The Fifteenth of June

by Brent Jones

  Hungry Paul grimaced. “Language, Mr. Thomson. Keep it clean.” He looked around the room. “Anyone else want to guess?”

  Kara raised her hand.

  “Sorry, Kara. You already went,” Hungry Paul said. “Someone else has to guess now.”

  A disheveled woman a few feet from Drew raised a gaunt arm. Bones, he had nicknamed her at the interview. “Your daddy ain’t dead. If he was, you woulda taken the day off.”

  Drew nodded. “That’s right. He’s still alive for now.”

  Hungry Paul gave Drew a concerned look. “But he does have cancer?”

  “Yeah, that part’s true. Got it in his lungs. But he’s still above ground for now, so that’s good.” He returned to his seat.

  Hungry Paul gave his head a shake. “Um, okay. Well, we’re learning lots about each other today, aren’t we? Paula, why don’t you go next?”

  Bones rattled to the front of the room, a tremor evident in her every step.

  Drew felt two burning emeralds on the side of his face. He turned his head to find Kara fixated on him, as though she were fascinated by his complexities and imperfections alike.

  *

  At noon they broke for lunch and Drew followed Kara to the cafeteria.

  “So your dad has cancer,” she said.

  “He does.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It happens.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “He’ll be dead soon.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Only on the inside.”

  Drew wished he hadn’t left his water bottle at home. He had assumed his first day of training would require full use of his faculties. But had he known how informal it would be, he would have poured vodka all over his Cheerios that morning.

  They entered the cafeteria. A handful of employees trickled through a sparse line, filling their trays with soggy green beans, tepid French fries, and something that resembled dog food.

  I wonder if Hungry Paul spends his whole paycheck in here.

  “I lost someone close to me once,” Kara said.

  “Yeah?”

  She pursed her lips. “Taught me to live in the moment. Life is short, you know?”

  “I guess. Then again, it’s the longest thing we’ll ever do.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  Several vending machines lined the far wall. “I’ll be right back,” Drew said. He returned with a fistful of candy bars and handed one to Kara. She was seated at one of several long, industrial tables—built like colossal picnic benches—with black coffee in a Styrofoam cup and a buttered bagel. Drew parked himself across from her.

  “So,” she began, “how did you know I wasn’t at the dentist this morning?”

  “Because your teeth were already white.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Seriously?”

  He sighed. “You want the real truth?”

  “Of course.” She sipped her coffee.

  “I might have, uh, gone looking for you on Facebook.”

  Kara fought back a laugh, puckering her lips, straining to prevent an expulsion of hot coffee. She wiped her mouth, transferring nude lipstick to the napkin. “That’s too funny.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you actually told me the truth.”

  “I’m a horrible liar.”

  Kara examined his expression and gave him a knowing smile. “Bet you jacked it, too.” She bit into her bagel.

  Drew’s cheeks got warm. “Did not.”

  “I told you I’d be able to guess if you were lying, Drew Thomson.”

  “Fine, maybe I did. Jack it, I mean.”

  She laughed again, and then made a jerking motion with her hand. “I saw your—” Kara gestured at his crotch through the table, “—bulge at the job fair. You seemed a bit happy to meet me.”

  “Does that creep you out?”

  “God, no. Not at all. I grew up with brothers, a whole house full of boys. It takes more than an erection to scare me off.”

  “Truth is, I find you exceptionally attractive and I was, uh, hoping to learn more about you.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said. “But seriously, you don’t have to go undercover. Anything you want to know, just ask.” She took another sip of coffee, locking her eyes on his. “What else do you want to know?” Before he could answer, she spoke again. “You’re going to ask me where I was this morning, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The curiosity is eating you alive, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Tell me.”

  Her face turned cold as stone. She placed her hand on Drew’s, her palm radiating heat from the coffee cup. “I was getting an abortion.”

  Drew was speechless. He reserved judgment on that sort of thing. What a woman did with her body was her own business. But it seemed a brazen thing to say, perhaps as outlandish as sharing his father’s prognosis that morning.

