《Random Acts of Trust (Random #2)》


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    Chapter One


    AmyAdvertisement


    I wish it were my mouth, the man¡¯s voice said, so faint I could barely understand.


    I was sitting on the train, taking the T from Porter Square to South Station on the Red Line, a day of fun in Cambridge alone capped by this trip. We were underground, the train lit up by blinking fluorescent lights, and the rumble of the cars along steel tracks made it hard to hear.


    And then, again, a man¡¯s voice:


    ...bucking against his hand, rushing to find the climax she wanted him to give her. ¡°And if we weren¡¯t about to get caught, it would be.¡±


    ¡°Caught?¡± She panicked¡ª


    This time, the voice was louder and...tinny. Robotic. An older, friendly-looking woman with a service dog glanced up, ears perked.


    Someone giggled. Where the hell was this coming from? I looked across the way to see my reflection in the train car window, the same old Amy staring back. Cultivated, half-lidded stare for city walking. Rumpled hair in a ponytail. Yoga pants and a v-neck t-shirt. My bag, filled with my wallet, some cosmetics, and¡ª


    My eReader tablet.


    ¡°Not yet, my sweet,¡± he insisted. ¡°Not until I¡¯ve given you this pleasure, and you¡¯ve given me your abandon.¡± His fingers stroked her¡ª


    ¡°My, oh, my,¡± said the woman across the way, who began to fan herself with a piece of paper. ¡°Someone is getting it on.¡±


    Frowning, I unzipped my bag.


    The voice grew louder.


    Very loud.


    lips and tongue tasting her as he drove two fingers inside her aching pussy, clit on fire from his fingers...


    Pussy? Clit? What the fuck was going on?


    Snorts and hoots filled the train car as every single set of eyes¡ªincluding the dog¡¯s¡ªwere on me now.


    ¡°What you listening to, girl?¡± asked some old man five seats away.


    ¡°I¡ªwhat? No, I don¡¯t know what that is,¡± I protested, frantically pawing through my purse.


    ¡°You are reading something hot and steamy,¡± said a young voice with an unplaceable accent. My head tilted up to follow the sound as my hands searched for the tablet, buried under a bunch of new student orientation notices from my grad school program.


    ¡°I¡¯m not reading any such thing¡ª¡± I locked eyes with a woman my age, with a huge halo of unruly blond curls, merry green eyes, and eyebrows that twitched with amusement.


    ¡°Let go, Lydia,¡± he whispered, grinding into her from behind, his words an urging she didn¡¯t need to hear twice.


    Mouth open, neck straining, she mewled a scream of unleashing, her body thrusting against his fingers, her thighs shaking as she lost control...


    Except she was right. The last thing I¡¯d read on my tablet had been a very hot romance novel, which left off with the hero and heroine trapped in a broken elevator (doesn¡¯t every romance novel have to have at least one scene like that?), and the words were familiar.


    Too familiar.


    ¡°Turn it up! This is getting good!¡± called a guy across the way, wrists covered with tats, a leering smile on his face.


    Found it! The tablet almost slammed to the ground as my fingers fumbled, face flushed with fear and shame, the voice pouring forth unbidden:


    Matt turned her around, thumb steady as it circled her hot, red nub, and he took her mouth with his, her lips tense with climax, mind on fire and body overcome with surges of heat, then chill, of riding his hand to wring every drop of ecstasy


    The blonde woman with the accent and the crazy hair started to clap. A bunch of people joined her. I hate you, I thought. The train came to a halt at Harvard Square and I reflexively stood and darted through the pneumatic doors, the damn tablet continuing its passionless robotic narrative, the crowd hooting and laughing hysterically. Someone pulled out their phone and began snapping pics.


    Dear God, please do not let this be some Facebook viral story.


    the intensity so much she nearly came again from the sound. ¡°Next time,¡± he hissed, lips taking hers, pinning her lower lip between his teeth, sucking, then using his tongue to explore her teeth, her palate, her mouth being loved by his


    Damn it! Where was the OFF button? This was a new tablet and in my overwhelm and horror I forgot how to shut it off.


    ¡°You readin¡¯ Fifty Shades?¡± She¡¯d followed me? The voice was so distinct for Boston that I didn¡¯t even need to look up. Evil Blonde Subway Torture Ringleader was staring down at me as I crouched on the ground in front of a wall covered with ads for movies, music, and other performances.


    Skirt around her hips, he used both hands to pin her ass to him, the weight of her release resting in his palms as she swallowed, breathing labored and sensual, his own breath...


    ¡°That¡¯s some damn fine writing. Who¡¯s the author again?¡± Stepping back, she finally got the hint as I ignored her, mercifully stopping the barrage of words from my tablet, words that had comforted and amused me just minutes ago, now turned into weapons of social destruction.


    Ready to snap, I looked up to find her fading into the crowd. A Dunkin¡¯ Donuts cup, greasy and covered with a fine layer of soot, was shoved under my nose.


    ¡°Got any change?¡± a panhandler asked.


    Hastily standing, I shook my head furiously. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Got a vibrator? Cause I need to rub one out after hearing that.¡± A six-toothed grin on the face of a woman my mom¡¯s age came along with the comment, like a side of fries. She turned away to ask the next person for money, leaving me holding my tablet, clutching my bag, and too many stops away from my final destination.


    As the new crowd assembled to wait for the next train, my heart rate gradually slowed from hummingbird to sloth, the flush on my face receded, and my mind raced to replay what had happened. Jostling from the train car going around a curve must have made something turn on the text-to-speech option, but how?


    A laugh escaped through my nose, soft and touched with a cringe that made me want to hide under a rock. An un-narrated rock.


    I shrugged. Ten more minutes and the next train would come. Might as well read for the next ten minutes. After pointedly shutting all sound off on my tablet, the whoosh of air that indicated a new train¡¯s arrival short-circuited my attempt. Shoving the tablet back in my bag, I turned and saw it.


    The poster.


    Random Acts of Crazy. Tonight, at a bar a few blocks from my new apartment.


    Oh, Sam.


    That night, I walked into not a high school dance or a community center gathering, but a very grown-up bar that reeked of ancient cigarette smoke (long outlawed) and rancid liquor, staring at a stage peppered with sound techs doing final checks. I paid my cover charge and absent-mindedly pocketed the raffle ticket the guy gave me.


    ¡°Save it for the drawing,¡± he said, turning to the next person behind me.


    Sam, Trevor, Joe and Liam would be on display any minute now, and I slid into a seat at an empty, sticky-topped table toward the back. I sat with a tilt to one side, hiding my face with my hair, grateful as the lights were dimmed and the stage lit up, from dull to bright by a dimmer switch some unknown hand cranked to full throttle.


    And then¡ªthey strutted out to the cheers and catcalls of the crowd. My own mouth stayed silent as a guy who looked like a bouncer swiped the table with a very wet bar cloth, the motion efficient and distracting, though appreciated. With another hand he used a dry towel and within twenty seconds the table was wiped clean.


    But not the slate between me and one of those guys on stage.


    Two, actually.


    ¡°What can I get you?¡± a pleasant woman¡¯s voice asked. The crowd crushed the edge of the stage as Trevor marched to the mic and shouted his introduction.


    His words were lost as I shouted back, ¡°Amaretto sour, please.¡±


    And then¡ªthe opening chords of their first song made my table shake, with Sam the maker of the room¡¯s heartbeat.


    Drummers are mysterious creatures who seek the erratic microbeats of authentic life that are layered between the macrobeats of society. Sam¡¯s hands were always tapping. Did they move in his sleep? Were his dreams filled with the nuanced undertone of beating movement? What did those hands seek?


    With his hands in constant motion, how could I let him know my body should be the one place where those fingers could be still?


    His hands moved like a poem, the left one tapping out a line, the right one pausing at the perfect moment to communicate emotion. Hot and sweaty on stage, the band moved as one organism. Trevor sang lead vocals. Hot, tall, muscled, and taking the crowd to a new layer of existence¡ªand everyone willingly followed. Joe stood quiet in the background, playing bass, providing the undercurrent of emotion that allowed Trevor to fan the flames inside all of us. Liam played guitar like a man strumming a woman¡¯s body. He seemed to make love to the instrument in a way that I could admire from afar, but that never quite caught the essence of me.


    Oh, no¡ªthat was all in Sam¡¯s fingers, in his forearms, his muscled shoulders, the obliques that twisted to play each part of his drum set as if it were my body. In a way, it was. Sitting here in the crowd, far in the back at a quiet table¡ªas if there were such a thing as a quiet table at any set played by Random Acts of Crazy¡ªall I could do was imagine.


    A well-practiced hand slid my drink in front of me, a cardboard coaster under it advertising some local dot com dating service¡ªGood Things Come in Threes. What the hell did that mean?


    Half a drink later, I found myself immersed in the fever of their song. Maybe I was deluding myself, and maybe it wasn¡¯t the song. Delusion has a way of becoming part of life when you least expect it, or maybe when you most need it. I could sit here and pretend that Sam was just a guy on stage playing his drum set, fulfilling his part in the puzzle pieces that made up the song they played so expertly. I could even imagine that I just came here because I was looking for something fun to do after moving into my new apartment and getting ready to start grad school.


    My imagination knew few bounds when it came to the taut rope that pulled me in two directions: one, to the carefully calibrated side of me that organized and categorized and protected and planned to make sure that no uncertain variables could sway me from being centered and grounded; and then there was the other side, the one where my imagination ran wild.


    That was the side pulled tight in a tug of war by Sam¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°You want another one, honey?¡± the cocktail waitress shouted over the fray of the end chords of Random Acts of Crazy¡¯s famous song ¡°I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer.¡±


    I nodded. Taking risks wasn¡¯t part of my nature, but what the hell¡ªa second Amaretto Sour wasn¡¯t going to kill anyone, was it? Drinking was new to me. I¡¯d only been legal for the past year, turning twenty-one late, after all my friends, with this damn August birthday. So, a year of drinking under my belt (at least legally) meant that it was still a novelty. Besides, I could walk home.


    Alone, of course. My boyfriend these days was molded pink plastic, with stamina that lasted as long as two energized double-D batteries.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly the kind of woman guys picked up and took home. That¡¯s not quite true¡ªit¡¯s more that I wouldn¡¯t let myself be that kind of woman. Not that guys didn¡¯t try. Although, for the past two years I¡¯d either been dating my now ex-boyfriend, Brent, or I had just carefully cultivated an outer shell that screamed, Don¡¯t even try!

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    The last time I let someone in, he shut me down. Cold. And didn¡¯t speak to me for four and a half years. Right now my eyes caressed him, watching how he gripped the drum sticks, wondering if he remembered me.


    Wondering if he cared.Advertisement


    The crowd roared as the song ended, and there pranced Trevor, just like he¡¯d been years ago when the band started out, except that he was larger than life and had the women in the crowd eating out of his hand. A fine, masculine specimen onstage with jeans that were tight in all the right places. All the guys had changed so much since high school, since I¡¯d seen them at their debut.


    Sam raked one of those beautiful hands through his auburn hair, and while I couldn¡¯t see his eyes because of the bright lights onstage, and the shadows that added to the mystique of the set, I knew that those green-and-amber-flecked irises were still the same. He stood, and the change in him made me gasp, scaring the waitress who had come by with my drink.


    ¡°You OK, hon?¡± she asked, bending down, making eye contact. Short, brown hair. Tight, wrinkled lips, like a smoker¡¯s. Kind, ocean-green eyes. She was as skinny as I was lush, and about my mother¡¯s age.


    I looked back at the stage, but Sam had turned away, was now listening intently as Joe spoke animatedly to him. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I just...they¡¯re just so good.¡±


    ¡°You mean they¡¯re just so hot,¡± she said in a conspirator¡¯s voice, nudging me gently with her elbow. ¡°You¡¯re not the first one in this room to think about taking one of them home, hon,¡± she said, her heels click-clacking as she hurried off to deliver more drinks.


    I laughed politely when she turned back and winked at me, because that¡¯s what you do, right? When someone makes a suggestion that taps into your inner world of fantasies, and hopes, and dreams, and says something that isn¡¯t quite appropriate for public, casual talk.


    And yet every word she said was true.


    Sam


    ¡°Trevor fucked a chicken?¡± I could barely hear anything Joe was saying to me onstage, my ears ringing, my hands throbbing, but I heard that. Fucked. Chicken. You don¡¯t miss that kind of statement, even after pounding away in the zone.


    ¡°Would you guys let it drop?¡± Trevor growled.


    ¡°No, just a French kiss,¡± Joe teased. ¡°After he proposed.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I shouted.


    Trevor waved his hand dismissively in Joe¡¯s direction. ¡°It¡¯s a bad joke.¡±


    No,¡± Joe argued, ¡°if I¡¯d said you thought she was too fowl-mouthed for you, that would be a bad joke.¡±


    Groans all around.


    ¡°Watch for a song about Mavis,¡± Joe added as we stepped off the stage and walked back to our dressing room. Dressing room was far too fancy a term. Alcohol-infused dump filled with eau du vomit was closer, though still kind.


    I slumped into a couch that sagged so close to the ground I might as well have been riding in a pimped-out Civic and threw my head back, ears ringing and hands on fire.


    Ever since Trevor disappeared and Joe went and rescued him in Ohio, the band had felt...different. Richer and fuller in some ways, with Trevor writing some of the best damn lyrics, not only in the entire band¡¯s history, but really some of the best I was seeing in new music like ours. Whatever had happened to him in Ohio had transformed him.


    I knew about Mavis the Chicken and started laughing, a little slow on the uptake. ¡°Maybe she could be our mascot,¡± I said, laughing.


    ¡°I¡¯m your mascot!¡± an excited voice chirped. And then the hair appeared, followed by those bright green eyes.


    Darla.


    Getting together with Joe, Trevor and Liam for practices and new song development had always been fun. We had Joyce tagging along sometimes, and the rotating girlfriend of the month for whichever one of us was dating someone. Beth had been mine for almost a year. That ended a month ago when she questioned how serious I was about life. I guess having a homeless boyfriend with an undergrad degree in Political Science from UMass Amherst, and nowhere to live except his friends¡¯ couches, didn¡¯t really fit with her image of what her future needed to be.


    ¡°You take your music too seriously,¡± she had said in that final conversation.


    ¡°I do take it too seriously, because it¡¯s serious.¡±


    ¡°I am what you should take too seriously.¡±


    My silence had made her stalk off, muttering a slur of profanity that beat out any sorority chick¡¯s drunken ramblings on TMZ.


    And so we were done.


    Good. It¡¯s good that we were done because life is a hell of a lot easier when it¡¯s just you. Just you and the drums and whatever crappy job you have to work to get by.


    Getting back to Darla. She was unlike any girl I had ever met. Big and curvy and wild and sweet, in a ragingly sarcastic way that made her one of the guys. Sort of. Damn if that woman didn¡¯t say whatever came into her mind. Who does that? No one in our lives did.


    Trevor planted a kiss on Darla¡¯s cheek and mouthed ¡°thank you¡± as she handed him, then Joe, a cold bottled water. ¡°You want one?¡± she asked me, so friendly and open.


    ¡°Yeah. Thanks.¡±


    Trevor slunk out after her, hands all over that nice, round ass, giggles filling the hall. Then silence. Then a moan.


    I wasn¡¯t getting that bottled water. Not, at least, until they¡¯d finished.


    Joe watched them leave, an amused half smile over his face. ¡°So listen, man, remember how I got waitlisted for Penn?¡±


    How the hell wasn¡¯t he jealous?


    ¡°Earth to Sam.¡±


    I shook my head, lost in that thought. Sharing one woman...I got it in principle, but in reality....¡°Yeah.¡± Getting into the University of Pennsylvania Law School was Joe¡¯s wet dream. He probably jizzed all over the college catalogues nightly, hoping that it was some form of sacrifice that the admissions gods would view favorably.


    ¡°They called.¡±


    ¡°No fucking way, man.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Joe nodded. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it, either.¡±


    It was late July, in the middle of the worst of the Boston summer, and everyone I knew who was going to law school, med school, or getting their MBA, was settled.


    ¡°But you¡¯re going to BC,¡± I said. Boston College.


    ¡°Not now.¡±


    ¡°You accepted?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s wicked cool. Congrats!¡± Penn was a big deal, Ivy League. A very big deal. He looked puffed up and deflated at the same time, proud of his accomplishment, but...


    ¡°You tell Trevor and Darla yet?¡± His eyes cut away as he shook his head. Aw, he was so dead. For the past few weeks I¡¯d watched how the three of them interacted¡ªadmired it, really. Managing one girlfriend, two people in a relationship was hard enough. The three of them seemed to manage their...arrangement...so fluidly.


    I started tapping a beat on my thigh, trying to ground my brain as it started to spiral away from me while the emotional implications of what Joe was saying began to sink in.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t told them, but I have to tonight.¡±


    ¡°What about the band?¡± I practically shouted.


    Joe grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the couch. I tapped out a more complex rhythm on my leg hoping to communicate with the part of my brain that was freaking out and tell it to calm down, tell it that nothing Joe said had anything to do with who I was on the inside.


    ¡°If I¡¯m in Philly there¡¯s no way I can stay in the band.¡±


    ¡°No way!¡± We were just starting to get good paying gigs, the kind that would let me drop the temp jobs in the factories and the crappy cubicle farm shifts where I processed paperwork that had no real meaning in life. ¡°If you leave we need to get a new bassist.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know you do. But I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    ¡°Dammit, Joe, why¡¯d you have to go and get a backbone just as we¡¯re starting to break out?¡± I smiled. I was glad for him¡ªthis meant a lot. ¡°Damn,¡± was all I could say.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just about the band, though,¡± Joe said, his eyes shifting. ¡°It¡¯s about everything.¡±


    ¡°Your mom¡¯s going to shit a brick.¡±


    ¡°She already did. It was a vegan, free range, organic brick.¡± He just shook his head, looking like an old Italian grandmother tsk-tsking. ¡°A proud brick,¡± he said, chuckling. ¡°But look,¡± Joe added, with that face that looked like something out of a movie poster, ¡°I¡¯m going to Penn. I¡¯m not going to be able to room with Trevor, so if you want to take over my half of the apartment, you can. Have your own bedroom, the whole bit.¡±


    I went numb. That was great and all, but how the hell was I going to pay for it? ¡°And you and Darla...and Trevor...?¡± The words seemed so weird coming out like that.


