Punk and Zen

by JD Glass

  It was time to settle this. Elvis smile—I never knew Candace had thought that, but I was pretty sure I knew which smile she meant. That was pretty cool.

  I got to the kitchen and leaned in to put the bag on the counter, then put my hands on either side of the archway that led to the kitchen, watching as Fran hung up our coats. Then I cocked my head and my hips and set that half-pursed smile I knew Candace meant on my lips. “You mean…like this?” I asked. Funny how all it takes is the slightest changes in the angle of the head and the way the lips are held to be “on.”

  When she finally saw me, she was obviously surprised.

  Well, we were a long way away from our high-school-uniform days, after all. But I had to let her know who I was, who I’d been, and who I’d become so she could make her own decision as to whether or not she wanted to continue our rediscovered and renewed friendship. If she did? Great—that would make me pretty darn happy. And if not, well, I’d lived without her for four years. She might end up wishing I was still only a pleasant if sad memory.

  I tracked her as she came closer and watched her eyes go from serious ABC surprise to smoky contemplation as they traveled from my head to feet and back again.

  Slinging a thumb through a belt loop, I leaned arrogantly. The look in her eyes told me that she—at least a part of her—liked what she saw. It also told me…well, I didn’t want to think about it. As stupid as it sounds, it would’ve really bothered me to think of Fran as “easy.” But still, that look she threw? Smokin’.

  With a last lingering glance, she took the milk and eggs out of the bag on the counter and put them in the refrigerator; those were lucky eggs—none of them broke. Fran pulled out a coffee pot and walked over to the sink.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know where the bathroom is,” she said finally, a sly smile edging the corner of her mouth. “Go take a shower—there’s fresh towels—and I’ll toss some sweats in before you’re done.”

  I dropped back half a step and glanced at her sharply. I’d intended to dry off as best I could, then change into the clothes I’d packed; they’d be drier than what I had on. She finished setting up the coffee pot, then peeped over at me.

  “It’s not as if I’ve never seen you naked before, you know,” she reminded me with a wry grin.

  True, it wasn’t. We had been on swim team together in high school, and if we did see each other nude on our way back, forth, or in the shower, well, it was a locker room, after all, and no big deal anyway.

  “I wasn’t going to mention that.” I grinned at her. “I was going to ask, what color?”

  “What color what?”

  “What color sweats?”

  I gave her my jauntiest smile, and she returned a look that almost scorched me from head to toe then back again, complete with a slow, sexy smile.

  “For you?” She licked her teeth, those perfect, perfect teeth. “Black, of course.”

  There was nothing else to say except, “Perfect. Thank you.” We smiled at each other, then I gave a little wave and sauntered to the promised shower. Fran was right, of course; I did know the way.

  I ran the water a little warmer than usual—a trick I’d learned from Cap. All cold water does is drive your blood farther inside and spikes it harder through the part of your anatomy that you’re trying to cool off. But…and this is important: a warm one dilates your blood vessels, which spreads your blood out a bit. Yeah, you’re still hard, and you might still be aching, but at least it’s not like a bolt through the groin. Okay, it’s still rough, but it’s handle-able—sort of.

  Showered, warmed, and dressed in the ABC Page 129promised black sweats (and after Fran had done the same), we sat there together and caught up on everything we could. I told her about school—I wasn’t going this semester; DJing—I was taking a break; work—keeping me crazy; and the band—which was my obsession, while Fran told me all about being in Columbia Law School—she had a scholarship; her summer internship in Los Angeles—in the legal department of a movie studio; and her plans after graduation—get sunny and warm or find people that were.

  By unspoken mutual agreement, neither of us mentioned Samantha or Candace, until later.

