Ripped

by Olivia Rigal

  They're more keepers than parents. Well keeper's not the right word. Hell, I've been earning my keep for years now. I've been doing more than my share of chores around the house and I've worked way too many hours at the diner.

  I don't even score minimum wage because the Bitch thinks she owns me. She's got me so brainwashed I have to remind myself time and time again that I'm my own person and that no one owns me, especially not her. I've only started keeping my tips since last summer. I think I shamed her into it when I refused James Clark's tip one Sunday morning.

  "What's wrong with you kid?" he had asked. "My money's not good enough for you?"

  "I'm sorry Sir," I had said. "I did not mean to insult you. It's just that my mother does not allow me to keep my tips..."

  I don't know what the old man told the Bitch but since then she stopped confiscating my tips and I've been stashing money away. It's my run-away ticket. I'm not about to spend it on a bicycle. If the Bitch wants me to get to work on time she's going to have to do something about it.

  Until last week I just hated everything about my life. Everything but Ten. Now I hate myself too. I can't seem to get Alexander out of my head. He's in my dreams every single night. When I wake up I'm a mess and I realize how lost I am. How did I let this guy I don't know get into my head like that? The Bitch may be right after all. I really am as dumb as dirt. When Alexander brushed his lips to mine, for a second, I saw a light at the end of my tunnel. Now I know it was nothing more than a runaway train coming to hit me full blast. I kick a rock on the road and curse out loud.

  A pick up truck slows down behind me on the road and the drivers calls out, "Hey Lyv, need a lift?" It's Dave, the father of a girl in my class and the owner of the local garage.

  "Yes. Thanks, Dave." There's no need to force a smile onto my face. The man is my savior today. Again.

  He stops the truck and I throw my bicycle in the back. I climb in and find the rag he usually has on the passenger seat. I use it to wipe my hands as well as I can.

  "Your chain again." It's not a question. He knows. We've played this scene before. It's not the first time he's picked me up on my way to work.

  "I'll look at it and see what I can do." I think he wants to add something but he thinks better of it. He's wise enough to know to mind his own business. Our town is way too small in the winter to meddle in other people's lives. I think many of our neighbors would do something if they saw traces of physical abuse on me but she only leaves emotional scars. Since those are not clearly visible, the neighbors keep to themselves.

  "Thank you Dave. I really appreciate this."

  He winks and jokes. "You know me, anything for a few extra pancakes."

  "You're on. Anytime." The man's got a sweet tooth and extra pancakes are the only way he lets me pay him back for his trouble.

  Pam's so lucky to have a father who's nice. He looks at me and smiles. Oops, I think I must have said it out loud. It happens to me way too often. The thoughts that cross my mind find their way out past my lips. At least today it's not embarrassing. Uncomfortable but not embarrassing.

  I wish I had scored a father like that, an affectionate man who truly believed part of his purpose in life is to take good care of his kids. I think it's watching him interact with his daughter that made me realize that something was really wrong with my parents. He's so sweet I can't help envy Pam.

  "There we are young lady," he says as he stops the truck in front of the diner. "Come by at the end of your shift."

  "Thank you Dave."

  "Stop it, Lyv. You're sounding like a broken record." I get down from the truck and laugh. He's right, I've not stopped thanking the man since he picked me up.

  He drives away and as I cross the street to get to work, I concentrate on the positive aspect of the day. I broke down but it did not rain. Actually the weather's glorious and not too cold so I did not freeze and then I did not have to walk all the way... and Ten's bike is parked in front of my work place. I'm happy he's here but I still feel like crap. He's my ray of sunshine. The rest of my life sucks big time.

  I walk into the diner and as my eyes adjust to the change in light I spot Ten. He's in a booth facing the door and he waves at me as I come in. My mother is a few steps behind him, she's taking the order of the patrons in the adjacent booth. She glares at me.

  I raise my hands to show how dirty they are and walk straight in the kitchen. If I'm gonna catch hell, I'd rather be yelled at in the relative privacy of the kitchen while I wash my hands. I'll kill two birds with one stone.

