A Shot at Us

by Cameron Lowe

It was good to be back in the Grand National, the window rolled down, a hip-hop CD blaring. Since Training Day came out, a lot of people confused the Grand National for the Monte Carlo in that movie – an easy mistake to make, but they definitely weren’t the same. It drew a lot of gazes, and he waved to more than a few people pointing at it as he weaved through traffic behind both Alicia and Nic’s cars. They’d decided to take all three because of their respective work schedules, or lack thereof, in Malcolm’s case. He was enthused about a job listing in the newspaper for a grocery store, though, and had an interview lined up in two days.

  Alicia drove a dizzying zig-zag down an endless number of streets, following no discernible path except that she was steering clear of commercial areas and the heavier traffic. It still took nearly an hour to reach the right street in the northwest part of the city, a suburb named Morristown. This was definitely a wealthier area than the rest of the Flats, with a handful of older luxury cars sitting out in front of the houses, daring the city’s vandals to tag or steal them.

  Their destination, once they reached the street, was obvious. A big paint-by-numbers house, similar to a half dozen others save for minor variations on the shrubbery, was nearly blocked by a big moving truck. A man in dark jeans and a yellow plaid shirt that looked less lumberjack and more Gap-ish was carefully rolling a trio of boxes on a handcart towards the edge of the truck. On the ground nearby, a woman with her back turned watched, a hand out to steady the cart if it tipped too far forward or got away from the guy. Alicia honked, making the dude jump, and he nearly lost control of the cart.

  The woman turned and pointed towards an empty length of sidewalk between their house and the neighbors. Once they parked, Malcolm rushed out to help the guy bring the cart down the ramp. He didn’t have time to look at either individual up close – the top box was going to fall, and Malcolm jumped up on the ramp at the same time as the woman. They collided, and it didn’t end well for either of them or the box.

  “Oh shit,” the man shouted as it tipped. Malcolm didn’t care. His elbow had just taken one hell of a shock on the asphalt, though at this level he could really appreciate the fine care the city took out here on the roads as opposed to the shredded warscapes that were the roads back at Nic’s place.

  Glass shattered, and on the other side of the truck, the woman groaned. Malcolm got up and dusted himself off as the man hurried down the rest of the ramp, not to his girlfriend, but the box. “Ah shit, the wine glasses. Mom’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

  “Your girlfriend’s okay though,” the woman said on the other side of the truck as she picked herself up.

  The man turned his head to glance at her briefly. “Sorry, baby. Figured since you weren’t screaming and bones weren’t poking out that you’d be fine.”

  “Your concern is so sweet. Hey, you all right?” the woman asked Malcolm.

  It took him a moment to find his voice. He’d seen only vagaries of her from the road – some nice curves, long black hair, not much else. Now he could wander through the details of her, and it was a good place to get lost. The hair was complimented well by similarly dark eyes, and of all things to be attracted to, her thick eyebrows, which really gave her otherwise pixie-ish face some character. It was an unusual thing to note, but he couldn’t stop staring.

  Hard not to like all of her, really.

  “Yeah,” Malcolm muttered. “Good. Yeah. Uh, sorry about that.”

  “Oh hey, no problem. You were just trying to help.” She held out her hand. The nails had been painted in little candy-colored swirls. He wanted to pull her hand closer so he could examine every digit, every follicle, every wrinkle of her knuckles.

  Her knuckles? First the eyebrows, and now the knuckles? What was next, a careful examination of her nostrils? What the hell was the matter with him?

  “I’m hello,” he said as he shook.

  “No, he’s Malcolm,” Nic said cheerfully behind him. “And probably a little bit in love. I sure know I was the first time.”

  Malcolm’s mind finally found a mooring point and he turned towards the plaid shirt guy, expecting a punch. “What? No, uh, I… no.”

  Instead of getting angry, the guy laughed. “It’s all right. She does the same thing to me every day, my friend.” He held out his hand. “Calvin Carmichael.”

  “Hey, yeah, Malcolm.” They shook, and Malcolm grinned sheepishly at the woman. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare like that.”