    ¡°I¡¯m going have to deal with that next,¡± Joe said, his eyes breaking away.


    Trevor came up behind us. ¡°Why so serious?¡±


    Damn. They were fast. Darla¡¯s eyes were hazy and unfocused, the kind of look a woman has after she¡¯d just been thoroughly enjoyed. Trevor strutted a bit more than usual, and I saw small red streaks on his neck. Fingernails.


    ¡°We¡¯re just talking about the mating habits of chickens,¡± I answered.


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± he grunted and stormed off.


    ¡°Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck OFF!¡± Joe said like a chicken¡¯s bawk. We laughed. ¡°It always works, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    I just shook my head. It felt like the entire room was balanced on one tiny, tiny shard of glass on top of a feather bed that was about to tilt.


    ¡°Five minutes!¡± the owner said, popping his head in.


    I walked off to find my own damn water as Joe pulled Darla into the adjoining room.


    Amy


    The last time I saw Sam was four and a half years ago at the qualifiers for the National Debate Tournament. He was from a neighboring school and I¡¯d seen him since freshman year at different speech tournaments, every Saturday, from the end of October through March with few exceptions. I had a sense of who he was from the start. He was Lincoln-Douglas debate all the way, baby. Smart, determined, and turning from a silent geek into one hell of a hot guy by the time we were seniors.


    The funny part was he didn¡¯t know it.


    The awesome part was that was what drew me to him.


    He wasn¡¯t awkward, like the other guys. Sam was so self-contained and knew himself so deeply that he didn¡¯t need to talk about it, or show off, or prove his manhood. Talking to Sam could be torture. Catching him in the halls, in the cafeteria with his group from his high school, and me with my group from their rival, we intersected enough to hang out. Over ice cream bars and the occasional cup of coffee by our senior year, there was an accumulation of just enough conversations for me to decide that I wasn¡¯t crazy and that there was a spark of interest there. What happened to confirm that was burned into my brain, the second strongest memory of my life.


    I lost one of the most intense debates of my career two weeks before qualifiers, and Sam found me in a corner of the enormous high school auditorium that wasn¡¯t being used by the speech kids. I was trying to cry quietly, and mostly not succeeding. He just found me¡ªthat¡¯s all. He didn¡¯t lord over the fact that he placed first in the tournament that day, to my third. He didn¡¯t try to say all the right words that everyone thought were kind, and considerate, and comforting, and helpful.

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    He didn¡¯t stumble or say ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He just walked up and stopped a few feet away from me, his brow lowering with a frown of recognition, and then did something so perfect it makes me ache to this day. Decisively, step by step, he closed the gap and just put his arms around me. Tucked my cheek into his chest and wound one arm around my waist, the other around my shoulders, rested his head on my hair, and held me. I would give anything to go back to that moment in the auditorium, with its cracked wood seats and its shabby, threadbare carpet, its smell of lemony bleach.


    To feel again how Sam filled all my senses. My ear against the wool of his suit, his arms wrapped around me like a cocoon of understanding. His aftershave, the rasp of his cheek against my ear. Sam created a world for me in that one moment, a safe world where I could cry. A world where I fell in love. What I didn¡¯t know then was that two weeks later at the qualifiers, I would dismantle that world, atom by atom, molecule by molecule, completely unaware that I was doing it at the time.Advertisement


    It should have made me feel like a creepy stalker, taking pleasure as I did when I listened to the music and I watched his movement. Just as being behind that drum set was where Sam seemed to make some sort of sense, my place was here watching him as I tried to make sense of my own rhythms, my own beats, and my own choices.


    Sam


    ¡°What the hell kind of state doesn¡¯t have Happy Hour?¡± Darla asked, incredulous.


    She was at every practice and every gig now that she was living here, somewhere in Cambridge with an aunt who ran a dating service where Darla had a job. It must be a day job, because she had plenty of time to act like a band manager and mother hen. You wouldn¡¯t know that she had her own apartment, either; she¡¯d been spending so much time at Trevor and Joe¡¯s that they¡¯d bought her a toothbrush. Not that I could say anything¡ªI was crashing on their couch for free.


    ¡°In Ohio most bars have Happy Hour all week long. You walk in and they¡¯ve got free food¡ªyou know, wings and mozzarella sticks and all kinds of things that you can munch on,¡± she said. ¡°And then discounts on drinks. Dollar drafts, buy one drink, get one free, or buy one drink, get one half off¡ªyou name it. All the major cities in Ohio have it, but here....¡± She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. ¡°Nothin¡¯. And why do the bars close at one o¡¯clock?¡±


    Trevor shrugged. ¡°Beats me. I know alcohol can¡¯t be served after two.¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Darla interjected. ¡°So why one o¡¯clock? What¡¯s up with being so uptight? Is it the Catholicism in this state, or what? What the hell does the Pope have against a mozzarella stick or a basket of wings? ¡±


    ¡°Darla,¡± Trevor said, pulling her in, their hips touching, his hands all over her ample ass. ¡°You go march right over to the bar owner and give him a piece of your mind. Change the world. Free the mozzarella sticks.¡±


    ¡°The poor schmuck who owns this place doesn¡¯t control any of that. It¡¯s the voters,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°Run for governor. Vote for Darla!¡± Trevor shouted.


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s so much easier to just sit here and bitch about it.¡±


    Joe walked up in the middle of our laughter looking green and sick. I started to take off and give them a minute for what I knew was about to happen, but Liam marched over and interrupted before Joe had a chance to speak. Joe looked relieved.


    Liam was taller than any of us; he towered over Trevor, and that wasn¡¯t an easy accomplishment. When we were younger, he¡¯d looked like a wiry praying mantis, always too tall for the society he was in. Since senior year of high school, though, he¡¯d taken to lifting weights and had filled out a lot. Liam¡¯s confidence reflected the change; he¡¯d begun to manifest a certain personal authority. He interrupted Joe without apology, confidently certain that what he had to say was the most important.


    I wanted to be that way. It wasn¡¯t easy after my parents spent most of my childhood and teen years reminding me to project happiness at all times, as a sign of confidence, of assurance, and of contentment¡ªnone of which I really felt. While that developed, I was cocooned behind my drum kit and managed the truth by omission.


    Drumbeats and measures and music are always honest, laid out plainly, page after page after page. The beats, the microbeats, the macrobeats, all of it are a kind of language that tells you¡ªnote after note, tap after tap¡ªexactly what you need to do to get to the end of the song. How I interpret the emotional landscape within those beats, though¡ªthat¡¯s entirely up to me. I can go heavy and deep, or shallow and wild. If only life were that simple and uncomplicated.


    I studied Trevor, Joe, and Darla. I saw a complication of their choosing. No piece of music, no set of lyrics or measures or notes laid out in a blueprint, could capture what they had improvised. And they¡¯d done it in three-three time.


    I preferred two-two.


    Amy


    ¡°They¡¯re great, aren¡¯t they?¡± A voluptuous, blonde woman with eyes the color of the ocean and curly, frizzy hair sat down next to me. Her personality took up two thirds of the table.


    And she looked way too familiar.


    She was wearing some sort of a cotton shirt underneath a flannel, like 1991 called and asked her to audition for a part in a Pearl Jam video. As I scooched over to make room for her, I peeked under the table¡ªyep, I was right. Chuck Taylors. She didn¡¯t exactly fit in with the college crowd on the Fenway. Then again, I looked around at the way everyone else was dressed and styled in this dive bar, and realized that I didn¡¯t exactly fit it, either. I was wearing a cami with one of those ragged-edged jackets that you could get at J. Jill¡­except I got mine at the Salvation Army for $3.99.


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re really good,¡± I said, reflexively polite. She kind of looked like a lot of the women out in Northampton. Was I being hit on? She slammed a beer bottle down on the table from a microbrewery nearby. Good taste in beer, I thought. I took a sip of my Amaretto Sour. It was getting close to the bottom and this was the point where I cut myself off.


    ¡°You seem like you know them. Hi, I¡¯m Darla,¡± she said, holding out her hand.


    I shook it. ¡°Amy,¡± I said..


    She wiped her hand on her hip. Or was it her ass? It was kind of hard to tell, as her curves blended together like mine, but a little bigger and shaped in a different way. ¡°How long have you been following them?¡± she asked, leaning with her elbows on the table, shooting an adoring look at the stage.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± I started slowly, choosing my words carefully.


    She peered at me with narrowed eyes, an intelligence washing over her face, making me realize that I¡¯d underestimated her. ¡°Hold on. I know you. Where have we met?¡±


    My mind searched through the database of faces I knew. This one was recent. Why couldn¡¯t I remember?


    ¡°I know!¡± she shouted. And then, in an electronic, robotic voice, she said, ¡°I wish it were my mouth. My pussy and clit need to be touched. Please move three licks to the right.¡± Snicker.


    Oh, shit. She was the blonde from the subway this morning. A red cloud of shame plumed on my face and I felt my heart slam against my ribs.


    ¡°You remember the words?¡±


    ¡°And something about a little red nub, ecstasy, and¡ª¡±


    A group of guys behind us went silent and leaned toward us, clearly eavesdropping.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault my eReader malfunctioned.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said, putting her palms up. ¡°What you do with electronic devices in the privacy of your own mind is your business.¡±


    ¡°You make me sound like a perv!¡± Even a chance at watching Sam wasn¡¯t worth this.


    She lowered her voice and shot the guys behind us an eyeroll. ¡°I never said that. You said that. I actually want to know the name of that book. Sounds right up my alley. Better than the cheesy historical romances my mom reads.¡±


    ¡°How on earth did you get from being on that subway car to being here?¡± I asked, a prickly heat rising inside me.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty random, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I groaned. She frowned, then realized why and laughed.


    She took a swig of her beer and then looked back as the band reassembled, getting ready for the next set, as relaxed as I was tense. ¡°I¡¯ve only been following them for about a year,¡± she said, quietly. The sudden shift in conversation was abrupt, but I¡¯d take it. Just get the focus off me.


    Oh, if only you knew, I thought. ¡°Are you a fan?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m...¡± She paused, and got a funny look on her face, like there was a correct way to answer that question, and it was on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn¡¯t sure whether to choose a lesser option. ¡°Yeah.¡± Darla nodded. ¡°I¡¯m a fan.¡±


    What had she decided NOT to say? I wondered. Whatever it was, I wanted to hear it. That was probably more interesting than the banal, politely expected response. Darla didn¡¯t strike me as the conventional type, so maybe there was something about me that made her say that.


    ¡°What¡¯s your favorite song?¡± she asked me.


    ¡°I Wasted¡­¡± I began, and she squealed along, ¡°¡­My Only Answered Prayer!¡± we said in unison, and then laughed.


    She kind of did that backhanded, playful smack thing that a good friend does. It reminded me of Erin, my best friend. You can still call someone your best friend even if they live 3,000 miles away, right? Because Erin had just left for orientation for a PhD program at Berkeley. Not Berklee College of Music here in Boston. No, the other Berkeley. UC Berkeley. She was going into History, Women¡¯s History, no less, and had gotten in with full funding. For the next two weeks she was at some archive in the middle of Canada doing research.


    I was getting my master¡¯s in Library Science here in Boston at a college known all too well for that. Library Science was safe, contained, simple, orderly¡ªeverything I wanted since I¡¯d realized it was everything that Sam wasn¡¯t. Everything that Darla clearly wasn¡¯t.


    She stood, shoved two fingers into her mouth and whistled the kind of wolf whistle that had eluded me my entire life.


    ¡°How do you do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Do what?¡±


    I motioned at my mouth. ¡°That whole...thing...you did. You know.¡± I moved my hand around, trying to come up with the idea.


    She mimicked me, joking. ¡°You mean give a blowjob?¡±


    ¡°No! I don¡¯t mean that,¡± I said, my cheeks burning.


    ¡°Then what the heck is this?¡± She waved her hands around wildly.


    ¡°This,¡± I said, waving mine around, ¡°is two Amaretto Sours in me in an hour.¡±


    An arched eyebrow answered me. ¡°Maybe you need three.¡±


    I laughed, my eyes taking in Sam as he walked across the stage, the way his legs ate the floor. I was talking to her, but my attention was elsewhere.


    She picked up on it, fast. ¡°Which one¡¯s your favorite?¡± she said.


    Her tone remained super chummy and chipper, but there was a look in her eyes that told me there was a right answer to her question¡ª and a very wrong one. I went for safe because I always go for safe, right? That¡¯s what I do. That¡¯s why I was sitting here in the back of a dark bar, staring at Sam, talking to a complete stranger about someone I didn¡¯t have the guts to walk up to and say ¡®hi.¡¯

 Page 4

    ¡°They all are.¡± I grinned back as ferociously as I could.


    ¡°Liar.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°But I¡¯m a good one, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    That got her laughing. ¡°I¡¯ve known too many good liars in my life,¡± she said, ¡°I could use a few people who tell the truth.¡± The first chords of a song reverberated through the building and Darla sprinted away. ¡°Come backstage when it¡¯s over,¡± she shouted, waving over her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you can get in.¡±


    A new song, one I¡¯d never heard before, started to trickle out from the instruments onstage. The melody and harmony intertwined like tendrils from a vine growing with little buds, eager to reach the sun and bloom. I could feel my heart slamming against my chest and then a flood of warmth, then heat, then fire as Trevor opened his mouth and everyone came together in perfect harmony.


    Sam


    I don¡¯t know why we never thought to record a song called ¡°Random Acts of Crazy¡± before. Then again, how many bands record a song with their name as the title? It made sense, though, when you looked at what happened to Trevor. How many people wind up naked, on the side of the highway, nothing on them but a guitar, and end up falling in love?


    Damn, if that guy didn¡¯t have all the luck.


    As the song progressed, I could feel myself shifting, the way that I always did when I was playing. The beat came naturally¡ªwhen to pull back, when to lean in, how to keep time with the improvisation that Trevor threw into it, how Joe and Liam knew to keep up. We were all working together, and the word ¡®team¡¯ seemed so cheesy, like something out of a class we¡¯d had to take in high school. Team was the most overused word on the planet when it came to educational institutions.


    Funny how flow was never uttered.


    I didn¡¯t often look out into the crowd when we were playing; normally the lights were too bright or the place was too dark. Some sixth sense, though, told me to look up, and so help me God, it was like seeing a ghost in the crowd. She sat at a table alone with empty glasses in front of her. Turned away just a little, her eyes not on us, but on some spot over to my left. Was that really Amy? Why was she here? Gorgeous. Look at her. The long brown hair that spilled over her shoulders was styled differently, bringing out those eyes, wide and round, underscored by cheekbones that made me want to plant kisses on them every hour, on the hour. She had a smile that turned the regular world into a weak facsimile of truth. She was the only girl¡ªwoman, now¡ªwho had ever made my mind echo with the word ¡®love.¡¯


    I had loved Amy from afar all through high school¡ªtoo scared to approach her for what turned out to be exactly too long, finally taking the plunge four and half years ago when the stakes were too high. Just as I worked up the nerve to step up, I found all I could do was walk away.


    High school seemed like another life, not just my past, but an entire separate lifetime lived out in some sort of fuzzy dimension that ran parallel to who I was.


    It came back now, a deep, heavy macrobeat that thrummed in half-time with my heart, making me slow down, making time slow down¡ªbecause with someone like Amy, you want time to tick one thousand years per second.


    And it still wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    The song was wrapping up and my brain fused back together, the two pieces integrated, my hands itching to feel her cheekbones, her jawline, that soft spot on her neck where I had buried my nose in a stolen embrace. She¡¯d thought I had been comforting her, but I had just been reaching out, wanting to enter her world. It had turned out that she had wanted to enter mine.


    And then I shattered everything.


    Amy


    Here¡¯s the thing about bookish girls...we know a lot more about sex than you would ever imagine. We read. Our eyes flit to anything with words assembled on a page, from the backs of cereal boxes to brochures at the pharmacist¡¯s, to our mother¡¯s hidden Penthouse Forum magazines, and copies of My Secret Garden and Madonna¡¯s book Sex.


    We read.


    Reading opens up a whole new layer of existence when it comes to our bodies and sexuality. It fuels our fantasies, gives us concrete ideas for what a sexual fantasy even is, and creates this tantalizing layer of existence where we know so much, have read so many ways that people relate to each other intimately, erotically, sexually, and yet, we have so little physical, tangible experience.


    Do you see the problem? It¡¯s pretty obvious, right? Which brings me to the next thing that you really need to know about bookish girls, and it¡¯s this¡ªlibrarians are hot. Really hot. Most of us wear glasses because our eyes are blown from taking in so much information about the core of human existence that we just can¡¯t handle it all without help. Plenty of us look boring and dull on the outside, but again, you¡¯ve got to realize, we read.


    When I was ten, I discovered Stephen King¡¯s novel, The Dead Zone. My mother had left it on the coffee table when she finished it, I was bored and it was summer, so I started reading. Adult fiction was like this whole other world. More to read than American Girl books and Judy Blume? The children¡¯s librarian at our local library had guided me to read a lot of the Judy Blume books by then, and was moving into things like To Kill a Mockingbird and Holes and Fade. A lot of the Robert Cormier books were most interesting to me, but this was another world. Stephen King¡¯s topic, supernatural abilities and horrible visions, was outside my usual subject matter, but that wasn¡¯t even close to the newest experience with that book.


    The part that captivated me and that catapulted me to where I am now, twelve years later, was a sex scene. It was the first sex scene I had ever read¡ªunsurprisingly, as I was only ten. An incredible sex scene in a hayloft. Reading this, and rereading it, and re-reading it, my ten-year-old brain was drawn to how poetic it was. Morality aside¡ªthe woman in the scene was married to another man, and sleeping with the main character¡ªto me it was most important that it was so sweet, and tender, and new.


    I knew the basics; my mom was a high school guidance counselor and had explained sex to me much the way she¡¯d explained Internet safety and the finer points of college application polishing. It was an Important Fact To Be Covered for the purpose of making me well rounded and safe.


    But this ¨C this was something other than these parts do this to make a baby. There were emotions involved in this¡ªand there was pleasure. It stunned me that two people would be together and try to reach something greater than themselves.


    I was hooked.


