Burnt Orange

by Melody Carlson

  “What are you doing?” I finally hiss as she puts the top back on the flask.

  But she just laughs and drops the flask back into her bag. “No biggie, Amber. Really, just chill. No one ever notices this kind of thing.”

  “You mean you do this all the time?”

  She just shrugs. “Not all the time. Just when I need something to relax me.” Then she looks back up at me with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Hey, what’s the matter? You jealous or something? You want me to put some Jack in your drink too?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I take my Dr Pepper straight up, thank you very much.”

  I try to act as if I’m not still in shock, and when I realize that Claire is probably right and that the security guard probably doesn’t care if kids are getting drunk at the mall, I start to lighten up. But I do notice that Claire seems more interested in her beverage than in her pizza.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I finally ask after I’ve polished off my pizza.

  She shrugs. “To be honest, I’m feeling kinda bummed right now.”

  “Really?” I lean forward with interest. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything because it’s really no big deal, but Tommy and I broke up last night.”

  I blink. “You did? Man, I could’ve sworn I saw you guys kissing last night.”

  “Yeah, well, that was earlier on, and you were slightly out of it when the actual event happened. I decided not to burden you with it while you drove me home. To be honest, I thought you needed to concentrate on your driving.”

  “Was I really that bad?” I feel slightly horrified again. I mean, to think I was driving the streets of Ashton almost totally wasted. Man, it makes me feel kind of sick inside.

  “No, you were driving okay, but I sure didn’t want you to get pulled over. Mostly you were driving pretty slow and just being really cautious, but cops watch for that too. It gets their attention.”

  I sigh deeply. “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t get stopped.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bummer getting caught and losing your license. That might even have something to do with Tommy wanting to break up with me. He was always all worried that I was going to do something crazy. I mean, talk about your double standards. He drinks and everything, but he claims he’s got it all under control.“ She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “So that’s why you guys broke up?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was just something that needed to happen. I mean, we’d been talking about it for a while, and it really was mutual.”

  “Then why are you so bummed?”

  “I guess it just feels like the end of an era or something. You know, Tommy and I have been together most of our senior year.” She uses her napkin to wipe her eyes.

  Now I actually feel sorry for her. “So, are you going to be okay?”

  She sniffs and looks down. “Yeah, I guess so.” Then she looks back at me with red, watery eyes. “Do you mind if I have another drink?”

  I kind of shrug. I mean, I really do mind, but I feel badly for her and don’t want to say no. And once again, she is slipping out her flask and pouring some into her Coke. “Want some?” she asks hopefully. “It’s really pathetic to drink alone.”

  Well, I know I should say no and that I should discourage her from doing this as well, but for some reason, I don’t. Instead I shove my half-full cup over to her and then watch over her shoulder—out toward where people are milling about and eating and basically ignoring us—as she discreetly pours some of her firewater into my cup.

  After returning her flask to her purse, she slides back my cup and lifts hers in what looks like a toast. “To good friends,” she says.

  I halfheartedly lift my cup and echo her.

  “And to new beginnings,” she says before taking a sip from her straw.

  I’m not sure if I really want to taste that dreadful stuff again, but it seems she’s waiting, so I take a very tentative and small sip. To my surprise, it’s not nearly as bad as before. I guess the Dr Pepper helps to cover the taste. Even so, it does not taste good, and now I don’t enjoy my soda nearly as much as I would have. Even so, I manage to finish it off, and it’s not long before I’m feeling a little giddy

  “I can’t believe I did that,” I admit as we gather our bags and get ready to leave.

  She pats me on the back and giggles. “It’ll be our little secret.” But the word secret sounds more like sheecret. Of course, I don’t mention this, and I don’t mention that it looks like she’s walking slightly crooked. For all I know, I may be doing the same. We walk around the mall awhile longer, making jokes and laughing loudly, and I lighten up and actually begin to have fun.