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  Driven

  I’m not always right, I may not be the one

  But one step closer to paradise

  Is one step closer to paradise

  I’ll bring you one step closer to paradise

  “Dani’s Tears”—Life Underwater

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  Eventually, after about half a dozen cups of coffee, followed by hot chocolate, the demolition of a few boxes of microwave pizza, and a pint of ice cream, we noticed the sky outside the window had lightened to a murky gray. I stood from my seat to stretch, then walked over to the window to peer out, pressing my fingertips to the frosted glass.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaimed. Holy shit was right. In the time since we’d gotten there, the snow had apparently come down even harder and faster than before—and it showed no sign of stopping. A thick white blanket covered the ground everywhere, and even the few cars parked on the street had been transformed into soft and rounded sculptures; there was no trace of color left.

  “Holy shit!” Fran whispered from behind me as she came closer to see for herself. Her hand came up and gently held my shoulder as we contemplated a blurred and rounded world. The scant distance between us gradually shortened until that same hand that had been on my shoulder came to rest lightly across my waist, while my arm draped softly behind her neck.

  She sighed quietly, staring out into the stillness, and for just a moment, one of us—and again, I don’t know who—pulled a little closer, and I let myself enjoy the warm, solid sense of her next to me. It was just nice, you know?

  “Bed,” she announced suddenly, breaking our reverie.

  “Huh?” I asked, momentarily nonplussed. I mean, I liked Fran and all, but I wasn’t, I didn’t, well, I couldn’t—you know.

  “Bed,” repeated Fran succinctly, dropping her arm from my waist. “We’ve gone from ‘it’s really, really late’ to ‘it’s really way too early’ again, and I know I, for one, could use it.”

  She was—again—right, and I was tired, too. But I certainly didn’t want her to think on the one hand that I was there just to get into bed with her or, conversely—no, no conversely. I didn’t want her to think that I was even remotely thinking about the possibility of us having sex.

  “Great idea,” I agreed, following her out of the kitchen. “Just show me where to grab a blanket.” I indicated I’d sleep on the sofa.

  Fran narrowed her eyes and gave me a strange look. “Nina, it’s not like I don’t know you slept here before—without me.”

  Memories of exactly how I didn’t sleep in her bed flooded across my mind’s eye, and my skin grew so warm between the comment and the mental images that I could feel my ears burn red, and I was glad my hair was down so she couldn’t see them.

  “Yeah, well…” I tried. “I didn’t want you to think I just—”

  “Want to fuck me?” she asked, an amused smile playing about her lips.

  Geez. What a loaded statement. I think if anyone but Fran had made it, I’d have had a snappy comeback; at least, I like to think so. I mean, sure, yeah, she was attractive, even better looking than she’d been in high school, with that sharp jaw angle and a new humorous sparkle in her eyes. There was also that kiss to contend with, too. Fuck it.

  I couldn’t figure out if she was trying to read my mind (and if my discomfort was that obvious) or if she was trying to proposition me. I also had nothing to say in response that wouldn’t get me into trouble, one way or another. Boy, did it figure that she was going to law school.

  I mean, if I said yes, was I agreeing that yes, that’s what I’d want, that’s what I’d wanted, or thanks for offering, yes? And if I said no, did it mean I wasn’t thinking she might be concerned about that (which was a lie), that I didn’t want to (sort of a lie—I didn’t want to �
�fuck” her like that), or thanks for asking, but no? Not to mention I might inadvertently insult her. You know, imply that I found her undesirable or whatever, and not only was that certainly untrue, that would also hurt her feelings—I know it would have hurt mine. I wasn’t going to do that to her.

  But…I could handle this. I was Nina, after all, and I wasn’t going to let a nice kiss and a pretty face rattle my cage, right? Right. I took a breath, let it out slowly, and smiled. “Does that mean you don’t have an extra blanket?”

  Fran’s eyes widened, and I could see that she appreciated my nonresponse. “You’re still a wisenheimer, huh?” She grinned at me. “C’mon, this way.” She laughed and led me down the hallway to her room. I waited in the doorway to this bedroom I’d already visited several ABC Page 131times in the past while she opened up her closet. After disappearing into it for a moment, she emerged with the disputed blanket, placed the folded brown square in my hands, then touched my arm.