  I take a bowl and mix dish washing liquid and raw sugar. That's my magical paste to fight bicycle grease. The cook looks at me and says, "You got some on your face too, Honey."

  "Where?"

  "Let me do this," Martha dips a finger in the bowl and scrubs the top of my ear and my forehead. She's a little rough around the edges but I guess that's why she's managed to stay around here so long while the rest of the help quits at the end of each season. Martha's always good to me and all her gestures go straight to my heart.

  It's pitiful to crave attention so much.

  "Here, you're good to go. I think there's some in your hair but black on black no one can tell." She frowns a bit and adds, "You'd better get cracking. Your mama, Honey, she's in a foul mood."

  "Thanks Martha." While I wipe my hands, she goes and gets me my apron. "Any particular reason aside from my being late?"

  She checks that I have an order pad and a pen in the front pocket and says, "Yeah, Baby Girl. The Clark boy's refusing to order from anyone else but you. She's playing along as if it's fine but I can tell she's pissed."

  Thank you, Ten, for feeding fuel to her fire. He could have done it on purpose to spite her. Ten's funny that way. He thinks negative attention is better than no attention at all. I told him I would swap the Ice Queen's indifference for the Bitch's constant wrath in a heartbeat but he claims it's worse to be ignored. He has no clue. I would so appreciate being ignored for a while!

  The most ironic thing is that our mothers brought us together. Well the despair they created in us did. Ten and I met on Christmas day at the very end of the fishing pier. I'm not certain that I would have jumped into the icy choppy ocean that day but I don't contradict him when he says we saved each other's lives. We probably did.

  I refrain from the impulse of putting my hand in my hair to smooth it. If there's bicycle grease in there, I don't want to put it back on my hands. Martha ties my apron and I walk out of the kitchen just as the Bitch enters with the new order.

  "Good morning mother," I say as I rush away.

  I walk to Ten's booth and say, "May I take your order, sir?" My tone is formal but there's a big smile on my face. My smile freezes and my heart starts pounding in my chest. He's not alone in the booth.

  "Look who I rode in with," Ten says.

  Alexander's here. A thousand questions collide in my mind. How did they hook up again? Who's idea was it to come here? Is he here for me or are they together and I read him wrong?

  "Are you not happy to see me?" Alexander asks. There's a look of genuine concern on his face.

  "Yes." He raises his eyebrows. "No. Shit, your question is all twisted. It's yes, I'm happy to see you. It's just, you know, I'm surprised to see you here, in my own little hell corner."

  "Well, how else was I going to see you again?"

  Ten coughs to catch my attention. My mother's coming our way. I put my work face back on and flip the pages of Alexander's menu as if we had been talking about his order, "So we have a very nice special for brunch..." Alexander does not look too surprised by my sudden change of tone. I guess Ten must have briefed him on the fact that the Bitch and I don't get along.

  Ten cuts me short, "Lovey, don't bother, we've decided. We'll both be having scrambled eggs and a bagel with lox and cream cheese."

  "I'll bring your order to the kitchen and will be right out with your coffee," I say and rush away while Ten starts chatting up my mother.

  "Mrs
. Wild," he says. "Would it be okay if I took Lyv out tonight after her shift?"

  I can't make out her answer but I recognize the sugary voice she takes when she wants to be seductive. I place the order with Martha in the kitchen, greet new clients, and get them settled in.

  I bring coffee to my boys. Funny how I think of them as my boys. I like that. They both take it black. No sugar no cream. "So what did the Bitch say?" I ask Ten.

  Alexander gasps. I look at him. He seems genuinely shocked. I shrug and let it slide. I know my nickname for my mother can come as a surprise when you don't know her but when you do, you think it's kind of tame. When I was a kid it was Cruella. I've grown up. So has her spitefulness, hence my name for her. I still don't know why she's so mean to me. If she did not want me, why didn't she just abandon me instead of torturing me everyday?

  Ten answers my question, "She said we had to bring you home early because you've got the opening shift tomorrow."

