by Tracy Ellen
I leaned my head against my window, covering my eyes with my hand. It was my turn to laugh at me. I might not like hearing what my sister said, but that didn’t make her wrong. I was performing a classic move and checking out a man.
I had never checked out a man before in this way. I mean, I do criminal background checks, sometimes credit checks, and even mental health checks, but didn’t everyone?
This house checking was a new concept for me. I was a novice at the classic moves since I had never cared what a man was doing when I wasn’t with him. Nor did I worry about losing face when stopping over, probably because I never did stop over. It was an unsettling feeling.
I didn’t think performing a classic move signified I was falling for Luke. It only meant I was going to take him up on his earlier offer to hang together tonight due to my own plans falling apart. I didn’t want to interrupt by calling him if he had plans with someone else. That could be awkward. That’s all I was up to.
No, the thing that floored me most was realizing I must be seriously losing it to have come up with this unworthy plan to put one over on these two worldly, talented fiends. There was no excuse for it. I knew perfectly well what these two girls were like.
Everywhere we go, Goddess Tre fights off men throwing themselves at her size eleven feet for the fruitless chance to worship at the altar of her voluptuous magnificence. I say fruitless because Tre J was a twenty-seven-year old virgin saving herself for Mr. Right and marriage.
No lie.
Tre just may be the oldest voluntary virgin, next to Aunt Lily, in Northfield, or perhaps even Rice County. Not that I thought any man would voluntarily put it to Aunt Lily unless under the threat of death. But to give the Behemoth her due, she has been the most zealously faithful bride of Christ outside of a Carmelite convent a woman could ever claim to be.
On that note, is it wrong to be sorry as hell for poor Jesus Christ?
I don’t think it’s so wrong, either.
My little sister approaches life a little differently. Jazy treats her men like she works her horses. She expertly culls a prime piece of flesh out of the herd. She saddles him up and rides him relentlessly until he breaks to the bridle to her satisfaction. Then she cheerfully gives him back to his owner, a more submissive, well-trained mount that could now even perform a showy trick or two.
The glass of the car window felt cool against my cheek. I was feeling sleep deprived, yet full of strange, manic energy- a disturbing combination. My fun weekend off kept throwing me curves. Feeling punchy with relief at surviving the latest near miss, it was no wonder that all my filters and fences were down. That was the only explanation for me so clumsily messing up my need-to-know rule like an amateur with Jaz and Tre.
When life throws me curves, it’s only logical to bend and acknowledge what my choices are to achieve my goals. In this instance, I might have to flex my beloved, control enthusiast rules just a smidgen and not go it alone. I might have to take on partners and form a temporary triad.
‘Okay, I can do this. This is my sister and good friend, after all. Not a couple of enemies at the gate.’
I dropped my hand and smiled. “So, was there a ‘Yes, you do want to see his house’ somewhere in all that?”
Tre J whooped and Jazy laughed, punching my shoulder in camaraderie before sitting back. The Dome Light of Truth was turned off. We passed my brother’s driveway on the right and kept going. Absently rubbing my sore arm, I cautioned Tre J to be on the lookout on the left for the unique mailbox of a John Deere miniature tractor identifying Luke’s turn off.
I had been to Luke’s house once before when he had needed to pick up his wallet. I had waited in the car that time. I was curious to see the inside of his house tonight. It was odd to know him so intimately, yet not know such basic things about his everyday life. My stomach was fluttering in anticipation of seeing him so soon again.
Jazy was the resident expert on classic moves. “Let’s kill the headlights and coast quietly up the driveway.”
I didn’t comment on Jazy’s directive to go in dark, this was their bailiwick, but I flicked off the radio. I knew Luke was hyper-aware of his surroundings. If he was home, I was counting on him to ask questions first and attack second. Hopefully, he believed in taking prisoners.
I had a suggestion for my new partners. “Let’s wait a second here in the dark just to be doubly sure we weren’t followed. I’ll text Jack we’re okay, so he doesn’t freak and call Reggie.”
Jazy whistled. “Crap, I’d already forgotten. Good idea. I’ll text Reggie to expect us in ten. I’ll text Mac we’re safe, too, or else she’ll be all over our ass.”
