by Jaime Clarke
“I still feel guilty,” Jenny says.
“It’s not too late to call off the limo,” I say, a little game we’ve been playing that up until now has given us some measure of power in the matter. We both know that power is gone now.
“I love you,” Jenny says, not as a way to end the conversation, or make it veer, but because it’s just something we say, and lately it’s the only thing that comes out of my mouth that makes any sense to me: “I love you, too,” I say.
“Slow down,” Jenny says. “We’ve got all of our lives. Unless you kill us with your driving.” She looks over at me and smiles, remembers my joke about how we’re like old people, a sentiment echoed by our friends, and I almost don’t look at the road again, caught by the way Jenny looks at me, which makes me feel loved, a look that makes me feel like I’m more than I know I really am.
We exchange my car for the silver stretch in the Marriott parking lot. The chauffeur opens the door for us and we feel like royalty. I point out our hotel room through the moonroof as the limo glides out of the parking lot. A shiver runs through Jenny and she says, “I can’t wait.” She slides her hand inside my purple paisley cummerbund, teasing.
“We could just skip the dance,” I suggest casually.
Jenny pulls back in mock horror. “No we can’t!”
“We’ll see after a few drinks at Octavio’s,” I say slyly, kidding.
“I left the fake ID in my other purse,” Jenny says, startled. “Oh no, I’ve ruined it.”
I shrug dramatically. She could’ve told me the limo had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, the driver killed instantly, the windows sealed, and I would’ve assured her it was no problem, a minor inconvenience, a trifling.
“Actually, Mario got fired,” I tell her, almost forgetting. “But he’s going to have someone from the kitchen stash the bottle in the limo while we’re eating.”
“Genius,” Jenny says admiringly. “It might’ve been a little obvious, what with you in a tux, and this.” She rotates the corsage on her wrist.
“Yeah,” I agree, “and I doubt there’ll be any other prommies at Octavio’s. So it’ll be like eating in a fish bowl.”
Jenny smiles deviously. “Got an idea.”
I smile back. “Yeah?”
“Let’s order in.”
That’s my Jenny. Bold and daring.
“Can we?”
“Don’t know why not,” I say.
Plates clank around our feet as the chauffer opens the door. Jenny passes me the bottle of yellow-label brut and I finish it, the bubbles swarming in my head. Our chauffer says he’ll return the plates and silverware to Octavio’s, and I reach into my wallet and pull out a twenty. “Here,” I say. “Give this to the guy in the kitchen, would ya?” The chauffer looks at the bill with disdain and then snaps it up. Jenny laughs and we both know the guy in the kitchen will never see the Jackson.
Stepping through the Randolph gymnasium doors, our names ringing in our ears, is like stepping through a portal in time: The walls are papered black, and silver foil streamers float magically through the air, colliding now and again with the silver, white, and black helium balloons hammering away at the ceiling of the illuminated tent anchored in the middle of the floor, the basketball hoops at either end of the floor hoisted up toward the ceiling to make way.
A slow song starts and I grab Jenny up, pressing her dangerously close, a violation surely to bring one of the chaperones. Jenny wriggles some space between us and I spot Jason and his girlfriend, Sally, twirling under a silver banner.
“My head feels like one of those balloons,” Jenny says. We sway in time to the song we’ve made out to many times before, the saccharine words carrying a tinge of weight on this particular night. “Did I thank you for dinner?” Jenny asks.
“Yes, you did,” I say.
“Well, thank you again.”
“You’re welcome again,” I say, spinning her. Our forward progress stops and we twirl slowly in a circle, my rented shoes scuffing arcs in the polished floor.
“Are you ready to leave?” Jenny asks.
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I think I am.”
A nervous excitement grips me. Earlier, in front of the mirror, there was still the limo to pick up, the hotel key to get, dinner, the dance itself. A song Jenny and I agree we don’t like starts up and I say, “I’m ready if you are.”
“Think the limo is back?” Jenny asks.
