Down 'N' Derby

by Lila Felix

  “I doubt I have any groceries. I can’t cook worth a flip. Let’s go to the grocery store. I’ve gotta see you in action.”

  “Ok, let’s go,” he said.

  “I can’t go like this. I look like I just rolled out of bed.”

  “You’re beautiful. Plus, imagine all the thumbs up I’ll get from guys. They’ll think you just rolled out of bed with me,” I slapped his shoulder for that one. “But one thing, you have to do something about those slippers. They’re just God awful.” I looked down and stuck out my bottom lip. I loved these slippers.

  “Fine.” I stomped to my bedroom and changed into a pair of pink zebra striped flip-flops with zebra striped hearts on the straps, grabbed my purse and went back in the living room.

  “Ready?” He asked with a grin as he looked down at my footwear.

  “What? Do you have a problem with these too?” I was so proud of myself for being a smartass to a guy. I wanted to pat myself on the back and that wouldn’t be awkward—nope.

  “Nope, but the hearts are cute,” he said. “So tell me what your favorite thing to eat is.”

  We drove to the nearest grocery store and I watched him shop like a pro. I told him my favorite meal was chicken alfredo over angel hair. I saw him buy chicken, pasta but then he skipped the pasta sauce and I thought I’d tripped him up. “Um, you know the alfredo sauce was back there, right?”

  He laughed and shook his head, exasperated with me yet again. “I make alfredo from scratch. None of that bottled garbage.”

  “Ok, I give up. I’m just gonna follow you around and then sit back while you cook.”

  He pushed the cart down and expertly picked out all of the ingredients. Before he reached for something off the shelf he would move his fingers like he was weaving a magic spell for stuff to appear. It was funny as hell.

  We checked out and I got the stink eye for trying to pay. He relented and let me help bring in the grocery bags and then went to work. I stood and had to move back and forth every time he needed to get around me in my tiny kitchen. About the fifteenth time we did the ‘you go, no you go’ dance he huffed out a breath and then lifted me by the waist and propped me up on the side countertop. “There, now we don’t have to dance,” he chuckled.

  “Booo, I like to dance.”

  “Noted,” that’s all he said as he made what he called a basic white sauce. Poor thing, he was trying to teach me how to cook but it just wasn’t going to happen. But I loved to hear him try. Something about his voice changed when he was serious, it grew not deeper but more fervent, steady in its course.

  He plated everything and by the time we sat down to eat my mouth was watering. And when I put the pasta in my mouth it was pure heaven.

  “Holy crap, you can cook. This is the best pasta I’ve ever had.”

  “Thank you and I’m glad. Other than my mom, Falcon’s the best cook of the family but I do my best.”

  The rest of the meal we just ate. We didn’t talk and it almost felt like we didn’t have to—we could just be, and that was ok. After we were done we cleaned up together, like we’d done it for years. He said he needed to get something from his car and a few minutes later came back with his iPod. He plugged it into my speaker by the couch and switched the songs until he came to a slow one that I didn’t recognize. But I listened to mostly older music. He looked at me and smiled.

  What are you up to now?

  Chapter 30

  Mad

  Being good to her was easy—she tried to make it hard, but it was so damned easy.

  This was the real shame. This girl claimed to love to dance and yet, when I put on music, held my hand out to her—she was confused. Such a shame.

  “Come on Storey, don’t leave me standing here like a moron. Dance with me.”

  Her eyebrows bunched, then she corrected them and hesitantly walked towards me. She took my hand and I swore every time I touched her and didn’t get twitchy it was a new miracle. She was my miracle. And until she told me differently, I would touch her every chance I got.

  I moved closer to her, put my hand in the crevice that was her waist. Its curve was perfectly shaped for my hand. She swayed even closer to me, putting her hand on my shoulder. Her head only came up to my chest. She took full advantage of the placement and rested it on top of my sternum. We danced to You by The Pretty Reckless and when the song was over, I could’ve sworn I saw her wipe a tear away.

