angry broads crashing in on her might have given her a shock. Enough of one to send her back into the safe haven of decent living.
I think she was still drunk. We sat on the front porch with a couple of glasses and polished off the rest of the bourbon, which was mostly just backwash. Stephanie had started swigging from the bottle toward the end of the night.
Doing that, sitting there, was a good vantage point to survey all that suburban crispness. There was something satisfying about it. Everything else around us was afraid to stir. And when it did stir, it just let out a predictable little peep. A garage door opening and closing, a b
ird chirping. I felt like a couple of hillbillies. She was sitting in a rocking chair. At the same time, feeling like a blight on a landscape like that made me feel urbane and pretty cool.
We sat out there for a while, quietly and meaningfully sipping, although every swallow of lukewarm Jim Beam made my throat burn. It wasn’t going down too easy, and I was strongly considering abandoning the attempt. But I have a bit of the old Gunther Shared Ritual in me, I think.
Then old Jimmy came crashing into his yard, thunderously revving his pick-up, bucking-bronco style, before skidding it to a dead stop directly in front of us. Stephanie, to complete the demure suburban cliché, lived in a cul de sac. We were right at the end, so her yard curved toward his. And naturally Jimmy drove a shiny black pick-up truck. What the hell else would he drive? Of course he parked it out on the front lawn. He shot us a filthy sideways glance and headed inside, screen door slamming behind him.
Stephanie cleaned herself up and went to work. I went to work. It seemed things were back to normal.
She was sitting on the couch watching TV, eating rice crackers, when I got home. She said she’d been out on a date. She met this guy at work, Phillip. He sounded nicer than Jimmy. Or at least I thought he should be, since she met him at a nice person’s job, doing nice person things. Helping the underprivileged to enjoy themselves more, and suchlike.
I went to my room and thought about Gunther some more. I was certain he could feel our connection; how the distance between our minds formed a straight, unbreakable line between us. I knew he could feel me there, wherever he was, thinking about him. I couldn’t entertain the thought that he didn’t feel me, couldn’t feel me; wasn’t thinking of me at all. That was too terrifying. Did I mention he left me the typewriter? And a stack of grade-A recycled typing paper.
The next day I left for work early, and wandered around town. I passed a boy sitting in a doorway who gave me little puppy dog eyes. He was cute, and I knew he was giving me the green light. He was looking at me like I could help him fix a problem. Looked like he needed saving, or at least some friendly company. But I didn’t even break stride.
It’s not the same without Gunther. It doesn’t seem as adventuresome. When he was out having his night, and I was out having mine, we were still linked, due to reconvene. Sometimes I really did feel like two vampires out on the feed. Out there in the night, kissing boys was safer and more thrilling. Gunther was my anchor, and I was out swimming on a line.
Things have been boring for a while with me working, Stephanie working, her dating, and me not being in the mood for boys. I’m saving up money, but I’m still not sure what to do with it.
Phillip came over for dinner, after those two had been dating a few weeks. I had the night off, and they said I could stay put. Well, Stephanie did, and Phillip concurred. He said I could call him Phil. She was making grilled fish with various side dishes, and going to a lot of effort.
He said, ‘Mmmm, something smells good.’
They drank white wine and talked about work. He gave her plenty of advice on people and things. I guess he’d been working there a lot longer. Steph seemed to be taking it all in. She tapped the wine bottle and raised an eyebrow in my direction. I shook my head in a quick secretive jerk. Phillip seemed square as all hell, and I didn’t want to bring down Stephanie’s rep.
But then she did it herself in a matter of seconds. She regaled him with the finer points of our night of sanctioned under-age drinking. The horrible old hens crashing in on us, the rites-of-passage speeches, laughing away. She didn’t seem to notice his look of brow-furrowing concern.
I thought, ‘Man, Steph is such a ditz sometimes.’ So I said, ‘It was my idea.’ Then, ‘Steph was already drunk.’
We all sat there in tense silence. I think Phillip actually clucked his tongue; think I saw him shake his head. Then I thought, ‘Crud. I am a feeble fucking excuse-maker.’
‘Stephie, I don’t think that sounds right,’ he said finally.
Christ. Why do they all call her ‘Stephie’?
She said, ‘Yeah you’re probably right.’ Then added softly, ‘She’s older than she…seems.’
‘And now, I don’t think that makes sense.’ He peered meaningfully into her eyes. He has brashly blue ‘I’m a rugged yet sensitive guy’ eyes that are somewhat piercing. Hers are warm brown. By this point he had summoned enough dripping earnestness to add, ‘…Do you?’
I got up and sat on the couch, turned on the TV. The living room shares a doorway with the kitchen; I could still see them in there. Stephanie was washing the dishes, and Phillip was standing behind her rubbing her shoulders. Really, he was more just grabbing her shoulders, holding her there. He shot me a couple of sidelong glances. He was telling her she was a nice lady, and shouldn’t let herself be manipulated by a kid like me.