Soundlessly, I whistled back my admiration. What a team of competent connivers we made.
We waited a few anxious minutes in silence. Not seeing any vans lunging out of the darkness, we decided the coast was clear around us. I texted Jack as he’d instructed.
Tre, guided only by the light from the moon and stars overhead, slowly drove the bouncing Honda up the open, rutted lane. The tree shrouded farmyard was fifty yards ahead of us.
As we crept closer, I turned and grinned at Jazy in the backseat. This was fun being sneaky. I couldn’t believe I’ve never tried this before. She grinned back, a flash of white teeth in the dark interior of the car.
We entered the inky darkness under the canopy of dense trees. Tre J slowed to a stop until her night vision further adjusted.
Here the road did a loop into a big, circular driveway. I recalled in the grassy center of the circle were massive groupings of huge lilac bushes. It was late autumn and they were bare of their leaves, but the tangle of thick branches still created a barrier preventing us from seeing the other side of the driveway and the whole house.
From where we were stopped, it was possible to see a front porch light was on outside. It spotlighted the cement stoop and iron railing of the mid-century style rambler. The bushes blocked a clear glimpse of the whole house, but enough lights could be seen twinkling through the branches that it appeared Luke was home.
After a moment’s thought, Jazy directed Tre J to go slowly to the right. Tre J turned the wheel and crept towards the house.
Clicking open her seatbelt again, Jazy scooted forward and softly explained her logic to me. “We need to be able to see what’s going on without committing you. It’s a rambler, so there’s probably a picture window in front, right?” She must have sensed my nod in the dark car. “We can’t get out of the car here to surveil. It’s too far away. It would be uncouth if we were caught looking in his windows.” I giggled at the word and the image. “If we can get the car close enough, then maybe we can verify Luke’s home alone without getting out. If we can’t, having the car close makes it acceptable to be out walking near his front window like we were going to the front door.”
“Hot diggety, Jaz, you really know your stuff! I had no idea classic moves need so much devious strategy.” I was in awe at the unforeseen depths of my baby sister’s ninja stealth knowledge. “Here I thought if he’s home, I’d just go blundering up to the door and ring the bell.”
Jazy and Tre J let out similar oaths of whispered surprise, “Don’t be such a stupid ass!” and “Oh, that wouldn’t be smart, Bel!”
Not offended by their words, I found myself smiling to be creeping up on Luke’s house. I was holding my bated breath while Tre J inched us closer to the dwelling and it became more visible.
Tre buzzed down her window partway, head cocked and listening. We could all hear it then, the sound of loud music playing.
“He must have a window cracked somewhere.”
Jazy murmured, “This makes life easier. You hear that song? It’s Radiohead, good choice.”
Tre fervently agreed in a quiet undertone, “I love Radiohead.”
She inched the car to the end of this leg of the driveway, right before it jogged left within a few feet of the foundation of the house. Tre J had hugged the left side of the lane. We were quietly idling, a dark car shadow
ed by the giant, looming lilac bushes.
I was dutifully peering ahead, trying to see inside the living room through Luke’s picture window. It was lit up like a small theatre stage. From our angle, I couldn’t see too much. Only the back of an empty chair, a lamp, and an arched doorway leading into darkness were visible.
My cell phone buzzed loudly in the quiet car. I quickly grabbed it. Using my purse as a covering, I saw a text from an unknown number. Curious, I read it quickly and blew out a surprised breath.
I have important news. Please allow me to tell you. All I ask is 5 min. Mike McClain
Glancing up at the sudden tenseness in the air, I heard Tre’s cautiously murmured, “Well, well, what do we have here?”
“Tre.”
Shoving my phone in my purse, I forgot Mike’s text to concentrate on what was happening. At my sister’s one word instruction, Tre smoothly put the Honda in reverse and we were backing up.
The car stopped. Jazy then made her move. She slipped out and shut the car door with a soft click. Poised for Jazy’s action, Tre J was on it. She had reached up and covered the dome light with her gloves. When I glanced back in the direction my sister had gone, there was no sight of her in the black night around us.