  “I don’t bite, you know,” she told me softly.

  I smiled and took a step back. “How do you know I don’t?” I searched her face for her answer. It was true—I was behaving—but I wasn’t sure how far I could push that, given the circumstances. I mean, an old friend who happened to be beautiful, and I suspected more than willing, and not only that, but also in a place I already had some very intense sensual history. And…I wanted her.

  Besides, my own promises to myself aside, I sensed danger here, that this would get me even more deeply involved in something I really didn’t want. I had this instant understanding: sleeping with Fran would mean committing myself to her. And while I knew that even after all this time, we probably still had tons in common, would get along tolerably well, and could probably be quite happy together, it wasn’t that amazing bolt from the blue that I was waiting to feel.

  But even if it was, well, I had nothing to offer anyway. I mean, she was in law school, for chrissake, hooked up with an internship that would probably become her career, while I had not only just stopped going to school, I was working nonstandard jobs with nonstandard hours and spent every spare minute obsessed by music and art. The only thing I had to offer besides my dreams and my loyalty was the one thing that everybody wanted anyway—my participation in their orgasm. As far as I was concerned? That wasn’t enough.

  No, tempting as she was, if I slept with her and didn’t make some sort of promises to her, I’d hurt her; and if I made those promises, I’d let myself down—because, well, just because.

  Still…holding the blanket in one hand, I put my arms around her. She seemed surprised, but only for a moment, and as she pressed my body to her, I allowed myself to remember that she had been a good friend to me back then. Hell, she’d even let me borrow her car for my driver’s license exam. She’d been solid then, and she was solid now. A few years might have passed, but the innate person—girl to woman—was the same. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. Bottom line? Fran was a nice girl—I wasn’t. While I might have previously been in the habit of following a lead, I’d never been in the habit of breaking hearts—and I wasn’t going to start now.

  “I can’t believe I’m holding you,” she said, her voice a whisper against my throat. “I’d always thought we’d get a chance…I called you, I swear I did. Nina…” Her words seemed to catch in her throat. “I spoke with your father.” Her voice rose slightly in pitch. “And he told me…he told me you had died, and then, he asked,” she swallowed, “he asked that I please respect the family’s privacy by not calling or sending anything.”

  I didn’t know what to say. The anger that I’d thought long gone at my father threatened to roar through me, but he wasn’t in the room. Fran was, though—real, solid, crying in my arms, and that was more important than anything else. I did the only thing I could think of—I dropped the blanket so I could hold her tighter and rocked her against me.

  “It’s my fault, you know,” she said. “I told Samantha, I told her not to call, and she did anyway. She didn’t believe me, she couldn’t believe me.”

  “Shh…it’s okay…it’s okay,” I soothed gently. I raised her tear-stained face to mine. “I’m so sorry,” I told her and kissed her forehead, “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” I meant it, too, really meant it.

  I quickly realized that even though my dad had lied, the pain she had felt had been very real, and I had better get my head out of my ass pretty darn soon and be a lot more sensitive. This was definitely, no, Fran was definitely not all about the fuck.

  “Stay with me,” she asked. “I don’t want to let you go. I’m afraid you’ll disappear.” She placed a gentle kiss against my collarbone.

  God. If I got into that bed with her…I didn’t want to fuck her, but I did want to soothe her, to comfort her, to let her know I cared, that her pain touched me, deeply, and that I found her beautiful. But if I did that—if that happened—well, I just didn’t know what else to do.

  “Sleep, I promise, just sleep,” Fran said, looking up at me again. I laughed lightly under my breath. Either we were on the same page, she was reading my mind, or I had been that readable. Since I prided myself on being rather inscrutable, maybe it was the first option.

  “Ah, Fran,” I sighed. “I can’t promise that.”

  “Really?” she drawled, her eyes still managing to convey a layer of sensuality even through her tears and something else too—something like genuine affection. “And why’s that? You don’t like my bed? Too firm? Too soft?”

