by Tom Leveen
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Becky nodded. “No problem.” She started to go, then stopped and turned to Syd. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “Seriously. I mean, I know you were here to see Ty’s show and everything, but …”
“Sure,” Syd said. “I mean, yes—you did a great job, Becca.”
Becky inhaled sharply, eyes blazing. Then the look vanished. “Right,” Becky said. “Understood. I mean, thanks. I meant to say thanks. Yeah. So. Bye.”
“Bye,” Sydney said.
“Later,” Gabby called.
When Becky had gone, I faced Sydney. “Look—” I began.
Right then, Robby came plunging back into us, smiling. “Got her number!” he said. “Hell. Yeah. How’re you kids holding up?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my entire life,” Sydney said, looking at me.
“Wait a second,” I said. “We’re just going to hang out, that’s it.”
“Were you planning on telling me you were hanging out with her?”
“I didn’t know until just a little while ago.”
“Yet the question stands, Tyler.”
Robby slid over to my sister and folded his arms. “Shoulda brought a camera to capture this tender moment,” he stage-whispered. Gabby shot an elbow into his ribs.
“Why don’t you ask me why I’m hanging out with her tonight,” I said to Sydney.
“Okay, why?”
“Because she doesn’t have anyone else. Have you ever met her parents? They’re … well, god, they’re assholes. They’re not like yours, or mine. And they’re not even here. I feel bad for her, Syd, okay? And we’re just hanging out, that’s it.”
“Yes, you keep saying that, almost too much, really,” Sydney said.
Robby slipped an arm around Gabby’s shoulders. “Gabrielle,” he said, “would you ever consider dating a younger man?”
“Younger man? Yes. Boy child? No.”
“That hurts me. Deeply.”
“Something else is gonna hurt if you don’t get that arm off me, Robert,” she said. Laughing.
“Syd,” I said, wishing Gabby and Robby would take their chatter elsewhere, “I’m sorry if I did something to hurt you or embarrass you. I never meant to do that. But I seriously had no idea you were coming tonight.”
“And that would’ve changed things?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you know any other girlfriend on earth who would let you get away with this?”
“There’s nothing to get away with.”
That seemed to do the trick. Sydney shook her head a little, then pulled me in for a kiss, which I returned.
“You’re a jerk,” she said.
“Yes, but also drop-dead sexy.”
Gabby raised a hand to her mouth as if to whisper to me. “Don’t push your luck,” she said, not whispering.
I reached out and gave Syd another hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “Or I can call you when I get home tonight, even.”
“It’s okay,” Syd said. “Tomorrow’s fine.”
“Okay. I’ll see you all later.”
“See you at home,” Gabby said, drilling me with her eyes. She took Syd’s hand and walked her out of the hallway.
Robby and I watched them go.
“That,” Robby said, “was the most profound scam in the history of the world. Nicely done, dude.”
“What scam?” I said. “I was just being honest.”
Robby eyed me as a surprised look flashed across his face. “Oh,” he said. “Really? Wow. Okay.”
“Really, yeah,” I said. “I gotta go.”
“Sure thing,” Robby said. “I’m gonna call that Amy chick.”
“Uh … she’s right down the hall, man.”
“I know. But this way is funnier. And like, cute, you know?”
“Whatever you say, Rob.”
“Hey, man.”
“Yeah.”
“You really just gonna hang out? That’s really it?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Huh.” Robby shook his head. “You’re a strange man. Catch ya later.”
He went off the way the girls had gone, while I went the other way, the way Becky had left. I found her sitting on the sidewalk of the parking lot, in the same place she used to wait for her rides. I sat beside her.
“Ready?”
She nodded but didn’t look at me. “Would you like a side of awkward with that?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know they were coming, and—”
“No worries.”
Pete and Ross walked past, headed for Ross’s car. “Later, Ty,” Ross called, and Pete said the same.
I raised a hand to them. “Okay, I gotta know,” I said to Becky as they got into Ross’s car. “Why the hell does everyone in this department act like you don’t exist?”
Becky shrugged. “It’s no big.”
“Well, it’s irritating,” I said.
“Don’t lose sleep over it, Sparky. Let’s go, huh?”
We got up and walked to her car, which still and always had a trace of vanilla aroma in it that drove my whole body mad. I’d been to her house several times by then. Always after rehearsals, never on a weekend. Mostly I helped her work on her lines.
Which is to say, just for clarification, we did nothing even remotely resembling a date. We didn’t watch or go to movies, or eat together, or hold hands—much less make out. I guess by that point, because of all the time we were spending together at and outside rehearsals, we’d gotten to be better friends. The Matthew thing seemed ages ago.
Whether Sydney knew how much time we were spending together or not, I couldn’t’ve said. Fortunately—he said sarcastically—Becky was keen to find out.
“So …,” she said as she drove us to her house, “are you sure your girlfriend doesn’t mind this?”
Nothing tasted more bitter than when Becky pointed out I was, in fact, dating Sydney. Pissed, though not exactly at Becky, I stabbed back, “I don’t know, what’s ‘this’?”
