Innocent Ride

by Robertson, Alethea

  Sally found us a minute later. By then, I was breathing almost normally. “Everything okay, ladies?”

  We nodded.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, Candace, but we need you two back on the phones within the next five minutes or it will be counted against your record. I’d hate for that to happen.”

  I nodded, cleared my throat and followed Carrie out to the floor, but before I reached the threshold, Sally tapped my shoulder.

  “For the record, I would let you stay in here. This order’s coming from Simon.”

  I nodded and continued out the door, wondering why Sally felt the need to tell me that. She’d never said anything human to me before. Oliver was pacing my cubicle anxiously when I returned. He was probably on a scheduled break.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” His nostrils flared. “Look, there is no way you’re going home alone tonight. It’s Friday night. You’re staying at my house. We’re having a slumber party.”

  Chapter 13

  OLIVER’S CONDO WAS a two-story townhome, open and bright. The stairs wrapped around the edge of the room, overlooking a greatroom, floored in hardwood and furnished with modern décor. I would have guessed it was professionally decorated, but something told me that Oliver was gifted in that area. Aside from a few chew toys and Porsche’s pink doggie castle by the couch, the place was immaculate.

  “Hush,” Oliver scolded Porsche, who’d been barking incessantly since Carrie and I arrived. “That’s not how we treat our guests, is it?” He lifted the terrier to his face and let her lick his lips. Gross. Then he shouted, “Let’s order Chinese and get in our PJs!” That’s when the doorbell chimed. “Come in!” our host shouted.

  A moment later, Pete was in the kitchen with us, carrying a sleeping bag, a bag of Cheetos, and a 2-liter of Coke.

  “Hope you don’t mind, I invited Pete. He was having a bad day, too.”

  Carrie and I exchanged glances. I wondered how Sally felt about her husband having a slumber party with girls. But that only made me think of their fairy-tale romance, which made me think of mine…

  “You brought that booch stuff,” Pete said, smiling. “That was good stuff.”

  “You liked the komucha?” I asked, momentarily forgetting to be heartbroken. “It’s so good for you. If you drank one a day, you’d start to feel so much energy…even lose weight.”

  “Think so?” Pete asked, standing taller, sucking in his gut.

  “Well, you’d have to drink it regularly, and probably not drink that.” I pointed to the Coke bottle.

  Pete laughed. “Not drink Coke? Right. What would I drink?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it.

  “How do you make this booch stuff?”

  “I can show you sometime….” I trailed off. The idea reminded me of bottling kombucha with Robbie in the kitchen. I shook my head. I was here to forget. “You can get it in the store, too. Just make sure it has the stuff floating in it, or it’s not real. And watch the sugar content. Did you know our bodies are only supposed to have 35 grams of added sugar in a day?” I looked around. All eyes were glossed over.

  Oliver snapped his fingers. “Speaking of sugar! Chinese food and PJs!”

  “You didn’t say anything about pajamas,” I said. I hadn’t brought any. And I wasn’t sure I could eat anything.

  “Uh, hello? Slumber party? What kind of slumber party did you think it was?” Oliver paused, assessing me. Then he put his patronizing arms around me. “There, there, it’s okay. You’re heartbroken. We’ve all been there, right, Carrie? We don’t think of these details when we’re hurt.”

  I looked at Carrie, wondering why Oliver would be asking her, but she evaded my eyes.

  “Speak for yourself,” Pete said. “I’ve never been heartbroken.”

  “Never-ever?” Carrie asked.

  “Nope.” Pete shook his head.

  “What about Sally?” I asked. “Didn’t you guys break up one time before you got married?”

  Pete sighed. “Yeah, but—”

  “That’s heartbreak,” I insisted. “And now you’re married.” It was enough hope for me.

  “Never mind heartbreak!” Oliver said. “We’re here to forget, remember? C’mere.” He put Porsche on the floor to run, scooped my arm in his, and led me upstairs, across the balcony, through his bedroom, and into his closet. After a second I realized I was alone. “Pajamas and sweats in the middle drawers!” he sang from somewhere outside the closet.

