Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  “Whatever.” Georgia dropped her arm and stormed away.

  Marianne stopped walking and crossed her arms. What a fricking brat. Why were girls always such pansies? It was just a joke. Geez.

  “What was that?” asked Sally. “Too far, Marianne.”

  “She’s just jealous that we’re BFF.”

  “I am not your BFF.”

  “Her acronym, not mine. I was quoting.” Marianne tried to walk forward, but Sally grabbed her arm.

  “Are we, though?” asked Sally. “I mean, we don’t need necklaces or anything, but are we best friends?”

  Oh geez. Marianne didn’t know how much more pansy behavior she could take. But then... Hell, maybe Sally really was her best friend. She loved her more than she loved most other people. And just as much as she loved Danielle, the only other candidate, so... “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

  Sally smiled and lifted up her shoulders like a little girl. “I think so, too. I love you, Marianne.”

  “And I love you,” said Marianne. “What’d you say we go make nice to our third wheel?”

  Sally looked back at the party. “Everyone’s packing up. Why don’t you go, and I’ll get our stuff? I really think she needs just you on this one, anyway. You’re the one who was rude.”

  “We just got married, and now you’re abandoning me?”

  “I think I see her over by the cooler,” Sally said, and then left.

  She found Georgia by the big red cooler, as promised.

  “Georgia,” said Marianne. “I didn’t really mean that about taking over the conversation. I was just joking.”

  Georgia stopped rummaging through the ice and looked up with a face full of attitude. “Forget it. I don’t feel like talking about it now.”

  Marianne stepped closer and spoke lower. “I said that I was sorry. We’re friends, and I want you to be able to talk to me. I’m just insensitive sometimes. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care.” Well, no. It probably did mean that, but honesty like that probably wouldn’t help things.

  Georgia stood up and flicked her fingers at Marianne’s face, sprinkling her with icy water. “Go away.”

  Marianne blinked and moved back half a step. “Did you really just do that?”

  Georgia set her jaw and flicked at Marianne again, even holding the position in midair for a long, dramatic second. The move translated to “go to hell” quite clearly.

  Marianne wanted to laugh—the situation was definitely funny—but there was something else there, too. Her old pal, Guilt. She’d messed up on this one worse than she’d known. Georgia was more perceptive than Marianne had given her credit for. And Marianne realized that the wet fingers hanging in the air before her eyes said more than just “go to hell.” They said, “go to hell for not caring, and go to hell for pretending like you do.”

  Marianne stepped back again. “Okay.” Even worse than admitting to herself that Georgia was right, was realizing that Georgia was wrong, too. Marianne actually did care about her; she just hadn’t known it till this moment. “I guess I should... should just leave you alone for now. Sorry.”

  Marianne walked away to find Sally, but she seemed to have disappeared. Most everyone was already gone or heading back to the parking lot, so Marianne went that way. Maybe she’d get a chance to talk to Georgia on the drive home. Ben called to her when she was passing by the restrooms.

  “Hey,” she said, walking over to him. “Are we ready to go?” She wasn’t in a better mood than when she’d seen him last, but the blinding hatred of the world at large was weakened enough that she noticed how nice he looked tonight. Cute and messy pink hair, tight grey dress shirt, black rock-star eyeliner. Very, very nice for someone whose name wasn’t Patrick Devlin.

  “Yeah, just waiting for Todd.” He gestured behind him with his thumb.

  “Ah, just like a couple of girls; can’t go to the bathroom alone.”

  Ben laughed, but he looked a little nervous. “Nah, he’s just rolling one for the road.”

  Bathroom joint. Yum. “Is Sally back at the car?” She started to step away, expecting a yes, but he stopped her by touching her arm.

  “Where’d you go to before? I was looking for you.” He left his hand on her arm.

  Why was he doing that? It was distracting. “Uh, we were just walking by the shore.”

