Down, Then Up: A Novella

by Beth Labonte

  “That’s not true,” I say. “I just would have had more time to figure out how to explain—“

  “Lauren, I’m not looking for any explanations,” he says, shaking his head. “Honest. It’s just really good to see you again. Nice outfit, by the way.”

  Oh, God. After all this time, here I am in an elevator again, dressed like a party girl. At least from the ankles up.

  “I don’t drink anymore,” I blurt out.

  Jamie raises his eyebrows and nods.

  “I’ve noticed,” he says. “Pregnant?”

  “No!” I snap. I know I shouldn’t be offended by the question. It’s a legit question. None of his business, but still legit. I just don’t want him to think that I was forced into my decision. I turned my life around of my own accord. At the same time, I’ve always kind of wished that he knew how much of a positive influence he’d been on me. The way I felt when we were together was the first indication that something was wrong in my life—even if I did ignore it.

  “No,” I say, in a gentler tone. “I actually haven’t had a drink since the last time you saw me.”

  “Oh,” says Jamie. “Wow. That’s good news. I, on the other hand, have picked up the habit.”

  “Oh,” I say, my heart sinking a bit. “Not too much, I hope. I mean, you’re welcome to it. It was just kind of your thing to only drink Mountain Dew on the weekends.”

  Jamie laughs. “I still do the Dew. But I’ve made up for some lost time these past ten years. I found out what I’d been missing out on. You’re no longer the only one who knows the joy of hanging over a toilet bowl on a Sunday morning.”

  I cringe. That was not the flattering memory of me I had hoped he carried with him all these years. We had been in California once, and I literally stood by the ocean in a flowery dress right before sunset. I very clearly remember smiling at him over my shoulder. Totally perfect memory material. But no. He has to go and remember all of the times that I yacked in the dormitory restroom.

  “So, um, where are you going?” I ask, changing the subject. “It’s late.”

  “It’s Vegas.”

  “Still late. Where to?”

  “The guys sent me out for beer. You?”

  “The girls sent me out for donuts.”

  “Beer and donuts,” says Jamie. “Maybe we should track down Homer Simpson. He’d know where to go.”

  “Mmm...donuts,” I mumble, as the doors open and close on the last floor before casino level. Finally.

  The doors slide open and we step out into a sea of flashing lights and bleeping slot machines—the last place that I want to venture back into.

  “Well, I guess this is where we part ways,” says Jamie. “I delayed it for as long as I could.”

  “I appreciate that. As did the other guests.”

  We’re lingering now, in front of the elevators. It’s obvious that we should just continue on our separate ways, but neither of us makes the first move.

  “Would it be considered poor form to invite a non-drinker to come to the liquor store with me?” asks Jamie, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Probably,” I say. “That’s like the third last place I want to be right now. The second being this casino, and the first being back upstairs with my sister’s friends.”

  “I thought so,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking down at the carpet. “But I thought it was worth a try.”

  I look at him, my face the epitome of seriousness.

  “Do, or do not. There is no try.”

  Jamie looks up at me and laughs. “You little nerd. After all this time?”

  “Always.”

  “And straight into a Harry Potter quote! Yes!” He fist pumps the air. “You’ve still got it.”

  As we stand there goofily beaming at each other, my heart hammering away in my chest, I realize that I don’t want him to go yet. Not only because I don’t want to wander alone around Las Vegas, wearing a mini dress and looking for donuts, but because I’m suddenly very sorry for ignoring him all weekend. Not only because it was rude, but because after ten minutes in an elevator I realize how incredibly much I’ve missed him. I realize that I may have thrown away my only opportunity to make things right.

  And, if we’re being honest, I’m curious as to what he’s been up to all these years. Did he ever get married? I glance at his hand. Still no ring, same as when I checked five minutes ago in the elevator. Of course, in Vegas, that doesn’t mean much. Is he engaged? Even more impossible to tell, unfortunately. Does he still drive that old Hyundai Sonata with the zippered cases full of CD’s all over the backseat? Probably not. But God, I miss that car. I miss looking at him from the passenger seat. I’ve missed everything about him since the second that I let him go.