    That was it. That was what I wanted to read. I didn¡¯t want to go out and do it, for goodness sake; that wasn¡¯t at all in my mind, like, for years. But what I wanted was access to that world. Adults could interact with each other on this level that actually made me look forward to growing up.


    Deciding right then and there that I would learn as much as I could about how adults related to one another, I saw that books in the adult section¡ªnot the children¡¯s wing¡ªwere the gateway to this other world. Librarians at our local library had to approve kids under twelve for a library card to access the adult section. Convincing them became my mission, and I did it, pretty quickly. It wasn¡¯t hard to use some solid examples of great works of literature that allowed me to have that ever-important sticker on my kid¡¯s library card, and then I went for it.


    Danielle Steele, Kresley Cole, Jackie Collins, Eloisa James, Julia Quinn ¨C the big ones, mostly still from whatever the local library stocked on the shelves. When I had read through all of the books they had written, I just kept going. Thank God for the Internet, too. Book bloggers made all the difference for me. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen¡ªat those ages I didn¡¯t really have a compass for what to read, but the book bloggers gave it to me.


    I think I was seventeen when I ordered my first sex toy off a major online retailer¡¯s website. Hiding it from my mom was the hard part. Figuring out how to use it was easy. A little too easy. The Internet had taught me the difference between clitoral orgasms and vaginal orgasms. My toy collection grew. My inventory of clitoral orgasms grew, but the vaginal ones remained elusive.


    And when I¡¯d found an actual boyfriend in college¡ªI met Brent at a band competition of all places¡ªsex turned out to be, um...OK. He was a drummer. Don¡¯t overread into that. Brent had a saying: ¡°the first time¡¯s for me and the second time¡¯s for you.¡±


    I think that speaks for itself.


    Watching the way Sam moved on stage, embracing the music through the instrument he played, I saw him seeking an intimacy, a connection to something greater than himself. Seeking what I sought. Sam and I could do that for each other. We could create that world again, the world in that first embrace. All of this came to the forefront of my mind, my lips, my fingertips, and my core when I watched Sam making love to his drums. The way he moved, the way he fingered those sticks, how his body reached out to embrace each part of the instrument he played¡ªhe really was the one who got away. There was nothing I could do about that now, just sit here and watch him, and make love to him with my eyes, while he made love to an instrument.


    I¡¯d have bet he could touch me in ways that would make my breath hitch, my blood pound, my mind shatter into a million tiny pieces, and then realign in my flesh only to explode again, the thin sound of the molecules in motion all chanting his name. Sam could do that. I could do that to Sam. We could create another world together like he did in his embrace of me, except now we¡¯re not seventeen, we¡¯re not under our parents¡¯ thumbs, and we¡¯re not adversaries. Did he have a girlfriend? Was there a chance for anything with him right now, or was I fooling myself? The swell of the music drove too many competing rhythms through my blood.


    It was time to stop thinking.


    It was time to just listen.


    Sam


    It shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise when Beth dumped me. What had been the actual surprise was that she ever dated me at all. She was one of those girls who look like the bored friend in all those ads for cool clothes. You know, the women with small tits and flat stomachs, and little, thin, tanned legs that cross perfectly, with the skirt that practically shows how many hairs they missed at the last waxing. Beth was way too pretty and popular for me, and I knew that, knew it for the entire time that we dated.


    She was at Amherst and I was at UMass, and we met, of all places, in a bar. Clich¨¦, I know. I¡¯m okay with clich¨¦. She liked me because I was a drummer, a bad boy, at least until we were headed toward our final semester of senior year, and something in her decided that she was just done with me. Having her dump me six weeks before graduation hurt less than it should have; that was the first clue.


    When I look back and really think about the times I felt hot and bothered, and way out of control over a woman, there aren¡¯t many. With Beth there was a little bit in the beginning, but then it settled into a routine of being dragged around by the nose and doing her bidding. I went along because, hey, she had a libido and an appetite for sex the way that a teenage boy has an appetite for pizza. The sex was fan-fuckin¡¯-tabulous, but the love, and some of those other words that you hear about in relationships like respect, or mutual appreciation, or some of that other crude shit that our psychology and human sexuality professors used to claim were part of the human experience. That? Beth wasn¡¯t into that.

 Page 5

    Maybe that¡¯s why it didn¡¯t hurt as much as it should have when it ended. I supposed she did me a favor. The hardest part was getting my sexual needs met. You can only date your hand for so long, and hands that were calloused, at that, from playing drums and holding the sticks just right. Plus, my fingers weren¡¯t exactly normal. The drum playing, for one. And what happened four years ago, for the other. Beth had actually been kind of turned on by that. She liked the way the interior skin along my knuckles was hard, how parts of my palm had callouses that she said, when I dragged them along the side of her ribcage and cupped her breast, made her feel like she was with a rockstar.


    After all, she kind of was.Advertisement


    Someone had left a half-empty cup on my floor tom, and I threw it away. As I got ready for the next set I looked out into the crowd. The stage lights were off, and some sort of boring, late 90¡¯s hard rock played, sounding like elevator music in the distance.


    I froze. The blood drained out of me and my body went hot and cold at the same time, hands clenching around sticks I didn¡¯t have yet. Amy? So I wasn¡¯t making it up. Could that really be her? I rubbed my eyes. I must be getting tired, and yet...I looked again, peering out into the crowd. If it was her, damn, had four years been good to her. She still did that little thing where she stuck her pinky finger into the corner of her mouth, her tongue worrying it in a way that was so hot it made parts of me come alive.


    If anyone was going to make me hard, it would be Amy. Not that I had any right to it. What I did to her four years ago was so shitty, I should be flogging myself, and not in that way. As penance. The Sam that I had been my senior year of high school couldn¡¯t handle the fact that she, with one hug, one kiss, and one win, had cut off my balls and served them on a platter for my father to shove down my throat.


    I knew better now.


    Now that it was too late.


    ¡°Hey, Sam.¡± Liam stalked over, jaunty and sweaty. ¡°Here,¡± he said, shoving a little piece of paper at me.


    It was a business card, and I flipped it between my front two fingers. ¡°What is it? Louise Erhardt Entertainment.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a job opportunity,¡± Liam said. Something in the way he smiled at me made it seem like a leer.


    ¡°Job opportunity? What, like a gig?¡±


    He pressed his lips together and puffed some air out. His arms flexed, and if he¡¯d been wearing anything other than a cotton t-shirt, he¡¯d have split the seams. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at me, and whispered, ¡°Give her a call. Seriously, dude. It¡¯s a good job.¡±


    ¡°What job?¡±


    He stalked off and called out over his shoulder, ¡°Pays a couple hundred a night.¡±


    Couple hundred a night? Serious money. Shit. That could save me. I looked back at the table where Amy had been sitting and she was gone, her drink still there. Maybe I was fooling myself and it wasn¡¯t really her. Why would she come here, and most of all, why couldn¡¯t I stop thinking about her?


    Amy


    The bar¡¯s bathroom was about as scuzzy as I¡¯d expected, and the face that looked back at me from the mirror was, of course, exactly what I expected. Sometimes I found myself looking into the mirror and actually thinking that I would see something different, as if the layers that were inside me would somehow show themselves by giving me a different appearance. The Amy who always stared back seemed too plain for the person who lived inside. Long, brown hair, with just enough wave to give it shape. Big, brown eyes that seemed a little too fearful for the strong person I knew was smothered under some of those layers. My nose wasn¡¯t big or small. My skin wasn¡¯t clear or a mess.


    And then there was my body. I liked to think that I was just a head. Literally. A head that walked around attached to this thing that I required in order to function in daily life. My body didn¡¯t really matter to me, until it did. Some people like to use the word voluptuous. My mother called me curvy, while my grandma called me chunky. No one was mean about it, but it was there, as if having extra curves on my hips or a thicker than acceptable waist, and breasts that filled a cup and then some, were a quiet damning. An indictment of a body that didn¡¯t fit in with modern society.


    My ex, Brent, hadn¡¯t seemed to care too much about my weight, though I would catch him ogling other women, most of them a good twenty pounds lighter than me. The paradox was that the same body that I pretended to ignore was the one that I explored so tentatively, and at other times aggressively, in trying to understand the core of myself.


    What I wanted was someone else¡¯s hands to do that work, someone else¡¯s obsession to be zeroed in on me, a man¡¯s desire to be at the center of finding Amy¡¯s sensual self. Instead, there was only me and my books, and essays, and readings, and the occasional prop ordered discreetly online. None of those, not even Brent, came close to being a substitute for the richness that I knew was out there in the world.


    Couldn¡¯t I find that one person who would come to treasure me? Who would view me not just as a mind, as a bodiless head wandering around, or not just as a headless body, there to be fucked and thrown away,¡ªbut as the whole package? What I wanted most wasn¡¯t Sam, although as I settled back at my table I found myself searching the crowd and the stage for him.


    It wasn¡¯t the idea of Sam that I wanted; it was the reality of a partner who would go the distance with me. Someone I could give up the entire world for, so that we could go deep and burrow into each other¡ªmind, body, soul, and everything. I knew it was possible...it had to be, right?


    If I could think it, it could be real.


    As I looked up and found Sam on stage, getting ready for the next song, and wondered if he could be the one, I saw Darla walk over to him. No, past him. She reached for Trevor, who reached back with a familiar embrace, and then a kiss that...whoa, practically set the stage on fire. Jeez, the two of them needed to get a room.


    I finished my drink, the watery taste of melted ice cubes and alcohol familiar, like the words ¡°the end¡± on the final page of a book, and then, out of the corner of my eye, Darla stepped away from Trevor as a hand slid up her back, under her shirt. The hand was attached to...Joe? Who then proceeded to...oh, dear. If they showed any more tongue I would think I was at a butcher shop.


    Who on earth was she actually with? The kiss with Joe went on and on until my own face started to flush, and the creeping red from my chest stretched up, then down.


    I felt like a voyeur, as if I weren¡¯t supposed to be watching this, but what are you supposed to do when they¡¯re onstage in front of a crowd? Trevor¡¯s hand splayed across Darla¡¯s ass, an ass about the size of my own. There I went comparing again¡ªdoes any woman not? I admired whatever was going on in a sickly kind of way, my stomach twisting in knots. Was it possible? Were the two of them...no, the three of them...?


    And then Sam approached her. My whole body turned to melted chocolate, and then tensed up to granite, revolving in a cycle that left me weak.


    Then very, very angry as Darla reached out for Sam.


    Oh, no, she didn¡¯t.


    I stood, hands twisted into fists, the blood pounding at my scalp, making the lights on stage go dim. Liam McCarthy jumped to the mic and shouted, ¡°Are you ready to party?¡±My mouth went dry as I watched him own the stage. Hadn¡¯t seen him in years, either.


    Seeing the person who took your virginity really should generate an emotional reaction, right?


    The crowd leapt to their feet and my view of the stage was obscured. Damn it! The raised arms, shrill whistles and screams from about a hundred fans made me lose track of what, exactly, Darla was doing to¡ªor with¡ªSam.


    Liam tried to calm the crowd, arms out, palms down in a gesture of quiet. ¡°Let¡¯s get the raffle out of the way.¡±


    Anemic cheers.


    ¡°Three prizes tonight.¡±


    ¡°Free drinks!¡± Someone shouted. That got another round of hoots and some clapping.


    ¡°Sorry¡ªgo hook up with someone in the crowd for that.¡± Loads of giggles from the women. Groans from the men.


    ¡°First of three prizes¡ªfree tickets to our next concert!¡± I pulled my ticket out of my pocket. Why not? Going home with a prize was better than going home alone. Standing on tiptoes, I kept trying to catch a glimpse of Sam, and to see what Darla was doing to him. With him. Whatever. Liam called out a number that wasn¡¯t mine. As the crowd settled back in their seats, I saw Joe and Sam setting up equipment in the background. No Darla. Good.


    ¡°Second prize¡ªa CD from our best live performances.¡± He read off a number.


    Not mine.


    ¡°Third and final prize.¡± Cocky grin. ¡°Let me call out the number and then I¡¯ll tell you what you get.¡±


    ¡°A night with you, Liam!¡± some drunk girl screamed.


    He cocked one hell of a sexy eyebrow at the crowd and leered. ¡°That would make any woman a winner.¡± He drew the word winner out like a finger running down a woman¡¯s breast, over her ribs, down her torso...and the women in the crowd shrieked.


    And then he called out my number.


    ¡°Anyone?¡±


    I was frozen. Holy shit. What?


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you if someone doesn¡¯t claim it!¡± a woman cried out.


    ¡°Me, too!¡± screamed five or six other women.


    The waitress happened to pop over and look at my ticket. ¡°Here! She won! Right here!¡± She pointed at me with a big gesture that caught the crowd¡¯s attention.


    No no no no no. Sam couldn¡¯t know I was here.


    ¡°What are you waiting for, honey? Don¡¯t be afraid. Go for it!¡± With a mighty shove, she pushed me out into the crowd, a spotlight finding my face.


    ¡°Hey there! Our winner! And it¡¯s a chick¡ªwhew!¡±


    Every woman I walked past looked at me as if I¡¯d won the MegaMillions lottery. I got to the stairs to the left of the stage, feeling like I was walking a death march. A red EXIT sign glowed to me right. If I bolted right now...


    ¡°Not that I wouldn¡¯t mind kissing a dude,¡± Liam added. A few guys in the audience cheered really loud.


    ¡°Because the prize is a kiss from me.¡± Liam peered down the stage steps and when his eyes set on me, all that confidence faltered for a split second.


    A what? Couldn¡¯t I just get a CD?


    One of the stage hands nudged me to join Liam, and I walked on feet made of electrified concrete.


    ¡°Amy!¡± I heard Darla squeal from backstage.


    ¡°Amy?¡± The way Sam said my name made me nearly vomit.


    ¡°Amy.¡± Liam¡¯s smile spread slowly, his voice like buttered suede. ¡°Our lucky winner.¡±


    Lights sprayed across my face, making me half-blind, as hundreds of eyes watched me and Liam on stage. He put his arm around my shoulders as people in the crowd began began to chant ¡°kiss!¡± over and over.


    I couldn¡¯t even look at Sam. Because I knew he was staring at me.


    Covering my body with his to shield the view, Liam¡¯s face came so close to mine I could inhale his aftershave, smell the sweat and musk of excitability the performance must bring out in him. A quick peck on the cheek, and he whispered, ¡°Let¡¯s make this look nice and juicy.¡±


    One hand went around my hip, the other snaked up my back, between my shoulder blades, and he dipped me, the crowd seeing mostly his body and my legs.

 Page 6

    The roar made me go out of my mind.


    And when he let go, I fled out the side door.Advertisement


    Maybe Sam wasn¡¯t the only one who could just walk away when it was all too much.


    Chapter Two


    Sam


    Unh. Gasp. Uhn. Gasp. I shifted on the couch and turned over, shoving my face into the back of it, trying to block out the sun. Trevor and Joe had a great place here on the Fenway, but I could do without the soundtrack. Uhn. Gasp.


    A door creaked open and I heard Trevor mumble, ¡°Where the fuck is the extra lube?¡±


    I rolled my eyes and turned enough to wedge my entire face into the corner of the couch. Oh, God. Again? It didn¡¯t help that I woke up with morning wood and the last time that I¡¯d actually been with a woman...well, let¡¯s just say I was dating Pamela Handerson or Jennifer Handiston. I had been arguing with Harry Longfellow. Strangling Patrick Stewart. And it made me feel like Hand Solo.


    ¡°Right there,¡± I heard Darla groan.


    The bathroom door slammed and Trevor¡¯s feet pounded on the floor as if he were running, and then, I heard the unmistakable sound of bedsprings. Did he just launch himself onto the bed? I crammed the pillow over my head. In my dark little cave I could still hear the sounds of obvious hotness. So, while my friends were acting out something out of an amateur YouPorn video, I was sitting here on the couch with an aching dick and no end in sight.


    Amy. Her name flashed through my head and damn, if the morning wood didn¡¯t grow from a twig to a Goddamn log. She¡¯d disappeared last night, out of the blue. Darla had come up on stage and then poof! Amy was gone. I didn¡¯t know what that meant¡ªnot that I had a right to know what that meant.


    Some sort of slapping sound hit the wall and the bedsprings creaked in a steady pattern. Jesus Christ, this was one macrobeat I did not need to hear. Whenever Darla was over here they went at it like ferrets, or bunnies, or whatever rodent goes at it a lot. At least twice a day, usually more. Who the hell has the stamina? Who was I kidding? I had that kind of stamina. I just didn¡¯t have a girlfriend. Amy. Dammit! What was she doing there last night?


    ¡°Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!¡± came a feminine chant from the bedroom.


    I flung the blanket off of me, threw the pillow against the wall where it smacked with an utterly unsatisfactory sound, and slammed my way into the bathroom down the hall. Peeing was like pulling a tight slot machine lever, I had to use a hell of a lot of forearm force to keep it down or I was gonna end up with splatter in my face.


    Morning rituals complete, I wandered back into the kitchen and opened the fridge to see what I had to eat for breakfast. My share of the food consisted of two eggs, and a half a quart of chocolate milk. I shrugged. Better than nothing. Finding a dish was more challenging than figuring out what to eat.


    ¡°Get the one with the tickler,¡± Darla said, the walls impossibly thin here. I shuddered.


    A saut¨¦ pan caked on with something that probably had been cooked four days ago was on top of the heap of dishes. Joe and Trevor didn¡¯t have a dishwasher¡ªI supposed that, technically, I was the dishwasher, considering the fact that they weren¡¯t charging me any rent to couch surf. It probably was the best thing to do. I pulled the plates, and cups, and pans out, stacked them neatly, put them back in and filled the sink with hot water and soap, letting everything soak before I tackled them.


    This gave me the chance to set the nasty saut¨¦ pan filled with hot water and soap on the counter, give it five minutes and I¡¯d be able to start eating. The chocolate milk, thank God, wasn¡¯t rancid, so at least I filled my stomach before setting down on my bed¡ªthat would be the couch¡ªto wait for the water to do its job. That gave me five minutes to obsess about Amy, not that I needed an excuse to think about her. The events of four and a half years ago came slamming through my mind, boom, boom, boom, like paintballs, multicolored and painful.


