Under The Covers

by Baker, Max Q.

  Of course, I also had to pay for her gas. Luckily - I had cashed a check the other day and had some money in my wallet. This job didn't go too far to keeping my wallet filled, but it gave me my spending money. That was one of the nice things about living at home with folks who decided not to charge me room and board. My 'rent' consisted of getting passable grades and doing a variety of chores. And I did those.

  ***

  When I got home that night, I checked my email. That girl was fast. As promised, she had sent me a note with the time and place; the name of a restaurant with an outdoor patio in downtown Atlanta.

  Subject line: Time and Place

  Contents: Hi Waylon, (Sorry, I forget the whole epic-length name at this point). I am meeting my friends at the Red Parrot at 7PM tomorrow. Hope to see you there. Be prepared for them."

  I wasn't sure what she meant by 'be prepared for them.' Was I supposed to bring a tire-iron or a gun or something? Was I supposed to expect to get the shit kicked out of me? Or did she just mean that she would not be there alone, and they were weird?

  Either way, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. I would never advise someone to do what I had done. And I would certainly never advise a female friend of mine to actually meet up with someone who had done what I had done. But in this case, those two things were coming together, and might even work.

  The rest of that night, I wondered what I should wear, like some love-struck schoolgirl. The truth was, I didn't have a mess of choices. But certain jeans and t-shirts had a better look than others; such as fewer rips, or ripped in more appropriate places. It was too hot for a proper shirt. And if I wore and subsequently ruined my dress pants, Ma would have had my head on a green plastic platter for dinner.

  Money was an issue, but luckily I had put some aside in my piggy bank for the car restoration project. It was time to dig into the emergency funds. It was a good thing I hadn't done any repairs on my car in a spell. Cars are expensive, and the restoration funds were topped off. (And yes, I really did have one of those dorky blue-and-white bloated plastic pigs, a gift from when I was five, to try to teach me the importance of saving. I wasn’t exactly sentimental, but my room and my lumpy twin bed hadn’t changed much since I was a kid; and the bank served a purpose.)

  Bo Robinson. You had stung my heart that first time we met, poisoning me to anyone but you.

  And I was terrified.

  [ Air Hockey ]

  In the morning, I got to hang out with Robby. He was in an arcade mood, so we hit one at the mall. Air hockey, shooting hoops, competitive ATV racing, some old-fashioned pinball. It was all good. But with every dollar I spent, I felt a bit more nervous. I needed my money for tonight. And I had already cut into this week's paycheck with that gas money I spent on Bo's car. I know I had a fair amount of emergency funds, but every dollar spent was like watching a gas gauge sliding toward empty.

  We talked over an air-hockey game, while Robby slaughtered that little puck, making it fly off the table. It was even better for him when the flying puck hit someone, especially in the head. "Sorry!" he would yell. "Could you get that for us? Thank you kindly!"

  I told him more about Bo. We had met at the gas station again. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him we were going out tonight. He wasn't invited, and I didn't want him following me, spying on us, causing problems.

  See, the thing here with Robby was: I never quite knew where he stood. We had been friends forever, and I knew he had my back, but Robby was just one of those people who ultimately did everything for Robby, and you were never quite sure how much you could trust him, or how low he could go.

  On the flip side, I argued with myself, if I were being set up for an ambush, it might make sense to have him as my backup, waiting in the wings.

  But no. This had nothing to do with him. If I got dropped, that was my own damned fault, and I didn't want him getting dragged into it, or getting hurt. He and I had been in gang fights before when we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it wasn't pretty. I knew enough about fighting to defend myself and deflect the punches without being hurt. But Robby relished it, with that temper of his. He took a chain to the back of the head once. But he healed quickly. That scar was a status symbol for him. That was probably the reason he gave his hair the buzz cut, so the girls could see his battle scar. That, and the non-stop heat.

  Whipping his hands across the table, he shouted, "That girl a yours is a FREAK!"

  "I know," I said proudly.

