by Jack Worr
“Ha ha. You are so funny Mr Mason.”
“Just Mason.”
“Why do boys like to be called by their last names?”
“Mason is my first name.” He frowns. “How do you know my name?”
“What’s your last?”
“What? Grey. What’s yours?”
“Doyle. What’s your middle name?”
“Jeez you’re nosy.”
“If I’m a little nosy would you call me…” she trails off, apparently stumped.
“Ugly.”
The three of them laugh.
Emily glares.
“What’s yours?”
“Fuck you shit-licker.”
“That’s a long one,” Travis comments.
“Penelópē,” her ‘friend’ puts in.
“Bitch.”
“But her sister calls her Penny. Like the coin.”
“I fucking hate you so much right now.”
“Beer?” Travis asks, looking at Mason.
Mason nods. “Beer.” He turns to Emily.
“Bye Penny,” the boys say in unison and everyone laughs again.
Except Penny.
24
What Emily found most odd about the naked man, was that he did not scream as he fell into her pool.
His fall wasn’t graceful, but luckily for him he didn’t seem to be going very fast, judging by the splash he made.
None of this really was on Emily’s mind however, as she stared expressionlessly, stunned by the shock of some illusion that made it seem as if the man had fallen from nowhere. She swayed, unmoving in the same spot she had been, tea still in her hand, still poised to sit down and do some tumblr-ing pool-side.
Several seconds passed with her in this frozen state. The man did not resurface. She retained enough wits to gently set her iPad and drink down on the table instead of just letting them fall to the ground before she dove in to hopefully rescue, possibly retrieve the body of, the man. She came up and almost drowned before she realized what was atop her head was not a squid, but mere fabric. She tossed it and swam to the side, man in tow.
Her next shock came when she got the man out of the pool and realized it was Mason. When she noted that she was seeing Mason naked, it was dispassionately, as a doctor might, because there were only so many times you could be surprised in under a minute.
She got in one chest compression, avoiding the fresh line of stitches which she only peripherally wondered about, before Mason sat up, slamming his head into hers.
“Assfuck!” she said holding her forehead. “What are you doing?” She rubbed the sore spot. “Are you okay?”
Mason looked around the backyard, then down at himself. “What am I wearing?”
“The emperor’s new clothes. It’s a trend.” She grabbed the towel she’d been planning to lie on, gave it to him, then helped him up.
When he’d gotten it wrapped around himself, she said, “At least you still have your shoes.” Then she pointed at the fabric still floating in the pool. “And that, I think.”
“I’m at your house.”
“You’re not selling Old Spice.”
“What?” Mason asked bewilderedly. He looked sideways at her. His eyes didn’t seem quite in consensus on which spot to focus on, as if they’d had a disagreement and decided to go their own separate ways for now.
“I was worried about you. You didn’t respond to my texts. What happened to you? You look like crap. Donate some organs since yesterday? You should sit.”
Mason sat on a lounger with a seat of white rubber straps. “It’s cold.”
He didn’t want to tell her he’d been in an accident. Didn’t want to because of how similar it was. The truck, coming from nowhere.
The truck, he thought. Had it been the same type?
Emily sat next to him and rubbed her hand up and down his back.
“Has it only been a day?” he asked.
“Since what?”
“Since—” he squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, looked around. “When was I here?”
“Yesterday. Why? Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance? Did you hit your head?”
“Not recently, Mom.”
“I’m not the one acting weird, going around naked.” She stared at him.
After a moment he looked at her. “Yeah?”
She gestured to where he’d fallen into the pool, the tree nearby. “What were you doing? I know your weren’t trying to spy on me or break in. Did you see a cat and fall again?”
Mason had a memory of a Labor Day party, climbing the tree to “rescue” someone’s damn cat, and them both falling into the pool. That cat was willing to do anything to stay above water, and the many tiny scars on Mason’s scalp and neck only served testament to that.
“I need to get my car.”
She eyed his attire. “Like that?”
“Clothes first, then car.” He frowned. “Have anything I can wear?”
“I have some shorts that would look cute on you.”
“Genius.”
The clothes turned out to be crappy, but they were clothes, and her dad’s, and thus men’s, clothes, and that was all Mason required from them. Even his shoes, after twenty minutes in the dryer, were good as new. Or near as.
His car would be harder. He’d have to find out where it was, which wouldn’t be easy if the cops were after him. Which they seemed to be, though that didn’t make any sense, since he was the one who’d been hit, not the other way round.
You jumped out a window to get away from them. Not the actions of an innocent man.
After calling around from Emily’s cell, which he was hesitant to do but saw no other choice, he discovered his car was at a nearby mechanic’s, and that he was probably not wanted by the police—or he was and they simply hadn’t let on because they had tracked him and were on their way even now. Nothing he could do either way.
