Is she going to cry?
Michael already had a beer to his lips. His hair shined in the projected light, and his broad shoulders were decked in a plaid, flannel button-down. He neither smiled nor acknowledged my presence.
When he finally looked in my vicinity, blood roared through my veins, and I longed to be carefree like Phoenix and leap into his arms. Dee assumed her position by his side, winding her arm through his. He dispassionately detached himself from her, which gave me cause to hope.
Bringing my bottle of beer to my mouth, I drained the contents. Then, slanting over the table, I shot the eight ball into the pocket to win the game.
“This sucks,” Jesse whined, flinging the pool stick. “I’ve been practicing all week to whip your ass.”
“I told ya, man,” my brother said. “She doesn’t lose too often.” Stevie handed me another beer and winked.
Still in their coats, Raven and Phoenix roamed to the jukebox, and when “Foxy Lady” split the air, they frolicked toward Michael. Hooking their arms over his neck as if he were a Maypole, they danced around him.
“We saw Hendrix, Mikey, ‘member?” crooned Phoenix.
A scratch-your-eyes-out expression fashioned Dee’s face.
I was restacking my pool stick in the rack, when someone said, “I’d like to challenge you to a game.” Swiveling around, Jimmy Pender hit me with a winsome smile.
I must’ve looked speculative.
“Unless you’re afraid I’ll beat you.”
The dreamboat quarterback was speaking to me. I figured he must want to get the pool table out of my control. Jimmy, still in his red Redskins jacket with white leather sleeves, loomed over me.
“Rack ‘em.” I surprised myself by my hustler type cadence, saying “Be back in a minute.” And headed for the restroom.
“Yikes.” Catching my reflection, I snipped a piece of toilet paper and cleaned mascara from under my eyes. Then, I peeled my sweater over my head and smoothed my wrinkled T-shirt.
Candy and Dee came plowing into the restroom, griping.
“Candy,” I asked, “can I borrow a brush?”
Foraging in her sack, she produced a bristly brush. “Mary, I’m up to here with your brother.” She verified with a salute to her brow. “He’s sniffing around that hippie chick like a dog in heat.” She sketched her lips with a tube of cherry lipstick.
“Michael said they’re spending the weekend before driving home,” Dee said, inspecting herself in the mirror. “Can you believe he said Phoenix and Raven are coming to Homecoming with us?”
Candy’s eyes formed a circle, mouth agape, and said, “Is that why Steve asked if I still wanted to go?” Her shock altered to rage as she threw the tube of lipstick. It boinked off the wall, hit the floor, and rolled into a stall.
I left them to their anger.
The bartender had amped the volume to the jukebox. “Crossroads” was jamming, and even the glass in the windows shimmied to the tune. I pitched my sweater over my coat, which was still attached to the chair. Jimmy had castoff his jacket, and with his rump balancing on the pool table he was chatting it up with some girls.
Breezing beneath the archway, Phoenix and Raven were laden with sweaty bottles. Steve and Monty stepped promptly to help unload. I’d missed their de-cloaking, and dressed in a man’s olive-green wife beater, a braless Raven’s jiggling boobs had the boys riveted as if anticipating a slip. Also braless, Phoenix wore a sheer peasant blouse. No restrictions. Phoenix swirled to the music, her hair parachuting. An ethereal angel came to mind.
With his eyes spellbound on the cavorting Phoenix, it appeared Jimmy was going to fall off the table.
“Should I break?” I said, intruding on him, mid-drool.
“Go ahead.” He eased his butt off the pool table.
After sinking three balls, I scratched, giving him an opportunity to shoot. Scoping the room, I saw Michael lounging in the shadows. The head of the chair teetered on the wall and his long legs were propped on the table, ankles crossed. A blazing cigarette hung from his mouth and smoke billowed over his face.
My friends had exited the restroom, and Candy marched to Stevie and dragged him out the door. Dee went straight to Michael. When Country Joe and The Fish started singing the Vietnam song, “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-To-Die-Rag,” the hippies feverishly danced around the billiards. Their singing was contagious, and we all joined in the chorus.