  He nodded. And then squinted at her. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  That was the universal segue into an interesting conversation. Who could resist one of those? “Yes,” she said, but she moved her arm out of his reach.

  Ben bit his lip ring, looking like he was bracing himself for something. “Look, I... I know you have a boyfriend, so this is a little scummy of me—”

  Oh no. Her whole chest tightened up with an indescribably wonderful feeling of panic. She was a traitor; she should not have been having this reaction. But it wasn’t exactly voluntary.

  “—But I just thought I’d take a shot in the dark, you know? I can’t stop...” He paused and looked down, laughing at himself. “It’s so cheesy, but I can’t get you off my mind. You’re cool, and you’re different. And you’re, I don’t know, kind of mysterious. I don’t know how to describe you.”

  He was doing just fine. Yikes.

  “Ever since I talked to you that time about the books—this is so embarrassing—but I ask people about you. Just to find out random stuff. Not in a stalkerish way, though.” He grimaced and kicked his boot on the sidewalk a few times, grinding the sand. He looked up at her again. “Just in a good way. I’m interested; that’s all I’m trying to say. Very interested. If I was a moron, I might say... like obsessed.” He shrugged and laughed at himself.

  “Oh...” Holy crap.

  Ben squinted at her again. “Is that… Was that offensive? It was kind of a joke. Was that offensive?”

  Probably. She shook her head, though.

  “Good.” He looked down again, but not to the ground this time; he looked at her dress. “And... um... you look really nice in that dress. I wanted to tell you that, too.”

  Marianne looked down at herself. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He stepped up close to her, bent his head down, and whispered near her face, “Marianne.” She looked up slowly, and Ben kissed her. Just a little. Softly, like he was asking if he could.

  No. The answer was no. Marianne pulled back her head a fraction of an inch. As soon as she stopped moving, she knew she hadn’t pulled back quite far enough. She’d left the question open.

  Ben paused, watching her face, then just barely touched his lips to hers again, keeping them there as he spoke. “Are you okay with this?”

  The answer was still no. Marianne stepped back fully. “I can’t,” she said, choosing her words carefully so they would be gentle to his ego, and yet firm enough for her feelings. He was hot, he was kind, intelligent, and respectful, but the answer was still no.

  Ben nodded, rubbing the back of his neck in a signature Patrick move.

  She almost wanted to laugh—Ben could try, but there was no comparison. Not even when she was half-wasted. “I can’t,” she said again.

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly. He stepped backward toward the car. “Just... someday, when you can… think of me. Okay?”

  Wow. “Of course,” she said, smiling a little.

  He smiled sideways at her and walked away.

  Marianne shook her head as she watched him disappear around the edge of the building. That had gone pretty well, actually. No hurt feelings, no harm… Oh, frick.

  He kissed her. He’d actually kissed her.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  She hadn’t kissed him back, right? She didn’t think so. It was going to be fine. She’d just confess to Patrick, and it would be fine. He would understand when she told him all the details. He wouldn’t blame her at all, right?

  Only, the story would involve bringing up certain, shall we say, factoids... See, Patrick, I was pissed at you because you caught me lying to you, so I got
all dressed up like a vampire and got drunk at the beach with a bunch of Goths where this guy told me he’s totally into me since we spend all sorts of time together at Goth parties, and such. And he had the balls to try to kiss me! Can you believe it?!

  The lying involved there would be incalculable. What had she done? She was going to have to hold this inside forever. And it was going to fester for eternity. Suffer and fester and fester and suffer…

  “Where is everyone?” said Todd, coming out of the bathroom with Marianne’s backpack.

  “At the car.” She sounded dead. She pointed through the building toward where the car was parked, two lots away. “They’re waiting for us; everyone else is gone.” All the parking lots were empty now.

  Todd stopped and looked at her. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Everything,” she said in that same dead voice, just staring into space. “I just found out I’m the Antichrist.” She looked at him. “I’m Satan incarnate. Do you have any conception of how that would feel?”