  I frown. No I don't. I swapped with Wendy. She took my Sunday morning in exchange for her New Year's day. Her husband does not work that day and she's prepared a special day to celebrate his third month of sobriety. Did that get messed up? It makes no difference to me but yet I feel sorry for her.

  "Good," I say. "I get out at 5 but I have to go to Dave to see if he was able to fix my bicycle."

  "We'll be there," Ten and Alexander say together. They laugh and hit a high five. I giggle as I walk away. Boys!

  Chapter Three

  I step out of the diner shortly after five and Alexander is sitting on his bike parked across the street. He's holding a couple of helmets. He puts his on as I walk to him.

  "I would love to kiss you, Love," he says looking behind me as he hands me a helmet,"but Ten said it would be a bad idea to have any display of affection in front of your mother."

  I really like that he calls me Love. I look inside the helmet. There's a wind-breaker jacket. A nice thought, I won't freeze. I turn around as I put it on. Sure enough, the Bitch is standing by the door. She's been bugging me all day to find out who Ten was with and I played dumb. I said he was just a friend of Ten's. I don't tell her more. It's just damage control. The less she knows the less she can hurt me.

  I climb on the bike behind Alexander and strap the helmet on my head. I sit up straight with my hands on my knees until we turn a corner. Only then do I relax and lean against Alexander's back wrapping my arms around him.

  "That's much better," he says.

  I close my eyes and breathe in. There's the smell of his leather jacket plus his touch of lavender in the crisp winter air. It smells like freedom. I imagine running away with him, riding out in the sun on the open road and living in the moment. The Doors' 'Riders On the Storm' plays softly in my head for a few seconds and then the record crashes as I remember my bicycle. I stiffen up and Alexander slows down and asks.

  "What now, Love?" I adore my new nickname.

  "I forgot about my bicycle."

  "Ten took care of it," he says and speeds up making conversation impossible. I know the road we're on. It's the way to the Clark's estate. Alexander gets to the gate and fits a key in the automatic portal mechanism. The massive wrought iron gates slide open and we drive in on the gravel road that cuts through the manicured lawn. We pass the main building all the way to Ten's beach bungalow.

  It's a tiny construction on stilts and it has survived a few heavy storms. James Clark had it refurbished when Ten turned 18. He thought his grandson needed some privacy. I've always been suspicious of such generosity. Sometimes I wonder if James does not use it with his conquests-he calls them his twinkies-when Ten's in the city. But that may just be my very naughty imagination.

  I get off the bike, remove my helmet and fold my windbreaker while Alexander parks in the sheltered corner under the building. It's where Ten usually parks. Alexander takes another key out of his pocket and opens the door for us. It hits me. Ten's not here. We're going to be alone.

  I'm elated and I'm terrified. I act cool as I walk up the steps and in the bungalow. It's a safe place. It's familiar. Instead of turning the lights on, I flip the electrical shutter switch. The metal shutters roll up noisily as Alexander locks the door behind us.

  We're alone, completely private. I've been dreaming about this every night for a week. In my dream the setting was blurry. I realize I'm a bit crazy. I'm here, all alone with this guy I barely know and instead of being frightened I'm ... what am I? I'm not sure but probably not as wary as I should be!

  I look out through the window. The ocean view from the small deck of the bungalow is glorious. It's a south exposure. Perfect for dawn and dusk. However I'm not thinking about the color of the sky right now. I'm noticing that the deck has been set up for us. I'm sure it's Ten's work. He's hooked up the large hammock he sleeps on in the summer and set a table next to it. There's a hurricane lamp and a picnic basket on the table as well as a few warm looking covers.

  Ten's good with stuff like that. When we go out for a picnic there's never anything missing. I smile inwardly thinking that he's so thorough, I have no doubt there're condoms in the basket just in case I decide that Alexander should be the one... Yep, Ten's a regular boy scout.

  Alexander stands behind me with his hands on my hips and kisses my neck. I can hardly think anymore. My impulse is to let go and lean it to him. I so want to live in the moment. But I can't. My mind is reeling. I've been slapped by the Bitch too many times to let my defenses down without some sort of struggle. So I brace myself and say, "I have questions."