I didn’t know yet what had them curious, but I was impressed with their tandem movements. They worked together like a well-oiled machine. I speculated on what these two were up to in their spare time. Did training horses together and being roommates explain why they’d be so in sync, or could Jazy and Tre be a couple of Peeping Thomasinas?
“What’s going on, Tre?”
“Look over my way at about ten o’clock. It’s through the bushes on the side of the house. Can you see it?”
I sat forward and strained to see where she pointed. It didn’t take me long to see it, too. Staring fixedly, I couldn’t look away from the sight of Candy’s light blue Honda Civic parked in Luke’s driveway.
My mind scrambled to comprehend. I thought back quickly over the past two months for clues to understand why I was seeing Candy’s car at Luke’s. My cousin had been over at Reggie’s on the Saturday morning I’d first met Luke last September. I had to assume Luke met Candy at least that once. I would have definitely remembered being sick if Luke had mentioned hanging out with Candy in any of our ensuing conversations. I didn’t vomit frequently enough not to distinctly remember the experience when I did.
As if to prove my thoughts, nausea now replaced the excited butterflies in my gut. Staring at her car, I had to conclude this meant one of two things; Luke was dating Candy or he was friends with her. Either way, he hadn’t mentioned her name to me. I never told him anything about my past with Candy, so he didn’t know I despised her.
‘Holy Hell! Was Luke Drake the “mysterious man meet” Candy had bragged to Mac about earlier tonight?’
Luke and I had no agreement of exclusivity, but would he be so crass as to be with my cousin? I also realized, exclusivity clause or not, those had to be jealousy pangs twisting up my innards at the idea of Luke being with another woman. Mixed with the pangs of horror that the woman could be my cousin Candy, and I was fighting the need to hurl.
I guess there was a third, remote possibility that could not be overlooked. Candy had shown up out of the blue at Luke’s house. He wasn’t seeing her, or friends with her. Maybe he’d let her in because she was selling Girl Scout cookies at ten o’clock at night and he was a good citizen.
Did I say earlier Fate was trying to kick my butt? Obviously, I misspoke. Fate was trying to kick my ass, my gut, my head, my ankle- you name it. This was a total body slaughterama of a weekend. I was stuck here watching my past comingle with my future. It was like having to sit through the repeated telling of a cosmic bad joke.
I fell back in my seat while muttering darkly, “Why does everybody think Radiohead’s so frickin’ great, anyway? They’re nothing but a bunch of New Age Pink Floyders.”
Chapter XIV
“Rolling In The Deep” by Adele
Saturday, 11/17/12
10:37 PM
With gentle tolerance, Tre reprimanded me over my Radiohead comment, as if I was a cranky preschooler who knew not what she said.
I sat waiting with outward calm for Jazy’s return. Inside, I was a snake pit of seething emotions, barely hanging onto my temper. Not racing to the door and finding out for myself what was going on took every ounce of self-control I possessed. I really despise waiting around.
I practiced my yoga breathing. I came to a decision. Luke would get the benefit of my doubt unless proven untrustworthy, but not Candy. She knew exactly who she was messing with tonight.
Candy and Reggie were aware I had a first date with Luke minutes after it was arranged last September. I hadn’t been very subtle grilling Reggie about Luke when he’d left. Reg had teased me unmercifully in front of Candy about Luke and me sniffing after each other like dogs in heat. There was no way Candy didn’t know I was dating Luke.
Candy Anne MacKenzie has been living on borrowed time for the past nine years and now she needed to die.
Candy takes after her mother’s side of the family in looks. You would never guess we’re first cousins or even related. She’s fond of informing people she resembles the celebrity, Tori Spelling. It’s true Candy has bulbous, brown eyes.
During our teens, she’d acted possessed over the fact that I had a larger bra cup size than she did. Candy threw tantrums and made my uncle’s life miserable over this issue. It goes without saying, her daddy soon bought her a new set of boobs. It also goes without saying, once Candy got her way she went big- as in ginormous. Two porn stars would be envious. Paired up against her thin, slight frame, Candy’s melon-sized breasts appear painfully huge in proportion.
