Ditched: A Love Story

by Robin Mellom

  “Where are we going?” Mike gripped the door handle for balance as he rearranged plastic bags in the glove compartment.

  “To a party.” My hands tightened around the steering wheel because I was determined to get there fast. And also to keep Beast from drifting.

  “Rockin’,” Mike said. “Which one?”

  “The Hampton Inn.” I turned to him, my face flushed.

  “I have needs.”

  “That’s right, sister.” He slid his beer over to me.

  “Not that kind.” The wind swirled around my head, and I sensed the remote pings of an unfamiliar feeling: hope. “I need to get to that party.” I clenched my jaw. “I need to find out if I’m stil his girlfriend.

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  13

  Nacho Cheese

  “CAN WE PUT on a different song?” I ask, sounding like I’m trying to change the subject—which I am—but the singer is wailing lyrics like, “We were always meant to say good-bye.”

  Gilda doesn’t even argue, and runs over to turn off the song. Donna folds her arms and gets back to the topic at hand. “It’s a sticker?”

  “No, it’s a temporary tattoo that eventual y rubs off. He said it’l last for almost five days.”

  “A sticker.”

  I sigh and rub the tattoo gently, careful not to peel it off.

  I’m sure Gilda is trying to find something instrumental.

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  She probably senses that song lyrics might send me spiraling.

  “And you’re in pain. Did you say pain?” Donna cocks her head to the side.

  “He pressed down real y hard with that sponge. Fritz is very thorough.”

  She’s not impressed with my Tinker Bel . I’m not even impressed. And it’s not like Ian wil ever see it. This thing wil disappear after one shower, I’m sure.

  But he would’ve been proud of me. I total y had the intention of getting a real tattoo. Intentions count, right?

  If only I knew what yours were, Ian.

  Maybe we always were meant to say good-bye. Country songs don’t lie.

  I freaking hate country songs.

  The speakers are now blaring soft jazz, and Gilda jogs back, clapping her hands like she’s starting a cheer. “Let’s focus on the important stuff, Donna. Ian wants her to be his girlfriend. This is fantastic!”

  Donna pauses, unsure how fantastic this is, then final y says, “I have to admit, this is an interesting turn of events.

  Captain Scumbag seems to be a complicated fel ow.” I bite my tongue, contemplating whether to tel her about his col ection of snow globes. She wouldn’t find him complicated . . . she’d find him baffling. And so do I.

  The bel rings, and an elderly man shuffles up to the counter. He careful y pul s a fifty-dol ar bil from his ancient, cracked wal et, which is stuffed to the max with pictures of 201

  what I assume are his grandkids. He’s dressed in his Sunday best, red bow tie and al . He clears his throat and looks at Gilda. “Twenty on pump two and a fifth of whiskey.” He turns to Donna and shoots her a wink. “Footbal al afternoon right after church.” He snatches the bag of liquor and nods at Gilda. “Gotta get fueled up.”

  The old man scuffles off, but stops and turns back, quickly surveying the three of us, clearly sitting around not going anywhere. “Mind if I ask whatcha’l are talking about?” He looks directly at my dress. I can’t blame him. I’d wonder too.

  The three of us glance at each other and pause, wondering if we should tel him what we’re discussing. But this story has gotten so long. And complicated. He wouldn’t want to hear this—not exactly something to tel the grandkids.

  But he’s stil standing there, getting older by the second, wanting to know. We al answer at the same time.

  Me: The weather

  Gilda: Politics

  Donna: Scumbags

  He nods, then shuffles along his way. He turns back at the door one more time. “Stay away from the scumbags.” He grabs his paper bag tight. “We’re a hel of a lot of fun. But we’re no good.”

  We watch in silence as he slips into his red convertible Camaro. It takes him three tries to time the clutch just right, then he peels away.

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  I kind of wish I had told him what happened. Maybe I need another male’s perspective. But then again that sports car tel s me he’s going through a late-in-life crisis. Donna sighs again as she watches him leave. . . . her cougar status may not be as truthful as she says.