  There may be too much bite in my tone but the tone of his answer his sweet. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

  "How did you find me?"

  "Oh, that was easy. I tipped the bouncer. He's got a weird type of memory. He says it's like a slide show he can play in his head looking at the details of each picture. He had looked hard enough at Ten's bike to memorize its license plate. He just closed his eyes and gave me the number. It was kind of spooky when he did that. Anyway, I called my brother Andrew. He's a cop. I gave him the license plate and I got Ten's address. I drove there-posh building by the way-left a message with his doorman, and he called me the very same day."

  He turns me around and brings me closer to him. I rest my head on his chest. He's unzipped his jacket and I can slide my arms underneath and soak up his warmth. I breathe him in again. I love the way he smells, it's intoxicating but not enough to forget my questions.

  "Why me?" I didn't mean to let that question out but I couldn't help myself.

  There's nothing special about me. Despite what the Bitch has been telling me, I know my face is cute but that's all I have. She has a point when she says that I'm not worth a second glance. I'm short and big. There's nothing special about my brown eyes and my hair is blah. I'm definitely not in the same league as Alexander.

  "You have no idea how lovely you are," he says. "I just saw you and I knew. First I knew that I just wanted you. I had this plan to seduce you after the show but then I got stuck back stage. When I managed to get away you had left." He stops for a while as if looking for his words. "A couple of days later I realized there was more. More than I had guessed at first. I could not stop thinking about you."

  "Because I was the one that got away?"

  "There's probably some of that." He chuckles and kisses my forehead. "There's also the fact that there is something irresistible about you. And then I love that you liked me before you heard me sing and you had no clue who I was."

  I look up to him and ask, "Why? Did I miss something? Are you famous?"

  "Well kind of. I'm underground famous if that makes any sense." He laughs. "In the music industry, I'm the flavor of the month. There've been articles about me in the press and two majors are offering me record deals," his expression is proud and wary at the same time.

  I recognize the look on his face. It's the look of someone who's accomplished something and can't rejoice for fear it's going to vanish in a second if he does. I've seen it on Ten's fa
ce when he's aced something and he waits for his mother to acknowledge him. I can't resist the urge to comfort Alexander just as I can't resist the urge to comfort Ten when I watch him miss his mother's approval.

  "You should not feel like you're walking on thin ice." He stiffens up, like I just overstepped. I continue anyway. "You should have no doubt about your career. You're going to be a huge star. You have this splendid voice and your stage presence is ... hot, amazing, fabulous."

  "Yep, I'm a regular teenager heart-throb," he says with a light tone.

  "Hey, don't knock teenagers. They buy records. They go to concerts. They're going to be your bread and butter."

  "Talking of bread and butter," he says, "Are you hungry? I'm famished. I can't wait to see what Ten has hidden in that basket."

  He opens the sliding door and pulls me behind him on the deck. He picks me up as if I weigh nothing and drops me in the hammock. "I can't believe you just did that! I'm no lightweight. You make me feel sexy and fragile. I love it." I gag the independent woman I plan to become one day and tell her we'll discuss this later. Right now is not the time for protests.

  Alexander lights the lamp, grabs the covers and jumps in the hammock next to me. "You are beautiful just the way you are. Curves are sexy."

  I spread the covers on us and snuggle next to him, my head on his shoulder. It's so strange. It's the first time I'm in bed with a guy-well, almost in bed-and it does not feel awkward at all. He's so handsome I can't believe he wants me. I know he does because he's actually looked for me and found me. I need to pinch myself, or better yet, I need to touch him.

  I can't wait for him to kiss me. I mean a real kiss, not the sweet brush on the lips I was treated to in the club. I sigh. Yes. I want a movie type kiss that will leave me out of breath.

  "Oh you do now?" He's smiling.

  Here I go again. I guess I did say that out loud. Somehow his gaze on my lips make me forget how embarrassing this defect of mine is. He seems amused by my bluntness and says, "I think that can be arranged."