  The formidable closet was at least twice the size of mine and impeccably organized, one side full of designer suits, jackets, and fashionable tops. Trendy shoes lined the shelves on another side, including women’s heels. The sweater-vests Oliver wore every day hung in a row, ordered by color, above two pairs of generic loafers, black and blue. I lifted a pair and then quickly put them down, sure they weren’t generic after all. I found a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and dressed in the closet, not bothering to close the door.

  In the living room, Pete and Carrie were already dressed down and sipping kombucha from wine glasses. Oliver was talking on the phone. He hung up when I got there. “Okay! Food is on the way!” He came over to pull my pants’ drawstring more snugly around my waist. “There.” He smiled, and I admired the black V-neck t-shirt he wore with his flannel pants. Its sleeves hugged his biceps, making them look more defined.

  After checking the time, Oliver excused himself to feed Porsche, whistling all the way. I settled on the couch with my glass of bubbly. I heard the dog food hit the steel bowl, then our happy host was back.

  “Dog is fed. Let’s get a movie going,” he said, digging through his collection, tucked neatly in giant sliding cases, part of the custom entertainment center. I guessed the movies were categorized.

  I thumbed through a Martha Stewart magazine, though I wasn’t really reading any of the words. Robbie’s voice had been leaking into my mind and now it monopolized my thoughts, here on the couch, singing softly in my ear—his voice so velvety and rich, as if it were designed for my ears alone. I could feel his fingers trace my collarbone, his breath on my neck…

  “You okay?” That was not Robbie’s voice. Those weren’t his fingers. And they weren’t tracing my collarbone. They were tapping me out of my reverie.

  “Okay,” Oliver said. “You probably don’t wanna watch a love story.” He walked back over to the entertainment center and closed a drawer with the tap of his hip. Then he moved to the next one. “How ’bout a comedy to cheer you up? I have, hmmm…not a lot without love. Elf? Nah, there’s a love story in it….Bruno? or Mr. Bean? Hmmm…No…ah! Kicking and Screaming! It’s perfect. No love. Just kids. You like kids, right?”

  I nodded, thinking of Shannen.

  Pete shrugged. “Yeah, put it on. Let’s get this party started.”

  “Hey, Ollie, you seeing someone?” Carrie asked as Oliver hit play and lowered the volume.

  Oliver’s whole face brightened and he pounced onto the couch, ready to launch into a tale. But before he could start, the doorbell chimed a short melody. “Oh. Excusez-moi.” He leapt to answer the door. A moment later, he returned with Chinese food, the aroma reminding me of my malnourished stomach. And that reminded me of Robbie. I blinked and concentrated on keeping the waterworks turned off, for the benefit of present company. But there was still a slight leak.

  An hour later, the movie was playing on low volume, our bowls were empty, and we were deep into a game of truth or dare when Oliver had the brilliant idea to call Angel and ask him why he hadn’t called me yet.

  “I’m leaving if you do that!” I said.

  “Fine! But I’m going to talk to him at church.”

  “Church?” Carrie asked with enough confusion for me and Pete, too.

  “Yeah. That’s how we know each other.” He laughed and slapped his knee. “Wanna know something funny? Angel’s an atheist! And he goes to church!” He continued laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Pete joined him, then Carrie.
/>   “So…You didn’t finish telling us…who’s this new guy?” Carrie asked.

  All color flushed from Oliver’s face. “Guy? What guy?”

  Silence. I looked around. Carrie and Pete wore the same expression I was sure I had on. No one was buying Oliver’s innocence.

  “Oliver,” Carrie said. “Everyone knows—”

  Oliver crossed is arms, indignant. “Everyone knows what?”

  “Okay, truth or dare,” Pete said.

  Oliver looked around. “Dare! Ha!”

  “I dare you to tell us who you’re seeing!”

  Oliver’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that! That’s a truth!”

  Pete wasn’t amused. “Okay…I dare you to show us who you’re seeing. Let’s get in the car and go there now. Wherever…your lover is.”

  We all turned to Oliver, expectant.

  “Fine!” he said, spitting out his answer like it was bad soup. “I’ll tell you.” A dreamy daze softened his features, but they hardened as he spoke. “We met at work. But it’s a secret! You can’t tell anyone. It’s our families….”

  “Name?” Pete folded his arms, a parent interrogating his child.

