“That’s interesting.” I shoved my brush in the paint cup and stood up, needing a break from Bettina.
“Don’t let me interrupt. I was just checking in, seeing how things were going,” she said. And then she left me standing there, my brush dripping dangerously close to the carpet. It almost fell from my fingers, which had curled into a fist.
When I got home I went straight to my closet and searched for something, but came up dry. Damn it! I would have to go pimping.
I’d thought about cultivating other liquor store relationships than Tony’s. There were too many familiar faces, and the owner had chased me away several times. Even the Mexican guys knew who I was, and called me muchacha perdida — lost girl in Spanish whenever I showed up.
Victor’s Liquor was a block from Tony’s. The lighting was bright, the parking lot busy and there was a ton of new people to choose from. When I saw the tall biker guy get off his Harley, I made a beeline. He had a thick blonde mustache and wore a Judas Priest t-shirt with no sleeves. Right away he knew what I wanted.
“Whaddya need, girl?”
“Malt liquor.” I pressed a 10-spot into his hand. He grinned, revealing several missing teeth. The ones that remained were the color of a lemon.
Biker boy came out with a big bag of tall cans. There were four! I was stoked. Best of all, he said goodbye without expecting anything in return.
I needed a place to drink that was closer than the beach, and in my neighborhood that would be the canyons that snake between the houses. Sometimes the homeless slept there, but because I’d grown up playing in the canyons, I wasn’t afraid. Today they sounded like the perfect place to get drunk.
A fallen tree by a tiny creek was a good place to sit and pop open my first can. One after the other, I poured the liquid down my throat, burped, and polished off the stash. By that time, my heart pounded and I felt out of breath as I thought about the climb out of there. So I decided to just sit and enjoy the slowness of my brain and eyes. That’s why it was too late to react when I saw the flash of black in front of me.
There stood a pasty-fleshed man in a black shirt and shorts, hands at his side. I got to my feet, wishing the empty can I held was a broken bottle.
“Canyon party?” He looked about 40, with long black hair. The crinkles around his eyes enhanced their bug-eyed appearance. My gut told me to run, but my mind said I’d never make it up the hill quick enough.
“I don’t want to ruin your party. I just want to party with you.” He sat down on the tree and lit a cigarette. It smelled pungent and thick, and upon further inspection I saw that it was a joint.
If I pretended that I wasn’t afraid, then maybe I would be able to get out of this.
“Can I have a hit?” I asked. He smiled and passed the smoldering stick to me. I took the joint, which felt like a hot cylinder of burning hay against my fingers. Being that I’d never smoked anything before, I tried to imitate what I’d seen at parties by putting the joint at the tip of my lips. I tried to inhale but didn’t get any. Maybe he didn’t notice. I gave it back and he took a long drag.
“What’s your name?”
“Katie.” A fake name would somehow make this situation not real. But it was, because he finished the joint and pinched the remains between his fingers, stood up and towered over me. A smirk was on his lips and his wide eyes grew even larger.
“Know why I like the canyon, Katie?”
“Why?” I looked around for a stick or a rock, and the shortest route out of there.
“Because you can’t hear nothing up there if it’s going on down here.” He stepped toward me. My knees liquefied.
“Let’s party, Katie.” He reached for my shoulder and I froze. He brought his fingers down my arms and reached for my hands, gripping them tight as he began pulling me through leaves and twigs, the brushy overgrowth and toward a storm drain. I knew that that once he got me in there, I was his game.
That’s when I saw a bottle.
My hand had a mind of its own as it swept down, grabbed the bottle, and smashed it on a rock. I brought the homemade weapon to his neck. Blood trickled down his chest and onto his shirt from the initial piercing.
“You fucking let me go or I’ll kill you.” I pushed the jagged edge deeper into his skin. His goldfish eyes widened as he held his mouth agape. Without even trying to overtake me, the guy pulled away and ran into the storm drain.
For a moment I stood still, bottle in my hand. Red droplets graced the sharp ends and I watched them drip before I woke up. Still grasping the bottle, I ran up the hill, through a neighborhood and to the main road, where I collapsed on the curb. Cars whizzed by, ignorant of my plight.
Every cell in my body shook and buzzed on the walk home. I thought about what could have happened. That guy would have probably raped me. He could have beaten or even killed me, ramming my head against the storm drain walls. I collapsed in the bushes a block from my house and threw up everything I’d pimped.
Chapter 14
They were against the wall, Hillman’s face almost as red as his hair. Christian rammed his hands into his nose and jaw. I crawled into a ball on the bed and watched the scene play-out, my hands instinctively wrapped around my knees.
Christian took Hillman by the shoulders and threw him against a shelf, books tumbling over their heads as Hillman tried in vain to fight back. A loud crack rattled the room when Christian threw Hillman to the floor and stomped on his legs. It seemed like he was killing him.
Nothingness quivered in the room as Christian drew me close to his chest, picked me up and carried me out of my torture chamber.
“We need to get you out of here.” He placed me like a feather in the back seat of his car and covered me with a blanket.
≈
I threw the broken bottle into the bushes after I barfed and wiped underneath my eyes with my sleeve. I was sure I looked like I’d been up to no good.