I look at Jenny to see if she’s stalling, and see that she’s looking back at me in the same way, to see if I’ll use the excuse of waiting for the limo to put it off a little longer, which I almost do, reminiscing about the last dance, knowing that once we leave the gymnasium, the prom will be just a memory, but I don’t want to send the wrong signal, so I say, “I’ll have a friend drop us off.”
It isn’t until Jenny and I stumble out of Jason’s car—the object of Jason and Sally’s jokes all the way to the hotel—that we realize we weren’t ready to leave. We realize it after we’ve opened the box of Franzia and kissed drunken kisses, doing everything we’ve done before, just up and until, our prom outfits laid out neatly, a stall we didn’t recognize. Jenny comes back from the bathroom and we laugh at our naked selves, telling each other it’s okay, that we’ve got all our lives.
A Friend of the Groom’s
The grass JSB has rolled across the desert landscaping gives the grounds a lush, fertile feel. Everything seems to be growing and alive. Wedding guests mill around the pool, up near the house, next to the bar set up on the patio of the guesthouse. Talie is standing near JSB’s rose garden, talking to Peters from legal. I wave and they wave back.
The caterers are clanging around in the kitchen, stacking trays of food in tall metal containers to keep it warm until the ceremony ends. I run my finger into a cream-filled pastry and no one sees me.
The door to JSB’s room is closed, so I knock before letting myself in.
“Charlie,” he says when he sees me. His shirt is unbuttoned and he’s collapsed on the couch at the foot of his bed. “Come in.”
He offers me a drink and I say no thanks.
Erin comes out of the bathroom in her wedding gown, and she’s so beautiful I forget who I am. “You look fantastic,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.
“Thanks,” she says. She models the dress.
“That was Talie’s mother’s wedding dress,” JSB says from the couch.
The image of JSB in the bedroom at the suite at the Pointe South Mountain Resort flickers suddenly and I say, “What?”
“Her mother wore that dress on her wedding day,” he says. He gestures toward Erin like a tour guide and my eyes follow, tracing the white silk down the curves of Erin’s body—Erin, who wasn’t even born when Talie’s mother married JSB. I want to burn the dress while Erin’s wearing it. I want to splash a bucket of acid on her and watch the dress and her skin melt away.
I can’t spit out any words.
“Charlie, I know we don’t really know each other,” Erin starts. I think she’s actually going to reach out and put her arm around me, so I take a step backward. “But we’re like a family now, and—”
“We are a family,” JSB says, standing. He poses the three of us together in the full-length mirror, him in the middle, his right hand—the one he probably used either to hold down or to guide himself into Kiki—hangs over my shoulder. “One big, happy family,” he says.
Erin giggles.
“I should find Talie,” I say, loosening myself from the weight of JSB’s arm. “It’s your happy day,” I say as I walk out. “It’s your hap-hap-happy day.”
A woman with chocolaty brown hair is admiring the hand-carved antique grandfather clock in the hall when I slam the door to JSB’s bedroom.
“God, you scared me,” she says, putting her hand across her chest.
I’m not even going to say sorry, I think, but the sight of her seems to calm me and I introduce myself.
“Caitlin,” she says.
“I work for JSB.”
“Oh,” I say.
Caitlin, it turns out, is twenty-eight and is the new salesperson hired specifically to champion the new line of cosmetics.
“That’s a big deal,” I say. Caitlin leans toward me aggressively, and I lean forward, meeting her gaze. She talks about her upcoming trip—New York, Boston, and Montreal—and about how the new products are going to make Buckley a leader in the industry. She uses phrases like “leader in the industry.”
I tell her I’m in charge of the promotional contest. I tell her I’ve named the contest World Gone Water.
“Oh,” she says, nodding in a way that suggests she’s heard of me, or knows who I am, and I begin to panic. The walls of JSB’s estate feel like prison, and the feeling of being stared at and recognized comes over me. I take Caitlin out a sliding glass door on the side of the house and we pass Talie on the walkway. I introduce them. I notice a faint bruise on Talie’s neck.
