The Wonder Bread Summer: A Novel

by Jessica Anya Blau

  Lionel laughed and went down on all fours beside Allie. “What happened to your head?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Allie said. “But is your brother going to kill me?”

  “Nah, everything’s been worked out,” Lionel said, and he stood up and waved his hand in a come-hither motion. “Don’t worry. I’m the older one. Jonas is afraid of me.”

  Allie stood and looked over the counter. No one noticed her. Everyone was staring intently at the board. She followed Lionel into the living room.

  Beth looked up, leaped out from between Rosie’s legs, and ran to Allie. “Oh my god!” she said, hugging Allie for a moment, before pulling her head back and shouting, “Like, what’s up with that gnarly lump?!”

  Jonas got up and turned off the music. Everyone stared at Allie.

  “Allie,” Frank said. He was holding a Scrabble tile in his hand. “What are you doing here? And where are your shoes?”

  “I better call Consuela! She’s probably worrying about why you haven’t shown up!” Jorge got up and went to the phone in the kitchen.

  “So you guys didn’t already call me like you said you would?” Allie asked. She was hurt that they hadn’t followed through on the promise.

  “We only got here thirty minutes ago.” Frank’s thick brow was furrowed into angry rolling ridges. “Now please explain yourself!”

  “I just—” Allie didn’t know what to say. Everything seemed fine. What was she doing?

  “I’m so excited I got to meet your dad!” Beth said. “But wait, seriously, what happened to your head?!”

  “Can we go to Chez Panisse now?” Hans asked.

  “Chez Panisse?” Jonas laughed. “You think you can drive up here from Los Angeles and just show up at Chez Panisse!”

  Lionel and Frank immediately fell into what sounded like an old discussion about Chez Panisse. Frank had strong ideas about prix fixe menus and prices that came close to rent.

  “Is this game over?” Luis said. “We’ve only got shitty vowels and no consonants. I want out.”

  “Are you playing teams?” Allie asked.

  “Girl, you are lucky your father got you out of this mess,” Jonas said. “Dang, you took me for a ride! And capturing my man, Vice Versa, like that? Dang! Did he do that shit to your forehead?”

  “Oh my god, Allie, this is Rosie!” Beth pointed to the basement-freezer-size man. “Oh my god, you guys are, like, so going to love each other?”

  Rosie hoisted himself up as if a crane were pulling him from his spine. Allie shook his hand. He had a sweet smile. Gentle golden-brown eyes. Beth was probably right about him being a good guy.

  Allie leaned in close to Rosie and Beth so the others couldn’t hear, although no one appeared to be listening. (Jonas had joined the Chez Panisse discussion with Lionel and Frank—the three of them sounded like tired old roosters—and Jorge was on the phone with Consuela. Hans and Luis were still studying the Scrabble board.)

  “So since Vice Versa was in L.A. the whole time,” Allie said, “did you both know that that guy you had put on the phone with me wasn’t the real Vice Versa?” This question had been picking at Allie like a too-deep splinter since the moment she met Vice Versa in her father’s closet.

  “I must apologize to you for that,” Rosie said. “I was misled by you-know-who and I believed him. As soon as I have caught up on my sleep and have completely sobered up I’m going to reevaluate my relationship with—” Rosie nudged his head in the direction of Jonas.

  “We were, like, so high for so many days? And I think we were a little vulnerable and stupid?” Beth said.

  “Okay, this game is officially over,” Luis said loudly, turning the attention toward the coffee table. He dumped his tiles on the board.

  “Fine, fine, fine,” Jonas groaned. “All I wanted was one quick game before you took off. Seemed like the least you could do to pay me back for my troubles.”

  “He’s been, like, trying to get us to play the last two days and, like, no one has wanted to play?” Beth said. “I told him that you were the best at Scrabble, Allie.”

  Jorge hung up the phone on the kitchen counter, then said, “Vamos! I’ve got to get back to my family.” Everyone was standing and shifting. It was like the end of a party with people patting their pockets for their keys, saying good-bye, wrapping up.