    Slap. Slap. Slap. It sounded like someone¡¯s upper body was being flung against the wall. Why did they have to do it right there? The wall that they were sexually bitch-slapping was the one right behind the kitchen sink.


    ¡°No, you climb on top,¡± a guy¡¯s voice said, I couldn¡¯t tell whether it was Joe or Trevor, and I didn¡¯t want to know. I grabbed my pillow and just curled it around the back of my head, my palms pressing against my ears.


    Amy. Amy. Amy. That long brown hair, her sweet smile, that intense gaze when she was laser-focused on something. Why hadn¡¯t she come up on stage and said something to me? You stupid idiot, I thought, of course she¡¯s not going to do that. You¡¯re the one who blew it. Four and a half years and I hadn¡¯t spoken to her, nothing. It was as if she didn¡¯t exist. All of that anger, and resentment, and confusion, and desire from four and a half years ago...it turns out, hadn¡¯t really gone away.


    The anger had, the resentment, too. It was what had happened when I went home and saw Dad that made me never contact with her again. It had absolutely nothing to do with her¡ªthat was the kicker. It was my own shame. All me. Knowing her, she assumed that it was all about her, and bridging that was like asking me to go to the moon on a pogo stick.


    Joe rounded the corner, naked, ass muscles rippling as I caught him out of the corner of my eye before I could quickly turn away and close my lids, wincing. ¡°Jesus, Ross, do you have to parade that shit around?¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn¡¯t. ¡°We just need some food.¡±


    I could hear the refrigerator door open. He grabbed something, slammed it shut, and padded away. And then, the unmistakable sound of a can of whipped cream being discharged. ¡°I¡¯ll get a yeast infection if you put it there!¡± I heard Darla say.


    My stomach tightened and I cringed.


    ¡°How about there?¡± I heard one of the guys say. Sshfft!


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s nice,¡± she moaned.


    I walked to the window and stared out over the rooftops. Joe and Trevor had a fourth floor apartment in one of those brick blocks that littered Allston, where all the students were crammed in. God, I needed my own place. I reached in my back pocket for that card Liam had given me last night, pulled it out. Entertainment, huh?


    I found my smartphone¡ªeven when you¡¯re stone cold broke, you¡¯ve got $35 a month for a basic plan¡ªand dialed the number. I got a machine, some woman, so I left a message just saying that Liam had given me her number, and that I was interested in applying for the job. Entertainment... probably some DJ thing, or helping set up and break down for a crew, whatever. I didn¡¯t care. I needed money.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly a trust fund kid. Dad had cut me off in more ways than just financial the day I lost that debate to Amy. I¡¯d moved out and pinged between Trevor and Joe¡¯s houses. Both had been nice enough¡ªor, at least, their parents had been nice enough¡ªto let me live out my senior year. My school district never knew. My dad apparently covered up the fact that I didn¡¯t live at home. Couldn¡¯t have the flock thinking that there was something wrong with their shepherd, right?


    ¡°You are a bull!¡± Darla shouted.


    I looked at the counter, reached in my front pocket; three bucks and a debit card for an account with $17 left in it. We wouldn¡¯t get paid for last night¡¯s gig for at least a month. Fuck! I grabbed some earbuds, shoved the cord into my phone and found whatever the first song was on my playlist. The combination of Black Sabbath, Nirvana, Foo Fighters and Nickelback could kill anything, could override whatever tortured fun was taking place in the other room. All I could do this morning was scrub that pan, make my eggs, and wait.


    Amy


    The thing about living in the city is that everything is right there. You can walk out of your front door and hop on the T to some other part of the city or across the river to Cambridge. You can walk a block and hit three different restaurants of three different ethnicities. Fifteen different buskers playing eleven different instruments can give you music free¡ªof course, they¡¯d love it if you throw them some sort of recompense for their effort and I tried, until I finally figured out that I wasn¡¯t able to help everybody.


    That was a major revelation for me¡ªnot the busker part. The idea that you can¡¯t help everybody.


    This morning I was avoiding my mom¡¯s early morning call¡ªever since I moved out she made it a point to call at least once a day and text a couple times. Nothing had changed. Everything was about my nineteen year old brother. Evan this and Evan that and Evan. Evan. Evan. Evan.


    Evan was the golden boy¡ªand had been for years¡ªexcept, how many golden boys are on their second year of detox? This was our family secret. You see, Mom was the high school guidance counselor and having a son with an addiction problem was something that she just didn¡¯t want to admit. Of course, having him show up at school drunk his senior year made it really hard to remain Cleopatra¡ªthe Queen of Denial.


    I¡¯d known since he was eleven or twelve when he¡¯d find older eighth and ninth graders to supply him with beer from their older brothers and sisters. He¡¯d even tried me but there was no way¡ªI was the good little girl. I didn¡¯t do that. And besides, who would I go to? I didn¡¯t even know who the drug dealers were at school or who could hook you up with a six pack of beer.


    That was a world I had no interest in. My nose was in a book, on the Internet doing research, and involved in academic pursuits. That¡¯s where I excelled¡ªthat¡¯s where I was Mrs. Smithson¡¯s daughter. The good little girl. Maybe I ruined it for Evan¡ªI don¡¯t know. I wasn¡¯t exactly going to let myself be wracked with guilt over that considering the fact that he was first caught drunk when he was twelve and ever since then, for the past six years, two out of three sentences that came out of my mom¡¯s mouth involved the word Evan.


    It had become a form of profanity to me.


    The day that I graduated from high school, Evan got shitfaced and threw up all over my cake that was set up for my graduation party. ¡°Thank God,¡± my mom said, ¡°he hadn¡¯t done it in public.¡± And we were able to clean up the mess and quickly buy a new one. But you don¡¯t forget the sight, or smell, of that.


    When I graduated college in May, Mom was prepared¡ªshe basically tomato staked him and made sure he couldn¡¯t cause a scene. I appreciated that, but again, that meant that Evan got Mom. Evan always got Mom. Evan could suck the energy out of a nuclear reactor.


    Right now, though, he was in detox¡ªdue to get out any day. And that was when Mom¡¯s delusion would start all over again.


    ¡°Oh, this time Evan¡¯s gonna make it,¡± she would say. ¡°This time I know he¡¯s gonna kick it, honey. Oh, sorry, I¡¯m not sure we can afford to pay for¡ª(whatever new thing I¡¯d requested)¡ªbecause we have to handle Evan¡¯s bills.¡±


    Private drug rehab is what she meant.


    I may sound bitter and I¡¯ll own that¡ªI am bitter¡ªbut when you¡¯ve been going through this for six years and you¡¯ve watched people you love being manipulated and lied to and, worse, watch them want to be manipulated and lied to because they can¡¯t accept the truth...what are you supposed to do, other than become bitter? How can anyone with a modicum of reason and logic watch it all play out, month in and month out, year in and year out, and not get so twisted and angry inside that all you want to do one morning is avoid your own phone and go out for a cup of coffee?

 Page 7

    Here I was.


    Except, the other problem with living in the city is that everything is so damn expensive. So, as much as I wanted to get that double soy latte at my favorite coffee shop, I had to walk past it carrying a bullet thermos, one given to me last Christmas with a perplexed look on my mother¡¯s face telling me she¡¯d gotten it for me and it had been on my list. This made me happy¡ªa full thermos of coffee that I¡¯d made at home, a beautiful, sun-filled day in Boston, and an entire series of hours of freedom.Advertisement


    In some ways I lived this dual life right now, getting ready for grad school to start. I had scored an awesome apartment on the Fenway for dirt cheap. It might be the size of a postage stamp, but it worked and I didn¡¯t have to have a roommate. The building had this strange series of little apartments at the corner of two wings of the building. If you can imagine, there was this column rising up eight floors that¡¯s basically a triangle, and somehow legally the landlord managed to carve out a 180-something square foot apartment for me. For me, and seven other people who lived in the other apartments similar to mine in the building.


    My bathroom was such that you couldn¡¯t sit on the toilet without your knees going into the shower. The kitchen was a mini fridge, a microwave, a sink, and a two burner stove. My mattress, well...I ended up having to get a futon because you couldn¡¯t open the front door all the way and have the mattress on the floor. I have to roll it up in order to get in and out of my apartment. But you know what? It¡¯s mine, it¡¯s cheap, and did I mention it¡¯s mine? No roommates. I can walk anywhere I want in Boston. I don¡¯t need a car; I don¡¯t even need a bike. It¡¯s perfect.


    Mine.


    Walking through the Longwood Medical Center, past hospitals and Starbucks, and Wheelock College, I looked at the old buildings juxtaposed with the shiny Cancer Center. I watch people walk past me, some of them in medical attire, some of them in scrubs, plenty of them homeless, and of course, the ubiquitous college students.


    I¡¯m one of them, right? I look at the crowd and realize that nobody¡¯s the same. I can compartmentalize and categorize in my head: medical, medical, college, college, patient, college, college, medical. And that¡¯s the easy way to go through life, right?


    What does someone think when they look at me? I¡¯m curvy. I walk with purpose. I have long, brown hair that sways behind me, slapping up against my back. I have wide, friendly eyes, but I hide them behind sunglasses most of the time, because men tend to make eye contact with me and then leer. I carry a book, a tablet¡ªsomething all the time so that I can read and immerse myself in a world that has nothing to do with anyone else.


    In fact, for the longest time I judged myself by what I didn¡¯t have. I didn¡¯t have popularity. I didn¡¯t have a size zero waist. I didn¡¯t have the latest clothes. I didn¡¯t have parents who sent me to Vail for winter break, and to St. Martin¡¯s for spring break. I didn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t.


    Part of this whole integration thing is figuring out that if you spend your life judging yourself by what you don¡¯t have, then pretty quickly you start to feel empty. It¡¯s so much better to think of yourself in terms of what you do have. Today, I have some good books on my tablet, I have money in my pocket, I have a good coffee shop nearby, I have time, free time to explore, to read, to revel, and to ruminate.


    That feels rich to me.


    Boston Common was my target today. I loved to watch the swan boats. I hadn¡¯t ridden them in years; tickets were only a couple dollars, but it was more fun to watch other people enjoy them for the first time. I found a park bench right across from the loading area and I just watched people, mostly families with small kids in strollers coming in, but occasionally a group of tourists speaking animatedly in another language. They would get on the boats, which looked like something out of the 1950¡¯s¡ªold and quiet and staid in a way that was calming. It was soothing, in fact, to imagine being out there in this machine that was built at a time when a weekend meant spending it floating on a lake.


    The coffee was great. The weather was perfect and I felt my shoulders relax, my mind let go of the dreaded anticipation of that phone call from my mother and, just as I was able to stop looping this thought about Sam, about Mom, about Evan, and about my own inability to stop obsessing about things, I heard two distinct, familiar voices behind me.


    Sam


    Walking through Boston Common was awesome, especially on mornings after we¡¯d had a gig. It made the music life feel more real. Raw. Like I had this secret life that the other people walking past me through the gardens, down the asphalt paths that bisected the grass at angles, didn¡¯t have.


    I could be up until four in the morning, strung out and blissed out, weak-armed and high on the beats themselves, and then wake up, at eleven or noon, with a pounding headache, in need of caffeine. A quick cup and then a walk, the blinding sun adding to my energy, always did it for me. Joe, for some reason, wanted to come with me this morning.


    The guy certainly had changed since our geeky high school years. He¡¯d been this sort of rude, rough edged debate geek who had morphed in college into something uptight but alright. Joe was that guy in a group who would moralize and tell everybody why they shouldn¡¯t do something, and then, behind your back, do something even worse. The guy was slippery¡ªhe never got caught. But damn if he didn¡¯t worry so much about his mom and dad, and what they thought.


    I had the luxury of not giving a shit about my parents anymore. Dad had made sure that had happened. In fact, I didn¡¯t really have any contact with them. Mom would try¡ªshe still had my phone number. I¡¯d give her five or ten minutes but as long as she was still with Dad she was part of the enmeshed world. If you are married to an alcoholic, and you have kids with that alcoholic, and you let that alcoholic warp the kids, then you¡¯re complicit too.


    She wouldn¡¯t see it. She couldn¡¯t. And I had spent four years on campus going to the Al-Anon meetings, slowly unraveling the shit Dad had put us all through and finally figuring out why I was so angry at Mom. It¡¯s easy¡ªit¡¯s always easy to be angry at the most rational person, right? They¡¯re the one who is supposed to save you from the mess. Except, Mom expected everyone to rally around the least reasonable guy in the household and to tap dance around the fact that she was enabling him. So, this whole thing Joe had about sucking up to his parents¡ªI didn¡¯t get it. Then again, I didn¡¯t have to get it.


    ¡°So...man, I¡¯m leaving,¡± he said, his words clipped, his eyes barely making contact with mine.


    ¡°I know. You told me at the gig last night.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s sinking in, though.¡± He took a deep breath, as if it were foreign to him, and looked at me. ¡°I need to leave soon.¡±


    ¡°Darla OK with this?¡± I knew Trevor was.


    ¡°Yeah, but Darla isn¡¯t exactly thrilled. She didn¡¯t even know what Penn was. She thought it was Penn State.¡±


    We both laughed, an evil sound of condescension. Ivy League vs. flagship state university? No contest.


    ¡°I can take the train¡ªit goes straight into South Station. I can be here in seven hours. Not every weekend,¡± he demurred, ¡°but, you know....¡±


    We resumed walking. Tourists were gathered around the little bronze statues of the Make Way for Ducklings ducks and I laughed, seeing little toddlers climbing on the momma¡¯s back, parents geeking out and taking pictures. It was cute. There were lots of cute things when you looked around the Common on a Sunday morning: a million people with strollers, lots of tourists, a few strung out bums, but mostly happy faces.


    It was so different from the Monday through Friday grind where you walked past people who were so deep in thought, bent over their smartphones. If the zombie apocalypse ever started on a work day I¡¯m not sure how many people would notice before it was too late.


    ¡°When do you leave?¡± I asked Joe.


    ¡°About a week and a half.¡±


    ¡°You got a place? Already?¡±


    ¡°The power of Craigslist,¡± he said, stretching his hands out wide like a guru talking before an audience.


    ¡°You¡¯re fucking kidding me.¡±


    ¡°Do you know how cheap a room is in Philly compared to here?¡±


    ¡°Not that you need to worry about that.¡± Joe¡¯s parents gave him a spending allowance per month that rivaled some of the lower incomes in Dorchester and Mattapan¡ªannual incomes, that is.


    ¡°No, but it¡¯s more money for fun.¡±


    ¡°And train tickets,¡± I said pointedly.


    He mulled that over. ¡°Yeah. Darla¡¯s going to kill me. So,¡± he said after a pause, ¡°you want to take over my half of the apartment and share it with Trevor?¡±


    The thought slammed into me¡ªI knew what they paid. I knew what half of that apartment was going to cost. There was no fucking way I could afford it. On the other hand, what a luxury that would be. My own room? My own space? An actual bed? A decent roommate? And without Joe around, maybe some of the sexcapades would slow down. I thought about Trevor and Darla for a second.


    No, they wouldn¡¯t slow down but at least it wouldn¡¯t be quite as crowded.


    ¡°Let me think about it,¡± I said.


    We paused again. He put his hands on his hips. ¡°It would make it so much easier for me to leave if you would just take over. Seriously.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I said. I was starting to feel a sense of anger and irritation rise up in me. Maybe I hadn¡¯t gotten as much sleep as I thought. Or, maybe, I was just aggravated that I couldn¡¯t figure out how to be stable, without a job and without money. Miracle of miracles, it just wasn¡¯t happening.


    ¡°Dude, if this is about the money I can...you know, I can pay the first month, maybe even two months¡¯ rent for you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a charity case, Joe.¡±


    ¡°I know¡ªand I¡¯m not saying you¡¯re a charity case. It¡¯s just....¡± Those brown eyes stared into mine. I¡¯d imagine that mine were as hard looking back as his were conflicted. ¡°It¡¯s just...my parents won¡¯t give a shit.¡±


    I thought about that for a minute. If I had six weeks or so, could I scrape together the next month¡¯s rent? I didn¡¯t know. I had a call out to Liam¡¯s job tip¡ªmaybe that would pan out. Joe was staring at me expectantly.


    He ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Make it easy on me, Sam. Just take the place.¡±


    ¡°How much time do you need? Before you need to know, I mean?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Couple days.¡±


    ¡°A couple days?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he shrugged. ¡°I have to list it on Craigslist otherwise, or Trevor might find somebody.¡±


    ¡°All right. Give me a couple days.¡±


    Amy


    No doubt about it, that was definitely Sam and Joe, and they were somewhere behind me.


    I felt like an animal trapped¡ªwhat could I do? If I turned around, they¡¯d hear me. If I moved, they¡¯d see me. I could tell they were close based on the sound of their voices. The sun felt particularly acute and my body warmed to a temperature that no amount of sunshine could generate. Each breath I took felt like an eternity as I overheard them.

 Page 8

    Joe¡¯s voice, pointed and sharp, with a tone of victory that I knew from high school. Sam¡¯s voice was quieter, lower, more melodic and flowing. A cadence I didn¡¯t remember came forth as he and Joe conversed. It made something inside me echo with a wondering. Would he ever talk to me like that? Something familiar and casual was in his tone, the way you talk to a best friend or an intimate confidante.


    Being in the band with Trevor, and Joe, and Liam, had allowed Sam to forge a relationship with all of them in a way that I couldn¡¯t understand. Liam I knew all too well and Joe I¡¯d debated over the years. Trevor was a bit of a mystery to me¡ªhot as hell, and confident and cocky, but we were just on a waving and a ¡®hi¡¯ kind of level.Advertisement


    I heard Joe mention Darla¡¯s name and that nice, floaty buzzing feeling that I had as I heard Sam speak ended like someone snapped their fingers. Darla. The way she had tongue fucked Joe and Trevor on that stage and then turned to Sam...I closed my eyes, as if smashing the lids together could smash her. Who the hell was she? Some kind of band whore you pass around? That friendly affect and the whole fakey-fake Midwestern thing made my stomach turn. She¡¯d come over to my table and been all friendly and nice and then, it turned out, she was just another hole for the band.


    At least, that¡¯s how it seemed.


    ¡°...Darla...share...¡± Joe said. I couldn¡¯t catch the rest.