  I suddenly feel a bit drunk.

  Sheepishly, I stick out my hand. Possible wife or fiancée be damned. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas is in full effect, starting now.

  “You know what?” I say. “I would love to accompany you to the liquor store. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been surrounded by booze all weekend. I can handle it.”

  “Okay,” says Jamie, accepting my hand. He runs his thumb over my bare ring finger. I don’t know if it was intentional, but I sure noticed. “We’re not going to the liquor store, though.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he says, a mischievous crinkle to his eyes. “I have a better idea.”

  Twelve Years Earlier

  I made my way across campus, avoiding the looks of other students—the ones who were properly dressed for ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. I was getting quite good at it, actually. Head down. Don’t look up. One foot in front of the other. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I had no right to complain. I’d never exactly put any effort into avoiding this type of situation. When Saturday nights rolled around, I existed only in the moment. Any logistical plans I may have concocted for getting home went straight out the window as soon as I was handed my first cup.

  Vodka…rum…tequila…

  Michael…Matthew...Mark? A conga line of frat boys danced through my head. Mark. That was his name. That’s whose room I’d woken up in. I hated myself for forgetting his name.

  I dragged myself up the steps to my dormitory and fumbled for my student I.D., swiping it several times through the card reader. No dice. With one last yank, and a few choice words, I nearly fell over backwards as the door buzzed and unlocked. I made a pit stop in the ladies room to vomit.

  Leaning against the tiled wall—just me and the porcelain goddess holding court there on the floor—I wondered if it had really been worth it. I didn’t consider myself a one-night-stand type of girl, so I didn’t take what had happened lightly. Mark had been sweet, but I had a feeling that I wouldn’t hear from him again. Back he goes into the increasingly shallow, communal pool of frat boys that existed on-campus. I could only hope that the pool was well chlorinated. It had been fun, at least. No regrets.

  Sort of.

  I pulled myself up and headed for the elevator. The doors were just about to close when a figure bounded through, book bag swinging from his shoulder. More awake and energetic than I could stomach on a Sunday morning.

  “Hey, Laur.”

  “Oh. Hey, Jamie.” My face warmed when I realized who it was, and I wished desperately for an oversized sweater or coat to throw on. “Where are you coming from so early?”

  “I had a study group at eight.” Jamie made great effort to look anywhere but at my outfit. “How about yourself?”

  I looked down at what I was wearing—black stilettos, sequined tank top, body glitter.

  “Yeah, me too. Studying.” I shifted uncomfortably. A gold sequin fluttered to the floor.

  “Good times last night?” he asked, apparently bored with the charade of pretending I’d just come from bible study. Jamie knew me. He didn’t judge me, but he knew me. The elevator doors slid open and we walked down the hallway together.

  “It was okay,” I shrugged, wobbling sligh
tly in my heels. “It was no World of Warcraft tournament.”

  He laughed. “Last night was Call of Duty and you know it.”

  “There aren’t any dragons in that one, are there?” I asked, crinkling my nose. Playing dumb.

  Jamie stopped in front of his room, and I stopped in front of mine. He gave me his crooked, knowing smile. Despite the revealing outfit I had on, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on my face. I held his gaze for several seconds, before looking away.

  “No dragons,” he said. “Just guns and tanks and stuff.”

  “Hmm. Dullsville.”

  “You know,” said Jamie, unlocking his door. “One of these days I’m going to out you to your friends. You’ll be at a frat party in your little tube top and your mini skirt, and I’ll be outside holding up a banner that says Lauren Oswald is a Closet Nerd.”

  I laughed, but his joke sent a wave of shame through my body. Tube top, mini skirt, frat party. Those were the words that he used to describe me. And why shouldn’t he? That was me in a nutshell. To most of the world, at least. Ironically, the words Closet Nerd had no ill effect.