  Oliver threw his face into a pillow and murmured something.

  “Huh?” we all said in unison.

  “C’mon, man,” Pete coaxed. “You don’t gotta hide it. It’s what makes you…, well, you.”

  Oliver lowered the pillow, revelation in his emerging smile, his posture a little straighter.

  He scooted closer. “Kay…I’ll give you a last name….” He studied his audience, as if still undecided. Then he shouted, “Philip! Ahhh!” and shoved the pillow in his face again.

  “You’re dating one of the Philips? As in the picketing Philips?”

  “Shh-shh!” Oliver flailed his arms and darted glances around the room, as if someone could be spying on us. “Can’t tell a soul!”

  We all nodded our promises. Carrie zipped her lips.

  “Yeah, man,” Pete said solemnly.

  Oliver wasn’t convinced. “No! Pinky-swear. You have to!”

  Now we knew it was serious. Our host pinky-hooked each of our little fingers, one at a time, and was finally satisfied.

  “Still can’t get over the fact that you’re dating your sworn enemy,” I said.

  “As in your oppressor,” Carrie agreed.

  “What does that mean?” Oliver said, offended. “Oppressor! I swear, you guys act like I’m gay or something.”

  Silence again. We all exchanged looks, questions clearly plastered on our faces. I was starting to feel bad for assuming…all this time.

  “Well, then you can stop wearing those ridiculous costumes,” Pete said.

  “What costumes?” Oliver folded his arms neatly on his lap, his lips pursed. He removed a ball of lint from his V-neck. Now he was being ridiculous.

  “No,” Carrie chimed in. “I think that has to do with the family, right?”

  “The Philips?” Oliver lowered his head. “No.” It was an obvious lie.

  “Man, you can’t let people intimidate you,” Pete said. “Man up. Be yourself and let them show everyone what asses they are.”

  Carrie and I nodded in agreement, impressed with Pete’s wisdom. I suppose it was easier to see the truth when you weren’t directly involved.

  “Fine, Ollie,” Carrie said. “Which one’s yours?”

  “Nope, uh-uh. I gave you a name. That’s all you get tonight.” Oliver was thoughtful for a moment, the corner of his lips fighting a smile. Then he shifted. “Pete! I spilled my secret. What is going on with you and Sally?”

  Pete shifted and wrapped a blanket around his large body. I got the feeling that Oliver knew more than I did about this, maybe even more than Carrie. We both leaned forward. What could possibly be wrong with Pete’s happily-ever-after?

  “C’mon, I shared my secret. It’s your turn. I need leverage. Can’t go to work Monday morning without it.”

  “What do you mean?” Pete waved his pinky finger.

  “That’s only half of it. Plus, we gotta figure this out. You don’t really want to divorce, do you?”

  I gasped. “No, not you and Sally! Divorce, really? She’s your soul mate! What’s so wrong that can’t be fixed?”

  “First Brangelina, now you?” Carrie said.

  “What? Brad and Angie are divorcing?” Oliver threw his face in the pillow, yelling, “Noooooo!” Then he lifted his head and threw himself back dramatically onto the cushions. “They were my inspiration! What is happening to this world?!”

  “There, there,” Carrie teased. “We know it’s hard news to take.”

  “Pete, how could it come to this? Sally is your soul mate,” I said again. They were my hope! If they couldn’t make it…

  Oliver patted my back. “See, Pete, you’re upsetting the child. If you go through with it, what will happen to her? She’ll be forever damaged!”

  “Oliver, how do you know so much about Pete’s marriage?” Carrie asked. “I know Pete wouldn’t say anything.”

  Oliver lifted a chin. “I have my ways. Spill,” he ordered Pete.

  Pete lowered his head and shrugged. “We just grew apart, that’s all.”

  Grew apart? No, that could not be possible with star-crossed love. Could that be the reason Pete always seemed sad? Or was sugar killing their love! That had to be it—sugar!

  “Sally’s focused on her career right now,” Pete said. “And I…well, I can’t compete with that.”

  “Ah,” Carrie said, as though that answered everything.

  “Why do you need to compete? You two are connected. You’re one. Shouldn’t the rest be a team effort?”

