“Hi, Rayleigh. It’s me. Janeen.” Her voice is vengeful, rankling with hate. “You remember? You sold me to the hounds of hell. You put me in a cold place to die. You forgot about me, didn’t you, love?” Her voice changes now to a completely sweet and innocent girl. “Just wanted to call and tell you I still love and miss you, darling. Have a fabulous day, my dear.”
The sound of her laughter follows, echoing down the tape machine, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I literally feel blood draining out of my body, making me go cold all over.
“End. Of. Messages.”
—meeep!—
2.
What Mommy and Daddy Never Gave Me
“So what looks good?”
Lacey Little has knocked on my door not more than five minutes ago. She is looking through The Denver Post for the next showing of anything, wearing a black and gold vest with a black blouse underneath, smart pants, and shoes. Her hair is naturally brown, but it’s thick. She had it frosted, so it shimmers with blonde streaks. Her eyes are a beautiful green, and she’s taller than me. Lacey, it should be known, is a lesbian, and I sometimes wonder if it isn’t the curse on my own life with relationships and love. Men accost Lacey on a regular basis, and she takes advantage because she’s a daunting beauty. On occasion, she flirts with me incessantly, endeavoring to coax me into bed, but it never works. She laughs about it, and I worry. Being best friends with a lesbian is interesting. Many people know Lacey is a lesbian, so I wonder if they think the same about me—thus, the curse. But I love her. She is fun, thoughtful, entertaining, and she is the best friend a girl could have.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Movies are the all the same these days.”
She lets the paper fall and peers at me closely. I’m donning jeans and a simple long-sleeved purple shirt with a V-neck.
“Okay, Ray,” she says. “What gives?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Let’s see something light. No…maybe dark. Something without a love story.”
“Ah-ha!” she says. “So, that’s it. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s no big deal.” I look her straight in the eye, so she’ll know I’m being honest, even though I’m not. (I cannot remember Janeen.) “Jeff is a spineless prick. You know. I told you everything. I knew it was over. He finally called yesterday while I was at work. He has no balls, madam.”
She smiles. Lacey has a beautiful smile with perfectly white teeth. “Ah,” she says. “Forget that loser. If I see him, I’ll politely remove his two-bits.”
“You’re such a good friend.”
She looks at me for a second or two, then says, “So, what did he say?”
I really didn’t want to talk about it, so I shrug. “‘He’s seeing someone else. He’s a pansy. We both knew it was over,’” I say as quickly as possible.
“What a bastard,” Lacey says.
“The ultimate bastard,” I repeat.
“Probably wasn’t even good in bed.”
“Horrible,” I say.
“Probably wouldn’t go down on you or anything.”
“Unlike you,” I play along.
“Oh, I wouldn’t come up for hours,” she says, walking over and brushing a black lock behind my ear.
“Stop it,” I say, and for some reason, blush like crazy.
She kisses my cheek and bats her eyes, growling hungrily into my ear. I laugh. “Come on,” I say.
“But we don’t even know what we’re seeing yet.”
“Well, pick something,” I say. “You still have to tell me about Dave.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh,” Lacey says. “Yes. I must tell you all about Dave. Oh! I drove him crazy, disappointed, and maimed the poor sod.”
“That a girl,” I say.
Lacey takes one more look at the paper and says, “Broken Dreams starts at nine.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Let’s go.”
A brisk chill to the evening meets us as we walk to Lacey’s car, a white Subaru Outback. She unlocks my side, and I get in, shivering with the sudden chill. Lacey walks around the car, and I reach over and unlock the door. She steps inside, puts the key in the ignition, and starts the Subaru.
“So?” I turn to her.
“Huh?” Her eyes are wide.
“Are you gonna tell me about Dave?”
She chuckles, shakes her head, and closes her eyes. Obviously, it’s a good laugh.
“So,” she begins, “I’m in the office—” Lacey works for Cellitall Advertising in downtown Denver as a receptionist. She loves desk jobs. “And Dave comes in. He’d been hounding me for about a week.”