  “Careful, pal,” I said, unlocking my door. “Dune’s on tonight, and I know you don’t want to be watching those sandworms all alone.”

  Jamie smiled. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  Smiling, I slinked into my room. It was funny, I thought, how the night before, when I picked this outfit from my closet, I felt like a million bucks. Yet now, in front of Jamie, I felt like I should be standing on a street corner. As I bent down to pick a pair of sweatpants up off the floor, I was hit by another wave of nausea. I flopped down on the bed. My feeble attempt at pushing the door shut, resulted in my being able to see a sliver of Jamie across the hall, bringing various pieces of computer equipment to life with a touch of his hand. With only a few yards of worn dormitory carpet between us, I could hear him mumbling quietly as he moved about the room. I closed my eyes. Jamie’s computer sounds were oddly comforting. The whirring and the blipping and the bleeping.

  I awoke a short time later to a gentle knocking on my partially open door. I sat up.

  “Sorry to wake you,” said Jamie. He was standing in the doorway holding a steaming bowl. “But I made some ramen noodles.”

  “God, you’re the best,” I said, rolling out of bed and onto the floor. “Get in here.”

  Jamie handed me the bowl, then went back into his room to get another. Then he kicked my door shut and joined me on the floor.

  “This is exactly what I needed,” I said, slurping up the noodles and burning the roof of my mouth. “They could have cured the Plague if only they’d thought to give the sick people ramen.”

  Jamie laughed.

  “Seriously. If I’m ever in a coma, I want you to bring me ramen. Put it in the IV if you have to. Not just the liquid either, throw the noodles in there too. They’re skinny, they’ll fit through the tube.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “So, what did you really do last night?” asked Jamie.

  “What do you mean?” My heart shimmied up into my throat. Could he tell just by looking at me?

  “Frat party?”

  “Oh. Yeah, you know. The usual.”

  “You stayed at Kelly’s?”

  I stared into my ramen bowl. “Um, no. Not last night. No.” Jamie could tell when I was lying, so there was no point in trying.

  “Oh.”

  I looked over at him. “What do you mean, oh?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not like I do that sort of thing all the time. I mean, usually I do sleep at Kelly’s or Sarah’s. But once in a while—”

  “Yeah. No. Don’t need to know. Forget I asked.”

  “Sure.” I looked over at him as he nervously picked fibers out of my carpet. Not sure what else to say, I stood up and leaned against my desk. “You know, I don’t question you about every girl you hook up with.”

  “How many girls do you think I’ve hooked up with?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. What about that Callie? She used to stop by your room all the time.”

  “To borrow my notes.”

  Oh, thank God, I thought. That girl looked like she didn’t know her way around a bottle of shampoo.

  “Well there must have been at least one,” I said. “We’ve known each other for a while now.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “There was one.”

  “Okay, good. So, we’re even.”

  I smiled and picked my bowl of ramen up off the floor, my mind racing. Who had it been? I suddenly wished it had been Callie—the devil I knew, and all that. A thousand images passed through my head of what that one girl may have looked like. I didn’t know why I felt so unnerved. I mean, I knew from living in the dorms and seeing Jamie freshly out of the shower—nothing but a towel around his waist and a shower caddy in hand—that he had a decent body hidden away under those flannel shirts and jeans. He was bound to meet somebody. Of course he was. Just like I had.

  Still, instead of feeling vindicated, I felt like I’d been hit with a shovel.

  3

  “Where are we going?”

  Jamie’s led me out of the hotel and onto The Strip, where we’ve turned right and are now heading briskly down the sidewalk in the direction of The Bellagio. Most of the attractions are closed at this hour, and I assume that he knows I don’t want anything more to do with bars and clubs. I’m at a bit of a loss.

  “You’ll see,” he says, looking over at me with a smile.

  We come up to The Bellagio fountains, which are also shut off at this time of night, and continue up the driveway and into the hotel.

  “Are we going to rob the casino or something?” I ask. “Because I’m really tired.”

