Serenade

by Heather McKenzie

  “The Derrick? Huh. I thought maybe ya just had a hankering fer some pizza, or be wanting to hit the McD’s drive through or som’n.” Dan’s accent slurred past his broken front teeth as he shoved the money into his shirt. He scratched his balding head and made no effort to move the car forward.

  “I’m meeting a friend tonight,” I said firmly, my stomach churning from anxiety and the scent of those horrid tree-shaped air fresheners he always had hanging from the rear view mirror. “Take me to The Derrick, please.”

  He pondered this so hard I thought his brain might catch fire. “Uh, it’s not safe fer you to be out by yerself, you bein alone and all. Mr. Oliver would have my head for this.”

  Funny. Dan was more worried about Oliver’s reaction than the wrath of Henry. I pulled out more bills and tossed them onto the front seat. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “Did I tell ya that Georgia needs braces?” he said greedily, eyeing the extra cash. “She’s so pretty, but she gots them teeth, bad ones, ya know? Poor thing, lips is all sticking out here and there. And Jeremy, well, he’s all about the acting; some school in New York has caught his eye.”

  I opened the clasp to the bracelet I was wearing and slipped it off my wrist. It was a gift from Dad—er, Henry—and I couldn’t care less about it now. “Here, you can buy braces for all your kids and their friends with this,” I said, and then I dropped the gold-and-sapphire jewelry onto the seat.

  “Whoa there, K, giddy up! Now we’re talkin’ in the same language,” he said happily and radioed security. “Yeah, hey, it’s Dan. Can ya open the north gate? I’m a headin’ to town for a quick sec. Leah got herself a tummy ache and I gotta check on her. I’ll be back in two shakes of a whore’s butt.”

  A familiar voice replied through the car radio—ancient, scratchy—and, apparently, wise to Dan’s addictions. “Yeah, fine,” said Old Carl. “Just don’t spend it all on the slots, okay? Groceries are always a good idea. Kids like to eat.”

  I pictured Old Carl sitting at his desk in the security office and chewing gum like it was an overcooked steak. His favorite chair would be squeaking and complaining under his weight, and his goofy grin would be shadowed by a fishing cap that was permanently glued to his head.

  “Thanks Carl,” Dan said with a sly wink as he looked at me in the rear-view mirror.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Carl sighed. “Pick me up some smokes and a bag of Doritos. And don’t friggin’ forget this time.”

  Dan hung up the radio and started the whisper-quiet engine, and then we were on the highway heading to town.

  Easy.

  It was amazing how people’s bad habits had affected me so positively.

  She was impossible to miss with her neon-pink hair styled to stand on end a foot off her head. A man in raw denim was whispering in her ear, and by the way she was tapping her long nails on the bar counter, I could tell she was bored to tears. Suddenly, I was nervous. I had been so focused on escaping that I didn’t give any thought as to what to do once I got to The Derrick. I felt my cheeks flush when I bumped into someone playing pool and made my way through the crowd.

  “Hey there,” I said, tapping Angela on the shoulder.

  She whipped around to see me, grateful for the interruption. I noticed a new tattoo on her neck, a pink cactus the same color as her hair, and as I stared she broke into a huge grin.

  “Babes!” she said, followed by a kiss to my cheek, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for hours. You said you would call if you were gonna be late!”

  I looked behind me, wondering if she was talking to someone else. “Huh?” was all I could say.

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me to her side. The man in denim, who must have bathed in a lot of cheap cologne, looked as confused as I was.

  “Glen, this is my girlfriend, Kaya,” Angela said.

  Glen took a step back to examine me and his hawk-like nose wrinkled. Then I got it; Angela was pretending that she and I were a couple so Glen would leave her alone. I saw this in a movie once, so I had an idea of how to play along. “Hi Glen, nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

  The jerk completely ignored me. “Angela really, this is your girlfriend? As in, you’re a couple? She doesn’t seem like your type,” he said, eying my makeup-free skin, lack of tattoos, and ultra-boring T-shirt and jeans. I looked like a napkin standing next to a Picasso.