  Hans, Luis, and Jorge took off in the van for Los Angeles. Hans had been promised that they would stop somewhere for food but it’d have to be a twenty-four-hour place as it was already ten p.m. Jonas left with the bag of coke and less the money he owed Allie (Lionel had insisted that Jonas not deduct from Allie’s paycheck the money she earned from selling the coke or money owed for coke that was missing from the bag). Lionel left, too. Frank and Allie planned to stay with him tonight and he was on his way to the grocery store so that there would be food for his guests for breakfast tomorrow. It was just Allie, Frank, Beth, and Rosie, sitting at Beth’s counter. Allie told them how she got the lump on her head, what had happened with Marc, and where she’d dumped Mike.

  “That is, like, the best bad-boyfriend revenge ever!” Beth said.

  Frank stood, took Allie’s arm, and helped her off the stool. “Let’s not make Lionel wait up for us all night.”

  “Why don’t you take my car,” Beth said, “instead of that nasty surfer dude’s truck.”

  “I think we’ll take you up on that offer,” Frank said.

  “Just take the car key off, though and leave my house keys? Allie, do you realize I couldn’t leave the apartment for four days because my house keys are, like, on the set of keys I gave you?”

  “Weren’t you being held hostage anyway?” Allie asked.

  “Only for a few hours,” Rosie said, and he leaned down and kissed Beth on the top of her head.

  Allie pulled out the ring of keys. She was tired and bleary-eyed and couldn’t manage to get the key off.

  “Let me have that,” Frank said, and he worked it off in a few seconds, then handed the key ring to Beth and whisked Allie out of there.

  Chapter 18

  Frank was driving and Allie was looking out the window. She was wearing the Candie’s again as Frank did not believe that people should ever go barefoot. Just as they approached the end of Beth’s street, Allie remembered her battered, once-white rabbit foot.

  “Dad,” Allie said, “we have to go back to Beth’s. I left my lucky rabbit foot on Beth’s keychain.”

  “You are twenty years old,” Frank said. “You can go one night without your rabbit foot.” Frank turned the wheel hand over hand as he had shown Allie earlier.

  “I know it’s stupid, and I know it probably doesn’t really bring me luck. But I haven’t gone a night without it since the day Wai Po gave it to me.”

  “Don’t bother me with this nonsense.” Frank’s brow lowered over his eyes like an awning. In his repertoire of expressions, this was the one that usually preceded anger.

  “Dad, please,” Allie said. “I’ve always thought of it as a way to have Wai Po with me. I mean, Mom’s been gone forever and you’re always at work.”

  Frank pulled over. His face looked dark and shadowy. Each time a car drove by, a sheet of light passed over his eyes like a mask.

  “Listen up,” Frank said, his voice as steely as a gun. “I’ll go back, but you have to promise me there will be no more of this poor me business ever again. Yes, your mother left, yes, I spend most of my time at work. But we’re alive, you’re healthy, and you’re going to cash Marc’s and Jonas’s checks and pay your tuition tomorrow morning. If you don’t mess up like this again, there’ll be a great big future waiting for you when you’re done with school.”

  “Okay,” Allie said. “No more poor me.”

  Frank pulled the car out from the curb, slowly turned around, and drove back to Beth’s apartment building. He parked in the private driveway next door. Allie and Frank watched out the window as an acne-stricken, skinny man hooked up Mike’s truck to a towing wench.

&n
bsp; “Oops,” Allie said, and she laughed.

  “You know, I should get those tools out of that toolbox before he drags that thing away,” Frank said.

  “You want Mike’s tools?” Allie asked.

  “Tools are expensive,” Frank said. “And if I don’t take them out of there now, you can pretty much guarantee someone in the tow yard will take them before they ever track down that slimy no-goodnik surfer.”

  Frank clicked on the hazards. He and Allie both got out of the car.

  “Don’t leave your purse,” Frank said.

  “But you’re right here and you can lock the car,” Allie said.

  “Anyone can break a window,” Frank said. “Take the darn purse.”

  Allie reached into the car, got the purse, and strapped it across her body.

  “Hurry back,” Frank said, as he walked toward the tow truck, the keys to Mike’s truck in his hands.