  “In other words, she’s never home,” Oliver blurted out, as if he’d lived it himself. “I know the kind.”

  Carrie nodded. “Yep. Saw that one coming.”

  “Thanks,” Pete said with sarcasm.

  “Is that really a reason to break up?” I insisted. They had always been so in love! “I mean, can’t you make time for each other? Maybe there’s a need that isn’t getting met at home…what?” Why was everyone staring at me? Was I being rude? It didn’t seem rude. We were all friends here. Friends tell the hard-to-hear.

  Pete shrugged. “Maybe.” But something changed in his expression and I knew he was done talking.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “You’re not getting out of this, Carrie.”

  Carrie leaned back onto her pillow, her blonde flow fanning out onto the floor. “What? I have nothing to share.”

  It was true. Carrie hid nothing. She didn’t care what anyone thought, even her supervisors.

  “Well? Have you ever been in love?” Oliver persisted. “And you can’t lie, because I already know. If you don’t spill, I will. Leverage, remember?” He wiggled his pinky at her.

  Carrie sighed and propped herself on an elbow. “Once. A long time ago. It was…let’s say, magical…for you, Candace.” She quoted the air with her manicured nails. “He was everything I ever wanted. It was as if he was made just for me. Our connection was so powerful. It pulled us together. I can still remember it…. We shared the same values, too, which helped. And we had plans. He was going to finish an anthropology degree and we were going to travel to dig sites around the world.” Her voice was wistful. Then she lowered her voice into a solemn murmur. “We really had it all. It was a dream come true, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. Then one day, he turned it all off, just like that. No explanation. He just left.”

  “Oh, Carrie!” I threw my arms around her, ignoring her squirming. Oliver and Pete followed with bear hugs. It explained a lot, really. Then it made me think of Robbie, how he’d just turned it off. After all this time, Carrie still hadn’t filled the hole that her first love had left. She drowned herself in variety to forget. Is that what I had to look forward to? Was that life after love? I wondered what she’d be like now if she’d gotten her happily-ever-after.

  Oliver jumped up, ran to the kitchen, and returned with
the remaining kombucha. “Let’s make a toast!” He popped the top of a bottle, grabbed Carrie’s glass, and filled it. Once he’d filled each of our glasses, opening two more bottles to do so, he raised his glass. “Tonight, we’re moving on!”

  “To moving on!” we said in unison, our glasses clinking in the center of our huddle.

  “I have an idea!” Oliver said. “I know this lady...she’s a…well, she does energy healing. She’s the best in the whole country and she lives right here in Kansas—just outside Topeka, in fact. Let’s do a healing. All of is. Let’s clear this junk out and really move on.”

  “What?” Pete asked.

  “A healing?” Carrie said, narrowing her eyes. “What kind of healing?”

  “Energy healing. With Candace’s broken heart, and Pete’s failing marriage, and Carrie’s slutty—”

  “Hey!” Carrie held her lips parted as though she had more to say, but then she closed her mouth.

  “Anyway,” Oliver continued. “This lady lives out in the country with like a hundred cats…she’s really good, the best, in fact. She’s a witch, an astrologer, an energy healer—”

  This was sounding familiar. “Is her name Alice Hunts, by chance?” I asked.

  Alice wasn’t a healer, too, was she? It wouldn’t surprise me, though, since she did everything else.

  “Yes, you know her?” Oliver said, his smile stretching across his cheeks.

  “I’m not going to some loony witch lady,” Pete said.

  “She’s not loony,” I said. “She really is the best astrologer. I don’t know about her healing powers—”

  “Honey, you have no idea.” Oliver flared his nostrils and slapped my knee. He looked around. “She’s best known for her witchcraft. She makes things happen, if you know what I mean.” He paused to study his audience. “It’s time for transformation…no more heartbreak. No more hiding. No more settling. No more running. We’re doing it!” At that last part, he looked at Carrie, who was apparently done arguing. “To healing!” he said, lifting his nearly empty glass.

  Carrie nodded and raised her glass. “To healing!”

  Pete and I followed. Then Oliver bound us by our pinkies once more. “Great! We’ll go together Monday. I’ll drive. Let’s meet at my car after work.” Why did I have the feeling he’d already made the appointment?