  “She’s exactly my type,” Angela grinned, and then she turned and kissed me full on the lips.

  My first thought was that she tasted like cotton candy; my second thought was, yuck. I kind of stood there, not sure what to do. I’d never been kissed before—it was disappointing.

  Glen shook his head in disbelief, and then he wandered off.

  When she pulled away, Angela burst out laughing. “Oh my God! Thanks for playing along. That was hilarious! He was driving me crazy, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings because he’s a friend of the boss.” She waved at the bartender. Suddenly, a drink was in my hand, and we clinked glasses. “So, you snuck out, huh?” she said with a grin.

  “I didn’t have to sneak,” I said, but I was a bad liar.

  “Right,” she said with a smirk. “So, what brings you here?”

  “Well, you said to come and visit you sometime, so I did.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right! And Mr. Serious … where is he tonight?” She scanned the room hopefully.

  “Oliver doesn’t know I’m here, and he might be a little upset if he found out.” I checked my watch, feeling like Cinderella having to be back before midnight.

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Upset?”

  “Yeah. He’s a little bit, um, possessive,” I admitted.

  “Oh. But I thought you weren’t dating…”

  “That’s right. We’re just friends.”

  She waved at the bartender again for a refill and tossed him a ten-dollar bill. “You know,” she said, “I’m a little older than you—been around the block a bunch of times—and I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you. Surely, you know he’s after a lot more than friendship, right? He acts like he owns you. I mean, he seems rather obsessed to be honest… he watches your every move. I don’t think you even realize it.”

  “You got all that from serving us coffee?”

  “And reading his body language and gorgeous lips,” she sighed.

  I downed my drink to try to rid myself of the memory of Oliver, his skin damp in the moonlight at the pool. It didn’t work. “So, where are you from?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Angela laughed. I guess I amused her. “I’m an Aussie.”

  “Oh.”

  She shook her head. “Oh? That’s it? What does that mean?”

  “Well, you don’t talk like one. I mean, you have a bit of a strange accent, but you’ve never said ‘g’day mate’, or ‘shrimps on the barbie’, or anything like that.”

  She laughed with a snort. “You’re hilarious!”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “You talk strangely, too,” she said with a grin.

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, sometimes it’s like typical teenager vocab, but then you’ll completely contradict it with some old-style English. You’re like an old broad hiding in a young body. It’s weird, but kinda cool.”

  “Oh.” I grinned.

  “Half the working population in this town is from Australia. I wanted to be different, fit in to my own category and stand out a bit, you know? So I lost the accent.”

  I took in the full effect of Angela—head-to-toe polished and shiny with almost every square inch of skin, except her face, decorated with permanent ink. “Yeah, good idea. That pink hair and playboy figure makes you a total wallflower,” I said, teasing.

  She laughed hard at that, slapping her leg and making an entire table turn around to look at us. “Seriously though, why are you here, hun?” she said when she got control of herself. “Cause it’s not to find out where I’m from.”


  “I just really need someone to talk to,” I confided, “I have no one. All my friends are, um… well they are—”

  I didn’t know how to finish the sentence; all my friends are what? Men? Dead? Hired guards? Or should I admit that I really don’t have any at the cost of sounding like a loser? Angela noticed my internal struggle.

  “Let me guess, All Your Friends are Funeral Singers.” She smiled.

  I laughed, catching the reference. “Angela Bettis was in that movie! I loved it. I loved her. She’s so great.”

  “It’s one of my faves, but I’ve yet to meet someone who’s seen it.” Angela beamed. “Did you know she was also in Girl, Interrupted?”

  “She played Janet. It’s a classic.”

  Angela nodded with a gleam in her eyes; we had a connection that was impossible to deny. Never in my life had anything like this that happened to me. I wondered if this easy, relaxed banter and desire to spill one’s guts was what it was always like when talking between best friends. I longed for that.

  We laughed at our favorite, strange movies and I confessed my love of anything with zombies. She lifted her skirt to show me Bub from Day of the Dead tattooed on her thigh.