  Just as Allie reached Beth’s door, she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

  Allie turned and there was Jonas, smiling.

  “Did you forget something?” Allie asked.

  “Sure as hell did.” Jonas yanked Allie toward himself, his elbow wrapped around her neck, one hand over her mouth. Allie kicked her legs up and around but couldn’t land them against anything that made noise.

  “Who the fuck do you think I am?” Jonas whispered. “You think I don’t know the difference between pure coke, which is what you drove away from here with, and small-time-corner-dealer-shit that’s half-laxatives?” Jonas was spitting, hissing. Allie expected burning oil to flicker out of his pores.

  Jonas dragged Allie backward down the hallway. He pulled her past the stairway that led to the front of the building where Frank was. Allie thrashed her legs under Jonas’s grip. She was terrified. But even more than that, she was infuriated. Allie had survived so much the past four days that to lose it all now seemed simply wrong. With one giant surge, Allie put every bit of her might into pushing Jonas off herself.

  And then Allie came to. She was in Jonas’s tiny, teardrop-shaped, red convertible, zooming across the Bay Bridge. The cold wind was whipping Allie’s hair into a wiry frenzy.

  “You’re alive!” Jonas said, and he laughed.

  Allie touched her neck. It felt as if barbed wire had been run down her throat, then swirled against her tendons. “Did you knock me out?” She felt nauseous, dazed, boneless. There was no energy left for fear.

  “You knocked yourself out against the crook of my arm. Time for you to take responsibility for your actions, girl!”

  “Where are we going?” It hurt to talk. Allie could feel each individual vocal cord.

  “My motherfucking big-brother’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the stupid-ass-do-good-cocksucking piece-of-shit-fuck got me into this bullshit. I wanted my men to handle things the way they should be handled. But no, Lionel jumps in and thinks he can make peace between you, me, and Frank. And what the fuck did that get me?!” Jonas looked at Allie.

  “What?” Allie asked, because that’s what it seemed he was pausing for.

  “A fucking bread bag full of laxatives!” Jonas thumped his fist in the center of the steering wheel.

  “I thought that was the real coke,” Allie said. “I swear.” Her purse was still strapped across her shoulder. Allie shifted it in her lap, looked down, and remembered the gun.

  The exit for Yerba Buena, a tiny island that connected the two sides of the Bay Bridge, was approaching. Without putting any more thought into it, Allie stuck her hand into her purse and pulled out the gun. She pushed it into the side of Jonas’s round head. The wind blew Allie’s curls into her eyes, she could barely see, but she could feel Jonas’s flesh pressing into the tip of the pistol.

  “The fuck!” Jonas said. “Put that thing down!”

  “Pull onto the island or I shoot,” Allie said. It was a left exit and they already were in the left lane.

  Jonas put on his blinker and pulled onto the island. “You know you’re in a convertible and people can see you with that gun? Or are you suffering brain damage from when I knocked you out?!” Jonas laughed, but it was restrained.

  “I thought you said I knocked myself out,” Allie said. “Drive to the top.”

  The island was woodsy and wild with thick towering trees and giant, craggy boulders. There was a Coast Guard station somewhere, but Allie had never seen it the few times she’d gone to Yerba Buena with friends. As far as she knew, she could fire the gun and no one would hear. If she actually had the nerve to fire the gun. Allie put her left hand under her right upper arm to steady her aim. Reality was rushing up her body and she could feel a shake coming on.

  “Park over there,” Allie said. They had reached the hilly peak of the island. Black water filled the view with the glittery outline of San Francisco in the distance.

  Jonas parked.

  “Give me the keys,” Allie said.

  “Give it up, Allie,” Jonas said, but he didn’t turn his head. “You know you’re too afraid to shoot that thing.”

  The funny thing was, Allie was too afraid to shoot it. But because Jonas didn’t turn his head, didn’t laugh or mock her, Allie knew that he wasn’t certain of this fact. And this small amount of faith that Jonas had in Allie’s badass abilities gave her the courage it took to maintain the gun against Jonas’s head.

  “Hand me the keys, open the door, and get out slowly,” Allie said. “I’m coming out right beside you.”