    Share? Sam and Joe and Trevor shared Darla?


    What?


    Sam never struck me as the kind of guy who did that. Polyamory was big at my college among a small clique of gamers and the cosplay people. Not musicians.


    Then again, four years is a long time for someone to change. I certainly wasn¡¯t the same girl at that debate. But whatever they were saying was intense, their words hushed then loud. Dammit! If only I could get closer.


    Turning my head slowly, I saw that they were behind a bush. There was no way that they could see me. My shoulders dropped and I stretched my arms out, not realizing how tense I¡¯d been. My heart slammed in my chest as I caught a glimpse of Sam, his arms akimbo, his body loose, an old, well-worn pair of jeans hugging his hips, those long legs relaxed. They were twenty feet away from me at most, and there were enough holes in the hedge that I could catch as much of an eyeful as I wanted. His red hair was grown out in that slightly long look that so many guys had now. His eyes were narrowed and focused on Joe, who stood a few feet away, gesturing with his hands. Sam just nodded slowly and then said a few words, Joe interrupting him repeatedly.


    Suddenly, Sam crossed his arms over his chest, the biceps bulging. Long tendons popped out in his forearms, those arms leading to hands that tapped out so many rhythms.


    I was a goner, wasn¡¯t I? I stood and picked up my thermos and walked closer, still hidden by the shrubbery. Phrases like ¡®can you take over for me?¡¯ and ¡®Darla¡¯ made my blood run cold. Were they really talking about swapping this woman? What exactly was his relationship with her? What were all of their relationships with her? Some sort of kinky three-men-one-woman thing? Was that even possible? This was making my head hurt.


    A plume of jealousy poured up inside me from my knees, up through my pelvis, and into my throat. What kind of woman gets three men interested in her at the same time? The thought made me blush with rage. And arousal.


    Anger drained out as my eyes remained riveted on the two of them and I let myself explore that idea¡ªjust for a moment¡ªbecause, why not? Ideas aren¡¯t inherently bad. There¡¯s nothing wrong with letting yourself imagine something new that you could do, even if you never, in a million years, thought that you¡¯d actually act on it.


    What would it be like to have Liam, and Joe, and Sam, all at once, touching me? Hands on my lips, other hands on my breasts, and other hands going lower, finding a very eager red nub. Six hands.


    And one me.


    Sam


    Joe¡¯s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in, took a look, and said, ¡°Oh, shit. I have to go¡ªit¡¯s my mom.¡±


    ¡°Dance, monkey boy, dance.¡±


    ¡°Shut. Up.¡± He looked me square in the eye and shook his head slowly. ¡°Sam, you know for years I really felt sorry for you.¡±


    I pulled my head back. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You and all the shit that went down with your dad our senior year.¡±


    A cold flush poured over me and I frowned. ¡°Yeah, so?¡± Where was this coming from? I didn¡¯t need pity.


    ¡°It¡¯s just with this,¡± he held up the phone, ¡°and my mom practically pulling on the diaper strings, sometimes I wish I had the guts that you have, man.¡±


    ¡°Guts?¡± I asked. Guts? It didn¡¯t take guts to tell my dad off and walk away and figure all this out on my own, I thought. I didn¡¯t really have a choice. It was that, or watch my soul die. Joe was looking at me like he expected me to say something.


    ¡°Joe, at least you have a mom who gives a shit.¡±


    ¡°Your mom gives a shit.¡±


    ¡°I know. She¡¯s just...she¡¯s just too weak to leave him.¡± Guys don¡¯t talk like this, so there was something really awkward and weird about the fact that Joe was having this after school special moment with me.


    ¡°I¡¯m too much of a pussy, aren¡¯t I?¡± he said. Back to Guy Talk. ¡°You¡¯re a total pussy, Ross.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I owned up to it. You don¡¯t need to dig it in.¡± He rolled his tongue inside his cheek and punched me in the shoulder.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t a pussy, though, to go out to Ohio and rescue Trevor.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t rescue Trevor¡ªDarla rescued us both.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re leaving her?¡±


    He blew out a looooong puff of air. ¡°I¡¯m leaving everything, aren¡¯t I?¡± he said, starting to walk slowly toward the apartment.


    ¡°Yeah, you are. But that takes guts.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t take guts to pick the seventh best law school in the country over BC. In fact, it¡¯s kind of the easy way out.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®the easy way¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s programmed in me, man. This is what I have to do. Climb, climb, climb. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Get to the top. Ditch Trevor and Darla.¡± His voice took on a hard tone.


    ¡°You¡¯re not ditching them, though, You¡¯re moving seven hours away.¡± He started to walk a little faster, his head down. I found myself following, even though I was heading the other way. ¡°You¡¯re not really breaking up with them, are you?¡±


    ¡°Breaking up?¡± He came to a dead halt, his voice cracking. ¡°Breaking up? You make it sound like we¡¯re in some kind of a....¡±


    ¡°You are in some kind of a...¡± I stumbled. ¡°What the hell do you call that thing that the three of you are doing?¡±


    He leered at me. ¡°Really incredible sex.¡±


    ¡°OK, you can call it that.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he stopped and put a hand on my shoulder, and dipped his head down, his eyes boring into mine. ¡°It¡¯s really incredible sex.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know, Joe. I hear it. I¡¯m on the couch, remember? And, by the way, you guys are out of whipped cream.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re out of condoms, too,¡± he said, absentmindedly, starting to walk at a faster pace toward the apartment.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to give all this up for Penn,¡± I said dryly.


    ¡°I¡¯m going give all this up for Penn,¡± he confirmed. ¡°But I¡¯m not breaking up with them. Ah, geez,¡± he cringed. ¡°Breaking up with Trevor...that just sounds so...fucked up.¡±


    ¡°The whole situation is kind of bizarre,.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± he admitted. ¡°But it¡¯s the first thing that¡¯s felt real, too,¡± he confessed. ¡°What feels real to you Sam?¡±


    Amy. Her name flashed through my head.


    Joe stopped and said, ¡°I gotta run, man. See you later.¡± He took off like a shot, abruptly ending whatever conversation we just started to actually have. Shit got real when you talked about what was deep inside you. Another person could help you find things, beliefs that were buried so far inside you didn¡¯t even know they were there, things that you could never discover on your own, like trying to tie your shoes with just one hand¡ªyou could do it, but it was a hell of a lot easier with two.


    Amy


    The all too familiar sound of Darth Vader¡¯s marching music floated through my ears and I panicked, realizing my phone was ringing. Dammit! Mom¡¯s ringtone. I grabbed the phone and quickly pressed Accept.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Amy? Are you OK?¡±


    ¡°Mom.¡± Of course it was Mom. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Why are you whispering?¡± she said. There was urgency in her voice, a tone of weariness combined with worry that she always had¡ªI couldn¡¯t remember a time when my mother didn¡¯t sound like that.


    ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m just...I¡¯m out in public and I¡¯m just trying to be respectful of other people,¡± I lied.


    ¡°Oh, OK. Well, that¡¯s good. So, honey, I¡¯m calling with great news!¡± Oh boy, here it came. Evan. This was going to be about my brother Evan. Evanfest. Evanpalooza. Evan-o-rama. I steeled myself for a twenty minute conversation where Mom would talk about nothing but my brother¡ªnot that it was anything new.


    I walked as fast as I could back to the park bench and sat down, curling into myself, covering one ear, my phone pressed hard against the other. ¡°Yeah, mom, what¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Evan is coming home.¡±


    Surprise! I thought. ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± Mustering as much enthusiasm as I could, I slipped into the very familiar role that I was expected to play: dutiful sister, supportive daughter.


    What I wanted to say was, ¡°That¡¯s great, Mom! And by now he¡¯s probably as high as a kite.¡± Or, ¡°Wow, they let him out even though there¡¯s no way he¡¯s actually clean!¡± Or, ¡°So, who did he bribe this time to get a few hits while he was in rehab?¡±


    When you live with a brother like Evan, you develop a radar¡ªa bullshit radar¡ªand it was one that was so finely honed in me that it made me want to reach through the phone and slap my mother silly for her enthusiasm and optimism.


    The rush of words that came out of her mouth was like Old Faithful¡ªa geyser of completely trite, stereotyped statements. ¡°Oh, honey, he¡¯s on his way home right now. He just had to stop for a few minutes to get something to eat and then he¡¯ll be here, and he is going to move back into his old room, and we¡¯re going to get him enrolled in classes at Bedford Community College, and he¡¯s decided that he¡¯s just going to completely turn his life around, and he¡¯s going to apply for a bunch of jobs. And...¡±


    My throat tightened. I could feel the bile rising in it. My body began to rock slightly forward and back, as if I could pick out some kind of tempo that would keep the truth at bay, that would allow the split in my head between the brain that needed to play along and the brain that was screaming in abject horror at being trapped in this position. My shoulders tightened up around my ears, and the all too familiar hot, burning stomach began.


    But none of that mattered, right? What mattered was that I was being supportive to my mom, that I was the good little girl. ¡°That¡¯s really wonderful, Mom,¡± I choked out. ¡°I¡¯m sure Evan is going to do whatever Evan puts his mind to.¡± Carefully chosen words designed to tell the truth, and yet, to someone whose entire emotional landscape depended on systemic denial, they seemed supportive.

 Page 9

    ¡°Oh, Amy, I¡¯m so glad to hear you say that,¡± she said, her voice cracking, ¡°because that¡¯s exactly how I feel. He¡¯s so strong and he¡¯s so smart, and if he just put his mind to it he could do anything. My goodness, he could¡ª¡±


    My brain, the half that was screaming, increased the volume by a factor of ten, which meant that the other half of my brain had to keep itself occupied to drown out the sound. I started tapping, absentmindedly, on the bench and found myself dulled, just slightly, by picking a tempo and sticking to it. Was the fact that Sam did the same thing part of why I chose this as a haven?Advertisement


    Sam. My shoulders loosened, Mom prattled on. I¡¯d reached a point where, even though I didn¡¯t listen to the words, I knew from the tone and from her pauses, exactly when to pretend to respond. I could fake it. Faking it, in fact, was what I was expected to do. If I told her the truth¡ªand trust me, I had tried¡ªshe would explode on me. Not go cold and shut me out, though she was good at that too. I mean, she would just flat out explode.


    The handful of times I¡¯d tried it, I¡¯d gotten a rage-filled mother that I never really expected was under the surface. Mom was a guidance counselor with a Master¡¯s in Psychology and Counseling. So, to watch her turn into a fury¡ªa red faced, screaming monster who accused me of not loving her or Evan when I had simply said, ¡°Mom, he¡¯s an addict, and he doesn¡¯t want to get better yet¡±¡ªwell, that shuts you down. That shuts you down damn fast.


    I¡¯d tried once after that. Once. She¡¯d cut me off, turning away, marching out of the room, and then stopping in the threshold and looking back with eyes that were a strange combination of red and black, and a face so cold you would think that she was an executioner. ¡°I don¡¯t ever want to hear you say another word about what your brother can¡¯t do.¡±


    And that was it.


    The lesson? The truth matters less to some people than the veneer. Sitting here on the park bench, I nodded like an idiot, tapping my fingers and shining her on.


    Sam


    As Joe ran off I thought about what he¡¯d just said. For the past four and a half years my entire life had been like walking along the blade of a razor; one slip and the results were deadly. That¡¯s how this worked. When I stood up to my father I took complete control of my life. Except, what no one tells you, is that when you take complete control of yourself you assume complete responsibility, too.


    Responsibility I don¡¯t mind. What I didn¡¯t really get was that, at barely eighteen, suddenly everything that I didn¡¯t realize was going on behind the scenes when it came to the right stuff was all on me.


    Dad might have been an asshole, but he gave me a place to live. Dad might have been a self-righteous prick, but I had a car to drive. And my father might have been a selfish alcoholic with a megalomaniacal streak in him as wide as the path of the Boston Marathon, but when you discover that you don¡¯t even have a car to sleep in after a screaming match where you stand up for yourself, and you come to see that your friends¡¯ parents are the only thing keeping you from living on the streets¡ªthat sense of freedom and responsibility loses its expansiveness and takes on the feeling of a stone around your neck.


    Don¡¯t get me wrong¡ªI wouldn¡¯t trade it, ever. I¡¯d rather slip on the edge of that razor blade than go back. But it was times like this, where I was indebted to Trevor and Joe for all these years of help and support, either from them or their parents, where some part of me wavered and wished for more.


    I couldn¡¯t ask for two better friends, and now Joe was asking something of me; to take over his half of the rent, to give Trevor some stability. Offering to front the first six weeks was really kind. For a guy who been a supercilious jerk most of high school, Joe had turned out OK.


    More than OK.


    I turned away after his form was gone and I heard a familiar voice.


    ¡°Sure, Mom.¡± The lilt floated on the air and caught in my ear, echoing like a measure you play over and over again for the sake of something meditative.


    Amy.


    I turned my head to follow the sound, her words less distinct, the voice muffled. My body was frozen and on fire at the same time. Some part of me hardened¡ªthe obvious part¡ªand then, others. What was she doing here? After last night at the bar where she disappeared, I didn¡¯t know what to think. Now, I took strong strides in the direction of her voice, as if she were a homing signal.


    I heard the word ¡®Evan¡¯. Her brother. A younger kid who tended to move in circles that I tried to avoid.


    And then, the unmistakable tone in her words. I didn¡¯t need to know what she was saying because I knew exactly what she was feeling from the way her voice sounded. She was speaking with a fake smile and gritted teeth¡ªsomething was wrong in Wonderful Land.


    Amy¡¯s mom was a guidance counselor at her high school. Everybody in debate circles knew that. Now I heard her in casual conversation with her mom. A shrub¡ªshe was sitting on a park bench behind it, giving me a perfect opportunity to just watch.


    Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she was wearing the kind of pants that girls like to wear that were not quite long and not quite short, cutting off at the mid-calf, muscled legs flexing. Her sandals showed little painted toenails, bright red, and the idea that she had spent time making her toes look pretty made me smile. Muscled legs went up to thick thighs and something about the curve of skin and flesh against bone made parts of me even harder.


    I could feel my body zoom from normal to lust in about three seconds as my eyes traveled up over the curve of her hips, her navy pants snug and perfect. My hands itched to touch that waist, to run my hand up her ribcage, to feel the pink cotton of her shirt, the way it rose and clung to the swell of her breasts. I could see it in my head, the two of us together. The memory of a heated embrace and fevered kissing drove its way home into me, one word echoing my head. More. More. More.


    ¡°That¡¯s great, Mom. He¡¯s absolutely fabulous,¡± I heard her say, and then, her head dipped down and she smiled, a genuine look that made a flush of envy and sadness run through me, mixed in with the rush of hunger for her.


    I hadn¡¯t had a normal conversation with my parents in four and a half years. What must it be like to have parents who care about you? Who are invested in you¡ªnot like Mr. and Mrs. Ross, who practically scrubbed Joe¡¯s asshole with a brand new toothbrush every day, or like the Connors who tried to turn Trevor into something he wasn¡¯t¡ªbut this? Being able to pick up a phone and talk to your mom for five minutes, ten minutes, and shoot the shit? Must be nice. Must be damn nice.


    A flush of jealousy coursed through me at the same time Amy ran her fingers through that long, brown hair over her temple, behind her ears. And that was it. I was done. A goner.


    But who the fuck was he?


    ¡°Liam!¡± Amy said, an enormous grin spreading across her face. A rush of uncontrolled adrenaline set my feet and hands on fire, quads screaming as I crouched behind the bush.


    Amy was dating Liam? Liam the manwhore? The guy had slept with a groupie who had his name tattooed across the top half-moon of her waxed butthole.


    Ask me how I know.


    Liam uploaded a pic of it to Facebook and titled it ¡°True Love.¡±


    It was more like a selfie.


    Amy


    Joe had wandered away from Sam; I could see it as my mom settled into her monologue. I rolled my eyes at something she was saying, looked back, and then suddenly Sam was gone. Very weird. Whatever Mom¡¯s words were, they just washed over me in a strange sort of ocean of repetition. It felt like we¡¯d had the same conversation over, and over, and over. Everything was about Evan¡ªabout the hope that Evan would do better, about the despair that Evan wasn¡¯t doing better.


    The past four years of my life seemed like something out of Groundhog Day¡ªat least when it came to my relationship with my mom. In the saddest moments, I felt sorry for myself, which is really laughable when you think about it. Here I was, a good, safe, loved woman from the Boston suburbs given everything that you could imagine we were supposed to have in this part of our world.


    I¡¯d gone to college with friends who had told me stories about physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional torture, at the hands of their parents. Some of my friends had five or six jobs just to scrape by, and a few talked about living in their cars during spring break when the dorms closed. It¡¯d been a shocker to learn how many people were taking out thirty-, forty-, even fifty-thousand dollars a year in loans to get the right education, to get into the right job, and to climb.


    I knew the drill¡ªthe same phrases and sentences came out of the mouths of all of my friends, and their parents, and of course, mine. But...to hear it in the context of people growing up with mentally ill moms or alcoholic dads, or of the occasional friend in school who already had a baby and was there on some special grant program, it made me realize that feeling bad because Mom was so fixated on the golden child¡ªand it wasn¡¯t me¡ªwas a form of indulgence. Kind of pathetic, really. Who was I to be upset when so many other people were suffering far worse than I was?


    On the other hand, I had the right to my own emotions, whatever they might be, and suddenly everything going on with my mom on the phone disappeared in a pinprick when I realized that my life was intertwining, again, with Sam¡¯s.


    I hadn¡¯t sought him out this time, had I? This was just me walking around Boston Common with my coffee, chatting away with my nattering mother, and boom! There he was.


    I was deep in my thoughts when I heard my mom. ¡°Amy. Amy? Amy, you there?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I am, Mom. I- I- I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m good. Yup,¡± I stumbled.


    ¡°OK, well, I gotta go, because Evan is on his way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, Mom. I understand.¡±


    And then, standing right in front of me, was the one guy I least expected¡ªand it wasn¡¯t Sam.


    ¡°Hey, Mom, gotta go. Bye.¡± Click. I¡¯d pay for that later, but that was OK because right now, standing right in front of me was a fine old friend. A giant piece of sex perched on flesh and bone.