Upon entering the house I shouted hello into the vacant hall, and sprinted to the bathroom. My hair was layered with leaves and grass, and dirt smudges marked my cheeks and forehead. The evidence of the afternoon was gone with soap, water and a flick of my hairbrush.
My mom was walking down the hallway as I exited the bathroom and made a sharp turn toward my room. Before she entered, I dove onto bed and covered my head with a pillow.
“Rebecca, Dad was about to go looking for you.”
“I went for a walk and saw someone I knew.”
“Not any of those girls...”
“Nope.” Those girls would have been easy to deal with, compared to the nightmare that had waited in the canyon for me.
“It’s not like you to run off without letting us know where you’re going.”
“I just forgot, okay? It’s not like I didn’t let you know on purpose.” In fact, I didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing anymore.
“It gives me palpitations when I don’t know where you are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know it happens, but please try to remember.” She sat down on the end of my bed in the little area that wasn’t covered with clothes.
“We’re going to dinner with the Quigleys tonight. You’re welcome to come with us.”
Going out to dinner with my parents’ friends was low on my list of priorities. They asked too many personal questions and Mr. Quigley had a problem talking to anything but boobs. I had more interest in doing homework than eating with them.
“I’m gonna stay home. I did a lot of painting today and I’m tired.” I peeked at her from behind the pillow. She was scrutinizing the walls that I’d covered in posters of Klimt and Picasso.
“Okay. We’re leaving in an hour, in case you change your mind.”
I locked my door, changed out of my soiled clothes, and put them into a trash bag. There were a few empty wine bottles sitting in the can, and I thought about how drinking had gotten me into trouble. For a brief moment I considered never drinking again.
That didn’t last very
long, because Allison called to invite me to a party the following weekend.
“Who’s throwing it?”
“Hillman… the usual.”
I let out a groan. “I don’t feel comfortable hanging at his house.”
“He’s pretty intense. Don’t take him too seriously.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed. He sneaks around and follows--”
“Follows? You?”
“Yeah.”
“It could be that he’s checking you out.”
“But he did that even when I was with Christian!”
Allison sighed. “About a year ago, Hillman caught Christian with his girlfriend. You wouldn’t know her, cause she graduated. Anyway, she was dating both Hillman and Christian, but Hillman had no clue until he found them under the bleachers after a game.”
“So it’s personal…”
“Pretty much. Ever since then, Hillman’s had this love-hate relationship with Christian.”
I pulled more info from Allison about the girlfriend. Her name was Cindy Beckman and she was older than both Christian and Hillman, a cheerleader and, when she turned 18, she became an exotic dancer. Hillman must have loved that. Unfortunately for him, Christian must have, too.
“Hillman was bigger than Christian back then… taller, stronger. So he beat the shit out of him. And then she breaks up with both of them the next day.”
I tried to picture Christian as a young teenage boy on the verge of a growth spurt, gawky and inexperienced with long legs and a body that hadn’t caught up with them yet.
“Anyway, that’s history. Give me details about you and Christian.” Re-telling the story brought back the hollow, thrown-away feeling I hated.
“I bet Hillman had something to do with it. He likes to get back at people who’ve crossed him.”
“Even when they’re his friends?”
“It doesn’t matter. Hillman never forgets things. And when he wants something, nothing stands in his way.”
It was starting to look like a soap opera, with everyone stabbing each other behind the matriarch’s back.
“But who knows? Girls cream their jeans over Hillman. He’s pretty hot, actually. Have you seen his abs?”
“More times than I can count,” I said, recalling the poolside staring incident.
“If he’s been following you around, maybe you should give it a shot.”
The thought of going out with Hillman never crossed my mind. I had a hard time seeing myself with his possessive tongue shoved down my throat.
The week between the storm drain nightmare and Hillman’s latest party was filled with homework, finishing the mural, and glimpses of Christian. He hung out at Jock Wall like nothing ever happened, and had enough time to socialize with everyone but me. That’s why I approached him that Friday, even though Hillman was standing right there with his X-ray eyes.
“Christian, can we talk?” I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and looked at me with a little smile. Hillman said nothing.
“Sure.” He stood there like a mannequin.
“Let’s talk over there,” I said, reaching for his hand. He ripped it away. I wanted to cry, but held back. I wasn’t going to let Hillman see that.
We sat on a wooden bench. The slats were full of sun-bleached splinters that poked through my pants.
“What do you want?” His voice was tense, his eyes flitting anywhere but into mine. I wanted to kiss his full mouth, put my hands under his jacket and around his waist. Instead, I sat with my fingers gripping my thighs to prevent shaking.
“Why is it that I see you spending time with everyone, when you said you didn’t have time for me?”
Christian squirmed. I hoped that the splinters were going up his ass, too. An impatient exhale came from his mouth.
“Look, Beck, I had to break up with you for many reasons. That didn’t mean I’d stop hanging out with my friends.”
“But you told me you loved me.” I lost the grip on my legs, my hands moving to push my hair off my face — all the better to show off the crying jag I was about to have. Hillman would enjoy watching it.