  Kara rolled her eyes with playful indignation. “I’m kidding, Drew Thomson.”

  “Oh. I mean, it sounded believable. For all I know, you could have been getting your womb vacuumed.”

  “My womb vacuumed? Jesus. You have a way with words, don’t you?”

  Drew nodded, as if to accept the compliment.

  “You wanna know where I really was?”

  “I do.”

  “I drove my grandma to the cardiologist for a checkup.” She patted his hand again. “She’s ninety-one and didn’t want to reschedule.” Kara gave him a second to process what she had just said. “Where did you think I was?”

  “No idea.” Good point. What did I expect her to say?

  “My turn,” she said. “Which photo did you use to rub one out?”

  “Didn’t realize we were taking turns at this.”

  “We don’t have to. But I thought you wanted to get to know me better. It’ll be more fun if we take turns.”

  Drew hesitated. “It was the one on the beach.”

  “The one where I’m bent over, writing in the sand?”

  “That’s the one.”

  She grinned. “I should have guessed. Your turn. Shoot.”

  His mind darted to the indecent—Does she swallow? What’s her favorite position?—but he’d already confessed to masturbating to her online photos. Something tamer might demonstrate that his interest wasn’t purely physical. She’s waiting. Ask her something. Drew opened a candy bar and finished it in two bites. “Uh, do you want to go smoke some weed?”

  She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

  In the absence of alcohol, smoking with Kara would be perfect. “I always keep a joint in my glove box. Let’s go burn it,” Drew said, opening another candy bar.

  Kara rocked her head back and forth, deliberating, strands of black hair shimmering in the light. “On second thought, not today. I don’t want to end up launching into a giggle fit in training this afternoon. But we’ll get high at lunch one day soon. I promise.”

  “Fair enough—I’d like that. Your turn.”

  “Wanna go make out instead?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s go for a walk and find some place private,” she said, grinning.

  “Like right now?”

  “Yeah, like right now.”

  “You bet. Let’s go.”

  Kara looked like she was about to burst. “I’m joking, Drew Thomson.” She held his eye contact. “For now, at least. I just wanted to know what your answer would be.”

  “I think you already knew what my answer would be.”

  “I’m sorry. But to be fair, you told me you masturbated while stalking me on Facebook. I’m allowed to have a little fun with you, aren’t I?”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “I like how real you are, Drew Thomson. It’s rare and I find it refreshing.”

  “I try.” He thought for a moment. “Will you be honest with me, too?”

  “Absolutely. Besides, it’s your turn.”

  “Are you, u
h, actually interested in me? Like even a little?”

  “I—” Kara looked down and away, as if to dilute her reaction. “I don’t deny it. You’re good at making me laugh, and that helps.” She got up and moved to Drew’s side of the table, straddling the spot next to him, a leg splayed on either side of the cafeteria bench. She leaned in—her hands on his thigh—and pressed her lips to his ear. “You want to know something else about me?”

  “Sure,” he whispered.

  “I’m not wearing underwear.”

  “Wait. Why did you tell me that? Not that I’m complaining.” Hanging around this chick means having never-ending wood.

  Kara grinned and stood up, giving her response consideration. She eventually shrugged. “If you’re gonna jerk off again tonight, you might as well have something better to work with than a Facebook photo.”

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Russell stirred in his hospital bed.

  Drew leaned in, touching his father’s arm. “Dad, it’s Drew.”

  “Ah—” Russell moaned in discomfort. “What time is it?”

  “Almost six,” Drew replied. “I just got off work, my second day.”

  “How was it?” Russell held his eyes shut but rolled his head toward Drew’s voice.

  “It was just another boring day of training. Easy stuff.”

  “That’s good. Easy is good . . .”

  Drew made a point to visit or call his father daily. He sometimes phoned twice—once at lunch and again in the evening. Logan was predictably absent every time he checked in.