  “Amber!” calls a familiar voice, and I turn to see Simi and Lena coming out of one of those stores that has all kinds of storage things. Simi’s carrying a stack of baskets, and Lena has a large box.

  I wave and continue walking.

  “Hey, wait!” calls Simi as she hurries to catch up with us. “You didn’t say you were going to the mall today.”

  “Neither did you.”

  “Well, we finished emptying Lena’s storage unit, but she wanted some stuff to store things in.”

  Then Simi pauses to introduce Lena to Claire. But even as she does this, I can tell that she’s looking closely at Claire, sort of sizing her up. Next Claire is complimenting Lena on her jacket when Simi leans over and quietly asks me, “What’s up with you two?”

  “Huh?” I say stupidly.

  Then Simi gets this slightly horrified look. “Have you been drinking?” she whispers.

  I step back, remembering that Claire and I forgot to chase our sodas with mints, but I shake my head. “No. We just had pizza at the food court.”

  Simi does not look convinced. “Come on,” she says to Lena. “We better go if you still want to hit Pottery Barn.”

  Lena smiles and waves at us. Then Claire and I continue down the mall.

  “Lena is nice,” says Claire, “but honestly, I don’t know what you see in Simi. I mean, she’s pretty and everything, but she seems so boring, don’t you think?”

  “She can be kinda stuck in her ways,” I admit. What an understatement. I mean, if Simi had her way, we’d all be stuck in her ways. Like it’s her way or the highway. I wish she’d just lighten up.

  “I’m getting tired,” says Claire. “Want to go now? We can hang at my house for a while. I think Mom and Mike had plans for the afternoon, so we should have the place to ourselves.”

  “Cool,” I say, and we head to the car. Okay, I’m a little concerned about driving under the influence, but actually I don’t feel the least bit impaired—not like I was last night. In fact, if anything, I’m thinking more clearly than usual. And as I drive, we talk nonstop and I feel like I’m wittier than ever. And hey, I’m really having fun.

  Claire is right. Her mom and Mike have gone out, and according to the note, they won’t be home until late. Claire is excited. “We could have a party!” she says suddenly. “We could call up some friends and—”

  “Seriously, Claire,” I cut her off. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You just got out of being grounded, and your mom seems pretty concerned about what you’re doing. Don’t you think having a party might really mess things up?”

  She considers this. “You know, you could be right.” Then she smiles. “See, you are a good influence on me. Want a tour of Mike’s house?”

  “Sure.” And so she is taking me from one room to the next, and it’s pretty impressive. “What does Mike do?” I finally ask.

  “He’s an investment counselor.”

  “Wow, he must be pretty good at it.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Or else he just tricks people into handing over their money. I’m not really sure.”

  We end up outside by the pool, but it’s not really warm enough to go swimming. “This is pretty,” I tell her as I sit down on a thickly padded lounge chair and lean back. “Lifestyles of the ri
ch and famous.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, whatever.” Then she flips a switch, and music starts coming through the outdoor speakers. “All the comforts of home,” she says as she takes off her sandals and dips her feet in the pool. “Hey, ya want a drink?”

  “Sure,” I say and then realize that she probably means an alcoholic drink.

  She grins and stands. “Cool. I know just where to get something.”

  I start to protest and then decide not to. Instead, I just follow her back in the house. Now I’m thinking, surely her mom wouldn’t go off and leave any kind of alcohol in the house—not if she’s as worried about Claire as she seems. Claire leads us to the billiards room, where I previously noticed a large bar area but no bottles within sight. “They keep it locked,” she explains as she reaches up to a deep green vase on a high shelf. Then she takes down the vase and reaches inside, pulling out a shiny brass key. “But I have my own key,” she says as she puts the vase back.

  “They gave you your own key?”

  She laughs. “Well, not exactly, but it’s not hard to have a duplicate made.” Then she goes around to the back side of the bar, opens it up, and says, “Voilà!”

