“Yeah,” I replied. “We’re married.”
“Guess I just got confused,” he said, shifting his position although I couldn’t see exactly how I heard the scraping of metal against the platform which I assumed must have been a button on his pants. “All that shit with Max was over my head. Probably thought I was supposed to file them.” He explained in a manner that had me thinking there was more to what he was saying that he wasn’t letting on.
He loves you, you fucking idiot. He sent you that letter. He told you he loved you. He filed them because HE LOVES YOU.
“Why are you back, Doc? Here? In Logan’s Beach?”
“When I went home my dad sent me to rehab. The best in New York. My dad’s business had always done alright so I didn’t question him when I asked where the money was coming from to pay for it and he lied to me and told me his insurance was paying for it.” I took a deep breath and remembered the reassuring look on his face when he tried to convince me it would all be okay.
“But it wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t insurance. There was no insurance. It was all him. He took out all these loans. First to send me to rehab and then back to school,” I cringed because I hated the fact that my father sacrificed so much because of all my mistakes. “Long story short, his business is failing. Or, according to the past due notices and demands for payment I’ve found, it’s already failed.”
“And?”
“And he’s losing his house,” I replied. “Because of me.”
“That’s not your fault,” Preppy said, sounding a lot like Brandon.
“I know,” I agreed, although it was a lie. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try and do my damnedest to help him.”
“You’re selling the house?” Preppy guessed.
“Yeah, I’m selling the house. How did you know?”
“Either I could see where your story was going... or maybe it was that big ass for sale sign in Mirna’s front yard might have tipped me off,” he said. “I mean; the stalker might have seen it when he stalked by.”
“I see,” I said, my lips turning up into a smile.
“You know those letters I told you I wrote in case of my untimely death?” Preppy asked.
“Yeah?” I froze.
“Well I kept them up and I left instructions for Doe...I mean Ray, King’s girl, to send them out for me after...” I heard him shift and he stretched out his legs, his black boots were now visible in the light.
“Ray came to see me today. I like her,” I admitted.
“She did?” Preppy asked.
“Yeah, just wanted to say hi,” I said, “So what happened, with the letters?”
“Well...I wrote you one,” Preppy said, lighting another cigarette. “But I guess I only wrote DRE on the outside of the envelope,” he chuckled. “No address.”
“Why is that funny?” I asked.
“It’s funny because Doe didn’t want to open it and invade my privacy. When she cleaned out my music collection, like my old CD’s and shit, she noticed I had a lot of NWA stuff and old school Dre and Snoop.”
“Okay?” I asked, confused as to where he was going and how on earth west coast rappers played a part in the story.
“She told me she held my letter up to the light to see if it had an address inside, but all she could make out was the first line, which said Doc.”
Suddenly, I understood where he was going. “No, she didn’t,” I exclaimed with a squeal, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Oh yes she did. She sent my letter to Dr. Dre, the rapper, via the Dr. Dre fan club.”
“Holy shit!” I bent over, holding my stomach so the laughter wouldn’t split me in two.
“No, Doc, wait. That’s not the holy shit part. The holy shit part...is what they sent back.”
“Do I want to know?” I asked, leaning in toward him.
“They send back an autographed headshot of Dr. Dre and...”
“And?” I egged him on, eager to hear the rest.
“And...a restraining order,” he finished.
We both burst out into a fit of laughter. After calming down I remembered that when I received the letter from Preppy it was delivered by a courier service out of L.A. I thought it was odd at the time, but had more pressing matters at hand. Like a letter from PREPPY. I could recite every word from that letter. I could describe how he slants his letters to the left and how his y’s dip so low below the line they run into the sentence below. So of course I remembered that my address WAS on the inside. Whoever must have opened it at the fan club must have had it forwarded it to me.
He thinks I never received it.
“What did the letter say?” I asked tentatively after our laughter had died down. I immediately regretted it. It wasn’t like he was really going to tell me.
I was right.
Preppy paused. “Nothing important. You know. This and that. Probably just some stuff about the weather.”
After a comfortable beat of silence Preppy was the one who spoke first, “Did you see what they did to this thing?” he asked, followed by a rap of his knuckles against the side of the metal tower.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The paint? I guess they finally splurged on something that was able to cover the big black dick I spray painted way back when. They killed my fucking masterpiece.” He said, and with the new shift in topic I immediately felt lighter. “Bastards.”
“The shame,” I said, feigning shock. “Although they only covered it in the last week or two, because I saw it from the plane when I landed.”
“You saw it from the plane?” He asked with amazement in his voice. “And they had to go and cover it up. It was like a fucking landmark. Greatest thing to happen to this town since the tourists realized our little slum had a white sandy beach attached to it.” He laughed softly. “It was always good for a chuckle or two when I could see the faint outline of it on the postcards they sell at those little tourist trap shops.”
“Well,” I smacked my hands against my knees and stood up. I rummaged through the paint buckets, feeling Preppy’s eyes on me as I bent over to survey the tools at hand. “We’ll just need to fix that then won’t we?” When I turned back around I was holding a can of black spray paint, presumably what they’d used to darken the LOGAN’S BEACH lettering. “So what do you say?” I shook the can and it made that clacking sound that only spray paint cans made. “Shall we?”