  "You better make sure you go pre-loaded tonight, double-barrel." he advised. 'Pre-loaded, double-barrel' was Robby's way of saying to have a drink first to kill the anxiety, and don't forget to bring some protection in case the night got warm.

  "I'm already there, brother," I confessed.

  "That's what I'm talkin' about." He slammed that little puck and it sliced off the table, right into a little kid's face. "Awww, shit," Robby cursed. The kid started crying, and we both went over to try to console him, while the parents hollered at us. He was ok, but that had to hurt like hell.

  Once we were out of ear shot of the kid’s folk, Robby mocked, “The little pussy. Grow some balls already.”

  I frowned.

  [ Meeting Her Friends ]

  That night, I found a place to park in Atlanta, around the corner from the meetup, and I walked to the Red Parrot. I wasn't sure how I was going to find Bo and her friends, but they were in plain sight on the patio outside, and she saw me as I was approaching. Bo waved happily, and I waved back. I took a detour through the inside of the restaurant to get there, and the next thing I knew, there she was, looking beautiful as ever. Standing to greet me - a hug and a handshake - with her big smile and twinkling eyes. Her friends were seated at an iron-wrought round bistro table behind her.

  Bo introduced me to her friends one by one.

  The first was Amane Kobayashi. Pronounced, Uh-Man'-Ay. Amane was a serious looking Asian girl, studying to be a pharmacist. Her clothes and her body had a sexless rectangular professional simplicity. Her dark-framed glasses made her eyes look bigger than they were; unsympathetic, but not unkind. Eyes you could depend on to get the job done, but not much for emotional support. Her mouth seemed to be frozen into a permanent pout, even when she smiled, if she ever did. She wore no makeup and had very little color. Her body was boyish but not unattractive. From the side, her face looked almost flat, like a store mannequin with the nose squished in.

  She held out her hand to me. "Pleased to meet you."

  I took her hand and nodded. "Very nice to meet you too."

  Next was Chris Kingsway. He was a nerdy computer-geek transplant from California. He seemed small for his age. He had an awkward gait when he walked, with his knees bent a bit and his feet pointing out to either side. And he was thin. Too thin. He was a stick figure that spouted skin. I reckon he tried to make up for being small by growing an unusually large and oddly-shaped beard and moustache. It was hard for me to look away, because I kept wondering why the hell someone would do something like that to his face. I think Bo was saying he already had a job with a big Hospital's IT department, maintaining their network, and doing coding. But honestly, all I heard was "beard, beard, beard. Why?" That was coming from inside my own head.

  He did a nervous wave, without reaching out for my hand. He seemed uncomfortable to be around a stranger like me. Or out in public in general. "Hey," he said politely, fiddling with his beard, wondering if he had already made a mistake, second guessing his greeting. He watched his own feet as he waited for my reply.

  I tilted my head and nodded. "Nice beard." It just came out. I didn't mean to say it. But I couldn't stop myself from saying it. His clothes were the kind of outfit you would expect; baggy white shirt with short sleeves. Dress pants with a brown belt and oversized belt-buckle. Everything seemed to say 'biggie size me' in some form of over-compensation.

  He replied conspiratorially, “It’s a disguise.”

  I had no idea how to inter
pret his comment, and scanned the others faces for a clue, but they were too used to Chris to offer any help. They observed, silent and amused.

  Over time, I would later learn that Chris had the intellectual discipline of an engineer, looking at different possibilities, seeing the world from different angles, and trying to be fair in his assessment. He also had his outrageously, unashamedly flaky side, and a sense of humor that I honestly rarely understood. References to RPG video games and foreign cinema usually went way over my head. The complex trains-of-thought in his head became so convoluted that by the time he had a reply to something we had said, it sometimes had no recognizable connection to the source. Chris led a life that the group knew almost nothing about, including me, but he seemed to need the group. They were his outlet, his only friends, the only escape from whatever private world he had created for himself. And they were his distant companions on the private journey and goals he had created, anchoring him to some sliver of society. Or reality.

  Chris asked me, “Do you like movies?”

