by P. J. Post
“Uh-huh,” I say, unconvinced.
She stands up and kisses me.
“Let’s do it, right here,” she says.
“No, we can’t do it here, this is our practice space. What if Tonya comes down and sees us?”
“She doesn’t matter or maybe — she can join us, she’s really pretty.”
“I think that would be a really bad idea,” I say, “really, really bad.”
She kisses me again.
She takes my guitar from me and places it back on its stand with an almost sexual grace.
She turns around to face me and pulls off the wife-beater. Her breasts are not large, but they look wonderful as the blue street light shines on them, her nipples casting hard shadows. Her belly is flat like an athlete’s, but now she’s wearing yellow sweatpants. She unties them and slides them down, along with her underwear, but she doesn’t step out of them, they gather around her knees.
She is facing the glass windows that look out onto the street.
I just stare and then she starts to touch herself, first caressing her nipples and then the underside of her breasts. I know it’s coming, but when she slides her hand down between her legs and moans softly, I walk over and pull her back down onto the sleeping bag. I drag a blanket over us and begin to kiss and touch her. She purrs and whispers into my ear with hot kisses. I roll her over on top of me and she sits up, straddling me.
And then I look up to the loft balcony, a girl is leaning over the railing, but it’s too dark to see her face.
She sees me and turns away.
I look back up to the woman sitting on me, so soft and loving, but instead of blue eyes, I see big brown eyes. Tonya smiles down at me and then leans over and rests her head against my shoulder.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispers.
What the fuck was that?
My eyes jerk open and I reflexively shield them against the morning light streaming into the Garage and look around, but I’m the only one here.
I’m surprised to be lying on the couch and twist my head around to the floor where I thought I was — just a fucking dream. I lean back into the couch and take a deep breath, covering my face with my hands.
So this is what waking up in a cold sweat feels like.
I separate my fingers and peer through them toward the balcony above, half expecting to see Tonya staring down at me.
And then the phone rings.
14
The Café from Hell
It’s Todd. “Wake up, dude.”
“What day is it?” I ask.
I hear Todd laughing through the phone. “You mean what time is it?”
“No, what fucking day?”
“Monday, hello.”
“Hello and goodbye, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Hang on, we’re all going for breakfast at the café,” he says.
I’m still only half awake and can remember how Tonya’s hands felt on my chest, her breath on my face.
“Who’s everyone?” I ask.
“Us and Shauna.”
“Shauna?”
“I guess she’s going to forgive you, you lucky bastard. And you know, Tonya and Carla.”
“Shauna probably shouldn’t be there. This is a bad idea.”
“Tough nuts, she is. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, be ready.”
“No, really.”
He hangs up.
Shit.
I grab my new jeans, bowling shirt and ski cap and stagger upstairs to take a shower. By the time Todd gets here, I’m standing out front, smoking a cigarette, nursing my second beer and holding another.
§§§§§§
We arrive first and park, but we don’t have to wait long before Shauna’s four-by-four pulls up and everyone gets out, including Tonya.
I’m not sure why, but having them all together bugs me.
Tonya’s wearing faded jeans, the one’s that are tight in all the right places but loose at the waist and another one of those half-shirts and flip-flops. She’s been busy, her hair is a deep chestnut color now and pulled back into a ponytail. Her belly is flat and I can’t get the image of her standing naked in the Garage out of my head.
“She’s hot. You have to get some of that.” Todd grins at me.
“Yeah, she looks good. The hair is new,” I respond quietly.
“What hair?”
“Oh, yeah, Shauna, yeah, she looks good.”
Todd looks at me funny.
Shauna is wearing fashionably dark jeans that look like they were painted on, a prim, white button-up and white heels. Her hair is teased out and I can tell from here, she has the full make-up thing working. Carla didn’t put as much effort in. She’s doing the peasant skirt again and looks irritated.
They don’t see us and head inside.
Todd’s funny look turns to bewilderment. “Good? She looks fan-fucking-tastic, dude. You definitely need to sleep with her while you have the chance, I mean before you mess it up again.”
“Piss off and no, I don’t. You have to go slow, make sure everything is cool first, make sure you care enough, you know?”
“Go slow? Sure about, care — what in the hell are you talking about?” he asks, dumfounded.
“Sex changes everything and not always in a good way. You can’t just go around screwing like that,” I say.
“Since when?” He looks at me dubiously.
“Since, I don’t know. There’s consequences.”
“Fuck consequences,” he says.
“That’s how you get your car blown up.”
Todd laughs. “Touché, you got me there. Hey, you know what? I didn’t notice the other night, but Shauna and Tonya look a lot alike.”
“No they don’t”
“Yeah, they do. I mean the hair is different, but if you forget the high heels, they’re about the same height, they could be sisters.”
“You’re on your own there, I don’t see it.”
Only one of them has brown eyes.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
I finish my beer and we walk inside while Todd goes on about how similar they are. I didn’t know he paid that much attention to detail. But I don’t want to think about any similarities, there’s something under the surface that’s weird and uncomfortable.