  He smiled at her, giving her his full attention for the first time in their acquaintance. “Baby, I feel like that all the time.” Just then, something behind her caught his eye, and his whole demeanor changed. “Uh, here’s your bag, Marianne.” He ripped it off his shoulder and flung it at her, then ran around the back side of the bathroom in the direction of the car.

  “What?” She picked up the bag and turned around, expecting to see his dad pulling through the gates.

  There was nothing.

  She started to back away and follow Todd, when a cop car came around the building and halted in front of her, smooth as silk. What the? Oh, shoot—It was after beach curfew. Way after beach curfew.

  Oh, frick.

  Curfew explained why the cop was here, but it was the least of her worries. That rat bastard had fled, leaving her there with his criminal paraphernalia. She looked back to where Todd had fled, but didn’t even consider following. No way was she going to run from the cops.

  She watched the cop get out of his car and looked away again. She looked at the restroom. She looked at the parking lot. She looked at the moon. Everywhere but at the fricking bag of weed in her hands. Oh, frick.

  The cop walked up to her, watching her face. He was an older guy, short and bald with a mustache and crinkly Santa Claus eyes. Still, the way he held himself and the unnatural distance he kept from her made him seem scary. “Beach closes at ten PM,” he said without inflection.

  “Yeah, uh,” Marianne looked to her left, through the building. “We lost track of time, but we were just leaving.”

  “Where did your boyfriend go?”

  “He...” Bolted. Fled. Escaped. “Went back to the car.”

  He continued to watch her face. “Is that your bag?”

  What! Had he seen all of that? Cops must have x-ray vision. “Yes,” she breathed. Lying would only make it worse. Maybe if she was really cooperative, he’d have mercy on her.

  He lifted the flashlight in his hand and flicked it on, letting it shine down on the pavement in front of him. “Open the bag for me, please.”

  She felt a whimper building up in her chest. “You don’t want me to do that.”

  He gestured with the flashlight for her to put the bag down on the ground. “Open the bag, ma’am.”

  “But...” She put the bag down on the concrete in front of her and looked up with her best puppy dog eyes. “You’re not going to like it.”

  He shined the light down on top of it. “Open it.”

  Marianne squatted down as best she could in the dress and unzipped the front pocket where the drugs were. She kept her grip on the zipper and looked up. “Are you going to be mad at me?”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  Marianne focused on his Santa eyes and whined, “Pot.”

  Santa Cop took a step back. “Ma’am, please step over to the curb.”

  “What?” She looked over to the place he was spotlighting on the edge of the sidewalk.

  “Sit on the curb,” he said.

  She looked from the circle of light to him and back again. “You mean...” she whispered, “like a criminal?” Marianne stood up, but didn’t walk over. This couldn’t be happening.

  Santa Cop squinted at her—he almost looked sorry for her. He reached forward, took her elbow, and guided her across the sidewalk and away from the bag. Marianne let him lead her over to the curb, and then immediately burst into tears. She clutched at his forearm. “Okay, I’ll sit. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

  He looked stern again, so she let go of his arm. “Is that your bag?” He asked in his toneless voice again.

  “Yes.” She gulped and nodded. “That’s my bag, but the stuff in it isn’t mine.” She stopped to sniff and take a breath. “I mean, most of the stuff is mine, but not the drugs. They’re this other guy’s. He asked me to hold it for—oh, man,” she said, starting to cry all over again. “That’s what they all say, huh?”

  “That’s your bag?” he asked again.

  How many times was he going to ask her? She didn’t know if cops always did that, or if she was doing something wrong. She didn’t know the customary protocols for getting arrested! “Yes, it’s my bag. But it’s not my stuff,” she said again. “They all say that, huh? They all say they’re innocent.”

  “Sit down.”