How’s that for passive-aggressive? I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what “this” thing was. We weren’t hooking up; we weren’t doing anything besides what normal friends do. And … that sort of sucked.
My tone wasn’t lost on Becky, who gave me a surprised glance. “Hey, man,” she said. “I was just asking. I don’t want Sydney to ground you or something, put you in a time-out.”
She elbowed my arm and offered a smile. Which I accepted. Of course I accepted.
“I don’t know if she minds or not,” I said. “Because other than tonight, I haven’t exactly told her. But she hasn’t asked, so.”
“Okay, you know that won’t help your case if she finds out.”
“No. Why are you asking, by the way?”
Becky shrugged. “I mean it; I don’t want you to get in trouble with her. That’s all. But I don’t know her well enough to know if she’s one of those girls who gets mad about her boyfriend having friends who also happen to be girls.”
Stop calling me that! I thought. Don’t call me her boyfriend!
Even if it was true. I couldn’t stand hearing it spoken with Becky’s voice.
“She has friends,” I added, though I didn’t know why. “I mean, she has people she hangs out with. She has a life.”
Becky laughed out loud. “I didn’t ask anything like that!” she said. “Holy Saint Francis, defensive much?”
I pulled on a smile, but it didn’t fit right.
“What do you think of her?” I blurted out, then wished I hadn’t. Then didn’t care. Then wished I hadn’t again.
“She’s okay,” Becky said, and gave me a look when I laughed. “What?”
“Nothing, you’re right, she is,” I said. “I just don’t know what that word means. Do you?”
“It means she’s not an unrepentant bitch,” Becky said. “So that’s something.”
We both lau
ghed at that. Part of me felt bad for doing so. Which, by definition, means a part of me did not.
When we got to Becky’s house, I followed her back to her room. Since we were a lot closer these days, I again sat on her bed instead of taking the chair.
“So, now, what’s up with people not talking to you ever?” I asked.
“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” Becky said. And her tone was so measured, I couldn’t in a million years figure out the subtext.
But I didn’t like the way it sounded.
“How come?” I said.
Becky smirked at me. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.
“Are you dodging the question?”
“Hmm. Yes. Pretty much. Yes. Going to shower now.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said.
I started to get up, to leave her room, you know? Go wait in the kitchen or something.
But before I could even get my feet under me, Becky walked into her bathroom without a look back.
And without shutting the door.
I could see her shadow—cast by the light over her sink, which was hidden around the corner—spilling out onto her carpet. From where I sat, I could see a foot-wide strip of the bathroom wall, and her robe hanging from a hook there.
What I could hear …
What I could hear was each centimeter of fabric being pulled away from her body. Her shoes being removed and tossed back into the bedroom, her socks peeling off one after the other, the zipper on her jeans drawing down—
I could have moved just a half foot to my left to get an actual glimpse of her. It wouldn’t have been hard at all. And I mean, she left the door open.
But I didn’t move. I was as still as a frog pinned to a dish of black tar, flayed open for evisceration.
A few moments later, I heard her shower curtain sliding open. The creak of the faucet being turned. Water smashing into the tile basin.
Do something, do something, do something, I chanted to myself. A clearer invitation had never been offered. She wanted me in there. Maybe just to see, or maybe to touch, or who knew what.
Right?
I didn’t move.
The curtain slid back into place. I heard every soap bubble popping against her body. Steam fogged my eyes as if I was wearing glasses. I imagined every single motion, every drop sliding against her, wanting to be each one.
And I didn’t move.
After a couple of lifetimes passed, during which I hardly breathed, the faucet squeaked again and the water stopped rushing. Tiny plops echoed, as if she was wringing the water out of her hair. The curtain slid. Her feet landed gently on the mat. The curtain slid again. The soft, rough sound of a towel rubbing against her skin snaked into my ears.
Do something do something do something …
For one brief moment, I saw her bare arm reach for her robe—royal-purple terry cloth—grab it, and pull it away.
I watched her shadow apply a brush to her hair. Short hair, a quick job.
At last she appeared again, hair slicked back and damp, the robe pulled closed and tied off at her waist. I hadn’t seen so much of her face before, really. Usually her bangs lay against her cheekbones, framing her features. What is it about girls with wet hair, all pulled back like that, that is so freaking hot?
“Keep yourself busy?” she asked, walking past me to her dresser.
“Yep,” I gulped. “Revising my plan for bringing peace to the Middle East. Some, uh, new ideas for getting off fossil fuels …”
I babbled on as she opened a drawer and pulled out flannel pajama pants, a baseball jersey T-shirt—two tones of blue—and underwear.
Also blue.
“… and, uh, education, that’s a big one, you know. Improving education through, uh …”
She stepped into her clothes, shimmying as she pulled them up beneath her robe. A neat trick that didn’t exactly reveal a whole lot, but enough. More than I’d ever expected, anyway. How was she going to get her shirt on, though?
“… through school vouchers, or maybe tax credits. Um. So, yeah, just working on a couple key issues, you know …”
Becky, her back to me, pajama bottoms on now, untied the robe and let it fall to the carpet. Her back was bare, golden, smooth, reflective, resplendent, Goddammit, what are you doing to me? I could see three points of her nautical star tattoo. All, somehow, pointing at me from her neck and shoulder like compass needles.