Afterward, we resumed the game. My upper body hovered above the billiards, as I took careful aim when a hand smoothing my hip distracted me. Losing concentration, I wrenched up to witness Jimmy’s I’m-hot-for-you grin.
“Those sure are some crazy chicks Michael knows.”
I twitched when his hand reached to scoop hair that had fallen over my face. His knuckles brushed my skin as he knotted his fingers in my hair at the base of my neck. Gently he pulled, involuntarily raising my face to peer into his eyes.
Like his body, Jimmy’s expression was flawlessly sculpted. Michael had stubble and dimpled cheeks, whereas Jimmy was clean-shaven with close-set, chestnut brown eyes. His hair fell over his cheeks like a silken mask.
“Er…um…it’s my turn.” He freed my hair, and an assertive grin shaped his lips.
Again, I leaned to take the shot, and once more, Jimmy took liberties by patting my ass. I despised the touch of feeling like a tramp. And, adding to my indignity, a pestering flush bloomed on my neck and face. Before the start of our game, I’d had girly notions of letting him win. No longer.
Accurate and quick, I clunked the balls into their prospective pockets. Fully absorbed, I never once lifted my eyes to seek distractions as I rounded the table on a mission.
“Sweet,” Jesse said, engrossed.
Jimmy acted composed when I sunk the eight ball. In fact, he threw his head back and sputtered a whoop. “Good game, Mary. Though, I let you win.”
His words smarted. I owned the table. Shelving my knuckles on my hips, I glared at him. In kindness, I’d given him a break and had delayed demolishing him until he’d cleared most of his balls.
“Mary, let me buy you a shot,” he offered, his method of mollifying me.
I hadn’t observed when he left, but Michael had vacated my chair, and weaving between people, I reclaimed the shadowed corner.
“Nice going,” said Monty. “I like to see a girl beat that Pender dude. No offense intended, Mary.”
“None taken.” Perusing the empty seats, I wondered where the girls had gone. Candy would be pissed if she saw Stevie and Monty smothered between Phoenix and Raven. “Hey, Monty,” I asked. “Where’s Dee and Candy?”
“Candy and your bro had a fight. They broke-up again.” His mouth ruffled, and he hunched his shoulders. “Michael and Dee drove her home. They should be back any minute.”
All that happened while I played a game?
Jimmy, toting two glasses, located my secluded corner. “Here,” he said, handing me the liquor.
“What is it?”
“Just drink. It’s smooth. You’ll like it.” He saddled beside me and raised his glass in a cheer. “To Mary. You can beat me any day of the week.”
Gazing at me with a scrumptious grin, he clinked his glass with mine, and I watched him gulp it down. I sat frozen with my full shot glass still in my hands. My addled head was close to spinning on its axis.
Do I want to drink this? I whiffed the clear liquid and found no definitive odor.
“Go for it, Mary,” he said, bringing my attention back to him and his beguiling eyes.
Dispensing the liquid into my mouth, I swallowed, and felt the burn. “What was it?” I guzzled in a cooling breath.
“Vodka.” His tongue lapped his mouth, and he smacked his lips. “Good, huh?”
Jimmy blocked all essence of light as he moved in.
“What are you doing?” Thwarting his
impromptu advance, I stacked my arms in front of his chest as a defense mechanism.
“A victory kiss,” he breathed and yanked my arms apart.
Eluding his puckered mouth, I cranked my head sideways just as his left hand mashed my boob like a steamroller.
“What the hell is that?” I thrust him off me.
“I slipped.” He raised his hands, palms facing me, as if surrendering. “Mary, really. I’m sorry.”
Suddenly, his head and shoulders jolted backward. And I peered up to see Michael. His fingers were entangled in Jimmy’s shirt collar, rumpling it.
“Mary, let’s play a game,” Michael addressed me, though, in the shaded corner, his expression was vague. Then he said to Jimmy, “Sorry, man. You don’t mind if I steal her away?”
“Yeah.” Pender appeared affronted. “Actually, I do, Covington.” He stood, capsizing his chair.
Unsteadily, I hopped to my feet, knocking Jimmy aside. “I want to play.” The star quarterback had no choice but to concede.