  “The guys and I already did that yesterday. Come on.” He takes me through the hotel lobby and towards a doorway to the right of the check-in desk.

  “The Conservatory!” I say, when I realize where we are. The Bellagio Conservatory and Botanical Gardens—an oasis in the desert.

  “You haven’t been here yet, have you?”

  “No! But it’s on my list. You know, my list of things that I was never going to get to do. How did you know?”

  Jamie shrugs. “Something told me that visiting a flower garden wasn’t high on your sister’s agenda.”

  I laugh. “God, no. Not while Thunder From Down Under is in town. Anna would die of boredom in this place. Ironically, Mom’s spending about thirty grand on flowers for her wedding.”

  “It’s not just any flower garden though, Miss Lauren. Brace yourself.”

  He pulls me along past the thousands of gorgeous red, yellow, and orange flowers making up the fall harvest display, and around the back of a large, twisted tree. As we come around to the front, I see it. And I gasp.

  “It’s an Ent!” I clamp a hand over my mouth. Then I remove it to whack Jamie in the chest. “You found me an Ent. In Las Vegas.” I put my hand over my mouth again, because I feel like I’m going to cry.

  What the hell is an Ent, you’re probably asking yourself. Do not fret; I too was once like you. An Ent is a mythical creature from Middle Earth. This particular one is ten feet tall and looks like a twisted old tree with arms, legs, and a grandfatherly face. He’s sitting amongst the flowers with a lapful of pumpkins and gourds. He’s absolutely beautiful, and a sight for sore eyes after the glitz of my Vegas weekend.

  “I thought you’d like him,” says Jamie, taking my hand and leading me to a bench. “I saw this same display when I was here a few years ago. I couldn’t help but think of you.”

  “So, you think of me when you’re throwing up, and when you see Ents? I must have been quite a woman.”

  Jamie smirks and rests his elbows on his knees, his hands under his chin. He looks down at the floor, slowly shaking his head. Then he looks over at me, sideways. “Those weren’t t
he only times. Not by a long shot.”

  I feel my face crumple a bit. “I did look you up a few times. But, for a computer guy, you don’t have much of an Internet presence. Your Facebook profile picture is of a golden retriever, and it says you live in Gotham City.”

  Jamie laughs. “I like to maintain an air of mystery.”

  “It’s annoying,” I say, glad the tension has momentarily lifted. “So, you have a dog. But are you married?”

  “Baxter and I are just friends.”

  I laugh. “To a woman, you dolt.”

  “You know the answer to that question because I’ve seen you check out my finger, multiple times.”

  I feign shock. “Well, some guys take their rings off when they’re in Vegas.”

  “Not me. How about you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Not a one. Girlfriend?”

  “Negative.”

  “Interesting,” I say. “Where do you work?”

  “Google. I got a job there after college, and I’ve been there ever since.”

  “No kidding!” I reach over and whack him in the chest again. “That’s amazing! That’s—”

  “In California,” says Jamie, reading my mind. “So, you’re a writer?”

  I look at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  “Well, there’s this thing called Google...”

  “Right,” I laugh. “You’ve Googled me.”

  “It’s my job. The last time I checked, it looked like you were working on a series of time travel books?”

  “Yup. Middle grade science fiction. For girls in particular.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “I want to get them interested when they’re young, you know?” I take out my phone and open the Amazon app. “Here, look.”

  “The Red Elevator Chronicles,” reads Jamie. “Yeah, that’s the one. What’s it about?”

  “Well, it starts off on the first day of school, and Jenna Bixby—she’s my main character—she’s embarrassed because she broke her leg over the summer and has to come to school in a cast. She gets lost looking for the elevator, and manages to end up at this strange tiny one with a red door that only the custodians use. While she’s waiting for it, the doors slide open and one of the custodians walks out. Only, he looks a little strange—kind of sunburned and sweaty, and he has a bit of straw in his hair. He winks at Jenna as she gets in. The elevator creeks the whole way up, and it’s super slow, and it smells like gym socks. But that’s what makes it so special.”