  I look over her shoulder to see bottles and bottles of all kinds of alcohol. It looks like something out of a movie or TV show. Honestly, I never realized that ordinary people kept this kind of stuff in their homes. But then, I was raised as a preacher’s kid, and Claire’s family seems anything but ordinary. I watch as she takes out a bottle of something clear and something gold-colored. The label on the clear bottle says Smirnoff, and I realize that it’s vodka.

  “Aren’t you a screwdriver girl?” she asks.

  I shrug, unsure that I really want another drink. I mean, what’s going on here? And why do I allow myself to do what I know to be wrong?

  “Well, you need to learn another drink,” she tells me. “Screwdrivers are sort of old-fashioned, not to mention cliché. How about a Sea Breeze?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  So she mixes some ingredients, mostly fruit juices from what I can see, and hands me a pinkish drink in a cool-shaped glass. “Is this a martini glass?” I ask, feeling stupid.

  She nods and then takes out a squat tumbler and adds ice and then some alcohol—and that’s all. She doesn’t even put in soda or juice or anything. “Bottoms up,” she says, and before I know it, her drink is gone.

  “Come on,” she urges me. “You gotta keep up. This isn’t a party of one, you know.”

  So I sample my drink, and it’s actually not too bad. I think I might even like it better than the screwdriver. And before I can protest, she’s made me another one and she’s pouring what I think is her third one. “Want to take these poolside?” she asks.

  “Sounds good.”

  So we go back outside and I take off my shoes and we both put our feet in the water. I’m surprised at how warm it is. “This is nice,” I say as I wiggle my toes. “I think I could get used to this.”

  “Drinks by the pool,” she says in a slightly sloshy voice. “Now, if we only had a cute pool boy to bring them to us.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh and make a lame attempt to snap my fingers. “Bring us another one, pool boy!”

  six

  FALLING INTO THE POOL WITH YOUR CLOTHES ON TENDS TO SOBER YOU up rather quickly. And I suppose it didn’t help that Claire was laughing her head off from her high spot on the dry deck. I climbed out in a soggy heap and tried to act like I thought it was funny, but the truth is, I think she pushed me. I think. Who can know for sure?

  “I should go,” I tell her as I remove my hoodie sweatshirt and attempt to wring it out. I wring and twist it until the relatively new sweatshirt looks like a misshapen mess that an orangutan might appreciate. The air is cool enough that I’m shivering now, and all I want to do is go home and go to bed. I seriously hope I haven’t consumed enough alcohol to impair my driving or give me a hangover tomorrow morning.

  Claire is still laughing as she hands me a big thick towel. Apparently, she’s unaware that there are signs of partying (like a few empty martini glasses and tumblers and these funny paper umbrellas that she put in our last drinks) here and there. I mean, what if her mom and stepdad came home right now? I look at the outdoor clock and see that it’s nearly six and realize that my family will wonder where I am.

  “Don’t you think we should clean up a little?” I ask. But Claire is in another world now. She’s flat on her back on a chaise lounge and talking nonsense to herself. I can’t even make out the words. Feeling guilty, I know I should do something. But what?

  So, wrapped in a towel and feeling like a headless chicken, I rush around the pool area picking up glasses and stuff and carrying it all into the bar area. I wonder if I’ll have to wash the glasses by hand before I return them to their proper places, but I’m pleasantly surprised to see a small dishwasher built right into the bar, and it’s already half-filled with glasses and things. Our little contribution probably won’t even be noticed.

  So I put the glasses in and then give the granite countertop a quick wipe-down. Then I lock the liquor cabinet and remove the key and restore it to its hiding place in the green vase. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. Suddenly Claire appears.

  “Here’s shome dry clothes,” she says as she holds out some sweats. Swaying unsteadily, she holds on to the bar to brace herself and then smiles. “Things are starting to shpin.”