Upon calling the mechanic, he was told that yes, his car had been fixed, and yes, it was ready for pickup, it had been ready for two days, and that no, storage was not free, and yes, a day was considered to be twelve hours, and yes, he would have to pay all the fees.
After verbally thanking and mentally cursing the mechanic, Mason hung up and looked at Emily. “I think I’m gonna need your help.”
Her mouth formed a wicked smile. “Does this mean I’m going to get to drive?”
25
Emily Penelópē Doyle had a car. A car her parents would not allow her to drive unaccompanied, for multivariate reasons. Not the least of which—though it was toward the bottom of the list—being that she only had her learner’s permit. (Why she had waited until almost twenty to get a license was the subject of much debate among scholars; some posited that it was due to her rebellious nature, other, more Freudian scholars, said it was due to her child-like desire to be taken care of. Among non-experts, the consensus, reached unanimously and without debate—indeed without discussion—was that she was lazy and refused to study for the traffic laws and signs test and so repeatedly failed it.)
But now, she was not unaccompanied. She was in fact accompanied by a screaming man—but a screaming man who had a license.
This, she felt, justified taking the car out on this fine day. And, as far as she knew, she was legally in the right.
“There’s a speed limit!” Mason shouted. Most of this sound was sucked out through the open roof of the convertible.
“What?” Emily looked at him.
“No! Watch road, not me!”
She leaned sideways toward him. “What?”
“Slow down!”
Mason’s face slammed into the phone mount before his seatbelt had the opportunity to strangle him, which it belatedly did now.
Horns blared as several cars swerved around the car that had suddenly come to an abrupt, screeching halt in the middle of the currently docile but by no means vacant highway.
Emily slammed the car into gear, and Mason was thrown back against his seat before he�
��d caught his breath.
Tires spun and Emily flipped off one of the cars as she repassed it.
An unfortunate bug, unable to escape the slipstream of the sleek convertible, was somehow sucked into the cabin, and sent to its splattery demise against Mason’s right cheek.
He screamed out a curse, but even he couldn’t hear it.
Emily changed six lanes in one smooth yet frightening move, and took the off-ramp.
He felt the rear end slide out as they took the circular exit at three times the posted limit.
The stoplight came into view and Mason saw that it was red.
This is how I die, he thought.
Emily stomped the brakes and magically turned the wheel somehow to go into a controlled skid.
They stopped.
Mason looked out his side window, at the rear bumper of the car less than a foot in front of them. The license plate had one of those little circled E’s. The top of the car was adorned with a light bar. Its paint scheme was black and white.
The officer got out of his car. The traffic light was still red.
He approached.
Emily pointed at something.
Mason didn’t dare move.
The officer looked where she pointed, back to her, back to the thing she still pointed at.
He looked like he was going to say something.
Emily got there first. “New brakes.” She shrugged. “Came out of nowhere.”
The officer shook his head, looked past their car, at the line rapidly forming behind them. Horns sounded from far up. He turned and looked at the light, which was green now. He shook his head, got back in his car, pulled out, and turned left.
He looked at what she had pointed at. A raccoon sat, just off the road, observing the scene. Mason shook his head. “I can’t believe you have a license.” Then he said, “I’m alive.”
Emily got the car straightened, ignoring the horns as she backed up into a several point turn. She twisted to look behind them, waved, then put on her left blinker. She shrugged. “I don’t.”
“No, right.”
She continued forward.
“Right! Turn right!”
“Jesus, calm down.” She swerved right, Mason felt impact. Horns blared.
She screamed something at the person behind her. Then she turned right.
“You’re supposed to stop.”
She just looked at him.
They drove on.
Minutes later, they pulled into the lot of the shopping center where the mechanic’s was located.
Mason confirmed that the car that had hit them was still following.
Emily parked.
The car pulled up behind them, about twenty feet away. A large man got out.
“Awesome,” Mason said.
Emily looked behind her. “I got this.” She undid her pants.
“Whoa!” Mason shouted. “What—”
“Chill.” She took her pants off. Mason was relieved when he saw underwear, but also still disturbed.
She opened the door and got out.
Mason sunk down in his seat, adjusted the side view mirror to get a better view, and watched. It was all he could think to do.
A man got out of the car, left the door open.
Quick escape, Mason thought.
The man said something.
Emily waved at the air, now standing in front of him. She came up to his chest, and she wasn’t a short girl. “Oh,” she said loudly. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t realize.”
Mumbling of the man.
“I know it’s my fault…”
Mumble mumble mumble.
“I’m so totally sorry…” She lowered her voice, and now Mason couldn’t hear her words. Mumble mumble mumble mumble, mumble. Mumble.
The man gestured cryptically at the air at this. Mumbled something.
Emily went on: “I’d really appreciate if…” mumble mumble “help me…” mumble mumble mumble mumble.