  Gilda clears her throat, getting us back on track. “Can I point out the obvious?”

  I flinch. “Yeah?”

  “You spent $350 on a ring at a tattoo shop.” I nod.

  “Your mother wil read your credit card statement.” I nod again.

  “Did you weigh the consequences of that?” I shake my head. “No. And it felt good.” I glance up at the nacho bar, knowing that if Ian were here he’d be creating an intricate multilayered nacho entrée to congratulate me on final y not worrying about what other people think.

  It just never occurred to me that I’d be standing in this very 7-Eleven looking at the nacho bar without him next to me—bouncing on his toes as he placed jalapeños in their perfect spot.

  Gilda coughs to get my attention. “So you found Ian and showed him the ring?

  “It wasn’t that easy. We got . . . delayed.” Donna shakes her head. “Damned stoners. They have no sense of time.”

  “It wasn’t them. It was me.”

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  Gilda rubs the back of her neck. “But why? You were so determined, right?”

  “Look, I had no idea I’d have to deal with that police officer, much less that guy at the hotel who was stripped down to his underwear wearing a motorcycle helmet. I mean, it just took some time to get to the Hampton Inn. I tried, I real y did.”

  Their mouths drop. And I realize I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I look down at my hands resting on my dress. “Let me back up a little. We were on our way to the hotel—” Before I can continue, I realize I need some more nourishment. And without a thought, I walk over to the nacho cheese bar, remembering how many times I’ve watched Ian stand in this exact spot. I lift the ladle to the nacho cheese, dying for a taste after all those times of turning Ian down.

  “Can I?”

  Gilda nods. And I scoop some into a plastic cup, dip my finger in, and taste.

  It slides down my throat like heaven on a waterslide.

  So. Freaking. Delicious.

  Oh, man. Why didn’t I let Ian buy me nachos? He knew how good they were, that’s why he offered week after week, probably hoping someday I’d come to my senses and take it.

  I have deprived myself and I am an idiot.

  “Did you get another stain at this party?” Donna interrupts my little nacho moment.

  “No.”

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  “A bruise?”

  I shake my head.

  “A rip?”

  “No. I didn’t get anything.” I set the cup of nacho cheese down and lift my hand up for them to see—my ring finger.

  Bare as can be. “I lost something.”

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  14

  A One-of-a-Kind

  Muppet-Looking Daisy Ring, $350

  “YOU DIDN’T YELL duck!” Mike was completely wigging out.

  But I wasn’t exactly experienced in the art of evading the police. In fact, there was something about those red-and-blue lights that intimidated me, and I’d instantly fold.

  I was hauling it down Main Street, and we (unknowingly) passed a cop sitting in the parking lot of the Circle K, which, by the way, sucks. I would never bother going inside a Circle K. No magazine aisle? Real y?

  “We’re screwed!” Mike was twisted backward in his seat, his eyes glued on the flashing lights.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry!” I turned on my signal and started guiding Beast to the side of the road. Of course I had to 207

  manually lift the turn signal— up, down, up down—it wouldn’t do it without my help. I
pulled over into the gravel on the side of the road, not leaving much room for the approaching big, bad officer, who was, no doubt, going to be 6'10" and have flaming grenades for eyeballs. We were a bunch of stoners sitting on coolers full of beer. We were going to jail. We were going to die. We were going to be on the news.

  “Shit. Shit! ” Mike was quickly stuffing plastic bags under his seat like he was playing a carnival game. “We’re so busted, dude. Shit! ! ”

  Even though my usual motto was Avoid Confrontation At Al Costs, my mind was focused solely on my new motto: Find Ian Clark. Plus, I was stil the best friend of the girl who played kung fu with her words and talked her way out of everything.

  I was no Hailey—but I did pay attention.

  “We’re not getting busted.” I reached out and grabbed Mike’s hand. “I can handle this. No worries, okay?” He pressed his lips together tightly, not seeming convinced at al .

  I glanced in the cracked side-view mirror. Officer Intimidation was approaching, flashlight drawn.

  “Serenity?” I connected looks with her in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah?”