  “Okay, sir.” She nodded. “Okay, sir.” She sat down on the curb and looked up at him. She felt the tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked into those sweet, crinkly eyes. Maybe he’d be nice if she just flat out begged. “Please,” she said. “You can help me, right? Cops are the good guys... you’re going to help me, right? You’ll tell them it wasn’t my stuff and that that douchebag just threw it at me and ran away like the miserable sack of crap he is, right?” Please, please, please.

  Santa Cop half smiled at her, but she didn’t know if it was because he was going to help or because she was making a fool of herself.

  “You’ll say that, right?” she pleaded again. “To my dad? You’ll tell my dad it’s not mine, yeah?”

  “It’ll be in the report.”

  “Thank you!” She didn’t think that putting her statement into the report was anything unusual or kind on his part, but she continued to press in case Santa was starting to crack. She also may have been a bit hysterical. “Thank you, thank you. He’ll believe it because it’s in the report, like you said. He knows that I wouldn’t lie to a cop. I mean, who would lie to a cop? You asked me if it was my bag and I told the truth. That’s proof.” Yes, she was definitely hysterical. “Does that count as evidence? Like good evidence? You’ll tell my dad, right? When he comes.”

  Dad was going to kill her. He probably knew about this already, what with his psychic-parent powers. “He’ll come...” she moaned. “He’s probably already halfway here...”

  Santa Cop looked down at her sternly. “Your father is coming to get you?”

  “No. No, my father isn’t coming to get me.” She shook her head and then realized how her words had sounded. “No, wait! No, that wasn’t a lie! I was just saying how my parents are like freaky psychic. And they always know everything I do and everywhere I am. And that if I was getting arrested then they’d feel it, you know? Like the Force? You know? The Force?”

  He just stared.

  “The Force is from Star Wars,” she said weakly. “They can feel stuff with it. The Jedis.”

  He just stared.

  “Oh man, I sound like I’m high, huh?” She put her face in her hands and moaned again. “But I’m not, I’m just nervous, you know? Wouldn’t you be nervous if your parents had the Force?” She looked up again.

  He nodded.

  She nodded back and started crying again.

  “Look, honey,” he said, sighing. “I saw that you weren’t holding that bag. I’m gonna keep it, but you can go home, okay?”

  “What?” She stared at him in awe.

  “I’m not going to arrest you or give you a curfew ticket,” he said
. “This time.”

  “But...” Marianne looked around the parking lot. “Don’t you have to? Didn’t I break the law?”

  He sighed. “How are you going to get home? The bus? You can take your wallet.”

  “I guess... I mean, I never took the bus before...” She hadn’t. And it was late. The thought was a little scary, but she reminded herself that this was a good development. She looked up again and nodded. “But it’s safe, yeah? If you said it, then it’s safe.”

  “You wanna call your dad?”

  “No! I’ll take the bus.” She stood up and dried her eyes on the back of her hands. “And I’ll never, ever let any drugs touch my bag again. And I’ll never stay at the beach past ten o’clock again.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “You promise?”

  Marianne looked right back at him and burst into tears. Again. “Mmm-hmm.”

  24

  My-Newt Mishap

  Marianne sat on the floor of Danielle’s living room two days later, folding baby clothes for the Goodwill. Patrick sat at the computer across the room, trying to help Michael with his spy-ware problem. How’d that get there? It’d been seventeen minutes since he’d even glanced in her direction. Click, went the clock. Eighteen.

  “Hey, losers,” said Danielle, poking her head inside the room. “I need you to go grocery shopping for me.”

  Marianne wrinkled her nose, ready to start whining, but Patrick said, “Sure thing,” before she could start. She watched him get up, take the list, and walk toward the door. Given the way he’d been acting lately, she half-expected him to just leave without her. At first, she’d thought Patrick was still trying to give her space. Now it looked as if he was the one who wanted space.

  Patrick turned at the door and looked back at her, confused. “Aren’t you coming? I guess I didn’t even ask...”

  “Of course,” she said, jumping up. He did want her. She ran to get her purse from the kitchen and met him at the truck.