“Where’s Dale?” I ask.
“He’s here,” she says. “Somewhere.”
Talie winks and waltzes off.
Caitlin and I walk to the front lawn, where most of the wedding party has assembled. JSB motions for me to come stand next to him.
“Save me a dance,” Caitlin says, smiling.
I take my place next to JSB, across from Talie, who is in Erin’s line (at JSB’s insistence), and Talie rolls her eyes at me.
The organist under the white canopy begins and everyone rises, and Caitlin stands last, making sure I am watching. As Erin passes down the aisle, my gaze lifts from the veiled stranger to Caitlin, whose smile reaches all the way to the back of me.
“It was lovely,” everyone says at one point or another during the reception.
Caitlin dances with other men to make me jealous, so I take Gayle Witherspoon, a secretary from legal, and waltz her around the dance floor. A noxious force field of perfume prevents me from really holding Gayle tight, but Caitlin gets the message and rubs up against me after the song ends. I release Gayle and she stumbles awkwardly off the dance floor.
“Does the best man have to stay all night?” Caitlin asks.
A Romantic Interlude
Caitlin brings me back to her room at the Arizona Biltmore Hotel, a cabana near the main pool. The light coming from the pool is webbed on the walls of the cabanas, and the waves from a couple splashing each other in the shallow end send the light into motion, creating the effect of weak lightning. I have trouble keeping my balance when I stare straight down into the pool.
“Come on,” Caitlin says from behind me. She’s hiding behind the windowed double doors and I can see her nude body through the white curtains. As I reach the door, the pool light goes out and the splashing in the pool quiets. In the absence of the pool light, the moon switches on and Caitlin’s skin glows under my fingers.
Unbelievably, there isn’t a test to pass before I’m allowed to touch Caitlin.
“We have what no one else does,” I’d have to say to Jane.
Caitlin makes me forget about Jane.
And everyone that’s ever come before her.
Curiosity overtakes me when we’re lying in bed. I can’t stop looking at her. I have to kiss her every five minutes. I touch her body with my lips to make sure she is real.
“You’re doing something strange to me,” Caitlin says, putting her hand over her heart.
“Do you feel it too?” I ask, placing my hand on hers.
“I’ll have to be careful you don’t capture my heart,” she says, giggling. She rolls on top of me and the warm press of her skin undoes me.
Under her spell, I play a game of nude chess with her on the giant lawn chess board on the hotel grounds. Caitlin knocks one of the rooks down and lies on the grassy square. “Come capture it,” she says, sprawling out.
In the morning, robed and having breakfast at the tiny table outside her cabana, she looks at me and asks, “How long have I known you?”
“It feels like forever,” I say, getting up to kiss her.
Caitlin decides she wants me to come along on her sales trip, and I decide I can get away with saying I’m doing work for the contest, so I leave a message on Talie’s machine and meet Caitlin at the airport for the flight to New York City. One of those chiseled-jaw guys is across the aisle from us in first class, and Caitlin makes a comment about him, purring a little, and I’m surprised at how much it burns me, how much it makes me want to pop the window with this guy’s head, exposing the whole cabin to a loss of pressure, everyone being sucked out over Kansas. “Oh yeah?” I say, and, sensing I am upset, Caitlin says, “It doesn’t mean he has my heart.”
“Who has it?” I ask, wanting to hear it. Caitlin touches her finger to my chest and I kiss her in front of the chiseled-jaw guy to let him know what he’ll never have.
What we see of New York: We start at the zoo in Central Park, as it’s right outside the Plaza Hotel, our digs (we don’t pay to go in the zoo, just look over the fence while the sea lions are being fed). I ride my hand up Caitlin’s dress when she’s leaned over the zoo fence. People are cramming on all sides but no one sees me, and I slip my finger inside her and I think maybe the guy next to us hears her gasp.