  “Fol ow my lead.”

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  She giggled. “Lead on, sweetheart.”

  The officer tapped on the window, and I rolled it down, which wasn’t easy; it took both hands to crank it. “Good evening, young lady.” The officer had wire-rim glasses, a mess of pumpkin-pie orange hair, and very smooth, fair skin.

  He was practically a toddler. Was he even legal drinking age?

  He peered into the back window. Serenity waved at him, so he half waved in response, then quickly stuck his hands on his hips. “Do you realize there is no seat back there?” Before I could answer, he fol owed up with, “And there are no seat belts.” He cleared his throat. “Seats. And seat belts.

  They’re both laws, kids.”

  He certainly was emphasizing the fact that we were kids, trying to deflect the fact that he had been one himself about three weeks ago.

  I was about to deploy my Get-Out-of-Everything-à-

  la-Hailey tactic, but Mike leaned across the seat, getting a better look at Officer Toddler. “Dude! Do I know you?” The officer lowered his head and glared at Mike. Then he cleared his throat again—which must be his signature technique for turning into Pretend Man. “No, don’t think so.”

  “Wait!” Mike leaned in farther. “You graduated with my brother Jed. Class of ’08. Aren’t you Andy Brazeer?” Oh my god, no wonder this guy became a cop. The horror of growing up with the name Brazeer! Poor guy.

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  He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Andrew Brazeer.

  Sure, I remember Jed. How’s he getting along these days?

  Stil crashing your parents’ cars?” He snickered, obviously remembering some wild smash ’em-up high school memory.

  “He crashes derby cars now, man.”

  Officer Andy looked over our Caddy. “But you can’t drive a derby car, son. Not on regular roads, I mean.” At first I thought Mike might be getting somewhere with his don’t-you-remember-my-brother plan, but things were going south again. Andy had cal ed him son.

  I needed to take control, so I put Hailey’s tactic into effect.

  Rol and deflect.

  I gently pushed Mike back over to his side of the car, while looking up at the officer with big eyes—huge, moony, manga-style eyes with a dash of sparkle. “I understand if you need to ticket us, Andy. I mean Officer Brazeer. But . . .

  wel . . . oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing. . . .” He tapped his fingers impatiently on his flashlight.

  “Go on.”

  “My friend in the back?” I pointed behind me to Serenity.

  “She just got her”—I leaned out the window and whispered rather loudly—“her period. A bad one, sir.” Serenity hunched over and started moaning. That girl knew how to fol ow.

  “It’s prom night. And we have no protection. If we don’t get a tampon or a maxi-pad—”

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  “Stop!” He held his hand up, looking like he was going to vomit.

  Bingo. Males cannot handle tampon talk. Their automatic regurgitation reflex kicks in at the mere mention of sanitation products.

  As women, it’s the only weapon we have. That, and pepper spray.

  And boobs, Hailey would say.

  I pushed on. We were getting somewhere. “Do you know of a drugstore nearby, sir? Sir?!”

  “I . . . I—” Officer Andy’s face was quickly darkening, nearing pomegranate.

  Serenity leaned up next to my face and tilted her head at the officer. “I need to get to my house. Quick! It’s gushing! ”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t panic!” He crouched down in the catcher’s position, like she was about to give birth. “I’l get you somewhere safe. Where do you live? I’l escort you.” Crap. That’s the last thing we needed—a police officer escorting us home. I couldn’t waste any more time. I needed to get to Ian!

  “The Hampton Inn,” Serenity said.

  I cocked my head at her, like she was lost. Didn’t she remember she was supposed to be fol owing my lead?

  Officer Andy quickly straightened back up, erect like a meerkat, and cocked his head at her, too. “What?”

  “My mom, she’s the night manager there. She always has tampons and maxi-pads and stuff for the customers. She’s 211

  real y good at her job. Can you take us there?” Oh, this girl was good.

  But the officer hesitated.

  Serenity looked down at her lap. “Oh, no.” He dropped back down to the catcher’s position. “Okay!