Lacey puts the car in gear and drives onto the street, following the rest of the evening traffic. A modern hip-hop song is on the radio.
“I mean, he wants to go on a date so badly, he’s making himself look like the biggest fool you’ve ever seen. If he can just get to the date, that’ll be something. But, I mean, he is asking for it. It’s as if a huge amount of testosterone has leaked out of his pores, and he’s trying like mad to shove it back in. He has something to prove.
“‘I don’t understand why you won’t at least go to lunch with me,’ he says. ‘Because,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not interested.’ He shuffles his feet, shakes his head, trying like hell to figure it all out. He can’t figure it out, and it’s driving him crazy.”
“And you are probably enjoying the hell out of yourself,” I tell her.
“Oh, God, Ray. I’m having so much fun, I can’t believe I’m not hopping up and down in my chair watching the poor bastard squirm.”
“You’re evil,” I say.
“Thank you,” she says, and resumes her story. “So, I gave in.” She has a big smile on her face, a smug, proud, arrogant smile.
“What do you mean, ‘you gave in?’”
She looks at me. “I went to lunch with him,” she says, simply.
“What the hell for?”
“To torture the poor bastard. What do you think? To take it to levels unknown. Because surely he thinks he’s in. He thinks the kisses and the bedroom are going to come next. That’s what he thinks. And I want him to think it. So I tell him, ‘All right Dave, all right. I’ll go to lunch with you.’ His eyes are so enormous, I think they’re gonna fall out of his head. He frowns a bit, and says, ‘Are you pulling my leg?’ I smile, bat my eyes in the greatest coquettish fashion, and say, ‘Might be pulling on something else.’ He turns bright red, swallows the lump in his throat, and says he’ll be by my office at eleven-thirty. His voice is a little shaky, and everyone’s telling me how excited he is. He’s like a little kid. He is floating through the agency.” She stops, laughs, and shakes her head again.
“You are the wickedest person I know,” I say. I’m trying to sound offended, but I can’t conceal the smile in my voice, and Lacey knows it.
“Thank you,” she says. “One of my many redeeming qualities.”
We turn down Speer Boulevard, heading toward the Cherry Creek Mall and the movie theater.
“So where did you go for lunch?” I ask.
“Some Italian place. I’d never been there. We’re sitting there having a rather extravagant lunch because Dave is trying to impress me. He’s trying to buy his way into bed. It’s the funniest thing in the world and, of course, he has no idea I fancy girls. ‘You know,’ he says. ‘We could go back to my place later tonight. I could cook you dinner.’ ‘That would be nice,’ I say. ‘Are you a good cook?’ ‘I’m not too bad,’ he says, a little proudly. I chew on this for a minute, and he starts going on and on about how he’s wanted to go out with me, I’m one of the prettiest women he’s ever seen, and all that crap that makes me want to stick my finger down my throat so I can throw up. I’m getting sick to my stomach. I mean, I’m ready to be sick. The pasta I ordered is threatening to come back up. Why do men do that? Why do they make themselves look like that? Do they not understand what an incredibly, undesirable turnoff that is? Ugh! Ray, I’m about to hurl.
“So, we chat a li
ttle bit, small talk, and finally he pays. We go outside to his car and drive back to the agency. Before, I get out—” She starts laughing again.
I’m so amused by her courage, I can barely contain myself. Because I’m pretty sure, if I know Lacey, what happens next.
“—I put my hand on his knee and turn to him,” Lacey continues. “He swallows another lump in his throat. I can see his heart beating fast because his shirt is bouncing a little. I lean in close, like I’m about to kiss him and say, ‘Actually Dave, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I guess I haven’t been as honest with you as I should have been.’ I’m saying all this in the huskiest, sexiest voice I can muster. I want him to know I’ve been aching to have him plow me—”
I lose it. I start laughing. Lacey is the devil.