She pulled the baseball jersey on and turned toward me.
“Running for office there, Sparky?”
I coughed. “Sure.”
“I’d vote for you,” she said lazily, and crawled past me to lie down on her bed. On her side, facing me, she half-curled, and pulled a stray pillow to her chest, which she hugged against her. Her eyes closed.
Good thing, too. I didn’t want her to see how hard I was panting. Short, shallow breaths like how I imagined a panic attack must feel. I’d never needed a drink of water so much in my entire life.
“Tyler?” Becky is saying. “Sparky? Mistah Dahcie? You still there?”
“What? Sorry. Yes.” Just thinking about her on that night made me zone out.
“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Just say so, man.”
I shake my head, trying to focus. While I’m not drunk by any stretch of the imagination, the alcohol is still in my body, and it’s starting to make my eyes droop.
“Don’t want to what? Sorry, I must’ve had bad reception there for a second.…”
“I said if you weren’t serious about bringing me ice cream, that’s okay. I was joking.”
“Did you say that?”
“You did, you magnificent doofus. You offered, and I was taking you up on it. But you don’t have to, I was totally messing with you.”
“No, no, that’s cool,” I say, eyeing Robby and Justin at the table. I don’t like what I see: Robby is whispering to Justin, whose mouth is falling open in shock. They both look at me; Justin shakes his head; Robby shrugs as if to say, Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?
“I can do that,” I say to Becky. “If you’ll be up.”
“I’ll be up,” Becky says.
“Okay. Maybe twenty minutes? You sure it’s okay?”
“I’m sure. Thanks, Tyler.”
“No problem. See ya.”
I hang up and rub my eyes.
I think about my story.
About Syd being gone.
And I make up my mind. Tonight. It’s going to be tonight.
“Becky?” I’d said quietly after about five full minutes in which she made no move, said no word. Just lay curled up on the bed, clutching her pillow.
It didn’t bother me, this silence. I listened to each tiny breath in and out of her nose.
“Mmm?” she said, barely more than a squeak.
“Do you want me to go?” I whispered.
“… Mmm.”
Didn’t know what that meant.
“I’ll just let you sleep,” I said, hoping she’d tell me to stay.
She made no sound. She might’ve already been asleep.
The urge to lean over and kiss her cheek was unbearable, a thousand centipedes coiling in my guts.
But I couldn’t do it. Whether I couldn’t make myself or couldn’t let myself, I don’t know, not to this day.
I got up carefully from the edge of the mattress and walked to her door. My whole body shook. I shut off her overhead light but left the bathroom light on in case maybe she woke up later and needed to see or something. I don’t know.
I opened her door as quietly as I could. Her voice stopped me cold.
“Tyler.”
“… Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
As if I couldn’t have been more confused, that word scrambled what remained of my brains.
“Sure,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like an idiot.
“My keys are on the desk.”
Indeed they were. The light from her bathroom was plenty to see by.
“Yo
u want me to take your car?” I had figured on calling Gabrielle for a ride.
“Mmm. Drive safe. Bring it back whenev.”
“… Okay.”
“Night, Tyler.”
“Good night,” I said, trying to figure out what I should do.
What could I do?
I went out, shutting the door behind me. I did want to take Becky’s car, mostly to be able to sit and smell that intoxicating vanilla scent. But I’d also have to explain to Mom and Dad why I was driving someone else’s car, and without an actual license. Never mind if I got pulled over by the cops. That would be real fun to try to explain.
I hated doing it, but I texted Gabby to come get me.
It occurred to me as I sat on the sidewalk outside Becky’s house that for all the sexual things Syd and I had done—things I don’t need to describe because I’m sure you can fill in the blanks—for all those escapades, I swear: this, tonight, was the most erotic—
No.
No, that’s not the right word at all. It’s not inaccurate, but it’s not right, either.
Intimate.
It was the most intimate experience of my entire life.
There were a lot of things about that night I couldn’t figure out. Still can’t, really. But the one that sticks out the most? Her saying “Thanks.”
Thanks for what?
Gabby looked confused when she pulled up to the sidewalk.
“Whose house is this?” she asked right away as I climbed into the Honda.
“Becky’s.”
“Seriously? Tyler, what the hell are you doing here? I know you said you were going to hang out, but at her house?”
“We were just talking,” I said. “It’s no big. Relax.”
“But this is the chick who—”
“Yes, but it’s okay, all right? We’re friends.”
Gabby snorted. “Whatever, bro,” she said. “But you’re an asshole.”
“So’s your face.”
I walk to Robby, who’s tossing the empty cups and bottle into a trash can. Justin is staring at me as if in awe.
“Decided to join us again, compadre?” Robby asks. He looks and sounds as sober as I feel.
“I broke up with Sydney.”
Justin nods slowly while Robby freezes, eyes bugging, accidentally comical.
“You did? What, just now?” Robby says.
“Right before she left.” I sit on the concrete bench. “Actually,” I correct myself, “she broke up with me.”