We retrace our steps to the Plaza, and once we’re clear of the chandeliers and lunch crowd, she pushes me against the inside of the elevator and rips my shirt clean open, the tiny white plastic buttons scattering around us.
Later, I ask if I can take her out to dinner. I’d like to get dressed up, see her across a candlelit table. The fantasy is ruined, though, when Caitlin says, “Dinner’s right here”—a line from a thousand porno movies—and puts her hand between my legs. She takes me in her mouth and I remember when Jason and I used to call each other by our porno names. We followed the rule of taking the name of the street where you lived as your last name. I was Charlie Olive and he was Jason Greenwich.
We used our porno names once, I almost forgot, when we met these two sisters in Las Vegas:
“Let’s go inside,” the tall, blond, big-nosed girl said as she stood up.
“Help me up,” I said. I had about twenty gallons of alcohol inside me and I looked down her inclined driveway at the gate, which was just closing.
“Hey,” Jason greeted us. He was sitting next to our good friend who’d moved to Las Vegas for the luck, and with them was the tall, blond, big-nosed girl’s sister.
“Wanna hit?” Jason asked.
I pushed the joint away.
“Let’s all climb in your bed,” the tall, blond, big-nosed girl suggested to her sister.
“Great idea,” her sister agreed.
Suddenly the five of us were underneath the covers, passing around a chilled bottle of Southern Comfort. (The sister claimed it tasted better cold.) I looked over at my good friend who’d moved to Las Vegas for the luck and saw him kissing the tall, blond, big-nosed girl’s sister.
“Go get it, girl,” the blond big-nose whooped.
“Shh!” the sister warned. “The housekeeper is sleeping.”
“The housekeeper?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, she’s old,” the blond big-nose muttered.
“When are your parents coming back?” Jason asked.
“End of the week,” the blond big-nose answered as she took a swig from the now half-empty bottle. “Fuck!”
“What?” I asked.
“I forgot to turn the lights off in the driveway,” she said, and sprang off the mattress.
“I’ll go with you,” I called out after her, and stumbled from the bed.
The hallway was dark and I heard her flicking light switches off. Then she came back up the hall.
“Wait,” I said, and pulled her up against me. We started kissing and I put my hand up her shirt and massaged her breasts. She started getting into it, so I reached down her underwear.
“We can’t now,” she whispered as she pulled my hand out from between her legs.
“I want you now,” I said, and lunged at her.
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br /> “Hold on.” She stopped me.
“Till when?”
“Later,” she whispered loudly. “In my room.”
“Okay,” I agreed, following her back into the bedroom, where the others were still lounging.
“How often do you guys come to Vegas?” the tall, blond, big-nosed girl’s sister asked us.
“Not enough,” Jason said. A real cheese machine.
I reached under the covers, hoping to get my hands in the tall, blond, big-nosed girl’s crotch again, but when I felt down there, I found Jason had beaten me to the prize.
“Go with me to the fridge,” the blond big-nose said to him, and the two of them leaped out of bed.
By the time I stumbled after them, they’d already gone into her bedroom. I crept up to the door and listened.
“Let me get a rubber,” I heard her say.
“I brought one,” Jason said.
“Oh?”
“Never can tell what you’re going to run into in Sin City,” the cheese machine said.
Oh my God, I was thinking.
He started giving it to her, because she moaned a few low moans and then squealed a little.
“Hey,” I said as I walked in.
Suddenly everything was silent. It was so dark I couldn’t even make out the bed. I stood there for a minute, hoping to be invited into a threesome, but no one said anything. I quietly closed the door behind me.
I walked back to the sister’s bedroom and opened the door. Our good friend from Las Vegas had the sister spread out naked on the bed and was licking between her legs. She looked over and smiled at me and I closed the door.
I was starting to sober up and I didn’t like what was going on. I felt what it was like to lose out on something because I wasn’t man enough to just take it. I went out into the front room and sulked on the couch, trying to explain to the housekeeper who I was.