“He starts moving in, like he thinks I want to kiss him, and then I let him have it. ‘What?’ he says. ‘Well, Dave,’”—Lacey is talking in that same husky whisper—“I inch a little closer, move my hand up his thigh, squeeze, and he swallows another lump in his throat. I take a deep breath, just for effect, and look him straight in the eye. He looks caged, backed into a corner. It’s really quite entertaining, Ray, and I tell him, ‘Dave, I thought you knew.’ ‘Thought I knew what?’ I shrug, put on my winningest smile, and tell him, ‘I’m a lesbian.’ I pat his knee a few times. ‘Thanks for lunch,’ I say. ‘It was delicious.’ I smile again, open the door, and walk inside. He stayed outside for twenty minutes before he came back in. I laughed so hard, I went through a whole box of Kleenex wiping tears out of my eyes!”
I can’t believe it! I am laughing, shaking my head, thinking this is the cruelest woman I know.
“That’s horrible!” I say, because I felt I had to stick up for Dave even though I’d never met him.
“Horrible,” Lacey says, scoffing. “He had it coming. The way he wouldn’t leave me alone. Screw it. I got a free lunch and some entertainment out of it. All in a day’s work.”
I am still shaking my head and smiling when we pull into the theater parking lot.
“Broken Dreams is right,” I say, referring to Dave.
“We should have invited him,” she says, shutting off the car.
We step outside into the cool evening. Lacey takes my arm because she likes people to think we’re both lesbians when it’s not the case. She kisses my cheek, making me blush.
“Such a fine turn of events the past few days have been,” she says, “movie’s on me.”
“You’re a trooper,” I say.
“Come on, let’s hurry. I hate missing the coming attractions.”
We run across the parking lot like a couple of schoolgirls, laughing, heedless of the stares. Lacey sticks her tongue out at some older woman glaring at us, and turns to kiss me on the cheek. She winks at me, smiles, hops up and down from one foot to the other, and says loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh, Ray, all that time you spent in prison! I’m so glad you’re out! You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you, darling!”
~
Broken Dreams is right. The movie was a bore, a broken dream of a bore, and I was glad I didn’t pay for it.
“Thanks for the movie,” I say, as we walk out.
“You should take me to a nice lounge and buy me a drink for that atrocious piece of film-making.”
I smile. “Deal,” I say.
The night air has chilled noticeably. The moon is out. I rub my arms as we walk across the parking lot, hurrying to Lacey’s car.
“You, my dear, should have brought a jacket,” Lacey says, turning toward me.
“I thought with the spring season, maybe it would be a little warmer,” I say.
“You have forgotten where we live.”
“I’m about ready to punch you in the mouth,” I say, and Lacey laughs.
We finally make it to the car, and Lacey moves slow, torturing me again, just to be obnoxious. “Really,” she says, “it’s quite a beautiful night, isn’t it?” She looks up at the clear sky and stars. A slight breeze makes me shiver even more.
“Would you just open the damn door?” I say.
She laughs, slowly inserting the key into the lock, and pauses just long enough to look at me. “You’re so pretty in the moonlight, Ray.”
“Open the damn door, Lace!”
She laughs, turns the key, and pulls the door open.
“What a gentleman,” I say, rolling my eyes. I step in and shut the door, cutting off my best friend’s laughter. I rub my arms, trying to restore some heat.
I don’t bother to unlock her side. I am buying her cocktails later anyway. I hope the goddamn key gets stuck and breaks while I stay in the warm car. Of course, then we’ll both be stuck.
She gets in with success and is still laughing when she sits down, shutting the door. “Hello, love,” she says, grinning at me. I shake my head and roll my eyes, but Lacey has a way of making me smile. No matter how hard I try, I cannot wipe the smile off my face.
She starts the car, and we pull away with other vehicles leaving the theater.
“Do you have any special place in mind?” I ask.
“Shakespeare’s is nice,” she says.
I nod a single time and think about the barbecue on the coming weekend with my parents. Sometimes they invite people over, much to my chagrin, endeavoring to ‘hook-me-up’ with ‘someone special.’ I hope this isn’t Mother’s motive this time.
Soon, we are on the road and heading north toward Shakespeare’s. It’s a nice place, big and bright with lots of pool tables. In the middle of the week, fewer patrons allow more room to breathe. Shakespeare’s serves good food as well. Classical music or light jazz is always on.