  “Careful,” I warn her, and then I grab the sweats and head for the dressing room that’s near the pool. After I’m changed and dry, I wrap my wet clothes in the pool towel and emerge feeling somewhat victorious. “Thanks, Claire,” I say. “And I’ll bring back your towel late—”

  “Don’ worry about it,” she says in her sloshy voice as she waves her hand. “We got losh of ’em.”

  “You better get some rest,” I tell her as I head for the front door.

  “Tha’s right,” she says as she reaches the stairs and holds onto the banister as if it’s a lifeline. “Tha’s zactly what I’m gonna do.”

  Okay, now, here’s what’s weird. As I get into my car, I imagine a drunken Claire falling down the stairs and knocking herself out. I mean, the image is so clear that I almost go back inside the house.

  But I don’t. Instead, I actually pray for her. How weird is that? Here I am, doing what I know is not pleasing to God and I am praying for Claire. I think I am seriously demented.

  I tell myself that I’m sober as I carefully drive toward home. I mean, that dunk in the pool was a real shock, sort of like a wake-up call. And I’ve heard that people can get sobered by something like that. But even as I tell myself this, I’m not entirely sure. And I worry that I’m driving too cautiously and perhaps, like Claire said, I might be attracting the attention of a patrol car. By the time I reach my street, I am so nervous that I’m actually sweating, but I look behind me and to my relief see no flashing red and blue lights coming after me. It seems I have made it home free again. Remembering the incident at the mall, I ransack my purse for a breath mint and manage to come up with a solitary Lifesaver that’s been rolling around at the bottom for who knows how long. Then before I get out of my car, I pull out my sunglasses and slip them on. Okay, I realize it’s not even sunny, but I also suspect that my eyes look as bloodshot as Claire’s by now.

  As I walk to my house, I wonder if perhaps God is watching out for me. Oh, I know I’m blowing it, but then my dad is always the one who says that God is always ready to forgive us, that God is our loving Father who wants only the best for us, and I’m thinking, Okay, maybe God understands this thing I’m going through. Maybe he is protecting me and watching over me. But even as I think these thoughts, I know that I’m just being ridiculous. I mean, seriously, why would God watch out for someone who was messing up on purpose?

  “Where have you been?” asks Mom as I attempt to slip in the back door. I keep a safe distance from her olfactory radar and pretend to be absorbed w
ith putting my keys into my purse.

  “At Claire’s,” I tell her. “We went there after the mall.”

  “Who’s Claire?” asks Mom. “I thought you were with Simi.”

  “Simi had to help Lena move some stuff. And actually we did meet up with them at the mall, but afterward we went to Claire’s.”

  She frowns at my hair now. “Why is your hair wet?”

  I kind of laugh. “I fell into Claire’s pool.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty funny. We were just acting silly, and the next thing I knew, I was all wet. Claire loaned me her sweats.”

  “But why the sunglasses, Amber? And in the house?”

  “They’d just put chlorine in the pool,” I magically come up with. “It’s irritating my eyes.”

  “There’s some Visine in the medicine cabinet,” she says as if my answers have satisfied her, but then it’s like she remembers something. “But really, Amber, who is this Claire? Have I met her before? Does she go to church?”

  “Claire Phillips. She’s a friend from school. She doesn’t go to church, but she’s going through some hard stuff,” I say quickly. “And she may be getting more open to church.”

  “What kind of hard stuff?”

  “Like she doesn’t get along that well with her stepdad, and her boyfriend just broke up with her. She’s kinda bummed. I’m just trying to be there for her, you know? And her mom likes that I go to church, and I’m thinking of inviting Claire to come too.”

  Mom smiles now. I’ve dealt her the Christian card, and she’s happy to pick it up. “Well, that’s really nice,” she says. “I’m so happy to hear about people who are reaching out to others. Good for you, Amber. And tell Claire that I’d like to meet her sometime.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure she’d like to meet you too.”

  And so that’s it. I think I am off the hook and passed whatever kind of test that was meant to be.

  “Dad and I are having dinner with our Bible-study group tonight,” she calls after me. “But there’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge if you’re hungry.”