  She laughed. It was a surprisingly brittle sound, and was she blushing? Yes, he realized. She was. “It’s all right. I’m Gwendolyn, but everyone calls me Gwen.”

  “And which do you prefer?”

  The question seemed to take her aback. She blinked at him, and this time, her smile was more tentative, almost confused. “Gwen is fine. Thanks for coming.” She hurried over to give Alicia a hug. “And thank you two too.”

  “Tutu,” Nic said, grinning.

  “Oh shut up, bozo,” Alicia said fondly. “Now that we’ve got a start breaking all your glasses, where do you want us?”

  * * *

  This Malcolm guy was a giant man-puppy and it was clear he was at least a little twitter-patted. It was adorable. Well, at least back then it was adorable, and it would be again, someday. But there came a time, not all that long after the moving day, when Gwen didn’t find his heart on his sleeve adorable. It frightened her, not in a stalkerish kind of way – not once did Malcolm ever make her feel like she was an obsession to him. No, she feared his feelings because in time, she returned them tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousand. There wasn’t a number big enough. Mathematics, when it came to love, was an enormous failure, and Malcolm was the proof of the fallacy.

  But that day, those early months, they were locked into the idea that he wanted and she could never give.

  To his credit, she only caught Malcolm glancing at her a few times as they moved in boxes and furniture. Once she accidentally jutted her butt out right in front of his face as she set down a box of cleaning supplies, and he audibly groaned. It was barely a whisper, but there it was. She was careful after that to bend over in profile to a wall or something in front of him. She still didn’t know anything about him, or who he was, or if he was a decent guy, and in a city capable of doing terrible things to any woman, beautiful or not, Gwen had to protect herself, to not give off any vibes that might give him the wrong impression.

  But another part of her actually didn’t mind him looking. It sent a little bit of a thrill up her spine to catch him glancing at her boobs, even if they were encapsulated in a formless oversized blouse and a sports bra. And the way Malcolm couldn’t look away from her eyes for a long moment when they carried in an armchair together made her core warm and the blood thump in her ears.

  Malcolm certainly wasn’t unpleasant to look at either. He was tall, not quite chubby but almost leaning in that direction. His clean-shaven face was boyish and he had a butt chin, something she found sorta cute. His long legs were as pasty as the rest of him. In time, she’d come to realize there were two varieties of a Minnesota tan – either Elmer’s white or forever scalded from the sun. Malcolm definitely fell into the former. The slightly curly sandy hair, though, that was his best feature until she discovered his smile. It could slide from goofy to sleepy and kind of sexy.

  That smile would come to play a featured role in a lot of Gwen’s future dreams.

  Calvin had an easier time pulling a few details from him than Gwen did – from Minneapolis, just moved out here, city was fine so far, he was looking for a job but he was hopeful he’d found one. Her boyfriend was careful too, and never once made Malcolm an offer to look into a job for him at one of his parents’ shops. It was clear though that Calvin liked the guy, especially when Malcolm hauled in an open-topped box with three of Calvin’s basketballs on top.

  “You play?” he asked the couple.

  “Religiously,” Calvin said. “That was our first date.”

  “Horse on the playground,” Gwen said, coming o
ver to peer into the box. “We were cute little dorks. Then I gave his butt a beating at a real game.”

  Calvin rolled his eyes. “I got cocky and didn’t know she was a power forward.”

  “You got cocky because I was a girl and you were a guy,” Gwen said.

  Calvin grinned. “All right, all right, maybe I was a little misogynistic. But I’ve got nothing but respect now. You’ve never seen anyone drill free throws like her. I swear, she’s a machine.”

  As they made their way back out to the quickly-emptying truck, Malcolm asked, “So you’ve been together a while?”

  “Last couple years of high school, yeah,” Calvin said. “And now college.”

  They talked some about her associate’s degree and Calvin’s double major in economics and finance, passing by Alicia and Nic to and from the house. The other couple were deep in a heated debate about M. Night Shyamalan’s career, a discussion the other three couldn’t contribute to.

  “So you want to become a vet someday? That’s awesome. And you’re going to take over the family business?”