  I don’t know why I chose then as the time for a confession. Maybe I wanted to make her feel better. Maybe I just needed to share something bad about myself. I didn’t know why. But my mouth made the final decision for me.

  “I have trouble with people touching me.”

  “What?” She gave me a look that said, ‘He’s lost it.’

  “Since I was about nine. When people touch me, it gives me the heebs. I get twitchy, uncomfortable—it feels like ants are crawling under my skin. Friends, family, strangers, it doesn’t discriminate.”

  She stepped back and I thought I’d killed whatever was blooming between us with my admittance. It was too soon.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have touched you. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

  Of course—of course she thought it was something she did and now she was apologizing again.

  “Ugh—I did this all wrong,” I reclosed the space between us and took her hands in mine. “I should’ve said except with you. I don’t like when people touch me, except you. I don’t let people touch me, except you. Remember at the beach, I asked Nixon to help you up?” She shook her head no. “Ok, remember after we went for sushi and you tried to write your number on my hand?” Bingo—I saw it register on her face. “I was afraid. I liked you so much already and I was scared shitless that if I touched you, I would feel the twitchy thing.”

  “But you did,” she was confused again. Her beautiful forehead scrunched up with the emotion. “You touched me in the trailer, I held your hand, we danced.”

  “I know. I had to. I had to know what you felt like. I had to know if I could touch you or not. Because not knowing was infinitely worse than any physical sensation I could’ve felt. So I did. Touching your ankle in that trailer was the first time in almost ten years that I’ve been able to touch someone or be touched without that gnawing itchyness. And now it’s hard to stop myself.”

  She laughed, “You touched a lot more than my ankle in that trailer.” I laughed with her, “That’s true. I was just drunk on the relief of it all. I was drunk on the feel of you under my palm.”

  She was quiet for a few minutes and moved to the couch to sit down. I sat in the chair next to her. I couldn’t read the look on her face.

  “Why me?” She looked up at me, her warm brown eyes always doubting.

  “I don’t know. I just feel this need to take care of you—to make you happy, if I can. It supersedes my—crap. I trust myself not to hurt you. I trust myself with you. You must think I’m nuts.”

  “Can I just—can I just have some time to process this?”

  Time to process. Time to process what a whack job I was—fine.

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll go. Call me when you’re—call me if you want to. How about that?” I got up, grabbed my iPod and headed towards the door. I didn’t look back. I’d be damned if I was gonna look back and see pity or weirdness plastered to her face. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I shut the door behind me and I didn’t have to wait long to hear the deadbolt. She made sure there was a barrier between me and her quickly this time.

  I stopped at the address for my dad’s apartment on the way back to the motel and the note was gone. Maybe he’d call the next day. I got to the motel, showered and made plans for the next day. I didn’t want to count on her to call. She probably wouldn’t.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Two days later I hadn’t heard from either one of them—Storey or Einer. I’d decided this morning to get up at five a.m. and go to Einer’s apartment, or whoever lived there. Maybe he would be the
re that early. I knocked on the door and it opened almost instantly to reveal a man in his late forties. He was dressed in a flannel button down shirt and jeans even though it was blistering outside.

  “Einer Macon,” I asked. He had salt and pepper hair and a set of bright blue eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m Einer Macon. Can I help you?” I’d tried to prep myself for this but my chest felt like it was caving in on me.

  “Um, yes Sir, I’m Maddox Black. Did you know Sela Landry? It would’ve been about eighteen or nineteen years ago.”

  “Come in young man. Yes, I recall knowing a gal named Sela. I met her at a party or a crawfish boil—something.”

  I walked in and the place was a pig sty. There were newspapers, still folded and unread stacked fifteen or twenty high and lined the wall. The furniture was old and even when it was new, it wasn’t nice. Plastic milk crates were topped with plywood and made a shabby coffee table.

  “Sit down. So, how is Sela? Does she miss me?” I was right, he’s a sleeze.