The café is trying to embrace the whole Cape Cod look, white painted, bead-board paneling and trim, with blue walls, but instead of paintings depicting sailing ships, they have photos of Oklahoma sunsets and Remington reproductions.
Under every table are the pointed toes of cowboy boots, even on the women.
This place normally makes me edgy. We don’t exactly fit in, but the food is just too good, besides, I’m edgy for a completely different reason today.
I see them sitting at a circular booth in the far corner and Shauna waves.
I nod, but grimace inside and turn right, heading straight into the Men’s Room. I take care of business, wash my hands and then splash water in my face. The mirror reveals a specter. I’ve looked better.
I decide I can’t hide in here all morning, so I dry my face, take a deep breath and walk back out.
Todd’s sitting next to Carla who has gone from irritated to straight up pissed. Tonya isn’t wearing any make-up and looks tired. She’s playing with her silverware and doesn’t look up at me.
Shauna is beaming.
Christ.
She’s sitting inside of Tonya, but Tonya gets up to let me in when she sees my feet, but still no eye contact. She must be really mad, but I can’t blame her. I was a jerk.
Tonya drops back down on the seat next to me, but keeps her distance.
I no sooner slide in before I feel Shauna’s hand on my thigh, but I keep my hands on the table, fumbling with my own silverware.
Todd looks around the table and his grin turns evil.
“So, Shauna, you going to forgive studly here for being the world’s biggest asshole the other night?”
I feel h
er squeeze my thigh, but can’t quite bring myself to make eye contact. “Yeah, just this once, I think.”
That’s a good thing, right?
Right?
“What do you guys think?” Shauna asks.
Todd is the only one to speak up with encouragement. “I think you two were meant to be together, like Bogart and that chick, you know the one with the Nazis in the bar. What’s the name of that movie?”
“It was Casablanca,” Carla says.
“And they don’t end up together,” Tonya finishes.
“Oh,” Todd says quietly.
The tension is ridiculous. Why in the hell are we all here, because clearly Shauna is the only one who wants to be.
The dream won’t let go. I feel like I cheated on Shauna and we aren’t even going out yet, not really. She feels and smells great and I feel ashamed about the dream. But if that’s really true, then why can’t I stop thinking about Tonya sitting right next to me?
I knew this was a bad idea. The only comforting thing about sitting here is Carla’s barely masked look of seething hatred.
Todd continues, “So, who fixed it?” He looks around.
“We just talked about it,” Tonya narrows her eyes at Todd and her voice has a sarcastic edge to it. “You know, how girls do? He was drunk anyway.”
“Drunk isn’t an excuse,” Carla says. “Is it Connor?”
That’s an odd choice of words.
“No, but Shauna and I can talk about it later, like alone, if y’all don’t mind,” I say.
“I think we mind,” Todd says.
“Let it go, Todd,” Tonya says, her tone suddenly angry.
“So, what is this happy horseshit anyway? Why are we here?” I ask. I’m in a foul mood and this little party isn’t helping.
Carla points at me with her butter knife. “Shauna wanted to see you again and we thought,” she says, pointing the knife at Tonya and herself, “that if we were here, you were less likely to be a total dick.”
“Carla!” Shauna admonishes.
“It’s true. I can’t believe we’re here,” Carla says. “He’s an asshole.”
Jesus Christ.
Tonya taps her fork against her water glass. “Let’s play nice guys, okay?”
Carla just glares at me.
Shauna leans over and whispers, “That means we’re supposed to kiss.”
Talk about detached from reality.
She slides her hand up my leg to my crotch. I can’t say anything with everyone sitting here, so I gently push her hand back to my knee. All of those negative feelings from Saturday are pushing back again. I still feel bad about how I treated her and what I said. I haven’t even apologized. We aren’t even talking it out, it’s more like we’re just pretending nothing happened.
But shit did happen.
Tonya leans away from me and pulls one leg up underneath her, resting one knee against my thigh, the most innocent of touches. She’s probably not even aware of it and yet — and yet, it’s her I’m thinking about rather than Shauna, the girl who was practically groping me.
The old Connor would be all over Shauna and if things went south, fuck it, shit happens. But that dream is really fucking me up. All I can think about now is flannel shirts and messy purple hair as Tonya screams out those defiant lyrics in the Garage, staring at each other, locked in the zone together.
The silence is broken by a teenage waitress coming to take our coffee order. She has unnaturally red hair and is wearing a typical pale orange waitress outfit, but on her apron, down near the pocket where she keeps extra straws and her order pad, she’s wearing a black pin with a red design, the letter ‘A’ inside a circle — the international symbol for Anarchy, the punk manifesto. I’m sure her boss has no idea what is.
I pull way from Shauna and reach across Tonya and the table and touch the pin. “That’s totally gnarly.”
She looks at me curiously and then glances back at the kitchen. “You’re Ache, right?”
I lean back and smile. “That’s us.”
“I saw you guys a few weeks ago at a house party.”
“Aaron’s. Yeah, that was a fun show, cool party. He’s a good guy,” I say, happy for the interruption.