“I know.”
“We slept with each other, Christian. Then you went away, but you’re still here and I see you all the time and I don’t know why you can’t love me anymore.” I started crying.
He stood up when he saw my tears rolling. “I can’t help what happened. It’s just too difficult, it didn’t work, and I’m sorry.”
I looked over at Hillman who, I swear, had a smirk on his lips. When Christian left the bench and went back to the wall, the smirk had flashed to a shit-eating grin and then back to a poker face.
I had snot and tears running down my neck, as well as five minutes to drag my ass to art class.
There’s something about feeling ashamed of your behavior. Even though my intentions were justified, I was left on that bench as much the unpopular girl I’d been the year before.
I bawled from the bench to the back of campus, wishing I could go home instead of to class. Jesse was there, his usual perky self with a mouth full of beef jerky.
“Either you’re related to Santa Claus or you’ve been crying.” He was trying to joke with me, and I was not in the mood.
“Here, use this,” he said, placing a paint rag in my hand. “Don’t worry about getting paint up your nose — it’s clean.”
“Thanks.” I pummeled my face with the stained cloth and dropped it under the desk.
“Whenever I feel like you do, I get into a really good project and forget about things. And by the look of it, Stanley’s gonna assign one today.” Jesse pointed to the whiteboard outline of our next project.
“Everyone say hello to the person on your right. Be nice, because they’re your new art buddy,” cooed Mr. Stanley.
I looked to my right and Anna Carvin had already buddied with the dude next to her, and I then realized I was to the right of Jesse. A sense of glee bubbled from my wallowing pit as I turned to face the constant khaki jacket and one of the sweetest smiles I’d ever seen. He didn’t look like a typical Southern California boy. Rather, he had a Midwestern paleness and scruffy look that hinted at an adventurous nature. I bet that he liked climbing trees, running around with his dog and watching NASCAR with his dad.
“I think you’ll do.” His hand touched mine for a moment when he passed me a sheet of velum. His fingernails were a little dirty, like he’d tried to scrub them without success.
We toiled with colored pencils, sketching out ideas that revolved around a theme. Jesse wanted our piece to be about death.
“It’s something everyone understands and experiences, and it holds an element of surprise. What more could you ask for?” said Jesse, sneaking bites of smelly jerky between flicks of his pencil.
“I don’t think so.” I had other themes in mind, like depression, loneliness and drinking.
I was disappointed when the buzzer rang, because it would be a whole weekend before I saw Jesse again. It was fun to be around someone with wit, because I never knew what he’d say next.
“What are your plans for the weekend, Ms. Ionesco?” he asked, walking me out of the classroom.
“I’m going to a party tomorrow.”
He nodded and looked down at the ground before returning my gaze.
“Do you party a lot?”
“What do you mean by a lot?”
“Every weekend, or whenever you can?”
Nobody had ever questioned my partying habits, and I didn’t have a response. He reached out and patted me on top of the head.
“Watch out for yourself. Drinking can take you places you never thought you’d go.”
Later, I found it hard not to think about Jesse as I dressed for the party, my mind in two places at once. I thought it would be nice to go climb trees with him like a tomboy. I also thought about how to get Christian’s attention and make him jealous. He’d obviously moved on, but I didn’t believe that he’d lost every single feeling for me.
Slipping a
sexy camisole top under my parent-approved sweater was a start. Thankfully, my parents were never good at discipline. It seemed like whenever they tried grounding me, they didn’t have the energy to make it stick. Tonight, I told them I was going out with a new girl from school. They asked a few token questions and didn’t seem at all worried that I just might be lying.
The sweater came off in Allison’s car, prompting a long whistle from the driver.
“I didn’t even know you could dress like that.” She touched the black satin spaghetti strap on my bare shoulder. The top, paired with a short skirt and high-heeled sandals, made me look like the perfect high school hussy.
“Something to be remembered by,” I smirked, for once feeling the power that a daring outfit could reveal.
It worked, because I had the attention of every single boy in attendance.
Who was this dark diva? It’s Beck! No way. Wow, you clean-up nice, girlfriend!
Christian was playing Hillman’s piano and downing beers between songs. He’d seen me make an entrance, stopped for a moment longer than usual to take it in, and returned to his music. I played a little drinking game with him, even though he didn’t know about it. Each drink that Christian took, I took with him, so I was pretty good and ripped by the time I made a play for his friend, Greg Deacon.
Greg was cute in a Disney sort of way, with precision cut dark hair, lashes out to there, and a body that was lean and cut. He was also the perfect guy to give me the attention that Christian did not. Because Greg was flirting right back at me, I decided to take things a step further and pulled him outside by his pockets.
“Where are you taking me?” His voice was excited as I guided him to Mr. Hillman’s putting green in the back of the yard. I thought it would be great to kiss Greg over the hole.
“I’m looking for a hole in one,” I slurred, thinking I was clever.
We made-out on the green, with me standing on my toes to reach Greg. He had no problem leaning over to reach my exposed waist, as my camisole had mysteriously ridden up my torso. It felt good to be touched again, even if it wasn’t Christian.
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