At first glance, my cousin is an attractively packaged woman, complete with factory warrantee. Candy’s skin is tanned mahogany, her hair’s bleached white blonde and long with extensions, the teeth are whitened to that weird purplish-white hue, the make-up is always piled on, the eyebrows are plucked to thin, black half circles, and the eyelashes are false. She dresses and accessorizes expensively with Uncle Trevor’s credit cards, but her taste continues to be questionable. That’s from years of Anna and me indirectly influencing her fashion choices, but more on that later.
I’m sure Candy sees herself as a desirable hoochie mama that every man lusts after.
I saw her as a walking toxic dumpsite.
Satisfying as it would be to pull Candy out of Luke’s house by the roots of her Chernobyl blonde hair, and give her a dermabrasion treatment she’d never forget on the gravel drive tonight, it wasn’t going down that way. My beef with her was of long standing duration. It was not going to be about Luke.
As far back as I could remember, Candy has gone to extreme lengths to get whatever I have. If she could take it from me while doing so, even better.
She’s three years older, so this caused some problems for me when we were kids.
It was no fun having my G.I. Joe go disappearing from my room, only to later show up at her house, in her room. She vehemently denied taking it, of course. Since her parents bought her anything she remotely desired; Candy had some wiggle room to smugly squirm out of trouble with the adults.
Not with me, though. I knew every inch of that G.I. Joe. I’d paid for that man doll out of my hard-earned Chore Chart money. He was mine.
After seeing her smile of evil satisfaction at the look on my face when first seeing her completely redecorated bedroom, I had Candy’s measure. It was crammed with the entire collection of the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bedroom set that I’d drooled over endlessly.
When I’d woken up from a kitten nap in my room after a big, Sunday dinner to the sight of my nuttier-than-a-fruitcake cousin about to snip off my waist-length braid, it was all out warfare.
My age, or size, has never stopped me from scrapping when necessary. Jumping up with a shout that day, I’d tripped Candy to the floor and sat on her. I was planning on shearing her l
ike a sheep in retribution. The scissors were a hairsbreadth away from taking the first hunk off her scalp when NanaBel had burst into my room in response to Candy’s hysterical screams of terror. Biting her lip, our Grandmother had coaxed me down from the heights of my nap-groggy fury. It was later that same day NanaBel had exacted my first begrudging, disgruntled promise to go easy on Candy.
Since I had given my word to not physically take her down, Anna and I spent many constructive hours on the serviceable bunk beds in my room devising ways to watch Candy dance on our strings like a Tasmanian Devil puppet.
Our strategy back then was laughably simple and almost always worked. We’d first allow Candy to eavesdrop on our private conversations. I would profess to desire something like a certain person, or a really cool sweatshirt with bejeweled cat eyes. Anna and me would then sit back and watch the fun unfold. My kook of a cousin moved heaven and earth to acquire any objects or persons of my supposed affection.
Were Anna and I wrong to believe Candy had a moral choice? If she hadn’t spied, then she wouldn’t know what I wanted, and it wouldn’t work for us to be puppet masters extraordinaire.
That’s what we thought, as well.
Candy had dressed very strangely for years. Anna and I had felt kind of bad for siccing the seventeen-year-old Candy on the thirteen-year-old boy with the terrible acne problem. But he’d actually dumped her first and moved on to become quite the stud.
As we got older, I learned to avoid Candy. I was busy with my own life and friends. We hung with different people and our paths crossed only occasionally at family functions. There were enough people at those gatherings to easily ignore her presence. I grew unconsciously adept at being wherever Candy wasn’t. I’d almost forgotten she was demonic.
Until I was nineteen.
I was working long hours at Bel’s while my one and only boyfriend, Mike McClain, was going to school his sophomore year at the U of M. Mike and I’d been hot and heavy for over two years, wildly in love. I would visit him on campus as much as I could get away, and he’d drive the hour commute to be with me several times a week. Our relationship together had been as close to perfection as I could imagine at nineteen, and we’ve already established the status of my imagination.