    ¡°Liam!¡±


    Was Boston Common suddenly hot guy central? How had I not known this? I licked my lips involuntarily¡ªit wasn¡¯t on purpose, but it made Liam grin.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he said. ¡°Fancy meeting you here.¡±


    ¡°Are you looking for Joe and Sam?¡± I asked, and then bit back the words, wishing I could swallow them. Now Liam knew that I had seen Sam, and Sam might know that I had seen Sam.


    ¡°Not looking for them but if they¡¯re around I¡¯d...¡± he craned his neck, looking. It gave me a chance to take him in even more. He was just as fine as he¡¯d been four and a half years ago¡ªeven better¡ªfilled out with broad shoulders, rippled with muscle in that way that cloth can form to and tell you everything you need to know about what someone looks like naked, and yet, still want to see them naked.


    The feelings that Liam triggered in me were so different from the ones I had for Sam. There was nostalgia, there was a sense of gratitude, and then there was a full blown lust like a light switch being flipped on. Liam had that quality in him and I had to temper it with the knowledge that he would never feel the same way for me.

 Page 10

    ¡°You know we have a gig next week? Will you be there?¡± No hint of anything other than basic friendliness. Liam¡¯s hair was a wild mess, the sun bouncing off the soft waves that framed his temples, his body warm and strong, like a large lion, as he folded himself onto the bench to sit next to me.


    Distracted and flustered, I stammered out, ¡°Um, sure. Maybe. As long as I don¡¯t take a raffle ticket.¡±Advertisement


    His laugh boomed across the grass in front of us, scaring off a small flock of pigeons.


    What had happened four and a half years ago was somewhere between tenderness and pity on his part, and I knew that. I didn¡¯t want to know it¡ªbut I knew it. I could fantasize, and I could remember, I could let memory stretch me back to the first sexual experience of my life, and I could put on the brakes pretty quickly when the emotions kicked in. Those...Sam owned those. I wanted the combination of what I felt for Sam and the burning hot sex I¡¯d had with Liam.


    If only, right?


    If only.


    Sam


    What the fuck was Liam doing here? And it turned out Amy had seen me and Joe? This was getting weirder and weirder. Liam was hitting on Amy. There was a familiarity there¡ªI knew they lived next door to each other growing up¡ªbut, there was something more. I caught a glimpse of her pink cheeks, the way she ran her fingers through her hair in that flirty gesture that so many girls had. Did she really just lick her lips? And Liam with that cocky grin.


    Plus there was that damn kiss on stage.


    He had bagged so many girls over the years. Groupies loved him¡ªnot that we had that many, but...there were a few. He¡¯d pretty much fucked anybody with a vagina except Darla, and I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to have tried. The funny part was, he only slept around after Charlotte dumped him. Before that, he was totally, one-hundred percent a goner for her.


    He¡¯d gone silent at the end of our senior year of high school, said nothing about what was going on with her. She was in college and something had happened, but Liam was like a steel drum welded shut¡ªbuoyant and airtight. The speed with which he¡¯d found his way into so many other girls¡¯ pants had been really, really admirable. Most of us couldn¡¯t believe that he could get a girl in bed so quickly. At one point, we¡¯d even timed it¡ªhis record was forty-seven minutes. If you were into that sort of thing, it was pretty fucking impressive.


    What the hell was he doing talking to Amy?


    I overheard their banter; it was flirty without being serious. There was something in his tone that said this was not someone he was after. She seemed to recognize it too; there was a guardedness to her. Amy could be like a little puppy, eager and a little too excitable when she wanted people to approve of her, and there wasn¡¯t any of that here. Then again, I was projecting qualities onto her that she¡¯d had four and a half years ago.


    Now, all I felt was a massive mushroom cloud of jealousy and an undercurrent of rage because if he touched her right now....


    What I needed was to go back home and drum my way out of everything. So, I did, careful to avoid being spotted by the two of them.


    The walk back to Trevor and Joe¡¯s place was short and uncrowded. I got into the apartment and then I grabbed a few drum pads, some headphones, some sticks. A full set of drums wasn¡¯t gonna cut it in an apartment building with hundreds of people so the only way I could practice was to go down into the basement, which was surprisingly clean and dry for an ancient building, and I¡¯d set up my drum pads. They were these little circles designed to practice songs without making too much noise.


    I organized them according to a standard drum set and then I put my headphones on and set up my playlist. If thinking about Amy made my mind turn into a whirling confusion of emotions I had no right to harbor after four and a half years of what I did to her, then drumming could sort out all the pieces and put them in their rightful places. I may not have any right whatsoever to possess some of the emotions that I had for Amy, but I could at least put them where they belonged.


    As I started with a low, quiet beat and then built up to the next level, my shoulders relaxed, the lump that had formed, built of anger and muscle, of betrayal of my own agitation clearing as well. As the song progressed, the tempo carried me out of my mind, away from linear thought and I became my hand muscles, my forearms, my thighs, and yes, my cock. Everything turned on, everything narrowed into the beat, the change, the measures, the chorus, the solo...whatever the music demanded of me, I gave it. I gave it back two-hundred percent.


    It was a relationship, it was a love, it was an affair. I could make love to the drums with my hands in a way that got out the hunger, that got out the pain, that made me slide away from being Sam, fucked up Sam, and turned me into a rock God. Feet flying, legs moving, arms pumping, neck anticipating where it needed to be next, my eyes floating from space to space, my arms knowing exactly what to do in the right moment, seconds before they needed to do their magic¡ªit was like communing with another body.


    Amy¡¯s face popped up behind my closed eyelids. The touch of her lips, how close we¡¯d been, and how stupid I¡¯d become so quickly. How can everything good, and everything righteous, and everything abysmal and horrible, happen to you in the same hour? One hour. You get one hour of your life to experience it all and to make a decision that blows it all to smithereens.


    What would these same hands be like running along the soft inner curve of her thigh? What beat would my fingers find, running up her ribcage to the soft swell of her breast? How could these forearms lift her above me, nude and skin glistening in the moonlight that shines through the windows at the perfect moment that we commune?


    As I buried myself in the stronger songs in our set, every muscle was rigid, every tendon was primed, every note I played was for her.


    Chapter Three


    Amy


    A week later


    New show. New location. Same old Amy. Once Liam invited me to the gig, I couldn¡¯t get it out of my mind.


    As I sat there at my little table in the back, hiding and trying not to be noticed, I realized that Joe wasn¡¯t there. Some new guy was setting up the bass. This was a nicer place than most of the joints Liam had described them playing in, on and off over the years. There had even been a higher cover charge, which had taken me by surprise¡ªten bucks is ten bucks when you¡¯re a student, but I paid it, gladly, if it gave me a chance to just sit back and watch.


    I brought my tablet with me and I sat in the back, reading through Maya Banks¡¯ latest in her trilogy, and wondering about all of these relationships that lived in books I read. Sam was onstage, quiet, purposeful as usual and he said something to the new guy,who just nodded. New Guy looked like a scruffy version of Joe Ross¡ªwithout the perfection. They were both dark haired, dark eyed, and sort of Italian looking. Other than that, the similarities ended. I didn¡¯t want to go up and ask where Joe was. Maybe that was what was going on in the park the other day between him and Sam. Had Joe left the band? That would be a shocker.


    ¡°Hey, whatcha readin¡¯?¡± said the most annoying voice ever.


    I looked up with a jolt. Darla. Darla the groupie who slept with all the guys.


    ¡°Books,¡± I said, biting back a nasty response of have you heard of them? She wasn¡¯t stupid, I could tell. A little coarse and rough around the edges but Cambridge, and Boston, would refine her¡ªit always did. I¡¯d seen plenty of girls like her come through my college, and they had come in ready to take on the city and then the city took them on.


    New England is different from other parts of the country¡ªthere¡¯s a coldness to people, a reserve that just seems normal if you¡¯re raised here, but when you spread your wings a little and travel around, you realize that everyone else thinks we¡¯re just a bunch of uptight Massholes. Darla had that wild, loose, overly friendly manner that would make an old Yankee cringe and stare her down.


    So I did.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re reading books, silly,¡± she said, her voice going a bit hard. ¡°I meant what book are you reading?¡±


    Without waiting for the answer, Darla leaned over and read the title page. ¡°Maya Banks? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°She writes romance novels.¡±


    ¡°Like Her Highlander¡¯s Heinie?¡±


    What? I thought. ¡°No, I don¡¯t read that kind of romance novel.¡±


    ¡°What kind do you read?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more Fifty Shades.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re into bondage.¡± Darla nudged me with her elbow and said it in that robotic text-to-speech voice


    Something inside me tightened and snapped. ¡°No, I¡¯m into reading. That¡¯s what I¡¯m going to do for a living.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be a reader?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be a librarian.¡±


    Darla¡¯s eyes softened and there was some kind of a new respect in her face that caught me off guard. ¡°My uncle was a librarian,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Good on you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, the conversation taking a turn I hadn¡¯t expected. You¡¯re still angry with her, I told myself. I didn¡¯t want to like her. Why did she have to be so likable?


    ¡°But I don¡¯t think that they kept that Fifty Shades shit in our library. Least not in Peters, Ohio. Maybe one of the bigger cities would let you check that out but where I¡¯m from, some preacher would come up with some boycott and the next thing you know there¡¯d be no library and there¡¯d be a, you know, Dunkin¡¯ Donuts there now.¡±


    She rambled and I tuned her out. It was remarkably like conversing with my mom. My eyes shot over to Sam.


    Darla¡¯s eagle eyes followed mine. ¡°You got a thing for him, don¡¯t you?¡± she said.


    That made my blood run cold. ¡°Who I have a thing for or don¡¯t have a thing for is none of your business.¡±


    ¡°It is when it¡¯s with the band,¡± she said.


    I snorted. ¡°Why, because they¡¯re all yours?¡±


    She pulled her neck back, frowning. ¡°No, they¡¯re not all mine,¡± she said.


    The emphasis on the word ¡®all¡¯ made me shoot to my feet. I was shaking and I had never in my life been this close to reaching out and slapping someone. Instead of making a fool of myself, I turned around and marched off to the bathroom.


    Sam


    Amy was here again.


    Something was different about her. It was hard to catch a solid look at her with the lighting in here but her face was tilted as she talked to Darla, an angry, smoldering look in her eyes. Her body language said that she couldn¡¯t stand even one more second of talking to Joe and Trevor¡¯s woman. Darla didn¡¯t seem to get it, just plowing through and talking to Amy in spite of all of the obvious signals.


    Then again, that was Darla¡ªshe was the same way with the rest of us. At first, it was infuriating and then, after a while, it grew on you. Nothing was going to grow on Amy, though. She was pissed and I wondered why. What had Darla done to her?


    None of that was important to me, though. What was important was that Amy came here. She was wearing a tailored shirt that was anything but businesslike, tapered against her waist, clinging to all the fine curves and making her breasts stand out. She turned her head and ran an angry hand through her hair, setting pearls dancing on the silver hoops in her ears. The light caught on a matching necklace, a perfect circle of silver, dropping a line of smaller pearls from her collarbone to her cleavage.

 Page 11

    It wasn¡¯t my fault my eyes were drawn to her breasts. Blame the necklace.


    Something womanly about Amy had always been intriguing. She wasn¡¯t one of the athletic girls with boyish bodies and abs so tight you could roll a joint on them and have plenty of room left. She was more like a woman from the movies, one who was older and wiser, with a pinup girl¡¯s kind of savvy. She always dressed a little on the frumpy side, the kind of girl you didn¡¯t think much of from the outside but when you peeled back the layers¡ªand I¡¯m speaking metaphorically right now, but I wanted to be speaking literally¡ªyou found an enormous treasure underneath.Advertisement


    Amy snubbed Darla and turned away. And Darla¡ªnow it was her turn to be pissed. Whatever was going on over there made Amy angry, and focused, and passionate. Jesus, I wanted to tap into that. What was Darla saying to trigger such a hot response?


    Something in me melted, softened, as if a hard core of steel had been driving me forward, tinged with anger and coated with regret. My heart began to beat faster and hope slammed itself repeatedly against my chest wall. What if? What if? What if? was the beat that ran through my head and, as Darla walked away shaking her head slowly, mystified, I felt the same way¡ªexcept, from a completely different angle.


    ¡°Hey, Sam!¡± shouted Tyler, the new bassist for the group. He was filling in while Joe was at orientation for law school at Penn. ¡°Can you help me with this amp?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± I said and stood. My eyes broke away from Amy for a few seconds and when I turned back to look she was chatting with Goddamn fucking Liam. He had a way of holding his body like he was the only man in the room. In a way, he was¡ªhe was the dude. Liam needed to be the only guy in the room¡ªand when I say need, I mean need. It was his weakness. There was something about the fight in him and the constant arrogance that made him equally fascinating and annoying. It got tiring to pull him out of fights, or to pick him off of a girl¡¯s wrath. Most of all, it got tiring because if you have to repeatedly prove your manhood...


    Maybe it¡¯s not as strong as you think.


    Amy


    From the Ladies¡¯ Room door, I watched Darla march off, finally taking the hint. She seemed like someone who would be pretty interesting once you got to know her, and I didn¡¯t like being nasty to her. But anybody who was passing herself around the band like a tray of appetizers...are you kidding me? That¡¯s not the kind of person I wanted to be friends with.


    I watched her walk up to the stage and grab Trevor like she owned him. The way his hand snaked around her waist, enjoying a handful of flesh, how her arms slid under his ribs and then up, fingers intertwining with his hair and their mouths connecting. A tug of envy pulled inside me. Not that I wanted Trevor¡ªbut I wanted that. I wanted a man to touch me, and own me with his hands as if nothing else mattered in the world.


    Trevor pulled back, whispered something in her ear, and she tipped her head back and laughed. It was an intimate moment, and one I felt privileged to watch, despite feeling disgusted by the easy way she traveled from man to man on that stage. Dammit! I wanted to be that close to a group of people. I wanted to be part of something so edgy, and fun, and intense.


    Instead, here I sat in the back of the bar, with a fucking tablet in my lap, nose buried in a book, which was not something new. It might be my tablet nowadays but I was still the mousy, bookish Amy. The part of me that hated what Darla represented now admired it a bit. She was free¡ªreally free, up there talking, and laughing, and joking.


    And then, she stepped away from Trevor and damn it if her hands didn¡¯t touch Sam. He reached for her in a friendly hug and I knew, from the body language, that there wasn¡¯t anything going on. All the air in me whooshed out in one big, relieved sigh at the same time that I imagined myself her, that his palms were wrapped around my shoulders, that his cheek touched mine, that the friendly, quick embrace was nothing like what Darla and Trevor had just shared. Sam pulled back and said something. Whatever it was, it seemed kind because Darla smiled and I saw a single tear travel down her cheek, then disappear past her jawline and under her shirt.


    The shine of Kleig lights made it possible to see everything and Sam¡¯s face softened, the compassionate look making me wonder what on Earth was going on. Something had morphed up there¡ªthe atmosphere was less exuberant and then, the new bass player. It all clicked. Joe. Joe Ross was...gone?


    As if on cue, an all too familiar voice said from behind me, ¡°If you stare any harder they¡¯ll turn into stone.¡±


    I whirled around and there stood Liam, wearing a ratty t-shirt, jeans that fit every part of him perfectly, and with hands tensed and ready to perform. He grabbed the chair next to me, twisted it around and straddled it, crossing his forearms over the back. ¡°You¡¯ve still got it bad, don¡¯t you Amy?¡± he said, pointing at Sam.


    It was just a flick of a finger, nothing obvious, but it made me burn inside.


    Something about Liam made it impossible to lie. ¡°I know. I admit it.¡± It was the first time I had acknowledged it to anyone. It made me feel complete somehow, as if it were out there¡ªan emotion that now had form.


    ¡°You see the new bass player?¡± he said.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I asked. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Where¡¯s Joe?¡±


    ¡°Joe left,¡± he said with a tone of intrigue injected. Liam could do that¡ªthere was an affect he had, a way of being on stage all the time. It got old pretty quickly but when he was on, he was on. The golden boy.


    ¡°Left? You mean left for good?¡±


    ¡°No, he got into Penn. He¡¯s at some kind of orientation but we had to get a new bass player because he¡¯s not going to be back that often.¡±


    ¡°Is that why Darla¡¯s crying?¡± I asked. ¡°One of her fuck toys is gone?¡± I used the words on purpose just to seem Liam¡¯s reaction.


    He flinched. ¡°Your horns are showing, Amy.¡±


    ¡°Nice of you to acknowledge that I have them, Liam.¡±


    His eyes narrowed and he studied me. I could feel that look crawl over my forehead, my hair, my eyes, nose, and mouth, traveling down, down, down, down until I was breathing so hard I imagined that when he got to my chest it heaved like some heroine in one of those cheesy bodice rippers Darla was just talking about. ¡°If you think Darla¡¯s being passed around like a piece of meat...you¡¯re dead wrong. She¡¯s Trevor and Joe¡¯s, and that¡¯s it.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help myself¡ªI was so weak. ¡°You mean she¡¯s not...Sam¡¯s?¡±


    Steely eyes the color of a bright blue sky reflecting over a pure Caribbean sea stared back at me. ¡°You¡¯re safe there,¡± he said in an assuring voice, one that changed from calculating and judging to inclusive and compassionate. ¡°But Amy, whatever you feel for Sam, you need to let him know.¡±


    ¡°I did let him know,¡± I insisted. ¡°Four and a half years ago.¡±


    ¡°I know you did.¡± He reached out and touched my hand. It felt brotherly and yet, with an edge. ¡°But it¡¯s been four and a half years and you¡¯re here, sitting in the dark with a thousand books on that little machine, in a bar where one of the hottest bands in the Boston area¡ªhell,¡± he chuckled, ¡°in the world if I do say so myself.¡± He squared his shoulders and shot me a cocky grin. ¡°Where we¡¯re playing and you¡¯re hiding back here like a church mouse. Go for it. Tell him what you think. Tell him what you feel.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of going for it,¡± I said. ¡°How is Charlotte?¡±


    His grin snapped shut like it was spring loaded. ¡°You¡¯re like a sniper with perfect aim,¡± he said, his jaw clenched and off centered, tight and restrained.


    ¡°No. Just a champion debater,¡± I whispered.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± He frowned and I took that as my moment to get the hell out of here.