  “Well, we could discuss movies all night, but you have something you need to talk about, and I think it has something to do with your hot friend Oliver. So, Docta Angela is in da house. Spill it,” she said as she smiled and ordered more drinks.

  The lights were dim, the music just loud enough so we wouldn’t be overheard, and Angela was willing to listen. I started with light stuff. I got past the who’s who and what’s what, and then I proceeded to pour my heart out. Once the words started, they were like water flowing from a tap that wouldn’t shut off. Of course, I left out my last name and any particulars that would give away who I really was. So as far as Angela knew, I was just an average wealthy brat with daddy issues and boy problems. Her advice was sincere, her reassuring pats on the hand were kind, and when I said I had to leave, she reached for me like a worried sister might.

  “You gonna be okay, hun?” she asked.

  “Yes. Perfectly fine. “

  “Well, come back again. I like you,” she said, then wrapped her arms around me.

  “I’ll try,” I said with the dark realization that I’d probably never see her again.

  “By the way, Kaya, you do realize there’s a difference between obsession and love, right?”

  I looked at her questioningly.

  “Let’s just say that if you go missing, I’ll tell the police to check Oliver’s freezer.”

  She had a slight smile on her face, but I knew she was dead serious.

  “If I go missing, you can have my backpack and running shoes,” I said.

  The drinks didn’t fully hit until I crawled into bed, and then the room started to spin. I started drifting on imaginary waves into a nightmare…

  Angela and I were holding onto each other and laughing as we started our descent on a roller coaster, but this was no theme park. Our hair blew in the wind and we waved our arms recklessly in the air as we sped through caves and up mountains toward Oliver, a growing shadow in the distance. A smile dominated his face and his teeth glowed like diamonds, becoming almost blinding the closer we got. Crashing to a halt, I let go of Angela and dove into his arms, and then I pushed my hands up the back of his shirt. His skin was smooth and firm under my fingertips. He bent down to kiss me, but our lips never touched… he was pulled away and was pushed to his knees. I looked up to see Henry hovering over us, laughing as a hundred men dressed in black opened fire. Suddenly, bullets burst through Oliver’s chest and blood, birthday cake, and yellow daisies spewed everywhere. Henry laughed and pointed while Oliver died right before my eyes…

  I sat straight up in bed. My face was soaked with tears and sweat.

  “Whoa, Kaya, it’s okay!” Oliver’s hands were on my shoulders. Had he been sitting beside me all night? The window was open and the curtains swayed gently, letting sunlight into the room. The spine of his new book was cracked and laid on the nightstand. “It was just a dream,” he said softly.

  I stared intently at his face. The gory vision of him dying was so vivid I blinked a few times to make it go away. He wiped my cheek with his sleeve.

  “What was it about?” he asked, and then he sat down next to me, the bed drooping under his weight.

  “Oh… nothing really. Just a dumb dream.”

  He wore a concerned expression as his eyes searched mine. “Are you sick, Kaya? It’s eleven thirty. You haven’t slept this late in years.”

  Sick? Yes. Maybe that’s what I would be today. I forced my eyes to remain locked on his so he wouldn’t think I was lying. “Yeah, I don’t feel so great. I’ll be going to bed early tonight.”

  I asked Dan to wait for me in the car behind The Derrick Bar because it was too busy out front. Every table was occupied, the music was loud, and there were people dancing—I hadn’t even noticed there was a dance floor before. Even though it felt like a completely different place, Angela was at her usual spot at the bar with a group of men clinging to her words like the yellow mini dress clinging to her thighs. I wondered how on earth she’d sit down without completely exposing herself, and I’m sure the ogling men thought the same.

  “Kaya! You came back!” she said excitedly after I made my way toward her. “Let me introduce you to my friends!”

  Introductions were a waste of time. Not one of her admirers averted their eyes long enough to acknowledge my presence. I felt wildly inferior, and Angela noticed.

  “Have a drink,” she said and handed me a glass of something clear and vile.