  Stay close. I’l get you to the Hampton Inn right away.” He hustled back to his patrol car, but just before he reached the door, he jogged back up to my window.

  “You said Hampton Inn, right? West side of Highway 5?” I had no idea. “Yes! Hurry!”

  As we pul ed away from the curb, fol owing closely behind Officer Brazeer, Mike leaned over and bonked me lightly on the head. “You’re the shit, Sweetness.” We pul ed into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn and waved at Officer Andy as he drove away. It looked like the regular color had come back to his face. He waved back at us, even giving us a friendly toot on the police siren as he drove away. For a toddler, he was a very helpful man.

  Bliss and Other Mike immediately cracked open beers and giggled while I found a parking spot. The Hampton Inn turned out to be not such a super-classy place. The sign outside read $49/night. Free change of sheets.

  I had to park in a spot out in the far corner because the lot was almost ful . Screams and howls came from the second floor as soon as we opened our door. Wel , as soon as Mike opened his door and let me crawl out.

  “Lez party! Oooowwwww-ooooo!” someone screamed 212

  from the balcony. A group of people leaned over to get a look at us, and when The Mikes gave them a thumbs up they all exchanged howls, The balcony people raised their red plastic beer cups and they al howled some more.

  Prom real y brought out the werewolf in these people.

  The Mikes plus Bliss and Serenity ran off to join the party while I locked the car doors and then double-checked them.

  Which seemed ridiculous since there were two windows missing.

  Some habits are hard to break.

  I looked down at my daisy ring and said to myself, “You are his girlfriend,” trying to convince myself it was true. It felt odd to say the words. But exhilarating. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I had found boyfriend material. And he felt the same way.

  And that’s when I heard the rumbling. The rattling, clanging sound of Ian’s old Mercedes. I stood on my tiptoes and saw his car coming down the street. My heart danced the hula, and tears— happy tears—fil ed my eyes. I’d found him!

  I quickly applied lip gloss and prepared my best sweet, seductive look as I waited for him to turn in, but . . . wait. He wasn’t slowing down. He kept going. He total y missed the turn—he was driving past the hotel!

  Waving my arms, I b
roke into a sprint, my unmaneuver-able high heels clopping against the pavement. “Stop! Ian!” The drunkards on the balcony started mimicking me.

  “Stop, Ian, stop! I love you!”

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  I darted between cars, trying to get to the exit, while I screamed, “Wait, Ian! WAIT! ”

  But over the clanging of his engine and the howls of the party, he couldn’t hear me. He was gone.

  Where the hel was he going?!

  I ripped the corsage off my dress and threw it toward his car—hoping to get his attention, but the corsage didn’t go but ten feet. And landed in the gutter.

  His tail ights got smal er and smal er in the distance.

  I felt like crawling into that gutter. And spending the rest of my existence as Gutter Girl.

  But, no. No, no, no. I couldn’t go live in a gutter—I had to make this right. Ian was worth the chase. Which meant I needed to go into that party and drag out my adorable human magnets so we could find him.

  Operation Un-Locking Lips was in ful effect.

  There were people scattered al around the hotel, in the stairwel and hal ways. Beer cups passed through hands and sloshed around to places it shouldn’t, leaving puddles on the floor. Clothes were on, but not completely. I had to push past a couple almost engaged in actual doing-it behavior in order to get closer to the party room.

  As I reached the door, I stepped over two girls sitting in the hallway. I didn’t recognize them, but they looked gorgeous in their matching red dresses. They were staring at each other, holding hands, looking very much in love. I clenched my stomach. Seeing couples in love only reminded 214

  me that I had to find Ian. Soon.

  As I entered the room, I immediately started coughing because of the thick smoke haze. A combination of cigarettes and weed and serious lack of ventilation. Clearly, the Mikes had brought their super-happy fun plastic bags to share with others.

  The Mikes were out on the balcony with Serenity and Bliss, and I tried to squeeze myself past people to get to them.

  “Where you headed, gorgeous?”

  A tal guy wearing tuxedo pants and nothing else was sipping a beer and swaying as he waited for my answer.