  “Um, she’s as fine as she can be, I guess. She’s dead—has been for eighteen years.” I shifted on the plaid couch and he sat across from me.

  What do I do, just blurt it out? Where’s that sapsucker Nixon when I need him to crack a joke and then spill the beans?

  “Sir, I believe I’m your son. Sela had a baby eighteen years ago and named you on the birth certificate.” His eyes snapped to meet mine and his facial expression evolved into something different. Even his posture changed from relaxed to rigid. Maybe I’d pissed him off.

  Then he started laughing. It began as a belly laugh and progressed into a full blown cackle, until my stomach turned. There was something very wrong here. His face was unrecognizable from the man who’d answered the door, the man from just a few minutes prior. The front door opened and in came a man maybe a few years older than me. He immediately put up his defenses, I could see it in his eyes.

  “Who are you?” He asked and took a few steps towards me.

  I stood but he addressed his father before I could introduce myself. He turned to Einer and asked, “Dad, are you okay?”

  Einer started the cackling again and said, “Elizabeth went to the piano place. She’s always been fond of the ivory keys. She’ll be back in a minute.”

  The man walked up to me and extended his hand, “Hey, I’m Rex Macon. You are?” That probably meant he was Einer’s son.

  “I’m Maddox Black. I know this is probably weird but I think he’s my father.” I thought his response would be denial or throwing me out on my ass but he just shrugged.

  “Another one? I think the old man has about six illegitimate children under his belt now. I seem to be the only one who’s not born out of wedlock. He was actually married to my mother. He was quite the player. How old are you?”

  It took me by surprise. How sad that he had adopted this uncaring attitude out of defense.

  “I’m eighteen. Just made eighteen a few months ago. Who’s Elizabeth?”

  “That’s about right then. He ran around on my mom non-stop. And Elizabeth is my mom. But she’s been gone for about three years. Look, I’d like to stand around and talk but I’ve got to get to work. Are you here for a while? Maybe you can come back another time when I’m here. You might catch him on a good day.”

  A good day? Did that mean this was a bad day? There was definitely something off here.

  “Yeah, when?”

  “How about this Saturday. Come around noon. He seems to be better in the early afternoons.”

  “Ok, I’ll be here,” I made for the door. I turned back to Einer, just for curiosity and he was asleep sitting up on the couch while Rex attempted to pick up around him. The next time I saw them, I hoped they would explain the odd behavior—especially since there was a good chance that I was related to this man.

  I walked onto the sidewalk expecting Wonderland or Oz from what I’d just experienced but it was all normal.

  I went back to the motel, flopped back in bed, and fell asleep again. My phone rang a few hours later and I rolled over to pick it up. It was Storey.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hi. Have you eaten breakfast?” I tried to judge by the sound of her voice but came up short.

  “No.”

  “I’m gonna come pick you up. Pack your swim shorts and a towel.” She was coming to pick me up after two days of not speaking to me?

  “Give me twenty minutes.”

  “Well, I’ll be there in five. I was kinda confident. Sorry.” I laughed at that. I’d spilled my guts to such perfection that she knew I’d take her back in a heartbeat—nailed it.

  “I’ve got to take a shower. I’ll just leave the door unlocked.”

  “Um, ok.”

  I grabbed my stuff and headed to the bathroom. Halfway through my shower, I heard the door. I finished scrubbing and toweled off. I threw on my boxers and shorts and realized I’d forgotten a shirt. I brushed my teeth and ran a hand through my hair. I didn’t have to put anything in it without the Louisiana humidity working against me. I shaved quickly and ran out to get a shirt.

  I intended to act aloof. I repeated it to myself in the shower like a mantra. “Just act like she didn’t almost tear your heart in half. Just be cool.”

  It didn’t work. The minute I saw her sitting on the bed, flipping through channels my heart pounded against my ribs, trying to claw its way out to get to her. But I had to be more careful. I was moving too fast, too intense. So I decided against the protests of my body to keep a distance today—if I could muster the will power.