    Fate had other ideas, as a Sam strode over to us with a determined step, his body all sweat and muscle, his eyes intense and focused. My heart slammed into my throat and Liam followed my look.


    ¡°Hi, Sam,¡± Liam said, his face morphing to an impish grin as I steeled myself for the first chance I¡¯d been given to finally ¨C finally ¨C say what I¡¯d wanted to say all these years to Sam.


    I miss you. Those were the first words that popped into my mind? Struggling to maintain a neutral face as Sam¡¯s eyes found mine, the roiling chaos inside me churned so fast. No! Not I miss you. I couldn¡¯t tell him that, even if it were true.


    Especially because it was true.


    Sam


    Darla came over and gave Trevor a hug, then surprised me with one. She was warm and soft, and hey¡ªI¡¯m a guy. It felt nice. But her jaw trembled against my neck and I pulled back, catching her eyes and finding tears in them.


    ¡°Upset about Joe?¡±


    She swallowed hard and nodded. ¡°Nothing will be the same.¡±


    ¡°Penn¡¯s a great school.¡± Oh, that was comforting, Dumbass.


    ¡°I¡¯m a great lay,¡± she whispered.


    That made me laugh, and she joined me, a sad smile twisting her lips.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be fine.¡± The words were just an impulse. Were they true? Hell if I know.


    Tyler asked me yet another question about the audio equipment as my eyes rocked with disbelief when I took another look into the crowd. There was Liam chatting up Amy again. It was bad enough to watch the two of them back on the Common, but here? Was she coming because of him? Or was she coming because of me?


    This was going from stupid to stupider. Her reaction to him was pissing me off. I was supposed to be the guy standing over there talking to her. I was supposed to be the one getting her eyes on me the way they were eating him up. I was supposed to be the one who reached out and touched her hand, who had all of her attention, who had all of her focus. And I was supposed to be the guy who saw no one but her. Except, instead of being that guy, I was the guy who completely dicked her over four years ago. So, which guy was I going to be right now?


    There was definitely something between the two of them. Her hands played with something on the table when he wasn¡¯t reaching out and touching her, her eyes flashed at him, the way her lips moved when she talked to him¡ªall the non-verbal cues told me that there was a history. There was something more than just being neighbors.


    She said something to him, her mouth moving in rapid fire in a way that made me want to kiss it and make it stop. And then, Liam shut down. Oh, my! Amy¡¯s debater tongue had just conquered Mr. Arrogant. It made me smile, it made me want her, it made me need her more. I sat there, impotently enraged, watching Liam get time¡ªface time¡ªwith the woman I was too much of a douchebag to go talk to.


    The four and a half years of silence yawned between us. Was that really all that was holding me back? The fact that I had been such an idiot so long ago? As if the seconds ticked into minutes, into hours, into days, then months and years, and the accumulated weight of all of that meant that I had to just keep my mouth shut, and keep keeping my mouth shut because I¡¯d made a decision, once, four and a half years ago? Was my stupidity really that powerful that I had to keep carrying it around?


    No. No fucking way. I stood up. I put one foot in front of the other, and I decided that I was going to walk toward my future because it was the only way I could escape my mistakes from the past. The distance between the stage and Amy¡¯s table was, roughly, the distance between Earth and Mars. At least, that¡¯s how it felt.

 Page 12

    And yet, I crossed it effortlessly. My body felt like a wolf¡¯s. Make that a bear. No, just like an animal. Every muscle moved with purpose, my eyes focused in on the two of them. I had no idea what I was going to say, and no idea what I was going to do. All I knew was that I needed her to pay attention to me. I needed to be the only guy in the bar for her; not Liam, not any of the other dudes sitting around, me. Me and only me. And I was going to make that happen.


    There was one other moment in my life where I felt this massive internal plume of anger and desperation, and of hope, all mingle inside me at once and push me forward into a trajectory of no return. The last time I did it, it was all aimed at my dad. It was all negative. It was about pulling away, about pulling apart. This time, it was about coming together.Advertisement


    I found myself standing in front of them and Liam looked up, eyebrows raised, face amused. ¡°Hey, Sam.¡±


    I ignored him. Amy took me full on and looked up, face blank, a debater¡¯s stare of challenge. She didn¡¯t shy away, but the look in her eyes was calculating. I could count the words in her head that she was jumbling around, and organizing, and aligning as the most scintillating, sarcastic comment she could come up with was assembling behind those beautiful brown eyes.


    This was the closest I¡¯d been to her in four and a half years, other than in my own memory and my own fantasies. She opened her mouth and stood at the same time, our bodies a foot apart. Her face twisted into a smirk and she started to say something, and the next thing I knew...I was kissing her.


    Amy


    Wait...what? Sam¡¯s hands were on my shoulders and he was kissing me. The witty, barbed comment that I¡¯d worked and planned on for four fucking years had been on the tip of my tongue, but now completely dissolved and poured out of my head as his soft lips claimed mine. His hands snaked down my back, and I accepted the apology and the kiss that I¡¯d waited too long for. It was soft at first, and then, he pulled back just enough to come in once more, this time more insistent. From a welcome to an invitation, and then, to a reunion.


    The palms of his hands slid over my ribcage, his fingers dug into me, pulling me closer. I shifted my legs and he took that as an opening, body pressed against mine, the hard muscles of a man¡¯s fully formed torso pressing against my softer curves. I got my chance to run my hands up his back like Darla had with Trevor, except, this was exquisite and mine. Mine.


    Applause began, along with catcalls and hoots, and then the distinct sound of metal on glass, like people chiming spoons against wine glasses at a wedding, the crowd¡¯s call for more kissing. The same gesture as last week with my fake kiss with Liam, but this time I cheered right back in my heart. Ignoring it was impossible, and yet somehow we both shut it out.


    As our bodies communed with each other it was as if the time rolled back and we were starting over from that moment at the tournament where life had turned on a dime. We said four and a half years of conversation in each brush of our lips, every nip, every time his tongue touched my teeth, the heat of him pouring through his mouth into mine. Every stroke of his palm against the small of my back was another month forgiven, every gasp between our mouths like a month redeemed.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he whispered. As his lips explored my mouth and his tongue pierced my soul, everything linear dissolved in my head and I became something new. I was all being, I was all atoms, and skin, and hot, and flesh, and knowing. I was with Sam. Sam, who had abandoned me. Sam, who had not said a word all this time, was now kissing me in the back of a bar and it was perfect. And I was all his. I was all I ever wanted to be.


    Sam


    How did this happen? One minute I was standing in front of her, ready for the tongue lashing that I richly deserved, and the next minute I was pressed up against her, her hot little body morphing into mine. Her hands ran up my back and mine sank into her hair, the lushness of her mouth like finding the God I had doubted, and seeing that an ordained world makes sense again. All the pieces fell into place as I took her mouth with mine, as she parted her lips and let me say how sorry I was.


    Her hands on my hips, her body against mine, our torsos pressed against each other¡ªit made me hard instantly, my body on fire in a way that no beat could replicate. There was no music I could play to find this, no macrobeat, no microbeat, nothing that was comparable to the state of being that I had gone to with her in my arms.


    The room exploded into a bunch of cheering, lewd comments and shouts about giving her more tongue, getting a room¡ªwords, words and more stupid words. None of it mattered.


    It was as if they didn¡¯t exist.


    Four and a half years disappeared as her fingers trailed along my neck, her soft, pliant lips matched mine in fevered kisses. Blood pounded through me as every sense screamed her name. Amy. Amy. Amy. And then, someone cleared their throat. Amy pulled back and turned, I followed her, letting go of each other and dropping our hands.


    Liam. Of course, Liam. ¡°So,¡± he said, eyes bouncing between the two of us, ¡°I am going to leave you two alone. It seems you have a lot of catching up to do.¡± He smirked and shot Amy a meaningful look that I didn¡¯t understand. ¡°But we have a set to do.¡± He thumbed the stage.


    Fuck. That¡¯s right. The idea that I would need to spend the next hour and a half apart from her was like a solitary prison sentence. It would feel like years. I turned back to Amy, and my eyes zeroed in on hers, wide and startled and searching my face. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a gesture that made me feel like a king.


    ¡°French kiss, french kiss!¡± the crowd chanted, clapping. Then another group across the room shouted, ¡°Blow job, blow job!¡±


    Liam crossed his arms and cocked his pelvis, as if he were the ringleader of the boozy, hyped-up crowd. ¡°I know which one I¡¯d pick,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Go,¡± she said to me as we both tried to pretend Liam wasn¡¯t there. ¡°Play. That¡¯s why I came here.¡±


    ¡°To see me play?¡± I asked. The implied question was one I didn¡¯t have to say.


    ¡°You know why I came here, Sam.¡±


    Our eyes were riveted on each other and the blood kept pounding louder, and faster. Amy. Amy. Amy.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be here when I¡¯m done?¡± I asked. It came out like a challenge and not a question, even though deep inside I was practically begging her to say yes.


    ¡°It¡¯s only 90 minutes. It¡¯s not like you¡¯re leaving for a tour of duty.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Liam,¡± Amy and I said in unison.


    He snarled in mock horror and stalked off.


    She nodded. I reached out and took her hand. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t deserve to have you be here when I¡¯m done, so thank you.¡± That was the best apology I could choke out, although the kiss had felt like I¡¯d apologized every day for a thousand years. And then, like a kind of death, I let go of her and ran back to the stage. Losing contact with her skin was bearable only with the drums to run to, my safe spot, like going home. As I settled into my seat and picked up the sticks, though, I looked through the crowd and saw no one but her. Now I had a new home. And she was sitting, alone, at a table, waiting for me to come.


    Amy


    And then he walked away. Sam. My Sam had just walked up and kissed me as if no break between us had ever happened, and now he was gone again, walking off to start the first set. My breasts felt raw, my skin flayed, my lips swollen and hungry for more of Sam. My entire body was one big, buzzing, aroused being. I wanted him. I wanted him naked. I wanted him bared, and primal, and I wanted him mine in bed for a thousand days. Four and a half years. Four and a half years of nothing and then, he walks up to me in a bar and just gives me a kiss.


    Had I imagined it? My mouth burned with all of the feelings that he transmitted in that kiss. My body pumped, and thrummed, and throbbed with the sheer heft and intensity of everything that we had communicated in under a minute. Had he really just marched offstage, found me, and kissed me like that?


    I felt like I was in a separate universe of flurry, and feelings, and of everything whirling around me and within me, unnoticed by the people around me in the bar, our kiss already an afterthought, the crowd settling back in to its self-centered glory as they waited for the band to resume its play. Everything around the room was more acute, more alive, almost glowing, like the world had been turned up a notch on a dimmer switch. Didn¡¯t everyone else see how life had changed with that one kiss?


    It was like a nuclear bomb had just been dropped and people continued eating their lunch. Liam grabbed his guitar and Sam settled himself behind his drums, his face in shadow so I couldn¡¯t see if he was looking back at me. Trevor and the new bassist assembled themselves and got ready for their opening number while I stood there, mildly stunned. The opening notes of the song ¡°Serendipity,¡± one of their older, slower rock ballads, carried through the bar as the cocktail waitress asked me if I wanted another drink. I nodded blindly, shaking off my personal alternate dimension and rejoining reality with everyone else.


    I chuckled and sat down, dazed and amazed because¡ªreally? How Sam. How utterly Sam, the Sam of few words. The Sam of contemplation and the Sam who seemed to struggle with talking about anything outside of his domain. How typical. And yet, what a shock. The music washed over me and I felt myself grin hugely, watching the people in the audience clapping along. I joined in the wild applause at the end of the song, and even considered trying Darla¡¯s two-fingered whistle.


    Trevor got up on stage center and announced that he¡¯d written a new song for his girlfriend, Darla. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, ¡°I had a bit of an interesting experience back in May.¡± The guys onstage laughed.


    ¡°Tell it, honey!¡± Darla shouted from the front row.


    He smiled at her, the kind of grin that goes all the way through the eyes and into the heart. The kind of smile I wanted Sam to shine on me.


    Trevor paused and then reached a hand out. ¡°You come up and tell it.¡±


    Darla took his hand and he lifted her up onto the stage. She seemed comfortable and sassy, and all that anger I had for her melted away. ¡°So I was driving down I-76 in Ohio,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m from Ohio, if you haven¡¯t noticed fact that I have no accent. Unlike you people.¡± A few titters from the crowd. ¡°So, I¡¯m driving down the highway and I see this naked dude wearing nothing but a guitar.¡± More titters and a few hoots and cheers.


    This was new to me. I hadn¡¯t heard this story. Then again, why would I have? I¡¯d only come back into this circle because I was chasing Sam.


    ¡°Yeah! He¡¯s wearing a guitar,¡± she explained, one hand jaunty on one hip, the other one holding the microphone as she smirked and split her attention between Trevor and the audience, ¡°and only a guitar.¡± Whistles. ¡°So, I pulled over to give him a ride.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t pick up hitchhikers!¡± someone shouted.


    She waved them away. ¡°I know. I know. But sometimes you gotta do things you¡¯re not supposed to. So, I pick him up and he turns out to be Trevor Connor. Trevor fucking Connor,¡± she said. Now the audience was eating out of her hand, a few of the groupies nodding vigorously. ¡°And he¡¯s high as a kite.¡± More laughter.

 Page 13

    ¡°When isn¡¯t he?¡± someone called out.


    ¡°And so, through a series of unfortunate events¡ª¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Unfortunate?¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°Alright. Unpredictable,¡± she corrected herself. ¡°I found myself living a random act of crazy.¡±


    ¡°Aw,¡± the crowd said, collectively charmed by the unexpected romance.


    ¡°And then Joe Ross came along,¡± she added. The crowd cheered.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Joe?¡± someone shouted.


    She held up one finger. ¡°I¡¯ll get to that in a minute.¡± Her voice changed and choked up. ¡°And then Joe Ross came along and I found myself surrounded by hot guys.¡± A bunch of the groupies whistled. ¡°Simmer down. Simmer down,¡± she said. ¡°You can¡¯t have them anymore, they¡¯re mine now.¡±


    ¡°They?¡± someone said.


    Darla shot Trevor a look.


    Trevor marched over and took over the microphone. ¡°Anyhow, thanks honey,¡± he said to Darla, giving her a pat on the ass as she jumped down offstage and back to her seat. ¡°I wrote this song for Darla.¡±


    ¡°What about Joe?¡±


    ¡°Joe will be back¡ªno worries,¡± Trevor assured them. ¡°Now, who wants to hear a new song?¡±


    Instant explosion of frenzied cheers from the crowd.


    The guys had never done anything like this when we were in high school, and as the first chords of the new song started up, I watched Sam and wondered what it would be like to find a guy so in love with you that he would write you a song.


    Sam


    Your Mama told you to watch out for me


    Your God told you to walk away


    Your Daddy said nothing, for he was gone


    And you weren¡¯t sure what to say


    The night you found me, wandering and lost


    Naked by the side of the road


    My guitar shattered, my body bereft


    You fought everything you were told


    And the chorus:


    When a naked soul finds you


    You don¡¯t have a choice


    You have to stop and pause


    You can turn away and never look back


    But it will yank you back, because


    Random acts of crazy draw you in


    Random acts of kindness draw you in


    Random acts of love draw you in


    I went into the zone, which wasn¡¯t hard, all you had to do was stick me on a seat in front of a drum set and leave me alone. I wondered how Trevor let those words out on stage. I was good with words in a debate and on paper for a class. But when I had something real to say¡ªwhen someone looked me in the eye and expected the truth from me about how I felt? I might as well be translating to Aramaic, or Quechua after a single weekend with a Rosetta Stone DVD.


    We¡¯d practiced the new song plenty of times, enough for me to drift on autopilot through the zone; my mind stayed with Amy. Amy¡¯s skin had burned a brand into mine and I could feel the heat, the want, and I could feel her ¡®yes.¡¯ Maybe that ¡®yes¡¯ was what it took to find the words, to write a song about someone. Maybe the lyrics and the music together formed something powerful enough to express all these feelings that bottled up and created a pressure inside.


    Had Darla been Trevor¡¯s revelation? Was there a moment when he touched her, when he looked at her, the first time they made love? I didn¡¯t know. No one had ever made me feel like that. At least, not until this moment.


    Four and a half years of stupidity flowed over me. I couldn¡¯t look at Amy. I¡¯d squandered so much. Was there any chance I could get it back? Give it back to her?


    Normally, when I was in the zone, the song took over and all linear thought disappeared; I became part of everything in the room. Hell, in the world. With Amy on my mind, though, I couldn¡¯t. My hands were the same, the sticks were the same, all the music, the beats, the measures, the same.


    I was changed. She had changed me.


    Amy¡¯s acceptance of my kiss, my touch, my desire, made it so that the zone wasn¡¯t enough anymore. As the song wound down without my ever becoming truly consumed by the music, I realized that I never would again. The only place where I would find that peace and that part of me was in Amy.


    Amy


    As the words came out:


    When a naked soul finds you


    You don¡¯t have a choice


    You have to stop and pause


    You can turn away and never look back


    But it will yank you back, because


    Random acts of crazy draw you in


    Random acts of kindness draw you in


    Random acts of love draw you in


    ...I wondered about the story here and now I wanted to go and grab Darla¡ªand not by the hair like I¡¯d wanted to earlier¡ªand ask her what had happened. She was with Trevor and Joe? How-? What-? Who-? Something about Trevor being naked by the side of the road, and she found him, in the middle of Ohio? This was getting a little too surreal.


    Sam seemed different onstage. Distracted. As he played the song his body was like a powerful drug¡ªI could watch him all night. His knees bounced up, thick thighs pressed against faded denim, and he rotated at the waist to hit all the notes in prefect syncopation. Sweat formed at the edges of his hair and his eyes were half-lidded as he moved, a kinetic force of heat, light, and domination. He owned those drums. The way he touched the sticks, the way he moved so fluidly, knowing exactly what to do next, was the most arousing and sensual thing I had ever seen.


    I wondered what it was like to go to a place inside yourself, where your mind and your body knew exactly what to do, and how to do it. Isn¡¯t that what I¡¯d always read that making love is supposed to be? A sensuality between two people where everything else melts away, there is no past or future, and all that exists in that moment is the two of you. No wall between you. What was it like to reach that point? What would it be like to touch someone, to let him in, to let all of that warmth and power seep into my pores?