“Another time, Doc. Come sit back down,” Preppy yawned and I reluctantly set down the paint and did as he asked, taking a seat in my spot just outside his shadowland.
“Did I do that?” he suddenly asked. Realizing I couldn’t see him he added, “Your neck, that was me wasn’t it.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean yes, you freaked out and went for my throat, but that just left some red marks. That was weeks ago. Those are all gone.” I covered the cut on my neck with my hand. “But this was from a fight with a weed-whacker. In case you didn’t already know...I didn’t win.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, sounding like he was in pain. He reared up on his feet in a crouched position, like he was either afraid to step into the light, or debating on staying or leaving.
“You don’t have to go,” I said, my voice a whisper.
A few seconds passed. A horn honked in the distance. “Will you lay with me?” he asked, sounding tired. “Just for a while? I haven’t been sleeping for shit.”
“Here?” I asked.
“Here. Turn around. On your side.”
I did as he asked and laid down on the cold platform onto my side facing away from him. He slowly moved up behind me, and then I felt him. The second his skin connected to mine it was like changing a lightbulb that had been burnt out for a long time. Bright and electric and warm was what I felt as he draped his arm over mine. His thumb brushed over my hand and I shivered. He exhaled in a deep sigh as if he could feel the new light between us. “We’re still the same you know,” he whispered.
I turned my head to ask him what he meant, but he stopped me with his hand, gently turning my face away from him. “Don’t look.”
“You don’t have to hide from me, Preppy. I’ve already seen you.”
“I know,” he replied, holding me tighter, and just like that I felt it. The light grew to a full electrical storm. There was a charge in the air, energy all around us. He laced his fingers with mine and I swear my heart stopped beating. “I know,” he repeated. He exhaled, his breath skating across the back of my neck, his lips against my skin. “But maybe I’m the one hiding from me.”
It was the last thing Preppy said before his breathing evened out. With Preppy wrapped around me I drifted off shortly after.
When I woke up the next day the sun was high in the sky, it’s hot rays burning holes in my retinas.
I was alone.
For a brief moment I thought it was all a dream until my eyes adjusted to the harsh light and landed on the newly spray-painted big black cock scrawled on the side of the tower.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PREPPY
I was beyond restless.
I’d decided that the reason I couldn’t sleep was because the mattress was too soft. I slid down to the floor, but I couldn’t turn off my mind. I only fell asleep for a short time on the tower with Dre, but it was the deepest sleep I’d gotten besides being in a fucking coma. When I woke up I spent a long time smelling her hair like the creep I was before deciding that the big black cock needed to make a comeback.
I was happy for her. For getting clean. For going to school. For wanting to help out her dad. No, I wasn’t happy, that wasn’t the right word.
I was PROUD.
But pride couldn’t stop the selfish thought that nagged at the back of my brain that missed when Dre was a junkie and a mess so that I could somehow come to her rescue again. There were two problems with that thought.
One, she didn’t need to be saved.
Two, I was in no fucking shape to be anyone’s knight.
Fuck, she was so beautiful.
Dre didn’t need a stitch of makeup. Her long lashes and plump pink lips made her a flawless natural beauty. The new glasses were like a nerdy bonus that brought more attention to her big dark eyes.
I wondered if she still wore the fifties style clothes, the heels, and my fucking favorite...the red lips.
I rolled onto my back and slid my hand down into my pants as I thought about those lips. I remembered what they felt like against mine. I regret never having had the chance to see them wrapped around my dick. I remember what her pussy tasted like more than I remembered what coffee tasted like. The noises she made when she was about to come assaulted my memory. That memory gave way to our first time. The way she fought back against me but loved every fucking second of it when I fucked her by the train tracks. It was then I realized she was almost as sick as I was. That moment of my life was better than any porn reel and over the years it had been my number one mental image to jerk off to. Yet after a few minutes my dick was still flaccid.
Not a twinge. Not a fucking spark.
I tugged on my balls and rubbed the sensitive strip of skin underneath them. I then brought my hand to my shaft and ran my palm over it, willing it back to life. I took a deep breath and thought about the way Dre’s tits bounced in my hand when I fucked her from behind. The way she moaned and tensed her thigh muscles when she was about to come.
Not a motherfucking thing.
I might have been alive, but my cock was still fucking dead.
I released my useless dick and let my head fall back against the carpet releasing a growl of frustration. It may not have gotten hard but I needed to come, to release. It was the only way I knew how to rid myself of the lingering bullshit in my brain and try to clear some space for all the other shit floating around up there.
You’re still healing, asshole. Get a fucking grip. I told myself.
When the sun was high in the sky and I could feel the heat of its rays through the closed window I finally gave up on both sleep, and a hard cock.
I made my way out into the living room.