“You were so awesome. I’ve never seen anything, never heard anything like that.” She turns toward Tonya. “You were incredible. I didn’t know girls could, well, could do that. Can I have your autograph? Is that too weird?”
I grin. This is one of the coolest and most unexpected things I’ve ever seen. Nothing like this has ever happened before.
Tonya seems slightly uncomfortable, but pats the waitress’ hand, smiles up at her and says, “Sure. What’s your name?”
“Shelly,” the waitress says and hands Tonya a pen.
Tonya grabs a napkin. “To my only, scratch that, my biggest fan,” Tonya says out loud as she writes.
“This is so cool, you guys are the best. Thank you.” She starts to turn and then stops. Her eyes are tearing up and she’s having trouble talking, nearing sobs. She bites on her pen. “And that song you did, the one with just the acoustic guitar, it was special, really special. It meant a lot, you have no idea. Thank you so much.”
Todd leans over. “Don’t forget our coffee, Shelly.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Shelly says, wiping her tears away.
“I’m joking,” Todd says. “Well, I want my coffee, but you know.”
She grins. “Be right back.” She skip-hops her way back to the kitchen. Her little speech was touching in a way I never thought about before.
“Cute kid,” I say. “Your first real fan, maybe you’re changing her life for the better, huh?”
Tonya glances at me, her eyes soft and glistening. She’s touched too. I think she’s still pissed at me, but this was a special moment and I can tell she is close to melting.
“I think that may be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all week, maybe ever,” I say.
I lean back and see Shauna has a disapproving look.
“Yeah, it was cute,” she says with a dismissive tone. “So, Connor, what colleges have you applied to?”
Todd laughs and I even hear Tonya chuckle quietly.
My mind is still with Shelly. I look at her. “College?”
“Yeah, I mean the band thing is kind of neat, but what are you going to be when you grow up?” she asks with complete sincerity.
Todd’s laugh dies and he looks on with uneasy curiosity. Carla has perked up as well. I think she’s hoping this conversation is going to end unpleasantly.
“I’m not doing college. What made you think that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s what we do, we go to college. I think you should apply to OU, that’s where I’m going.”
“Yeah, Connor, so where are you going to college? Wait, did you even graduate high school?” Carla asks.
Shauna looks at me funny. “You didn’t graduate?”
What the fuck is this? “I didn’t go, much less graduate. Who gives a shit?”
“Interesting,” Carla says. “Maybe you can be a cowboy, you know, when you grow up or a spaceman, maybe?”
Shauna takes my hand. “You have to get your GED then, right away. I’ll help you study, it’ll be a breeze and then you can apply for the spring semester.”
“Right,” I say, sarcastically.
“So, what’s everyone going to order?” Todd asks, rescuing me from the awkwardness.
Shauna’s eyes twinkle as she squeezes my thigh. “Definitely sausage. How’s that sound, baby?”
Baby?
When did we move on to calling each other baby?
I’ve never called anyone baby, honey, sweetie or any other cute little fucking term of endearment in my whole goddamn life.
I hear Todd snicker and Tonya sighs.
Carla is staring at the table, avoiding the conversation again, but I can see she has a white-knuckled grip on her menu. She missed an opportunity and now we’ve moved on to pet names. I’m wondering i
f I can get her to kill me before the coffee arrives, but I’m sure she wouldn’t extend the courtesy.
I ignore the banter that starts up and look across the café and watch Shelly pouring our coffee. My mind drifts back to Aaron’s and I try to remember her. The backyard was packed, but I can see her. She was down front, away from the pit. I remember her eyes peeking out from what was nearly orange hair that night. Her dye job has faded. I can tell she was excited to be there, to be in the experience, to be a part of the scene.
I think about what she said about the acoustic song and how it meant so much to her. I also think about how hard it was for her to say. She’s fragile, this one.
I need to be more aware of our fans. I never thought that what we were doing could actually affect people, that it was bigger than ourselves. Punk saved me and changed my life forever, but I never thought I’d be the one helping, rescuing another kid out there.
To think that writing one song could change someone’s life, maybe forever, is fucking incredible. This is a goddamn epiphany and it fills me with a weird joy and the sudden weight of responsibility. I like it. I can feel my own emotion rising. And I think I like that too.
I look back up, tuning in and hear Shauna talking to Tonya, she’s going on about something. “I can get you an interview down at the bank, now that you look normal.”
“Thanks, Shauna, but I’m fine,” Tonya says with a patronizing tone.
“Just trying to help,” Shauna responds.
I’m either too drunk or not drunk enough. I missed something, but don’t care and tune out again. I grab a crayon from the cup in the center of the table and begin coloring in Cowboy Rusty on my placemat.
I like Shauna. I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me for a month. She’s hot, sexy and way into me. The other night was mostly pretty good, but I can’t reconcile these other emotions — like, how it’s all wrong somehow.
Add the dream into the soup and nothing makes sense anymore.
Shelly brings us our coffee and I can tell she’s nervous. She starts setting the cups down and leans over toward me, and then one of the cups slips and coffee spills all over the table.
We all jump and reach for napkins. It runs off the table and onto my pants. I jump again, because it’s hot, but I laugh because it’s funny too.