From where we are, it will still take us about twenty minutes to get there, being on the north side of Denver. Lacey has put in a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD to pass the time.
“So, how’s the store been?” Lacey asks. “Do you still see Pug?”
“He came in yesterday,” I say, “demanding H.P. Lovecraft.”
Lacey loves to read, but she didn’t mold her life around it like I did. Sometimes, she comes in just to give me business. It is a small store, and I do run it myself. I’m not like the bigger chains with the espresso shops. Soon, they’ll be live bands and cuisine. I have a long way to go.
“I felt like shit,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “Thinking of his parents,” I say.
“The story about his dad?” she asks.
I nod. “I said something about his allowance. Then I gave him a few bucks off, and I wondered if he thought I was a pompous little bitch because of it.”
“Well, he had every right to think you were a pompous little bitch. I’m your best friend, and I see you as a pompous little bitch all the time, so if he sees you as a pompous little bitch, that’s understandable.”
“Okay,” I say. “Jesus, trying to have a conversation with you is like trying to read a message in Braille with dragon claws. Just be quiet.”
She laughs. Lacey has a lilting, fun, harrowing laugh. She is not afraid to laugh. Lacey, you could say, has a brilliant laugh. She has that laugh going now, filling the car, and drowning the music.
“No,” she says, after calming down. “I’m just teasing you. You seem a little preoccupied, and I’m trying to bring you out of it, Rayleigh dear.”
Sometimes she is very serious. At least she doesn’t call me Rat like she used to. Rat is not a nice thing to call a girl, even if her initials do spell the word. What was Mother thinking? Why didn’t Dad say anything?
“I appreciate it, and it’s actually working,” I say.
“You can’t change the world, Ray,” she says, after a pause. “People have to work it out for themselves.”
“I know.” I hate it when she points this out.
“What’s bothering you about Pug?”
I shrug again, not knowing how this conversation got started, and I am suddenly dying for a drink, a nice cold drink that wi
ll make me all warm and tingly inside.
“I think the movie depressed me,” I say.
“Well, now, that I can understand. That’s why we’re going for drinks. Your treat, of course.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Dream of it.”
Thank God we’re almost there. We can change the subject.
I pause for a long time, thinking. “Sometimes,” I begin, and can’t think of how to finish—or what it is I want to say exactly. Sometimes, you have to get to the heart of the matter; you have to find out what the heart of the matter is. I’m thinking now is an inappropriate time for it. But I feel it, don’t I? Something has been bothering me, and I have no idea what it is. Feeling? Spirit? Belief? What the hell did I believe in anyway? (Janeen, whoever she is, is bothering me immensely.) Was a lack of contentment making me feel huge and empty inside? A big nothing taking up the void in my life? What the hell does that mean?
“I want to be bigger.”
Lacey smiles, and I can already see the joke coming, the joke I’ve laid out for her. But Lacey resists.
“Bigger?” is all she says.
“Not taller,” I say, getting the joke out of the way. “Just bigger. Mentally, emotionally, financially wouldn’t hurt. Probably more financially. That would be better.”
“And bigger,” she says. Bless her heart.
“Yes,” I say.
We arrive at Shakespeare’s, perfect timing.
“It would definitely be bigger,” I say.
“I’ll get my people to work on it, and they’ll contact your people.”
“They can just call me at home. I’m in after eight.”
We pull into the parking lot; Lacey shuts the car off, and we step out into the cold night, locking the doors. Good habit to get into, even if for just five minutes.
Shakespeare’s is, literally, Shakespeare’s. A big picture of him is on the front of the building, on the doors leading inside, and inside the establishment on small, green, paper napkins. It is the most habitually seen picture of Shakespeare. The tone of the place is green, as if they couldn’t decide on Shakespeare or an Irish pub. Shakespeare’s is classy, well lighted, comfortable, and they always smile when they wait on you. You can usually—even on the weekends—find a place to sit, or get a pool table.
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