  I commented, “I liked The Avengers,” and left it at that. I thought that was a good way to end the conversation.

  But he asked me, "The Marvel Superhero movie? Or the sequel? Or the classic British detective show? Or the Russian movie about the spies? ... "

  He obviously was going to continue with his list of movies and shows related to ‘The Avengers’ while he blinked uncomfortably, so I stopped him, replying simply, "Yep." (Though for the record, I was referring to the Marvel Superheroes.)

  I turned quickly to Bo's next – and last - friend.

  The whole time the former introductions had been taking place, she had dangled her bare legs which were crossed at the knee; buffed her polished nails, and looked around the restaurant's patio at the other patrons, always hunting, posing, and thinking. Her shimmery gold sleeveless tank was low-cut, and tied above her pierced navel. Occasionally she would reach for a cigarette that she never lit, and poised it in her mouth, or tapped it on the table, or against the palm of her hand. Seeming bored, she would pout and check her phone, giggling to herself while answering texts or updating her status.

  Bo looked at her and flashed a patronizing smile. "And this special case is our dear friend, Mags." Bo said it louder, to get her attention. "Mags! Say hello!"

  Mags Wilson looked at me again, as if she had done it already and wasn't unpleased with what she found. "You can carry my purse," she told me, as if that were an honor.

  "No, thanks," I said. "I'm good. But thanks for the offer." Bo and her friends watched with amusement. I had the feeling they had been taking bets on how this introduction was going to go. She reached for the edge of cloth covering her exposed cleavage, and instead of covering up, made the gap more provocative, running her fingertip along her skin. I tried to think of something to say that didn't involve her breasts. I was afraid I might blurt it out, like I had with Chris's beard. "Mags. That short for Maggie or something?"

  "Magnum," she replied with a cat-like grin.

  "Like the gun?" I commented.

  "Or the condoms," she offered suggestively.

  Unlike Bo, Chris, and Amane, she was a Georgia girl, born and raised. Maybe had some trashy roots that came into money through hard work or blind luck. She behaved like she was privileged and the world owed her everything. She was the star of her own show.

  It wasn't apparent to me – on that first night meeting her - what she was doing with these other people, or they with her. But I would come to find that they all had a strange dynamic synergy that complemented one another. And Mags was the most complicated and tragic member of the team. On the surface, she was confident, bold, and uninhibited. She was wild and reckless. She was deep and shallow in equal measure. She spoke in riddles to hide her pain, and her insight. She loved danger and adventure. She struggled to live with a level of zeal that masked how much she secretly wanted to die. She kept the world at superficial arm’s length, nothing more than skin deep associations. She wore many masks, and I am not sure I ever discovered the true Mags. At least that was what I had thought.

  Without thinking, I was blurting again. "Sorry. I didn't bring any Magnums tonight. Didn't know I had such an easy chance a' gettin' lucky."

  Mouths dropped and eyes went wide all around me, but Mags wasn't phased. She reached for a colorful drink and sipped it through a straw then handed me her sequined purse. "You can borrow one of mine. Don't anyone ever say I don't give to CHARITY."

  A chorus of "OHHHH!" rocketed off around us. It was on.

  "Yeah," I started to smirk. "I know your type. All talk, and..." I took the purse and opened it. It was full of condoms, makeup, a clip of cash, including hundreds, a small prescription pill container, and a little gold cross. Stumbling, I finished, "... and you might be the genuine article. Sorry."

  She didn't seem offended. Quite the contrary, she seemed pleased. She took her purse back, and closed it, asking, "So where's your girlfriend tonight?"

  I wanted to say, "Right here," meaning Bo, but I laughed like a shy country boy. "I'm kinda busy with school and work," I dodged.

  Mags stared right at my crotch for a minute making me feel genuinely unpleasant, and then she asked, "Didn't Bo say you had some big, pumping hose kind of thing ... or did she just mean your puny job at the GAS station?"