“Mary.”
At that awkward moment, Stevie’s voice rang out, and I turned to see a white pill sandwiched between Phoenix’s teeth.
“Find yourself a ride. I’m not coming home tonight.” Parting his lips, Stevie engulfed Phoenix’s mouth and the pill.
Oh, great. He’s flying.
Left to my own devices, I was doomed. If I managed to reel in my brain, hitchhiking home was my best option.
“I’ll drive Mary home,” parallel voices chimed.
I swerved to witness Jimmy and Michael glowering at each other, shoulders taut.
Putting my palms on Michael’s six-pack abs, I tried coaxing him away. “C’mon, let’s get this game started. Or are you scared I might win?” When I gave him a slight shove, he blinked, and his gaze separated from Jimmy and alighted on me. His frown curved into a lackadaisical, tantalizing smirk.
A huffing Jimmy sauntered into the bar area.
Michael was chalking his cue when I asked, “Where’s Dee?”
“She’s staying at Candy’s.”
“I feel awful for Candy.” I reached for my lucky cue stick of the evening. “My brother’s an unreliable jerk.”
“Steve’s all right.” Michael set the chalk on the side rack.
“The guy has no common sense,” I said. “He drinks like a fish and getting stoned is the highlight of his life.” I snuck my peepers to Phoenix and Stevie, who were tongue wrestling. “And no respect for the opposite sex.”
“Do you critique everyone on such a prudent scale?” Michael’s eyes delved into mine.
I used the pool table for support by leveraging my hip on the side. “I didn’t mean to sound so…so…”
“Hypocritical?”
Am I hypocritical?
After sinking my second solid ball, I glimpsed Michael leaning against the grimy window—pool stick braced on his chest as he watched me. Instantaneous tingling had my knees quaking right up to my untrustworthy backbone.
Why does he affect me like this?
It was necessary to quash the emotions messing with my body and my game. “Covington, I’ll try to take it easy on you,” I said mockingly and wondered if my valiant attempt at concealing my feelings had worked.
“Mary, you can’t beat me.” He seemed so sure of himself, and yet self-effacing.
Assured and blasé, Michael allowed me to charge ahead and made it appear as if I had the game sewn up. Though, during his turn, he sank every ball like an expert hustler. He then banked the remaining eight ball and missed the pocket. It appeared intentional.
My turn.
I calculated he’d steered the match exactly as planned, giving me a chance. Not that it bothered me to lose. I’d lost my fair share, though I desperately wanted to rub my win in his face. Nevertheless, I blew my shot, and Michael had an easy victory with the eight ball a mere inch from the pocket. He couldn’t miss and live it down. People were watching—even Jimmy stared from where he stood with his shoulder against the archway’s trim.
Michael’s mouth curled into an engaging smile. If girls swooned, I think every female in the joint would have. Instead of implementing the winning shot, he placed the pool stick on the table.
“Good game, Mary,” he said like a caress.
“Covington!” Stevie crowed, raising a shot glass in tribute. “Congrats.”
Phoenix lugged Stevie from his chair. Merging her lithe frame into his, they danced to the music.
Michael slid the pool stick from my clammy hands. When he bent to my ear, I drank in his scent of soap and shampoo.
“I’ll take you home now,” he said.
“No, Mikey,” I said, mimicking the hippie chicks, my tone sassy. “Let’s dance.” Tangling my arms around his neck, I turned into a constricting python, and moved to the beat of “Wild Thing.”
Michael’s hands clamped my waist and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around him and arched backwards, snickering. His strong arms shored up my back as he twirled me, and my hair brushed the air.
He carted me against his chest, saying, “Mary, you worry me.”
“Why’s that?” My lips were near enough to kiss his neck, but I abstained from the urgent need to taste him.
“You don’t see yourself,” he paused. “Like guys see you.”
“How do guys see me?”
“You’re too naïve. Every guy here wants to get into your—”
“Pants?” I finished his sentence and popped my head off his shoulder. Is he teasing me? I wanted one boy, and at the moment, I’d throw Dee to the wolves to get him.
As he scrutinized my face, his eyes darkened to blue velvet. “You’re beautiful,” he purred, his mouth a breath away.