  I shook my head no at each of those options and smiled. “No, no, nothing like that.” I let my hands slide down her arms.

  “Well, what then?” she asked, an amused if slightly exasperated expression crossing her cheeks.

  It was time to come clean and just tell her. I mean, any more of this, and Fran might begin to think it was her personally, and I didn’t want that.

  “Uh, well…” I stalled, playing for time. It was amazing how quickly my cheeks and ears could burn. One second, normal skin, normal temperature, and the next, I was an overheated Christmas tree. I think she may have noticed.

  “I’veneversleptinthatbed,” I told her in a rush.

  Fran shook her head in disagreement. “Nina, I know you were here before—with Candace. She told me all about you, well, except for your name, or ABC I might have known it was you. It’s totally okay, you know?” She gave me a bemused smile.

  “No,” I said, and took a deep breath. “I’ve never slept in that bed.” I widened my eyes a bit, hoping she’d understand.

  “Oh.” Suddenly, she got it. “Oh! Okay, so you don’t know if it’s comfortable or not.” She laughed and threw her arms around me, and after my eyebrows simmered down a bit, I laughed too.

  I bent and picked up the blanket and what was left of my dignity. “So…where’s the couch?”

  “What, you’ve never been in the living room?” she teased.

  “Nope, not once. I’ve never even been here while it was this light out.”

  Fran laughed again and rolled her eyes at me. “What are we gonna do with you?” She grabbed my hand. “This way.”

  I followed her down the hallway. It was true—kitchen, bed, bath? Been there. Living room? I knew where it was because I’d passed its entrance on the way in, but I’d never been through that portal, and frankly, the only light Candace ever had on was the light by the bed.

  Fran didn’t need to flip the light switch because, as bad as the weather was, it was still daylight. Murky, gloomy, snowy daylight, but still, somewhere above those clouds, the sun was shining and we were getting what was left.

  “Here you go.” She indicated with a sweep of an arm to indicate her sofa—and damn if it wasn’t the required East Village futon with a very cool Chinese symbol printed on its fabric: the “double happiness” one, if I had it right.

  After taking the blanket from her hands, I bent to pull the futon out into its sleeping position.

  “Hey, let me help you with that.”

  �
��Sure,” I agreed, and it was done in seconds.

  She straightened, and we faced each other awkwardly.

  “Sleep well,” Fran told me softly, and bit her lip.

  I half smiled back at her, fiddling with the blanket in my hands, running over a seam with my fingers. “Yeah, you too.” We stared at each other, the silence growing even more awkward.

  Finally, she gave me a little wave ABC and began to ease away, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t, after that whole emotional scene not five minutes ago, just let her go like that. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, I was tuff and I was cool, but I couldn’t be cold—not to anyone really, and especially not to Fran, not after what we’d just shared, never mind the fact that we’d been friends and teammates in the past.

  I made a quick decision. “Hey, Fran?” I called to her retreating back. “Stay out here with me?”

  “Yeah?” she asked, sounding uncertain and shy.

  “Yeah,” I affirmed with a smile and tossed the blanket on the sleeping platform. I sat on the edge and patted the spot next to me. “C’mon over.”

  Fran gave me one of those amazing smiles, and I swear I could feel my heart lift up with it. I’d missed her. It might have been my father’s fault for telling everyone that stupid lie, but it was also mine for hiding and not trying to find her—or anyone else. The blame for that lay with me and me alone.

  “I get the outside,” I told her with a grin.

  “No problemo,” she agreed, climbing over to the wall side.

  We got under the blanket, and I shifted to face her so I could say good night, only to find her already watching me.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said softly, tears threatening to fall from the corner of her eye. She patted my shoulder awkwardly.

  I couldn’t believe I was lying next to her, Fran, the ultimate scholar-athlete—and so fucking pretty—she’d been my friend, and I’d let time and distance come between us. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen—I’d been wrong, very wrong.

  I reached out and gently stroked her errant locks back over her forehead. “I missed you, too,” I told her sincerely. “I’m so sorry.”