  “Oh, probably, someday,” Calvin said. “Maybe work investments for a few years, you know, do something I’m interested in for a bit before settling down into a career for the rest of my life. How about you? Long-term plans?”

  “You mean besides becoming the next grocery store kingpin of bagboys? I’m not sure, especially now that I’m living out here. Back in Minnesota, I always figured I’d end up working one of the factories like a couple of my uncles. It’s boring stuff, but they pay pretty good. But here I think I need a while to test the waters, know what I mean?”

  Calvin nodded. They stopped outside the truck while Gwen grabbed a bottle of water and chugged. “Absolutely. Hard to tell what’s out there in a week, and it sounds like you’re pretty grounded. And with that beast,” he gestured at the Grand National, “you could always probably make it big street racing.”

  Malcolm laughed. “Yeah, she’ll kick you pretty hard in the teeth.”

  “It’s a beautiful car.”

  “Hey, thanks, man.” Malcolm dropped into a conversation about restoring it with his dad, which led to a longer discussion about his family and what they did. It was amazing how quickly they all warmed up to each other, and in no time at all, it felt like they were becoming friends.

  They finished up in the late afternoon. Everyone was hot, tired, and in need of some food. Instead of the previously planned pizza, they decided to head to a local bar and grill to eat and play some pool. Nic had to swear off and go get ready for work, and Calvin paid him with a pair of twenties.

  “Oh sweet, dude, thanks,” Nic said, stuffing the cash away. “If you want, I’ll give you back the ten extra in a little sampler package, if you’re interested.”

  Catching his girlfriend’s glower, Calvin shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Nic said, grinning. They shook, and Nic came over to clap Malcolm on the shoulder. “You good, Mal?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Malcolm grumbled. Ever since Firefly came out, his closest nerdy friends took to calling him Mal, and he dreaded it with every fiber of his being. Nic gleefully told them all as much.

  “You realize you’re just making yourself a target by saying that, right?” Gwen asked Malcolm, and oh fuck, she made his lungs inflate like hot air balloons.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled good-naturedly. Back to Nic, he said, “I’m good. Streets here aren’t too confusing. At least this city’s got that going for it.”

  “Wait till you have to deliver pizzas to one of the billion trailer parks,” Nic said. “All right, see you back at the Bone Zone.”

  “The Bone Zone?” Malcolm asked.

  “Shut up, you do better.”

  The drive to the bar was blessedly short. At Calvin’s insistence, Malcolm left the Grand National in his garage, and wound up riding with Alicia. Bonding with her was… interesting. Any attraction the redhead might have held for him died at the first red light when, as she spoke to another friend on her Nokia, she jammed a finger deep into her nose, searching for gold with the intensity of a starving man dropped into a grocery store and given carte blanche. He watched, amused, as she coaxed out a long, tannish string, rolled down her window, and flicked it out.

  She glanced over, lowered the phone, and said, “Don’t tell me you don’t do it.”

  Malcolm had no good response to that.

  Outside the bar, Calvin had unbuttoned his plaid shirt, showing off a white tank underneath stained with dried patches of sweat. Gwen was leaning against the wall, one of her sneakers pressed against the bricks, putting her nice legs and hips in great view.

  Settle down. She’s taken. Even if you had a chance, you’re not that guy, his mind whispered.

  The mad, cackling counterpart to that voice, the one usually responsible for getting him in trouble, commanded him to ignore that other douchey voice and drag her into the bathroom to take Gwen bent over the sink. That voice was pretty easy to stomp down, thankfully.

  The bar was well lit, cheery, and populated with a smattering of twentysomethings all practically shouting over a jukebox. The deeply satisfying scent of meat and fries being prepared for mass consumption wafted their way and Malcolm’s belly gave a rousing cheer of approval. A few poker machines lined one wood-laminate wall near an old theater-style popcorn maker, and scattered throughout the back were a half dozen pool tables, mostly occupied by teenagers. Gwen led them straight to the back while Calvin put in a food order and tried to coax some beer out of the bartender and wait staff.