  Jonas put the keys in Allie’s left hand; she shoved them down her front pocket without moving her eyes from the point on his head where the gun rested. Carefully, she climbed over the driver’s seat and got out of the car beside Jonas. The wind was whipping around as much as when they were driving in the convertible. Hair was in Allie’s mouth, eyes, nose.

  “Stand against that rock and face me,” Allie said.

  Jonas walked to a massive rock wall, turned, and faced Allie. “Can we stop this bullshit? You put down the gun and I won’t kick your fucking ass for giving me that shitty-ass laxative-cut shit.”

  “I didn’t know it wasn’t the real stuff,” Allie said. “Now show me your tits.”

  “What?” Jonas laughed, just a little.

  “Show me your tits.” Allie steadied her arm again and peered down the nose of the gun.

  “Are you fucking serious?!”

  “JONAS!” Allie yelled, and she could feel everything pouring out of her: shame, fear, fury. “TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT AND SHOW ME YOUR TITS!” Her throat throbbed from the force, but it was a good throb, like a heartbeat that was keeping her alive.

  Jonas unbuttoned his dress shirt and took it off. He lifted up his undershirt and took that off, too. He looked at Allie, smiling. “Wanna see my dick now?”

  “Yup,” Allie said. “Take off your pants, your shoes, everything.”

  “It’s cold out here with this wind,” Jonas said, “so the size thing isn’t going to be happening.”

  “Take it all off,” Allie said, nudging the gun in a sideways motion.

  Jonas lifted his feet, one at a time, and removed his burgundy dress shoes. He took off his slacks and folded them on top of the shoes. He removed his underpants and held them in his hands in front of his crotch. All that remained were his burgundy dress socks.

  “Don’t you want me to see it?” Allie asked.

  “I told you, girl, it’s cold out here!” Jonas’s voice was stretched and strained.

  “Grab your bundle of clothes and throw them down the hill,” Allie said, and she waved the gun to the right as if to point in the direction of the hill.

  “They’re not going to land in the water. Too many damn trees and rocks on this slope for that.” Jonas bent over, picked up the bundle, and held it all against his crotch.

  “Just throw them as hard as you can,” Allie said, and he did. It was too dark out to see how far they went but Allie heard his shoes clattering on the way down.

  “Now what?” Jonas a
sked. “You finally going to do the dirty with me?” Jonas grinned in a forced way.

  “Get in the street and start running.” Allie pointed with the gun toward the road they’d come up.

  “Run?” Jonas asked. “Girl, I don’t run. I strut.”

  “Jonas, FUCKING RUN!” Allie hollered and Jonas took off. “RUN, RUN, RUN!” she screamed until her stretched voice crackled into silence and she could no longer make out Jonas’s form on the dimly lit street.

  Allie got in Jonas’s car, started up the engine, and drove in the opposite direction. She needed to come out of the island driving toward Oakland, not San Francisco. She placed the gun on her lap then cruised down the hill as rapidly as she could without crashing into any looming redwoods or jutting rocks.

  Just before the exit off the island there was a culvert with a roaring flow of water. Allie stopped, shifted into neutral, pulled up the emergency brake, and got out of the car. She dangled the gun over the water, then let it drop. Allie got back in the car, released the emergency brake, shifted into first, and pressed the toe of her pointy high heel onto the gas pedal. But instead of accelerating, the convertible sputtered and lurched. Allie looked down at the circular dials in the dashboard. The car was out of gas.

  Chapter 19

  There are few places more difficult to catch a ride than in the middle of the Bay Bridge. But Allie was trying. Her thumb was out, her purse was strapped across her chest, the wind was slapping her face so hard that she could feel the pressure on her forehead lump.

  A tiny silver Honda pulled over in the nook where the road from the island merged onto the bridge. If the car had been any bigger it wouldn’t have fit. Two guys were in the front seat. They each wore a baseball cap. The driver had a blond mustache. Trouble, Allie thought. She approached the car. The window was down.

  “Where you goin’?” the guy asked. He looked to be in his twenties. A knot of muscle bulged from his upper arm.

  “North Berkeley,” Allie said.