  I nervously took a big sip, wondering if I’d made a huge mistake by coming here. It was too busy, too loud. What if someone figured out who I was? I had done my best to look as plain as possible, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, black ball cap, no makeup, and hair in a long braid. But standing in front of Angela, I wondered if my choice in disguise had actually made me stick out like a sore thumb. “I didn’t think it would be so crowded in here,” I said nervously.

  “Well, yeah, it’s the big after party for The Death Race, the whole town is celebrating,” Angela said excitedly.

  “The Death Race? Was that today?”

  “Man, you really do live under a giant rock, don’t you?” she teased. “They’ve got bands playing at the square, and we might go later. You should come with—” she stopped short and pointed to my stomach. “Hey, you’re bleeding from somewhere, hun.”

  I looked down and saw streaks across the bottom half of my shirt. Before I could say a word, Angela was whisking me off to the bathroom to inspect the damage.

  “Geez, did you lose a fight with a cat?” she asked.

  I gently pulled my shirt up, discovering scratches that ran from my ribs to my belly button and blood that had dried in crusty, brown patches. “I must have caught myself on a damn rose bush. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

  I felt like an idiot. Angela dabbed the skin around the wounds with wet paper towel, but her attempt at cleaning me up only turned the shirt into a damp, brown mess and now the scratches were really starting to sting.

  “I think I better go home,” I said, snatching the paper towel from her hands.

  “What? Hey no way! We can fix this!”

  “But I shouldn’t be here, Angela. There are too many people, and if Oliver found out…”

  “Hey, it’s all right. Relax. Normally, people get out of their bedrooms once in a while, ya know.” She smiled and took hold of my hand, her cold, thin fingers holding mine tightly. “Now c’mon, let’s take that fancy ride you used to ‘not sneak out’ and go to my place. I’ll fix you up good as new.”

  I pulled away. “No, I really shouldn’t.”

  Her silver painted fingernails dug into the skin of my palm. “Kaya,” she said, “you have to take some control of your life, and you deserve to have fun. Besides, look at these guns…” She flexed her tiny, tattooed biceps. “I’m filling in
for Mr. Serious tonight.”

  After paying him even more to keep him quiet and drive without question, Dan called Old Carl in security and rambled off some incredibly ridiculous excuse for being late getting back to the estate. With the last of my rings in his hand, he reluctantly took us to Angela`s apartment, just minutes away. I followed her through dark halls covered in peeling wallpaper and climbed the stairs to her third floor apartment. The smell in the decrepit building was so horrendous I had to convince myself not to turn back. Thankfully, once inside, Angela’s suite was nothing like the rest of the building. It was tidy and clean, and she’d done her best to decorate it with yellow paint and flowery-blue curtains.

  “Cheers to new friendships,” she said, grabbing a clear bottle off a weathered coffee table. She took a long swig, and then she handed it to me. I could barely keep down a sip.

  “What is this stuff?” I squeaked out and handed it back.

  “Dress remover, life-of-the-party maker, liquid-courage giver, or rosebush-scratch-healer—also known as gin.”

  My throat was on fire. “It’s terrible. Are you sure this isn’t the stuff you use to clean the bathroom?”

  “Give it time, young grasshopper,” she smiled. “Now, let’s get you a new outfit!”

  She sifted through a massive rack of clothes that took up almost the entire living room—which I soon realized was also the bedroom—and I had the feeling I was about to become a living Barbie doll. It was Stephan’s dream to make me look girly with makeup and designer clothes. He’d be all over this like hairspray on a Texas housewife.

  “Try this on,” Angela ordered, and she tossed me a pretty indigo-blue dress.

  I pulled off my jeans, tossed the ripped shirt into her garbage can, and pulled the garment down over my head.

  “Whoa, that fits you perfectly,” she said happily. “The color compliments your crazy pale skin and makes those green peepers of yours pop. I wonder—black shoes or gold? I’m a size eight, and you look like a seven… and so incredibly fit. You must work out a lot. Running? Pilates? Hiking?”

  “Uh huh,” I mumbled, only half listening. I was looking out the window while she dug around for accessories to match the dress, and I was mesmerized by the suspicious-looking people on the street below. “Why’d you choose to live here?” I asked.