I was still miffed the next morning. Stephanie and I shuffled around awkwardly and didn’t say much to each other. I ate too much breakfast and lay around on the couch like a beached whale. There was an extremely authoritative knock on the front door.
I thought, ‘Jeez, there’s no need to knock like a cop.’
Apparently there was. It was a cop.
He said, ‘Afternoon, miss.’
I said, ‘Morning.’
He said, ‘I’ve heard reports of some underage drinking going on here. Would you know anything about that?’
I said, ‘No…sir, I…Stephanie occasionally has a…nightcap, but I don’t join her.’
‘Stephanie. That’s the lady of the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she at home?’
‘I’m right here.’ Stephanie came marching in looking put out and determined.
‘Ma’am, I’ve heard accounts of underage drinking here. You wouldn’t be supplying liquor to a minor by any chance, would you?’
Stephanie said pleasantly, ‘Now, we did have a toast the other night, because it was her birthday—’
‘I had root beer!’ I shouted.
The cop kept his attention directed at Stephanie. ‘Are you this child’s legal guardian?’
‘I’m her…She is under my care.’
He leaned over me. ‘Would you say you’re being well looked after?’
I said yes, and he said he’d be in touch.
Naturally this exchange stressed us out, but we didn’t have time to talk about it until that night, when we’d both got home from work. We were cursing whoever turned us in.
Stephanie said it must have been the uptight ‘well-wishing’ bitches. (One of them had actually left a card, propped up on the television. It read, I deeply feel your loss against a background of sunset pink.)
‘Or Jimmy,’ I said. ‘He gave us a funny look.’
‘Yeah,’ she mused, ‘he’s probably bearing a grudge.’
‘Or Phillip!’ I chimed.
‘What?’
‘Why not?’
‘Phillip’s a very nice man.’
‘Oh, c’mon Stephanie. Phillip would rat us out and act like he was doing us a favor.’
She got pretty crotchety. ‘He’s the nicest man I’ve been out with in quite some time,’ she said.
I was fixing to say, ‘That’s not saying much,’ but thought better of it. For one thing, it mightn’t be true. Her late husband Ward was probably nice; Gunther had said as much.
We chugged our hot chocolates and went to our respective beds. I did my usual pine for Gunther. This was my nightly ritual, the way some people say prayers. I dropped off to sleep, and slept half the next day away. I missed Stephanie leaving for work, and nearly missed leaving for work myself.
It was funny how Stephanie could get the cops called ’round for drinking backwash on her own porch, while Gunther could sit out there passing joints back and forth with me like no one’s business. God I miss that self-made renegade. How he’s gracefully expanded beyond the confines of acceptable living, pushed past the walls of that box that most people cower inside. Was he ever stuck in there at all? It’s ha
rd to imagine.
Dale was damn chatty that night. I was too grumpy to offer much in the way of responses, but he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he liked it better that way. Maybe he liked talking to an employee and not having to scan their replies for sarcasm.
Stephanie was in bed when I got home. The next day she told me Phillip had vouched for her respectability. She’d already told him about the cop dropping by. So by the time the cop found the gall to go sniffing around her work, Phillip was all ready to be her knight in shining armor. He sent the pig packing, with an impassioned tirade which combined a nod to Stephanie’s upstandingness with a lamentation on the breakdown of civil liberties. It sounded like quite a performance; Stephanie was visibly moved.
He came around for dinner again, too soon for my liking. He asked us if we’d learned our lesson, playing with fire like that. He said he hoped we had, and that sometimes you had to learn things the hard and fast way. Then he dribbled on about something his grandfather had taught him; tough love and all that. And I thought, ‘This nutball turned us in.’
He gave Stephanie one of those looks again, across the table.
‘So we’ve had enough excitement for a while. Hmmm, Peachy?’
Peachy? When did that start? It’s a bit early for pet names. I had lots of things running through my head. Gunther likes me to respect my elders, but he also doesn’t mind me getting feisty now and again.
I said, ‘Anything would be too much excitement for you,’ as I pushed my chair out from under me and left the room.
Later that night, after Phillip left and Stephanie had done all her little chores, she came and sat next to me.
She said, ‘I don’t know why you’re trying to fuck this up for me.’ She peered at me and said, ‘Are you trying to fuck this up for me?’
I was at a loss and just stared at her.
She went on, ‘I really like this guy, and I don’t know if you’re jealous, or what, but…Don’t fuck this up for me.’
I was still stuck for words. I hadn’t been this disgusted with Stephanie for a long time. For one thing, I couldn’t see what the success or failure of her lame relationship, a mere link in her chain of bad relationships, had to do with me. But more to the point, and this I decided to share: