Beyond the Pale Motel

by Francesca Lia Block

“Seems like you kind of like him, huh?” the nurse said, winking, mistaking me for the mom. “You think you’re going to keep him?”

  He was the one person I needed to see more than any other, the one person who made me remember why I was alive in the first place, why life mattered at all. I hadn’t seen him enough. Yes, Bree’d had him more, but I was also afraid to expose him to what was going on inside of me. Suck it up, Catt. Get it together.

  * * *

  The gym was quiet when Skylar and I got there on Sunday. Since it was Big Bob’s day off, the whole place had a more relaxed feel. The music was softer and the air-conditioning wasn’t blasting. Sky and I got on the treadmills side by side. When he was about six, he’d been watching cartoons and sped the machine up too fast. Scott was all the way across the room but somehow managed to catch him, practically in midair. That was how I’d met Scott. I’d told him he was a hero and he blushed. I mean, what grown men actually blush? Scott and Sky were friends from that day on, always talking sports and Harry Potter and Scott taught Skylar how to shake hands—“Firm, all the way from the shoulder”; Sky was very proud to have accomplished this, and I felt bad that no one else had taught him before. Soon Bree and I loved Scott, too.

  He came over to Skylar and me, that Sunday in June, feet planted, wearing his usual nylon sweatpants.

  “Nice to see you, Catt.” He sounded so formal and even his hug was a little stiff. Turning to Sky: “What’s up, buddy?”

  Skylar shrugged and did that thing where he tries not to smile and show all his teeth. Scott messed up his hair. “Go, Dodgers.” They high-fived.

  “How are you?” I asked. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch more.”

  “No worries. How are you doing? Is your neck okay?” He squinted at me through his lenses. His face looked drawn, I realized, when I actually got my head out of my ass enough to notice.

  “My neck’s fine.” I should never have lied to him about a pinched nerve. Maybe he knew and that was why he seemed distant. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just a little under the weather.”

  “Still?”

  “I’m going to the doctor tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  I told him I would go with him if he wanted and that I would bring him some tom kha gai, Thai chicken coconut soup, that night.

  “What’s this with you and soup?” he said.

  “When I was a kid and I got sick, I always wished my mom would make me soup. Or at least pick some up for me.”

  He said, “You’re the sweetest girl in the world, but I don’t have much appetite and I’ve got some leftovers I’m going to eat tonight. And I’m okay to go to the doctor by myself. But maybe you can come by another day after work.”

  I said okay, but to let me know if he changed his mind about the doctor. He helped Skylar with the weights. Only light ones, Scott insisted, even though Sky wanted to go heavier. Then Sky and I held each other’s feet while we did crunches, but he was too ticklish and kept breaking into giggle fits. So we jumped on the trampolines side by side, trying to see who could go higher; he could of course. By the time we were done, I felt much better. While Skylar used the restroom, I hugged Scott and promised I’d see him soon.

  He said, “Isn’t your birthday coming up?” It was. “You should have a party.”

  I frowned. “I think that will make it worse. I’d rather just ignore it and hope it goes away.”

  “Well, I want to celebrate you.” Our eyes met. He had long lashes. I used to tease him that it looked like he wore mascara. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Same here.”

  “And also? Catt?”

  I turned back around and he came closer and spoke in a softer voice as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I love having you train here because I get to see you. But maybe you want to check out a different gym?”

  I knew what he was going to say.

  “I know you’re not a big fan of Bob’s. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I was kind of preoccupied at the time. But I’ve been thinking and I think you were right; he doesn’t have the best energy for you to be around. Or Skylar. Especially if I’m not here for some reason.”

  “I told you that a while ago. What changed?”

  Scott frowned and I saw the creases deepen in his face. He jammed his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight side to side. “His plastic surgery has gotten way, way out of hand?” Scott’s laugh was weak. “I don’t know, I just worry more lately.”

  “I thought that was my job.” But I didn’t worry enough, then. Not about the right things anyway. Still, I shivered as the cold air blasted my workout-soaked clothes. “What about you? Are you going to try to work somewhere else? Because I’ll only bring Skylar on Sundays, but I’m not leaving you.”

  Scott reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said.

  On the way home Skylar was pensive, staring out the window of the backseat, and I asked him what was on his mind.

  “Can we build a Greek temple for my figures tonight?” I’d bought him some Mount Olympus action figures a few weeks earlier. Whatever Sky got into, he did it full on—trains, LEGOs, Adventure Time, baseball, now Greek myths.

  “Sure, I can get out your old blocks. Do you know the difference between Corinthian and Ionic and Doric columns?”

  Of course he did. And the names of all the gods, demigods, and heroes. What a kid. If I ever doubted that the brutal world was also full of magic, he could single-handedly prove me wrong.

  “Catt?”

  “Yes, Sky?”

  “I miss you.

  “I miss you, too. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much. I was sad about Dash leaving and I’ve been dating some guys, but I haven’t been choosing them very well, I guess.”

  I could feel him thinking about it. “But you have people who love you.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. You’re right. I have great people in my life.”

  “So the next person you go out with has to be like that and treat you really, really well.”

  Was he thinking about Scott? As I smiled at Skylar in the rearview mirror and blew him a kiss over my shoulder, I realized that no one had said those words to me before. Not even my mom and dad. If anything, they had conveyed the opposite.

  * * *

  One summer my parents and I went to Greece to visit my father’s relatives, the Georgiou family. Everyone stayed together in a big house on the island of Crete. During the day my cousins (whom I had never met before) and I hung out on the white-sand-and-clear-blue-water beaches, and at night we all ate dinner together and the parents drank ouzo until they passed out.

  It should have been idyllic.

  “Go, have fun,” my mother had said, practically pushing me out the door one night.

  The air smelled like fruit and salt and I could hear the sea, not far away in the dark. I was wearing a white gauze shirt with crocheted butterflies around the neckline and cutoff shorts. My skin was peeling off in pieces from my shoulders and chest from the bad sunburn I’d gotten the first day there.

  Where my mother wanted me to go, have fun was back to the beach for a bonfire party the cousins were having with some friends. I didn’t want to go but I only stood watching as my mother continued to fuss with her blond Swedish hair, pinning it up on her head, pulling out some tendrils, letting it all down again. I wondered about the low-cut, coral-colored dress she was wearing, the toxic sweetness of her perfume. My dad had gone on an overnight trip to Athens with one of his brothers.

  “What if someone tries to kiss me?” I finally managed to ask.

  “It’s the most natural thing in the world,” she answered. “Just let it happen.”

  That wasn’t what I meant.

  The Greek boys were all dark and curly haired and they paid attention to me, unlike boys at home. It was flattering but also disturbing, and their black-liquid gazes made my
stomach quease and my heart pound with fight-or-flight syndrome. Neither of which I did.

  One boy—man? he must have been at least eighteen—I don’t remember his name, but he resembled the statues of Greek gods I’d seen; his hair spiraled in tight curls and his nose looked as if it had been carved from marble. When I got to the beach, he was sitting by the bonfire, and he stood up and danced, danced, danced with me to the music that was playing, and then he took a gulp of ouzo and kissed me, pouring the licorice fire into my mouth.

  I pushed him away and asked if he knew my cousins and he said sure and I was such a beauty and he kissed me again. Then he took my hand and we ran down to the water. It was warm and soft and gleaming, the combination of the waves and the alcohol and his beauty and my own low self-esteem made me fall apart in his arms. Next we were back on the sand, away from the party, and he was naked.

  I wouldn’t let him fuck me so instead he forced me to suck his cock, which I had no idea how to do. He pushed my head down and down again, making me gag, and when he came, I moved away just in time not to get a mouthful. When I stumbled back to my bedroom, I heard laughter from the room next door. I listened through the wall to my mom and my dad’s brother-in-law fucking.

  “Did you have fun last night?” my mom asked me in the morning.

  Fun? My head and jaw ached. A beautiful man had called me beauty and held me in his arms.

  Later, I would think, anything could have happened. He could have killed me and chopped me into pieces, eaten me, and no one would have known.

  I turned away from her.

  I was thirteen.

  * * *

  When I dropped Skylar off, I told Bree what Scott had said about a new gym.

  “Why would he say that now?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  Bree shivered. “I can’t stand Bob. Maybe we should stop going there.” Then she added, “I thought someone was following me home from the gym the other night. But it’s probably my imagination. I’m just on edge lately with everything that’s been happening.”

  I asked her if she wanted me to come inside, even sleep over (it wasn’t entirely for her; I could have used more time with Sky and I was anxious not to be alone anyway), but she said no thanks. Something about the way she said it—a little too quickly maybe—made me wonder if she was having a guy over later, but I didn’t stop to guess who it might be.

  Also, I was more concerned about the idea that someone had possibly been following her. When I got home, I was shaken enough to look behind me a few times as I went up the stairs to my door. I checked all the closets, turned on the alarm, and left the lights on when I went to sleep, with Sasha lying on the bed facing the door like a pretty, petite watchdog.

  * * *

  Scott texted me the next morning: Seeing you with Skylar at the gym reminded me of how I used to be with my mom. Like you have each other’s heart in your hands. I love you. PS There’s a special at SilverTone Gym.

  “Each other’s heart in your hands.” I knew that saying Sky and I reminded Scott of his mother and him was a big compliment. I sent him a heart emoji, Don’t worry, and an xoxo. That’s all.

  Why hadn’t I been able to fall in love with sweet, sweet Scott? Was it because no one had told me that I deserved someone who treated me “really, really well”? Was it because he wasn’t a tall, tatted “artist”? I was an idiot, basically. And still, even at that late—just before too late—date, enough of one not to do anything about it.

  #10

  I did take Scott’s advice about having a party, though. Without telling Bree, I got Botox from her ex-Vampire, who assured me I wasn’t starting too early, that many of his patients were already getting injections in their twenties.

  As he prepared to stick the needle in with his long, pale hands, I said, “I have a high tolerance for physical pain but not for emotional.” Too much information.

  He looked down at me blankly with his blue-ice eyes that contrasted with his black hair. “Good,” he said. “Because this is going to hurt.”

  But he didn’t warn me that it was going to bruise. Bree never bruised. Mine were bad—dark smudges. I covered them with thick makeup, but my clients at work kept saying I had something on my face and one lady even tried to rub the bruises off. I wondered if they’d be gone by my party. I had this idea that I had to look good that night, in case Dean showed up.

  Because I had stooped low enough to invite him. Yes, I realized he was an asshole who had fucked me and then disappeared. Yes, I was aware that I was moving my pain about being alone around from man to man. No, I couldn’t stop.

  He had e-mailed me back saying he was sorry he’d been out of touch, he’d been on a book tour and just going through a lot and he would try to make it. I wished I didn’t give a shit whether he came or not.

  On the night of my party, my bruises still showed under the makeup. I’d prepared lasagna, salad and nonalcoholic tiramisu, hoping to distract everyone from my appearance with my culinary talents. There was also the distraction of organic red wine and rum punch for the folks who drank. I lit candles, hoping to hide in the dim. I played music loud, hoping to hide in the din. It didn’t work.

  Scott came by early, gave me a quick kiss, said he wasn’t feeling great but he loved me and was so glad I’d taken his advice and thrown myself a party—I deserved one. I wanted to tell him what was going on with me but it felt selfish since he wasn’t in such great shape himself. So when he left I went to find Shana for some moral support, but Bree said she had a headache and went home early, too.

  “She wished you a happy birthday,” Bree told me.

  I told Bree that I was freaked out. Ashamed that I’d invited Dean. Ashamed of the bruises on my face. She dragged me into the bathroom and plastered more makeup on me. The foundation was cakey and thick and I stared at the mask in the mirror.

  We went back out and I refilled some people’s drinks. The alcohol fumes made me a little dizzy. I remembered I hadn’t eaten, but then I got busy talking to Todd and Rick and forgot.

  I checked my cell phone. Dean hadn’t texted—no surprise.

  Stu showed. Surprise. He had come back to the salon after our encounter, and Bree forced him to pay and apologize to me. I apologized for nicking him. That was that, except for the surge of nausea I felt whenever I thought of him—much like smelling sausage pizza from which I had once contracted food poisoning as a child.

  What the fuck? He told me that he’d overheard us talking about the party and he wanted to come and make a peace offering. Kendra had given him my address. Why would she do that?

  “You have something on your face,” Stu said, handing me a plate covered in aluminum foil.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  I turned around and bumped into the chest of a tall man in a pressed white dress shirt; he was holding a large bouquet of roses with gradient petals shaded from white to pink to red. I looked up at his strong jawline. It was Cyan. My chest was full of flowers.

  “Happy birthday,” he said.

  “Why are you here?”

  He smiled with the dark blueness of his eyes. “I came by to surprise you and saw all the activity. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I can’t stay long. I’m just passing through. But I wanted to bring you these.” He handed me the flowers and I thanked him.

  Bree came up. “Do you want me to put those in water?” She was staring at Cyan. He nodded at her. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

  He turned back to me. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

  “I was too excited.”

  “You should eat.” He took me over to the table and I took a chocolate chip cookie from a plate someone had set there. It tasted sweet and dense. I thought of Cyan’s mouth on mine, his cock touching my cervix. I didn’t want him to leave.

  “Want to dance?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t dance. You go dance.”r />
  Ladytron was blasting something electronic and spacey. I took Bree’s hand—she was still watching Cyan intently—and pulled her into the middle of the living room to dance the way we used to in the clubs, close and sexy so the men would notice us. Or, I guess, me, because they would have noticed her anyway. Maybe Cyan would watch me dance. I thought of taking off my heels but decided I’d look better with them on even if my feet hurt. My silk dress—the one I’d worn the night Dash left and not since—was wet with sweat.

  We danced a long time. Then Bree wasn’t there. I was dancing with Deirdre, the anorexic model. I couldn’t remember Deirdre being there before? She looked so thin I wondered how she could stand up, let alone dance. There were bruises all over her bare legs. I thought, There is a skeleton of pain beneath your flesh and I can see it.

  Everyone is in pain.

  Where was Cyan? Where was Bree? I stopped dancing and went to find her. Todd and Rick were standing in the hall. They looked hollow eyed like they were discussing the end of the world. I thought, They’re going to break up tonight. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried to explain to them that something was terribly wrong but I couldn’t articulate.… In fact, I was having trouble speaking.

  Where was Bree? Why had Shana left? I wondered if she was mad at me. Maybe she thought I shouldn’t have served alcohol. My blood hurt.

  I checked my cell phone. Dean had left a message. The pain in my body lessened as if someone had sucked it away with a big straw, or pulled it out with their teeth. Until I read the text: Got caught up with something. Hope you had a happy birthday.

  Pain crashed through me again. I’d more than half expected this from Dean, but I had also really wanted the escape. I texted him back: U r a manticore. I thought, Where’s Cyan? Maybe he left. That would be a bad idea anyway. I am falling in love with him; never sleep with a man you are falling in love with. Wait, that doesn’t sound right … I should text Jarell. But I suddenly couldn’t figure out how to send a text.

  My mouth was so dry it felt like cake mix.

  I had to find Bree.

  There she was. Looking at me with too-big eyes. I could see every pore, every tiny line in her face. (She was due for her Botox and I had fewer lines than she did for once.) I could feel the pain in her blood, too. It was threatening to take her over. She was angry at me.