  It was hard to tell if she were trying to insult me, or flirt with me. I figured it was both. She probably enjoyed cutting down guys; wear them out, toy with them, see if they had what it took to handle the sting of her claws. My mouth opened again of its own free will. "Yeah, my gas station hose. I can show you if you want. I keep it right here in my pants." I tapped myself with confidence.

  I could hear Bo trying to intervene "This is starting to get out of hand, guys. Fun while it lasted, but come on, let's sit down."

  Chris was grinning ear to ear, loving the show. He was taking bets. "He won't do it." Then he added, “Scarlet Monkey!” No one knew what that meant but Chris.

  Amane was looking away, shaking her head. "Why do guys fall all over her. It's not like they're even real."

  Mags heard that and snapped, "Oh, they're real, sunshine." Then she uncrossed her legs and leaned closer to me, hands folded in her lap, like an interviewer. "OK hotshot. Show me what you got."

  My eyes locked with her. I had hung around with Robby for too many years to back down in a game of chicken. I grabbed my pants and unbuttoned the top and started to unzip. By now, people at other tables were starting to stare, point, and whisper. Some college kids a few tables away started hooting and making catcalls. I wasn’t really scared at this point because I knew I had my boxers underneath tonight.

  Bo was getting annoyed. "Alright enough. Both of you. I like this place and don't want to get thrown out. Can’t you just call it a draw and chill out?"

  Mags and I were locked in a dueling stare. She stood up, pushed her body against me, and then shielding her hands from sight, she thrust her hand down my unzipped pants, feeling around. I didn't flinch. Then she whispered, "Need some help with that?" and zipped up my pants, buttoning the top.

  "Thanks," I said.

  She sat back down and crossed her legs, giving me a satisfied smile.

  Chris laughed, "Looks like you passed the initiation."

  "Initiation?" I asked.

  Amane commented with bored disgust, "If you don't get Mags' stamp of approval, you have less than zero percent chance of hanging with us. It's how it always is. I don't know why she's so important."

  "Rivers sometime race uphill," Chris said.

  "She does this a lot?" I asked, casting Chris a sideways confused glance.

  Bo answered, "It's always different."

  Chris said, "It's always a show."

  Amane added, "It's always disgusting." I could tell that she disapproved of me for having said and done what I did. In her eyes, I was no less trash than Mags. Only a hell of a lot poorer.

  Bo took a deep breath, and tried to redirect the evening, "So now tha
t we've all met, and the show's over, maybe we can sit down and have a civilized drink, and get to know each other better."

  Amane groaned. “Hello! She had her hand down his pants. How much better are we supposed to get to know him?”

  Chris suggested excitedly, “We could try a circle jerk.”

  Mags chuckled at her friends, nodded, and called out to me, "What's your name, boy?"

  Bo groaned. All eyes were on her, since she already knew the answer. I looked at her, too, eyebrows raised in anticipation, waiting for permission to unleash the whole name. She groaned again, and told me begrudgingly, "Go ahead. Do it."

  I flashed that big white-toothed grin a' mine and announced, "Waylon-Willy Billy-Bob Bowden!"

  Bo had crossed her arms across her chest, and now, tight-lipped, nodded to her friends. "He's not kidding."

  Mags purred with a calculated shine in her eye. "Everything about you is big."

  Amane moaned. "Gross."

  Chris shouted, "That's a mouthful,” then quickly added, "Sorry, Mags. I stole your line."

  "Ha, ha," she mocked.

  Amane chastised, "Do you ever stop?"

  I was starting to realize that Amane enjoyed turning down her nose at her friend's behavior but she enjoyed being a part of it. She was cold and dry, like an old chardonnay. She was distant, aloof, and judgmental. She seemed as if she might break if someone touched her, but she seemed disappointed that no one tried. She was lonely, but unable to express herself except through light sarcasm. She was brilliant but only demonstrated it when challenged. She was loyal and good. She was a friend who would stand by your side.

  Mags randomly commented, "W2, B3."

  Everyone else looked completely lost, as if it was fairly common to feel lost around Mags. She and Chris were not always easy to decipher, though for completely different reasons.