The second I took that last step down I was assaulted by light. I shielded my eyes with my forearms from the onslaught coming through the front window. Using my palm to fight against the blinding rays, I shuffled over to the wall and reached out for the metal string so I could close the blinds, but it wasn’t there. Peeking through the slits in my eyes I realized the long off white plastic blinds that used to clank together when the air conditioning kicked on were no longer there. In their place was a more modern wooden shutter. I found the crank and turned it, sighing in relief when I again found myself in the comforts of the dark. I blinked rapidly to get rid of the stars still dancing behind my eyes.
I thought I was alone until I spun around to find Doe looking up at me from the kitchen. She gasped, covering her hand with her mouth as she looked me up and down, taking in my shaved head and hair free face for the first time. When she realized she was staring she averted her gaze down to the messenger bag she was organizing on the counter and cleared her throat. “Um...do the clothes I brought you not fit?” She zipped up the bag and lifted her eyes to me, doing a better job of hiding her shock at my appearance, only her dilating pupils gave her true feelings away.
“I’m good,” I said, glancing down at my t-shirt and sweats. “I don’t need much. When did you guys remodel?” I asked taking in the new wood floors and fresh paint. Even the cabinets were the same but had been sanded and painted a bright white. “Looks like adults live here now,” I said.
“Which is funny because it’s overrun by kids,” Doe said with a smile. She pushed up the strap of her tank top that kept falling off her shoulder.
“Preppy, if you don’t like the color of the shirt or bow ties I can get you different colors, or you can come with me to pick out your own. There’s this new store called GENTS across the causeway with an entire wall of bowties, but it’s only open during the season so we’ll have to wait to go there when it’s open again in November. We might have to fight off some tourists for best pick of the new stuff they put out, but it could be fun.”
I shrugged. “Jeans would be good.”
“Remember when you bought me that dress for our ‘date?’” she asked, using air quotes when she said the word ‘date.’ “It fit perfectly and you didn’t even know my size. Shit, I didn’t even know my size. The skirt I was wearing was from the hooker ready section of goodwill and whatever hooker wore it before me had an ass that went on for days.” Doe lamented with a laugh. “That was a long time ago,” she added.
“To me that was yesterday,” I said.
The smile slowly fell from her face and she changed the subject. “Did you make a list of things you needed?” I loved that girl like a sister but the way she looked at me like I was a sad puppy dog with a broken leg was starting to piss me off.
“It’s on the counter.” I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.
“What the fuck is this?” Doe asked, waving the list around in the air.
“You asked me to make you a list of the shit I wanted.”
“I meant like groceries,” Doe jutted out a hip.
“What do you think that is?” I popped open the beer on the corner of the counter and cringed, holding a hand over my right ear until the echoing faded. I cracked my jaw like I was popping my ears on an airplane but I knew that a little jaw popping wouldn’t be enough to cure me of my aversions to sound and light.
I was like a reverse Helen Keller.
I plopped on the couch and picked up the remote, clicking through channels.
Doe came to stand in front of me, blocking my view of the screen as she read back my list. “Blow, weed, the last three seasons of American Ninja Warrior, non-shitty beer, Johnny Walker, Jose Cuervo...” she stopped and crumpled the paper. “This isn’t a fucking shopping list, Preppy, it’s a list of felonies.” She threw the wad of paper at me and it bounced off my face, rolling onto the floor. “
Give that kind of shit to King or Bear, in the meantime, if you need clothes, or food, or things like deodorant and toothpaste, then I’m your gal.”
“Why are you so pissed off at me?” I asked, taking my eyes from the TV to give her a questioning look.
“Because...I don’t fucking know!” She snapped, grabbing her bag from the counter and swung open the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“The kids are at school and the baby is with King in his studio so I’m going to the food store to get stuff for dinner, and then I’m going to Grace’s grave to lay fresh flowers and then pick up the kids and then tonight I have an appointment to tattoo an entire butt cheek with the face of a tiger. “You can come with me, you know. To Grace’s grave?”
“Nah, I’m good here,” I said, taking a swig of my beer and turning back around to the TV. “Wait, when did you start tattooing?” I called out but she was already gone.
The screen slammed shut and if the sound of her stomping down the steps indicated how she felt about my refusal to take her up on her offer to go to the cemetery, then Doe was most defiantly pissed the fuck off. It took a solid minute of covering my ears and rocking back and forth for those sounds to stop bouncing around in my head.
I rubbed my eyes. “Chicks,” I muttered, sitting back against the cushions.
“She kind of has a point there,” someone said. I turned my head to the hallway as a girl with long pinkish hair and a very big baby belly stepped out from the back door into the living room. She leaned against the wall next to the TV. “You haven’t gone to the cemetery since they told you about Grace. You should go with her sometime.”
“You mean since I found out about Grace,” I corrected her, unable to hide the bitterness from my voice. “No point. Just a box in the ground surrounded by other buried boxes in the ground. Never did make much sense to me to visit people who can’t talk back.”
“Did you know that Ray visits your grave while she’s there too? Brings you flowers and everything. Even since you’ve come back. She’s still been doing it. I don’t know if it’s out of habit or...”
Preppy, The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part TWO (King) Page 6