  She walked over to me and I felt hunted in the best way possible. I had my shirt in my hand now but hadn’t moved to put it on. She reached out a hand, retreated and then reached out again. Her fingers drew the path around the anchor on my chest. And it was her, she was my anchor. She just had no idea.

  “Let me see the pin-up girl.” She whispered and I turned and lifted my arm, unable to resist her. She smelled like apples and honey today. I found that she smelled different every day and wondered if she tasted different too. I would die to know what she tasted like.

  “When did you get this?” She asked as she examined the girl inked on my ribs. She wanted me to answer questions while she was this close to me? It was damned near impossible.

  “Uh—Nixon and I stopped in a place outside of Vegas on our way to a car show last weekend.” She squinted her eyes at me.

  “The car show I was working? I didn’t see you there.”

  “We went on Sunday afternoon.”

  “I left on Sunday morning. What a shame. You know this tattoo looks just like me.”

  I breathed out a laugh, “I know. She had red hair in the picture but I made the guy change it to brown. I didn’t know why until now.”

  “Huh,” that was all she said.

  She moved away and I put my shirt on. I could still feel the traces her fingers left on my skin. I stuffed a pair of shorts and a towel in my backpack, grabbed my sunglasses and wallet.

  “Ready?” I asked her.

  “Yep, let’s go.” We walked out and she opened the driver’s side door of a new Jeep Wrangler. “What’s this?” I asked her. It was an Army green, four door piece of heaven with the top down. It seemed like the opposite of what a girl like her would drive.

  “Well, I haven’t had a new car since I got that Mazda when I was sixteen and it wasn’t new then. Plus, I noticed that you barely squeezed in the other car. And since I plan on spending as much time with you as I can this summer, I figured you should fit.”

  She was giving me whiplash. One day she needs time and the next she’s buying a new vehicle because I didn’t fit—which I didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. We got in the Jeep and she’d gotten the whole package, leather seats, satellite radio, everything.

  I had to say something.

  “So, you’re ok with everything? I thought you needed time. Not that I’m complaining…”

  She reached over and held my hand. It sounded so du
mb but it was the first time I’d allowed someone to hold my hand. “I’m better than ok. I actually wanted to come by yesterday but it took all day. I had no idea buying a car would eat up a whole afternoon. And then I got home and my agent called and we got into it over the phone. But it’s fine. I only have two more jobs left. And it wasn’t you, or the touching thing that I had to think about. It was who you are. And I know you asked me not to compare you to other guys but it just couldn’t be helped. But I’m ready now.”

  “What are you ready for?”

  “I’m ready to let you love me.”

  That I could do.

  She threw the Jeep in gear and drove towards a hole in the wall diner with black and white tiled floors and records nailed to the ceiling. Girls in poodle skirts and roller skates greeted us. I slid into one side of a booth and she bid me to ‘scoot over’ so she could sit next to me.

  “Just trust me.” She said as she opened her menu. And I did.

  A few minutes later, a girl with red hair, a black sweater and a red poodle skirt, rolled up and plopped down in the booth across from us. She adjusted her cat eye glasses and popped her gum. “What can I get you two?”

  “I’m gonna have the Monte Cristo and a Coke.” Storey looked at me for my order.

  I realized that even though I’d just woken up, it was almost noon. “Cheeseburger and fries, rootbeer float.” I hadn’t even had the chance to look at the menu well, but you couldn’t go wrong with a burger.

  “Gotcha, it’ll be up in a minute.”

  She looked at me and smiled, “They always sit in your booth, even if it’s full. But they make the best Monte Cristo.”

  I nodded. We got our food a little later and ate like we’d been starved. We got back in the Jeep and she wouldn’t tell me where we were headed. She said she was calling in a favor.

  We drove for about forty five minutes until I saw a sign that read Marina Del Rey. She drove us all the way to the edge of a dock with a huge boat waiting at the end. She got out and yelled, “Come on,” at me.