Bo quickly introduced me to her Ma, "Heather," I was surprised that she called her mother by her first name, "This is Waylon." For a second, I almost looked around. I wasn't used to hearing myself introduced as Waylon. It darned near sounded fancy when you said it by itself, like that. At least when she said it, it did. I more-or-less approved. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Much obliged for having me." My Ma had at least managed to teach me a handful of manners over the years.
"Nice to meet you, Waylon. Make yourself at home. Grab a plate, and dig in. There's plenty to go around."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Her mom sounded more Yankee than Bo.
As I stepped away to grab a plate, I could hear her say to Bo, "He seems like a nice boy. Where did you meet him?"
"He's going to college for Communications,” she replied, carefully evading the question, offering a detail she thought her mother might prefer.
"Oh! That's nice."
As I sat down at the table, most of the others were finishing up. Chris broke out a deck of SkipBo cards, and suggested we play. It seemed funny to be having such a tame party like this with croquet and card games. It was good that it wasn't a windy day, or else everything would have blown over. To my surprise, the others were into it though. Even Mags. “Deal me in," she said. Everyone except Mags was drinking cokes. I gathered the alcohol coolers were for the older folk, like her mother's friends, more of whom were arriving every minute.
Mags was across from me. At one point, she lifted her sunglasses, showing the double-hangover she nursed. She met my eyes, and then held the back of a card to me, covering the bottom half. No one else seemed to notice. The card said half the name of the game. “Skip.” A moment later, she nodded and shifted her fingers upward, covering the word “Skip.” It said “Bo.” She paused, waiting for it to sink in. I wasn’t sure why she was saying it, but sure enough she was telling me not to think about Bo again. Having made her point, she was done with the card game, and said, “I’m out.” She put her hand on the table and pushed it away.
Chris corrected her, “You can’t be out, you have cards in your hand.”
“I mean I’m done. I need to conserve energy for my lemonade.”
“Lemonade, right,” Amana scoffed.
At that point, Bo's mom came over to us, and asked, "Could you kids scoot over a little, to make some more room for people who haven't eaten yet?"
Bo offered innocently, "I'll sit in Waylon's lap. That'll free up an entire spot." The rest scooted their butts across the bench, squeezing us together as close as they could. We started playing cards. Bo and I shared a hand since we occupied the same relative space. I tried not to let Mags cryptic messages get me down. I couldn't believe that I had just gone out with Bo for the first time the night before, and now I was at her house, with her family and friends, playing cards, with her sitting on my lap. It was Heaven. I thought to myself, "It doesn't get much better than this!"
And I was right. It didn't. It got worse. Fast.
A guy showed up. Good-looking fellow. Clean cut, handsome, polite, and built like a baseball player. Everyone seemed to know him. He shook their hands and gave hugs and kisses as he made his way through the yard. Personally, I thought he looked a little uppity, and I turned to Bo's friends and asked, "Who's that guy?"
Chris answered, "Bo's boyfriend."
I choked. He had to be kidding.
Bo called to him, and waved, blowing him a kiss. She didn't seem to feel the least bit awkward sitting on my lap. And he didn't seem to mind or show any kind of jealousy.
I turned back to Chris, seeking support from her other friends, and whispered, "No, seriously. Is that her brother?"
Bo heard me and clarified. "Nope. That's my boyfriend, Ryan. I wasn't sure he was going to be able to make it today. He's been tied up with a project he's working on. That's why he wasn't out with us last night. He's away a lot."
I was so confused. A building collapsed in my brain and fell through my stomach. This entire household, neighborhood, and situation was completely alien to me, and I was beginning to feel more than a little out of my element.
Crest-fallen, it was a struggle to breathe, and to plaster a phony smile on my face. I noticed Mags and Amane staring at me from across the table, each privately gauging, noting, and assessing me.