“No, I’m not.”
A chuckle clutched his throat as the song ended. I unclamped my legs from his waist, and he helped me steady my feet on the floor.
He rammed his fingers through his hair and then moved them lower to hang his hand on the back of his neck. “Okay, now can I take you home?” His eyes were on Phoenix and Raven. He seemed troubled as if I was an aggravating itch.
I thought for certain I’d felt an undeniable, passionate connection. How wrong could I be? “I heard you’re taking Dee to the dance tomorrow?”
“Not by choice.” Again, he looked uptight. “I didn’t plan on going, and if I had, I wanted to ask you.”
“Me?” Astonished, I said, “Then why didn’t you ask?”
“It’s been a tough week for you,” he hemmed, “with all the crappola flying around, and then Steve said you’d be babysitting.”
“Steve?” He didn’t reply. “So you asked Dee instead?”
“No. Dee asked me.”
There was more to his story than he was letting on. Then it hit me, the hippie chicks were in town, and he’d made plans.
“C’mon. We have to go.” Michael seized my forearm and practically dragged me across the room.
I don’t deserve to be treated like this. Like a wretched gnat.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get me home?” I jerked my arm from his grasp, anger fizzing deep inside. I still had some partying left in me. “So you can screw your friends all night with my brother?” I slapped a hand over my mouth. Oh, no! The words were out, and I couldn’t stuff them back in.
Michael gawked as if I’d mutated into the creature from the black lagoon.
From the fringes of my vision, I perceived Pender intercepting our exchange. I swiftly evaded Michael and was tackled by Jimmy. His arms enveloped me, crushing me to him as the Moody Blues Band sang “Nights in White Satin.” My breath sharpened and futile anger dissolved as vibrant colors splashed behind my sealed eyelids.
Billiards had been deserted as rock ‘n’ roll radically pumped from the jukebox for the inebriated souls. Snared in a whirlpool of revelry, I fel
t as if the floor undulated beneath my feet. When “Dizzy” sifted through the jukebox, the tempo was all mine.
I’d developed into an untamed creature, dancing for the uncontainable fun of it. The tables we’d claimed earlier were now vacant. Good riddance. Musings of Michael in Woodstock with Phoenix and Raven and their unveiling tales propelled me deeper into oblivion.
I was folded in Jimmy’s arms as he squashed me to his chest and sidestepped to “Baby I Need Your Lovin.’” The harmony ended, but my head kept spinning. I was strung-out and counting on him to drive me home. It was after midnight, and if my parents were awake, I’d have hell to pay. Guilt stemming from my sensible side knocked my cranium into a guise of clear-headedness.
“Jimmy,” I said, out of breath. “Can you take me home now?”
“Sure, Mary. I was waiting for you to ask.”
Warning signals tickled my soggy brain as he nuzzled his head into my neck and nibbled my skin. Hauntingly familiar of another time and another place, I stiffened. Loosening my arms, I attempted to disentangle myself. He held tighter. I positioned my palms on his shoulders and shoved, hard. He tottered with a stumped look in his eyes.
I perused the bar for a suitable ride home. There wasn’t a person in sight that I recognized. I needed Jimmy.
“Let’s go,” my voice crackled like boiling water over ice. Snagging my sweater and coat, I slid my arms into the sleeves and walked to the exit, not looking to see if he was following. When I stepped into the tiny vestibule, a shroud of sour smoke clogged my throat, and someone grabbed my arm.
“Mary,” Jimmy said, his fingers digging into my flesh. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I’m late.” I wiped my stinging eyes to rid them of the fog, but his face blurred in and out.
“Would you go with me to Homecoming tomorrow night?” he asked.
Temporarily tentative, I was shocked. “I…I can’t.” Stunned that he didn’t have a date, I explained, “I have to babysit.”
During a silent pause, his fingers thankfully grew slack. “I had a good time tonight. Can I see you again?”
Is he legit? Jimmy Pender was asking me out. Thinking of another boy with gleaming sapphire eyes, my heart took a nose-dive. Faltering, I managed to say, “I guess that’d be okay.”
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