The man grumbled something, gestured toward his car, then hers.
“Oh my God,” she shrieked, “really? You’re definitely right, you can’t even see it. You’re too nice though. Really awesome.” She hugged him. He held his hands slightly away from her body, patted her shoulder once, twice.
She held on long enough to make even Mason uncomfortable. “You rule,” she said releasing him. “Thank you thank you. I love you.”
The man motioned indistinctly, mumbled something, then headed back to his car.
Mason watched in shock as he got in his car, got it turned around, then left.
Emily got back in the car.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What?” she asked, pulling on her pants.
26
“It’s weird.” The mechanic gestured at Mason’s car. “You’d think there’d be more damage.” He finished wiping his hands on a cloth and stuffed it into the pockets of his overalls. “But it’s fine really. It wouldn’t start because the battery cable was loose.”
“Thanks for being honest.”
“No need to thank me.” He reached into his pocket. “Just think of me if you get that fixed.” He gestured with the business card at the body damage, then held it out.
Mason took the card. “I will. It’s good to drive for now though?”
“Perfectly A-OK.”
Mason had already paid, worrying about whether he’d be tracked through Emily’s credit card, then discounting the notion as ridiculous—he was picking up his car from the place the cops dropped it off at. If they were after him, they would have been there already.
While the attendant who’d helped him pay had been very helpful in swiping Emily’s metal Amex and giving him a receipt, she’d been less than helpful in letting him know the state of his car, or indeed if he’d even be able to drive it out of there. The fact that the bill wasn’t itemized just made things more confusing, and the price had seemed lower than Mason had expected.
Now, Mason got in, glad that he would be able to drive himself out of here. Very glad.
He examined the interior, flipped the visor down. “Where are the keys?”
The man jolted, one hand going up, index finger extended. “Be right back.”
Mason continued looking around the car after the mechanic left. In a cradle attached to the dashboard, he spotted something that made his heart melt. The cradle too was partly melted, but his phone seemed fine.
“My phone!” Mason cried triumphantly. He looked around some more, opened the glovebox, which now stuck a bit. His passenger seat was charred, and was damp to the touch. But the wallet in the center console storage was pristine. “My wallet!” he held this and the phone to his chest. “I love you.”
“You should see a doctor about that. Or a shrink.”
Mason turned his phone on and checked his email.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.”
“I can drive if you want.”
He looked up at her, pausing his email processing. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Cock eater.” She punched his face.
“Ow! Mother—” He rubbed the spot.
“Oh, shit. Are you okay? I meant to hit your shoulder.”
“I’m fine shitface.”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. The car, and the angle…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
Mason frowned. “Yeah?”
“You can punch my boob if you want.”
The mechanic interrupted, “Uh…”
Mason and Emily turned to look at him.
He held up the keys, jingled them once. “Here you go.” He held the keys to Emily, then Mason, then settled on a spot between the two.
Mason glared at Emily, then took the keys.
Emily frowned, then smiled with realization. “We like to change it up,” she told the man.
“Have a nice day.” The man hurried back into his shop.
“Prude.”
“You look like y
ou’re twelve,” Mason said.
“At least I don’t look like an old man. Besides, would a twelve year old call you a taint-licking scrotum-sucker?”
Mason felt he didn’t need to answer that.
Emily walked around and got in the passenger side.
“What are you doing?”
Emily grimaced as she sat. “Your seat’s getting me wet.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Emily brought her leg under her to sit on and said, “Making sure you get where you’re going okay.”
“Oh.” Silence. “How do you plan to get back?”
She looked where her car was parked, then at Mason. “Where are you going?”
Mason sighed. “Your store.”
“I’ll walk back then. I can drive alone when it’s dark.”
Mason started the car with resignation. The woman probably wouldn’t be there, and at least this way he’d have someone to talk to.
He glanced in his rear view mirror as he left the lot. He wondered if he was jeopardizing Emily. Wondered why he was even letting himself take the risk.
He looked over at her. She was watching him. She smiled when he turned to her, rubbed his shoulder. She didn’t need to say what it meant.
27
They watched the sunset through the large glass windows of All American Independent Coffee (which, as it happened, served no coffee at all from America—any of them), sipping free coffee and eating free pastries. Mason had several, and only now, finishing his sixth, was he beginning to feel satiated.
“I can wait with you,” Emily said.
He’d already told her that he was supposed to meet someone here, and she was supposed to meet her friends tonight who were helping her get ready for her birthday tomorrow night.
They stared at the last rays of the sun, the parking lot already mostly dark, the streetlights lit and shining through a haze of high fog, or very low clouds.
Mason downed the last of his coffee. “You don’t want to leave your friends to do all the work.
“Besides, you shouldn’t be gone when your parents get back. They’ll freak.”
She twisted her bottom lip. “Yeah. I hope the demons aren’t back yet.”