  Most often than not, Drew arrived to find his father fast asleep. When he called, it almost always went straight to voicemail. Only twice had Drew arrived to find him conscious. Not that he minded—his father was in pain and the main thing was to dispel his agony.

  “How are they treating you?”

  “Good,” Russell replied, his speech a labored grunt. “I feel fine.”

  The bed at the far end of the room was now occupied by a feeble old man. His privacy curtain was wrapped around him, but he and Drew had exchanged pleasantries the day before. Patrick was his name, if Drew recalled correctly. Patrick was a late stage colon cancer patient. Had his affliction been caught earlier, something might have been done. But aged as he now was, his fate was sealed, much like Russell’s—too far gone to successfully recover.

  Drew stood at his father’s bedside, irresolute on what to say next. He had faded back into restless slumber, his pillowcase stained with a fresh mixture of saliva and blood. The heart rate monitor made its usual racket, an insulting reminder of each absconding moment.

  He touched his father’s arm again. “Dad.”

  No response.

  “Is that you, Drew?” The voice came from the far bed.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Come over here and say hello.”

  Drew approached, swiping away the barrier. “Patrick, right?”

  The frail man nodded. “That’s right, Patrick.” Patrick glanced toward Russell. “Your dad and me, we spend most our days out cold. The dope they give us is something else,” he chuckled.

  I should introduce you to a guy named Marcus… “I was hoping I might keep Dad awake a little longer today and, uh, spend a bit more time with him.”

  Patrick nodded. “You’re a good son. Your father’s proud of you.”

  “He said that?”

  “Well—” His eyes shifted, “—not in so many words. But I can tell.”

  “I, uh, can’t shake the feeling that I need something from Dad today. You know, before I lose him. Figured if I could keep him up for a few minutes, I might be able to figure out what that thing is.”

  “That’s natural. Felt that—” Patrick yawned. “Felt that same way when my daddy passed.”

  Patrick faded back to sleep and Drew returned to his father’s side. Guess you’re finally moving on. “I hope you can hear me,” he said. “It feels like I’m stuck in one spot. It’s been this way for a long time. I know you understand, but now you’re moving on without me. And I—I’m not ready to be alone.”

  Beep. Beep. Beep . . .

  Drew felt like a deer in headlights. He could see the end coming, but couldn’t get out of the way. He stood there, hopeless, his feet planted to the floor, his eyes glued to an expiring hourglass. It cut deep, shredding his insides.

  Beep. Beep. Beep . . .

  He pondered his turmoil, wondering which he feared most—losing his father or being alone in the world. Both were inevitable. Neither could be stopped or slowed down. All he could now was brace for impact.

  Beep. Beep. Beep . . .

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Deep bass sounds pounded the parking lot, vibrating car windows. Drew was parked, blanketed in darkness—aside from the glow of his phone—waiting to meet Neil at The Gentleman’s Choice, a strip club not far from Palmer Heights.

  Nearly two weeks had passed since Drew last went out with Neil, and they were overdue for a get-together. Neil, of course, had chosen the venue.

  Between loitering in the parking lot after hours with Kara, then heading home to shower and change, Drew hadn’t had a chance to drop by Mercy Vale Hospital after work. He dialed his father and raised the phone to his ear.

  Voicemail.

  “Hi Dad, it’s Drew. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get to come by tonight after work. Give me a shout if you get a chance. I’d love to hear how you’re doing.” He ended call, making a mental note to stay longer on his next visit.

  Drew now had four training days under his belt. He found himself enjoying it, strangely enough—more specifically, enjoying his daily flirtatious interactions with Kara. More than once, Drew had returned to his seat in the training room to find a handwritten note folded on his chair, always signed with a hand-drawn heart.

  Let’s get drunk and play Twister, one of them had read.

  Do you sleep naked? Because I do, read another.

  But the most recent note had contained just ten characters—the digits of her phone number.

  Little did Kara know that Drew had already covertly obtained her contact details on their first day working together. The sign-in sheet was left out in the open, after all.