"I told you," Mags said, literally biting the corner of her lip, and intuitively understanding what was going on. It was true that she had said "she isn't yours" at the club the night before, but she had been higher than a Georgia pine and I didn't think she had had any idea what she was saying. I was wrong. She knew. And she remembered. And she had tried again with the Skip-Bo cards as well. If I was so transparent, why didn’t she just say, “Hey! Did you know Bo has a boyfriend?” Maybe she didn’t feel it was her place to speak for Bo. But she had been trying to protect me, anyway.
Of course, then the other side of me kicked in. If Bo didn’t say it herself, and no one felt the need to point it out explicitly, then maybe everything was still fair game, up for grabs, so I decided I would do my best to ride this storm out and see where it went.
Chris asked, "Told you what?"
"I was talking to W2," Mags said, not willing to elaborate.
[ Melting My Hopes ]
Ryan came over and gave Bo a polite kiss, then held out his hand to me. "Ryan Collins," he said by way of introduction with a fashionable British accent; a friendly smile, and warm eyes showing no sign of suspicion or jealousy.
I took his hand and said, "I'd stand up but ..." I stopped myself. Was I really about to say, "I've got your girlfriend in my lap”? I successfully filtered and continued, "Nice to meet you. Any friend of Bo is a friend of mine." I was laying it on thick.
He released my hand. It was a natural release, not an angry one. We had done the shake for long enough. "Really?" he asked, without malice. "How long have you known Bo? I was under the impression that you'd just met."
"Honestly, I was just being polite," I joked with a tacked on laugh. "You're right about just meeting her, but she and her friends have made me feel ... welcome." The group all nodded, smiled, and sang their praises of me.
Chris boasted, "He survived quite the show with Mags last night. That alone was worth the price of admission."
Ryan smiled sweetly at her. "Mags. Up to your tricks again?"
She took out a small file and began buffing her nails, cocking her head and smiling back. "There is nothing to fear, but fear itself. Try that in one of your speeches."
"I think it's been used, but I'll tuck it away, for the off chance."
I watched the interplay, unable to understand it. Ryan and Mags didn't have quite the same warmth as the others.
Amane said, with her precise clinical detachment, gesturing to me with a nod of her nose, telling Ryan, "He's willing to have fun. But he knows where to draw the line."
I smirked. "Sometimes." Then, I realized Bo was still in my lap, and I thought this might not be the best time to admit I had a problem with judgment and a lack of filters.
Mags added, "I have big plans for that boy, so be nice to him." She blew me a kiss. "W2."
Ryan turned to Bo, and relayed, "And you haven't stopped talking about him, so that seems to be a unanimous endorsement." Bo blushed a bit and hid her face. Ryan looked at me and gave me a manly pat on the shoulder. "I look forward to getting to know you better. Find out what everyone sees in you."
I wasn’t sure if it was genuine; or a challenge.
I wondered if he knew I was there because I thought Bo liked me; that I had pursued her, hoping to have her fall helplessly in love with me. If he did suspect, he didn't show it. He seemed completely to trust Bo. His self-assurance was maddening.
And while I sat there, I wondered, "And what's up with Bo? Hasn't she been flirting with me, and giving me the eye, and leading me on? Or is she just friendly and I've been imagining everything else? Even Ryan said that Bo hasn't stopped talking about me. What did that mean? Exactly? Or was she so i
nnocent and good natured that she told Ryan everything, including me. I just didn't know. It was possible that I had misread every cue. Had I been so blind growing up on my side of the tracks that I had no idea how the other half lived?
I scrutinized Ryan. His suit probably cost more than my car. Every hair was in place. He was handsome and charming. I hated him.
I would find out over time that Ryan was a political science graduate and was employed as a speechwriter while he prepared for law school. He traveled often to Washington D.C and abroad, and recently had been away for a few days. He was genuinely a good person, but seemed to be more concerned with appearances than feelings. He loved Bo, but whether he loved her because of who she was and what she cared about, or because of how he might look with Bo on his arm, like a trophy, considering the useful connections of Bo’s mother, was never completely clear to me.