  Malcolm was lousy at pool, but then again, Alicia aside, they all were, so they alternated partners with her every game, taking time now and then for bites of potato skins, nachos, and burgers. The bartender was a vigilant do-gooder type, and was regularly checking IDs, so drinks weren’t an option. That was okay, though. The company was great, the bar lively, and the food completely safe, perfectly decent bar fare.

  “You can always tell a good bar and grill by the French fries,” Gwen proclaimed to Malcolm, raising her voice to be heard over the din as Calvin lined up to take a shot.

  “How so?” he asked her.

  “It’s the easiest thing on the menu to cook. Too burned, too raw, then don’t bother with the rest of it,” she not-quite-shouted. “And if there’s no salt, then you can bet the rest of the food’s gonna be bland as hell. But if the fries are crispy and they aren’t a bunch of pansies about flavor, then bombs away. So always order fries first.”

  “Good theory,” Malcolm said. “I like the science.”

  “The science definitely checks out.” The jukebox shifted from a Van Halen song to Garth Brooks, and her hands shot up. “My jaaaaaam!”

  “Oh God, not a country music fan,” Malcolm groaned.

  “Whaaa?” she asked, turning towards him. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “This stuff’s a disease!”

  “These are the classics!”

  Malcolm grabbed his pool cue. “You’re crazy.” To Calvin, just coming around the table to join his girlfriend, he shouted, “She’s crazy.”

  “Don’t have to tell me.”

  “He doesn’t like country!” Gwen proclaimed.

  “What? The nerve,” Calvin said. Alicia on the other side of the table shook her head pityingly. “We’ll have to brainwash him.”

  “I think he’s already been brainwashed but it’s worth a shot. Be right back, gonna put on some Shania.”

  “Oh, you’re going full-on reeducation,” Calvin said.

  “Damn straight!”

  While she hit the jukebox, Calvin headed over to the bar to grab refills. While he idly threw back some of the place’s stale pretzels, Malcolm took up a stool next to him. Calvin pushed the bowl towards him and Malcolm nodded his thanks.

  “Can’t stand the stuff, actually,” Calvin said.

  “What, pretzels?” Malcolm asked, confused. Why the hell would he eat them if he didn’t like them?
r />   Calvin gave a short laugh. “No. Country music. Don’t tell Gwen I said this, but I think it’s all twangy bullshit about someone loving or losing their dog or their beer or their woman. But it makes her happy, so what the hell, right?”

  “I guess?” Malcolm asked.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “It’s not… man, I don’t want to get involved. Isn’t my place.”

  Calvin turned towards him, his eyes gleaming with good humor. “Come on. Be honest. Not a lot of people in my life are.”

  “That’s just it. You’re sitting here telling me to be honest, but you don’t do that with a woman you’re living with?”

  Calvin thought about that and shrugged. “Not like the music’s gonna kill me, you know? Harmless little white lie.”

  Malcolm didn’t want to press the issue. It really wasn’t his business. “Sure. I hear you.”

  The bartender headed for them, and Calvin listed out their drink refills. When he turned back to Malcolm, he said, “If you’re not working, give us a call Sunday. We get a few people together after church and play some ball and maybe grab a bite. It’s a good time.”

  “That sounds great. Other than job hunting, I haven’t been doing crap for exercise, unless you count Halo.”

  “Pft,” Calvin said, raising his eyebrows and folding his arms. “I most certainly do.”

  “You play? We should get together, do a LAN party.”

  “That’d be great,” Calvin said. Then he leaned backwards and said over Malcolm’s back, “Baby. We found a keeper. He plays basketball and Halo.”

  “So long as he doesn’t think he’s driving the Warthog,” Gwen said, pulling the tie off her ponytail and letting her long hair fall down across her back and shoulders. It was mussed and a little crisp from sweat, and just a flash of thought about Gwen running her hands through that hair while she rode him was enough to make Malcolm hard. It didn’t help that the pose pushed her breasts up proudly, as if shouting for his attention and devotion.

  Down, he told himself, sucking in ten deep breaths as discreetly as he could in between scattered bits of conversation. With a great deal of grumbling, his body listened, but it wasn’t for a very long time.