  Not wanting to come on too strong—charming a beautiful woman was foreign territory—he had stored it in his contacts for retrieval at a more appropriate time. But her latest note served as nothing if not an invitation. He selected Kara from his contacts and tapped out a simple greeting.

  Drew: Hi it’s Drew

  A steady flow of male patrons lumbered in and out of The Gentleman’s Choice. It wasn’t a club known for the unprecedented sex appeal of its dancers. Roxie’s, which was just a short mile down the road, recruited most of the top shelf talent in town. But The Gentleman’s Choice was regarded for its moral and legal flexibility, offering a complete catalog of services—an open menu of fixed-price fantasies on demand. It was as much an underground brothel as a nudie bar.

  The tired sign out front was trimmed with burned out and shattered light bulbs, but the club had no need for frivolities. Roadside advertising wasn’t needed to draw in willing regulars.

  It was nearly ten o’clock and Drew’s phone vibrated.

  Kara: Hi Drew Thomson. Thought I’d never hear from you Drew: How’s it going?

  Kara: Good. You creeping me on Facebook again? ;) Drew: LOL No. Out with a friend Kara: Then how come you’re texting me?

  Drew hesitated before responding. Kara was gorgeous and fun, no doubt about it. And the attention she lavished on him was good for his ego. But she was just another pretty face—so why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

  Drew: I was thinking about you

  Kara: Aww <3 You’re not sick of me yet??

  Her comment reminded Drew of the time he had overheard one of Heather’s friends—the queen bee of the Indiscreet Elite—complaining that men didn’t hit on her in public. “It’s just awful,” she had said. “When you’re th
is hot, guys are intimidated. They won’t even approach me. I always have to make the first move and it feels slutty.” Drew had cracked up. First, this particular female wasn’t the catch she proclaimed herself to be. But even if she were, it was tough to pity the poor lonely hot girl.

  Still, Drew had to wonder. He hadn’t seen anyone in his training group—male or female—utter so much as a word to Kara. Not even Grease Monkey or Super Mario, who had made a sport out of trailing Bubbles around the premises, groping her every chance they got. Not that she seemed to mind. Was it possible that Kara lived in invisible anonymity, much as he did?

  A loading wheel spun on his phone, signifying an incoming image download. A second later, a selfie of Kara populated his screen. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror, holding two different dresses against her body. He spotted her bare skin between them, giving away that she was stripped down to her bra and panties underneath. What a tease.

  Kara: Which one should I wear tomorrow?

  Drew: Left

  Kara: Thx

  Kara: What are you and your friend up to?

  Drew: Meeting for drinks

  Kara: You’re at a strip joint, aren’t you Drew: How’d you know?

  Kara: Because boys are gross

  Drew: You don’t mean that

  Kara: Ok, ok. You’re not so bad but the rest are gross ;) Kara: If I took off my clothes would you come drink with me Drew: Yes. What’s your address

  Kara: LOL not tonight

  Drew: Tomorrow night?

  Kara: Ask me tomorrow night

  Drew’s phone vibrated. An incoming text message from—Heather?

  Heather: You didn’t tell me your dad has cancer Drew: Guess it slipped my mind

  Heather: I had to find out from Logan!!

  Drew: Not surprised. He’s got a big mouth Heather: I’m going to go see him Drew: K bye

  He probably should have reached out to Heather to tell her about his father’s diagnosis. Russell was fond of Heather, and she had grown attached to the idea of being the daughter he never had. At the same time, Drew wanted to avoid giving her false hope, let alone one more reason to loiter in his life.

  The thought that just six short weeks before he had been living with Heather left Drew suddenly unsettled. He and Heather had shared half a decade of history. She had never overtly pressured him to make life changes, nor to think toward the future. But they had had an unspoken understanding that a forever after was the probable outcome, mostly because it followed the path of least resistance. In time, the thought of a forever after—of anything beyond the here and now, for that matter—had finally pushed Drew over the edge. In retrospect, Drew could only think of his time spent with Heather as a waste.