He was so far out of my league that I didn't even register on the 'threat meter' to him. He probably thought I was a poor heap of trash that would never amount to anything more. But he didn’t know what I was capable of. Neither did I. But at that moment, I started to change inside. Bo would be my girl. She would.
Ryan didn't ask anyone to give him a seat at the picnic table. He ate standing up, a plastic plate with hotdogs smothered in ketchup, mustard, and relish balanced in one hand.
As he ate, in between bites, he told a story of his recent trip. "I was meeting to discuss an upcoming campaign, and how to address it. We were locked in a room with very important people, all sitting around an incredibly overpriced conference table. And everyone's eyes were on me, as I spoke. They seemed to be hanging on my every word. And their heads nodded in this peculiar way as I spoke, but no one gave me any indication that there was - as you say - a "booger" - dangling from my nostril. No one was quite sure if it wanted to pop out, or get sucked back in. It would have been rather nice, if someone had found a way to notify me, for example, a gesture to the nose, a note passed across the table, an ‘excuse me, could we speak outside’ ... but honestly, I think they were all quite engaged with finding out where it was going to end up." Everyone laughed. Even I did.
I called out, "So where did it go?"
"Excuse me?"
"The booger," I asked. "Whereabouts did it end up?"
"Oh." He smiled a broad smile and involuntarily wiped at his nose with a dab of his pinky. "It went flying out my nose, and landed smack on the table in front of me. One moment I was talking politics, and the next moment, I realized I had just blown a bogey onto this polished tabletop in front of a group of influential American leaders." He paused, and added, "All I could think to say was, 'Snot what it looks like." His eyes twinkled with friendly mirth.
We all laughed again. (But I still hated him.)
I secretly admitted I had already misjudged him. He definitely wasn't the stuck-up snob I expected him to be. Even though his manners were stiff, probably from good breeding, he was relaxed and had a good sense of humor. And he wasn't afraid to poke fun at himself. Slowly, I was beginning to realize I liked him too… or could, anyway, if he were not Bo’s boyfriend.
Bo reached out and touched his hand, and held it sweetly for a moment while he spoke.
Yet, the whole time she was sitting in my lap. Mine. It made no sense to me at all.
Ryan turned to Bo, and became very businesslike. "To let you know, I've made arrangements for us to have dinner tomorrow night at Chez Alistair. Your mother and one of her colleagues are also invited. I took the liberty of having your new dress sent out to be dry-cleaned. We'll have a car pull around, about 6, to escort us to our reservations."
I thought I felt Bo sigh, her body pressed against mine, but I heard her say, "That sounds wonderful. Thank you. You always take care of everything."
For a moment, I wondered if that were Bo's version of Bless Your Heart, which - depending on how you say it - actually meant, 'fuck you.'
Mags stood up, and grabbed a chip, loading it with the spinach dip that very few people were eating. She walked to where I sat; chip in one hand, red Solo cup in the other. "Open wide," she said to me.
"What?" I asked, not sure what she was doing.
"I just want to know if you like the dip." She pushed the chip into my mouth. "I made it myself." She had a lovely familiar drawl, being a Georgia girl. Her words, however, felt like they hid a cryptic double meaning.
Bo laughed, missing the hidden message. "You didn't make that."
"I had some at least. It was forgettable at best. But never-the-less," she said, "after last night, I feel as if I've become quite familiar with W2, and very much wanted to put something in his mouth. But I wasn't sure a tongue would be appropriate at your mother's Bar-B-Q."
Chris joked, "Why don't you ever want MY mouth?"
Mags gave him a condescending glance. "If you have to ask..."
Amane rolled her eyes. "Leave the new guy alone."
"Hey! What about me?" Chris asked, indignant. “He who has never hoped can never despair.”
Showing off, Ryan recognized the quote, “Shaw.”
Mags pouted, "Give a sister some space. I'm trying to cheer the boy up."
"Cheer him up?" Bo tipped her head back over her shoulder, and asked me, "Are you not having a good time?"
Although I wasn't sure about the unexpected boyfriend, I replied, "There's no place I'd rather be." Bo could sit in my lap forever, surrounded by a collection of new friends who were opening my eyes to a whole new world that was very different from anything I had ever known with Robby.
Mags seemed irritated. She hushed her voice and said, "You've got a little something something on your lip." Then she bent down and kissed me to a chorus of "OHHHHs." When she retreated, she offered, "My mistake. It must have been your moustache."
I was too stunned to react, but I probably looked as if I had just pissed myself.
Bo winced. "Mags, don't you think you're trying too hard? Give Waylon a break. He just met us."
"Hard is my specialty, sunshine. And I assure you, I have every intention of jumpin' that boy's bones."
I blushed. Bo was indignant. Amane chimed in. "We actually enjoy his company. It would be nice if you didn't scare this one away with your theatrics."
"He's not afraid of me." She locked her eyes relentlessly on mine.
Ryan was amused. "You really have found your way quickly into the heart of our circle."
Chris laughed, "And you should hear his full name."
I was tired of that one for now. I waved it off. "Some other time."
Ryan waited to see if I would cave, but I didn’t, so he changed the subject.
"When I arrived, I noticed someone had assembled a volleyball net on the front lawn. There also appeared to be an old rust pile, so that we could tether the net to the bumper."
It took a second to sink in, but then I realized that the "old rust pile" was my car. My heart sank. I had spent a mess a spare cash and a lot of long days in the sweltering muggy Atlanta heat in my Pa’s driveway, fighting with building and restoring that horrible old wreck. My car was important to me. It had been a labor of love for years, being crafted together from the parts of various other junks. It was mostly finished, except for the paint. An ugly primer had been covering it for way too long. Sometimes I thought about doing a quick spray job, but with most everything else in my life, I preferred to wait for the right moment, rather than get something done for the sake of doing it.
That car might have looked like shit, but it had a lot going on under the cover.
And I was offended. Ryan’s comment hadn't sounded like a joke, though it was a little hard to tell sometimes, with his dry British humor. I thought about the street lined with expensive cars, including this very driveway of Heather Robinson. It was becoming harder and harder to keep my happy face. What was I doing here? Even though I liked everyone, they were all so much better off than me, having nice clothes, and fancy cars. They traveled, and had money to spare. How could I even think about me and Bo Robinso
n? What could I possibly bring to her that she didn't already have? Her life was good. It was full of friends, and family, and vacations, and all the toys and gifts she could possibly want. I was just a poor old redneck kid with a dumb-as-fuck phone that wouldn't even text, and an "old rust pile" for a vehicle that was only good for tethering volleyball nets on rich kids' lawns.
Mags suddenly tipped her Solo cup to my mouth. "Here. To make the dip go down easier." I took a drink. I was right, it was a lot harder than lemonade. It felt good. It went straight to my head. When she pulled the cup away, she asked, "Better?" And cast a sympathetic smile.
I nodded. "I needed that. Thanks."
She whispered to me, "They're not from around here, any of them." She seemed to understand.
Ryan took off his suit jacket, and again asked, as if no one had been listening, "So who's up for volleyball?"
Everyone began to chime in, while standing up, "Me." "Ok." "Sure, let’s do it." "How do we divvy up the teams?" "I'll have to take off my shoes." That last one was Mags, wearing her classic come-fuck-me pumps.
I dreaded the walk to the front yard, knowing that more jokes about my car were inevitable. Mags took off her shoes, took my arm by the elbow, and escorted me. Chris hobbled along behind us, hands flapping in the air, as if he were break-dancing to an invisible song.
Under The Covers Page 5