    What would it be like to have Sam look at me, our bodies entwined as he thrust into me, and know that I was part of him and he was part of me, and there was nothing else in the world? That certainty, that moment of knowingness, when I was everything to him and he was everything to me, and we just were and it was ageless, and timeless? Would I ever really have that? And if I did, would I ever want it to stop?


    Sam


    We finished the set and I looked out into the crowd¡ªno Amy.


    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I¡¯d done the wrong thing, hadn¡¯t I? She said she¡¯d stay, and then she left. I couldn¡¯t blame her¡ªI told her I¡¯d go to prom, and then I never talked to her again. A creeping dread poured into my legs and arms, and my throat went dry.


    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I¡¯d really screwed this one up, hadn¡¯t I?


    I got offstage and went back to grab some water, trying not to go into the tailspin that I so richly deserved. I stood there, chugging, trying to just do anything with my body that would get my mind off of the fact that she¡¯d left. I finished the bottle of water, pitched it in the trash, and turned around to find Amy standing there.


    And suddenly, I was kissing her. It happened again. If you pressed me to describe the handful of seconds between not kissing her and kissing her, I couldn¡¯t. You could waterboard me and I couldn¡¯t remember it¡ªit was that visceral, that swift, that all-consuming. She was definitely more insistent, more turned on, and more game, and all that did was fuel me. My hands slid under her shirt, finding hot flesh that felt like the most beautiful object in the world; soft, and pliant, and in my hands now...like coming home.


    Her hands snaked under my sweaty t-shirt, and the cold air combined with her soft touch made me lose it. I couldn¡¯t get enough of her. My mouth took hers, my hands were all over her, her breasts, her waist, her hips, her ass. She was filling me and I wanted to fill her.


    Trevor¡¯s voice cut through the little world of Amy, and I pulled back, swallowing, a dry click in my throat as if I hadn¡¯t had the water, as if I were parched. ¡°Sam, come on. Gotta get back on stage. Next set.¡± I could hear the grin in his voice.


    She pulled back, her lips pink, almost bruised from the intensity of our kisses. ¡°Don¡¯t leave,¡± I begged.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she promised.


    ¡°Come backstage when the last song is almost done.¡±


    She nodded and swallowed. Her eyes bored into mine, and I felt an unfamiliar feeling inside: hope. It batted its wings like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. Wings the exact color of Amy¡¯s eyes.


    The rest of the performance went by like a blur, frenzied hands, fevered brain. It was one of the better sets I¡¯d ever done, and yet, it felt rushed because all I wanted to do was get back to Amy. She found me¡ªthank God, she found me¡ªat the end of the set. All I could do was stare at her. I was a sweaty mess, a live wire with buzzing arms and legs, and a heart that felt five sizes too big for my chest.


    Ending a performance is always a high. Having Amy here, on top of the high? There were no words for it. I could call it a supernova, or the most incredible moment ever, and all of those superlatives would make it sound great, but wouldn¡¯t give it one one-thousandth of the emphasis that it deserved.


    ¡°You waited,¡± I said, and smiled.


    ¡°You asked me to.¡± Her face was a little closed off and I knew we had a lot of talking to do. I reached for her elbow, and then the small of her back, as if we had been together for years and this was a casual touch that a long-term boyfriend would give to his partner. She moved in concert with my motion, and it all flowed. Something clicked, and there I was.


    In the zone.


    She stopped, and turned toward me, her hands reaching out, stroking my arms as if she were trying to verify that I was really here. It pleased me at the same time that it pained me, because I knew why. ¡°What next?¡± she asked.


    I looked at my phone, waiting to answer her. 1:15 AM. ¡°It¡¯s late,¡± I said. ¡°Do you have a place?¡±


    She pulled back a bit. I¡¯d over-played my hand, hadn¡¯t I? ¡°I do,¡± she said, slowly, with caution.


    My words came out in a jumbled mess. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to imply that,¡± I assured her, but even as it came out I was a little disappointed. And I think that I saw disappointment in her eyes, too. ¡°I just meant,¡± I said, softly, bending down to whisper in her ear, ¡°I don¡¯t want to stop being with you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stop being with you either, Sam,¡± she said. ¡°How about we walk back to my apartment and we¡¯ll just take things from there?¡±


    Once again, the world changed because Amy was Amy.


    Amy


    The cold blast of late summer air felt like walking into another dimension. Sam¡¯s arm was around my shoulders, and even though it was still summer, in New England it already felt like October. We both shivered. Sam was half covered in sweat and it was a bit of a shock. No more a shock, though, than what was happening, second by second, between us. When he¡¯d suggested going back to my apartment I¡¯d had an involuntary reaction of no¡ªnot because I didn¡¯t wanna take him back to my apartment and make love with him for...well, eternity¡ªbut because it caught me off guard. It seemed too abrupt.


    His assurances made a difference, and I got it; I didn¡¯t want to stop being with him either. I didn¡¯t want the night to end. The thirty minute walk back to my apartment yawned before us, the giant elephant of the years between our then and our now balanced between us, on our shoulders. I decided to acknowledge it.

 Page 14

    ¡°Why did you shut me out?¡± I asked, my voice quiet.


    He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, clearly struggling. The world suspended itself around us. Cars rushed by us, yet their headlights seemed to hold us still as a held breath. My whole life was in this timeless minute, because I was about to hear the explanation for the unexplainable four and a half years later.Advertisement


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about that a lot, Amy. I don¡¯t have an easy answer,¡± he said.


    I wanted to interrupt him but I kept my mouth shut. He needed to tell me this, and it needed to be one-hundred percent on him. I had tortured myself over the years, trying to guess how I was somehow responsible for what Sam had done. No matter how hard my insecure, unworthy self tried to turn this around into a blame that I could place on me, though, I couldn¡¯t. It was all him.


    ¡°When you won,¡± he said, slowly, ¡°you won.¡± He tipped my head up to look me in the eye¡ªhe was a head taller. ¡°You won decisively.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I never had any question, and you were fine up there, on your game.¡±


    ¡°So were you,¡± I interrupted, breaking my own vow.


    ¡°But you were better,¡± he said, simply. ¡°I had a lot riding on that debate.¡±


    ¡°We all did,¡± I said.


    A pained expression covered his face. ¡°There¡¯s so much more to this than I think I can explain right now, but please let me say what I can say,¡± he stressed.


    I nodded. Our legs began to walk in concert, left and left, right and right. ¡°OK,¡± that was all I could think to say.


    ¡°My dad,¡± he said, the words coming out bitterly, ¡°told me that at all costs, I needed to make it into the top three. And if I didn¡¯t, I was a worthless piece of shit.¡±


    I felt slapped, imagining the pain of his father saying that and taking it on myself. It hurt me to think that someone would hurt him like that. ¡°Oh, Sam,¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Let me finish,¡± he said, holding out one hand, palm to me, his voice shaky, ¡°because if I don¡¯t finish, I don¡¯t think I can do this.¡±


    ¡°This?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can do this,¡± he stressed, stroking my hip and my ribcage with one hand, making me hot and needy, and wanting so much more. ¡°But Amy,¡± he said, plaintively, stopping and turning toward me, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes serious. ¡°What I need to do first is this; I need to tell you what happened, or at least part of it.¡± He sighed, his words taking on a gravitas that made time move slower. ¡°My dad told me I had to win, and I had to win in order to get the debate scholarship to one of my top three. If I didn¡¯t, it was Bible school. And that was it. So, you won and I left, knowing what I was about to go home to.¡±


    ¡°And what did you go home to?¡±


    His face hardened and he closed off.


    I could hear thousands of words in his silence, all of them thorned and barbed. I didn¡¯t want to put him through reliving that, so I didn¡¯t press. Not yet. Someday, when he was comfortable, he would tell me, and I would hold him, and I would help him, and we would be OK. Now was too soon. It was too much.


    I reached up and kissed him gently on the lips, standing on tiptoe. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this all right now, Sam.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± His words hung in the air.


    We continued walking, both eager to see what came next. ¡°But I want you to understand that I was...stupid. There¡¯s really no other word for it. I got home, uh...the world ended with my dad¡ªthat¡¯s the easiest way to put it¡ªand I just froze. Everything changed, I had to scramble to survive, and I became someone else because I had to.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched, his body tight and restrained. ¡°Amy...I just...¡± he stumbled. ¡°Can we leave it at that? Can we just say that it¡¯s like I disappeared and a different Sam¡ªlet¡¯s call him Robot Sam¡ªkicked in and everything was about functioning, and nothing was about emotion. It was easier to shut everything out, because I learned a hard lesson that day at home.¡±


    ¡°What lesson?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as unconditional love.¡±


    I closed my eyes. The thorned and barbed words were as I had expected. What I wanted to say, what pushed against my lips so hard to come out, and yet, remained behind my teeth was¡ª


    Let me help you unlearn that lesson.


    Sam


    I was dying, absolutely dying. You would think that having a bunch of emotions inside me, it would be easy to just pick one and explore it. It¡¯s the hardest fucking thing to do in the world. It¡¯s so much easier to shut down, to close off, to protect myself and never look at them at all. I¡¯d done more than ignore my emotional past. I¡¯d put it in a box inside me, and I¡¯d padlocked the box and thrown it and its key in separate oceans. And now, here with Amy, she was asking me to find the key, and the box, and unlock everything


    We walked in silence for a long time, the peaceful presence of her enough. Words weren¡¯t needed. Most people fill the space between them and other humans with speech. It clouds everything if words are used like that. Conversations that have meaning, or that teach¡ªthat¡¯s different. But chatter for the sake of chatter is like crappy junk food.


    It just makes you feel full, and then sick, and then you regret you ever partook.


    Amy stopped at a brick building, weirdly angled into not-quite an L shape. She punched a code into the security door and took my hand, fingers entwining as we went in. We walked up a set of stairs, and then another, and were in an apartment the size of a healthy walk-in closet.


    ¡°Is this your apartment?¡± I said. ¡°This is the whole thing?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much. There¡¯s a bathroom right there.¡± She opened the door two or three feet, and then pushed something¡ªI realized it was a futon¡ªaside in order to open the door the whole way.


    ¡°This is your entire apartment?¡± I said, incredulous.


    She frowned ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s mine. What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing is wrong with it. It¡¯s...¡± I looked around. ¡°It¡¯s quirky. I like it.¡±


    Her shoulders lowered and she sighed. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°This must be dirt cheap,¡± I said.


    She grinned. ¡°Yes, it is. And no roommates.¡±


    A brief image of Joe coming out into the kitchen to grab sex food for Trevor and Darla floated through my mind. ¡°What a luxury.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about my housing situation, Sam.¡±


    She sat down on the futon, her body so graceful I enjoyed just watching how she moved, the curve of her hip, the stretch of her calf, how her wrist pivoted as she stretched, then folded herself into comfort. Mimicking her, I folded my legs and sat directly across, nervous yet fully present.


    She took my hands. ¡°I want to talk about us.¡±


    ¡°Is there an ¡®us¡¯?¡± I asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s up to us.¡±


    ¡°Well then, what does us think?¡±


    She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. ¡°Us thinks that us needs to work this out.¡±


    ¡°Well, us is really, really, really sorry for being such an asshole four and a half years ago.¡±


    ¡°Us is pleased that us realizes that he¡¯s an asshole.¡±


    ¡°Oh, us is now he?¡± We both laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so, so sorry.¡±


    The sound of my dad¡¯s scream echoed through my ears, how he had bellowed what a worthless piece of shit I was, and how he had ordered me to go to Bible college, and how, when he punched me with the full force of his rage, for the first time in my life, I had hit back. All of it poured into my mind, into my soul, as I looked Amy in the eye and I had to compartmentalize, and shut that shit down, and push it away, and still look at her and be a human being.


    The familiar thrashings of anxiety, or panic¡ªor whatever the fuck you called this intruder inside my body that took over when I least expected it¡ªmade me feel like I was nine different people in my own head, all at once. I couldn¡¯t tell her the truth about what Dad had done when I had gone home from that debate, because I couldn¡¯t share how damaged I really was. Not that I thought that alone would drive her away, but I thought her knowing might drive me away, and I didn¡¯t want to be that guy again.


    I felt like I had been drowning for years, and that Amy had reached out and pulled me to shore, given me CPR and got me breathing again. Each ragged breath I took right now, as I stared into her eyes and tried to figure out what to say next, was one more breath I didn¡¯t have to take alone. The words all just felt like stabs, so I turned the words off, reached over, stretching myself fully, and kissed her. The skin of her jaw was soft and hard at once, and her lips melted into mine.


    ¡°Amy,¡± I whispered, the need growing so swiftly inside me, as if saying her name could make all of this more real.


    Amy


    Real. This was real. Sam was kissing me again, and we were in my apartment, and we weren¡¯t high school students any more. No artificial barriers. No classrooms, no coaches, no parents. An ache deep inside came to the surface, breaking like a cresting wave, and I leaned into the kiss, my hands hungry for more of him, palms reaching under his t-shirt, hands meeting hot, firm flesh with rippled muscles and the movement of his body against mine as his hands echoed my own need.


    Four years.


    For years I¡¯d waited and wondered what might have been. Would we have been together through college? Would we have gone to the same school, or just spent our weeks apart, together on weekends? Getting married now, after graduation? Some of my friends were engaged right now, a few of them actively planning weddings.


    Whatever wondering I had faded fast as the hot push of Sam¡¯s loving hands against my breasts made me moan his name. A penetrating overwhelm made my body go hard and soft at once. For all I¡¯d built up this moment in my head, reality wasn¡¯t letting me down.


    I wasn¡¯t letting go, either. As our mouths and hands explored each other, Sam¡¯s apologized, too. I could feel it in how tender he was, how he alternated between passion and restraint. Could a kiss say ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±?


    Could the next one say, ¡°Let¡¯s try again¡±?


    And the third ask, ¡°May I make it up to you¡±?


    I wasn¡¯t the same Amy who cried for months and checked my phone compulsively two hundred times a day, waiting for a text that never came. That girl was long gone, replaced by the woman who pressed her belly against Sam¡¯s, whose arms and hands and lips gave as much as he took, and who wasn¡¯t going to allow everything to be this easy, if that¡¯s what I wanted more than anything in the world.


    Because easy wasn¡¯t cutting it.


    Easy was the easy way out.


    Breaking the kiss, we panted for a few breaths, eyes meeting. In his I saw so many emotions¡ªdesire, regret, excitement¡ªand I imagined I mirrored those right back.


    ¡°Why, Sam? Why now?¡±


    Our knees pressed into the futon, both of us half upright, arms wrapped around but pulled back. My breasts rose and fell with each fevered inhale and exhale, while Sam¡¯s abs worked hard against his shirt, his breathing no less labored than my own.

 Page 15

    ¡°Because when I touch you I feel like the world makes sense.¡±


    The cloth of my futon rubbed against my knees, the raspy sound amplified a thousand times in my ears. Moonlight spilled in through my window, and the air went warm, like a billowing curtain brushing against my skin as a gentle breeze turned the tiny apartment into a rapturous asylum from the craziness of the world. His fingers brushed against my arm as he held me, eyes open and intense, vulnerable and seeking.Advertisement


    The next kiss wasn¡¯t an apology.


    It was a demand. A demand on my part, as four years of pent up questions and sorrow came pouring forth from me, unbidden and unleashed.


    And just then, Sam¡¯s fingers rested on my arms and went perfectly still.


    Chapter Four


    Amy


    4.5 years ago


    I didn¡¯t know that I could feel this sick to my stomach. National qualifiers for debate. The top three would go to national competition this summer. This was my third year here. My freshman year I¡¯d competed in a different event in Speech, but switching over to Lincoln-Douglas debate had been a revelation. It turned out I was actually good at something other than writing papers, and just being the smart girl. When I got up in front of the judges, stood face to face against a single opponent, and crafted an argument on whatever topic they threw at us, my brain could click into place. It was like gears shifting in a machine, step by step, making connections.


    Someone once told me that debating was like playing chess. You had to see how it was all going to end eight, ten, fifteen, twenty moves in advance, and to understand the possible consequences of each choice that you made. Every word that came out of your mouth, each sentence that you formed and put forth had to both convince that judge sitting out there in the audience that you had a better argument than the person you were trying to defeat, and unsettle your opponent enough so that he or she couldn¡¯t do the same.


    Using my mind to convince adults that I was more persuasive, that my facts were better, I felt unprecedented power¡ªI could convince them that damn near anything I said was right.


    It was incredibly rare, in teenage life, to be able to tell adults something and be believed. To be academically and intellectually capable of gathering research around an idea, of forming a case and then presenting it. I would stand with another teenager in front of two adults who might be teachers, who might be parents, former debaters¡ªwe never really knew who the judges were. Sometimes they were nuns from Catholic schools, sometimes they were incredibly bored nineteen year-olds who had just graduated and were there for the paltry amount of money that judges earned. Often they were debate coaches from other teams. Most of the time they were friendly, if a bit stone faced, trying to remain neutral and to judge on the merits of our cases.


    It wasn¡¯t a popularity contest. It wasn¡¯t about looks. I didn¡¯t have to be pretty. I didn¡¯t have to be well dressed beyond looking professional and businesslike. I didn¡¯t have to wear the right lipstick, or the perfect earrings, or be fashionable, or talk about the latest music, or movies.


    I could talk about the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution. I could talk about civil liberties, and questions about the rights of the majority versus the minority were my playing field¡ªnot perfumes and self-tanners. I got to stand up next to some damn fine guys from other high schools who wielded the same intellectual weapons that I did. I got to watch them dressed up like their dads, staking their claim across classroom floors, walking like men, shoulders squared, faces alert, taking me on in a test of intellectual merit.


    Not in some ridiculous romantic game where I was supposed to read signals that were subtle or where subterfuge became some kind of twisted, sexual joke.


    Oh, no, I was their equal. In fact, most of the time, I was their better. I could use information and analysis the way other girls used a hair flip or played with the neckline of their shirt. When these guys looked into my eyes they didn¡¯t lick their lips¡ªthey ruffled their papers and straightened their arguments. The air crackled between us because the stakes were so high. High school debate¡ªcompeting to go to Nationals? That was huge.


    Living in the suburbs of Boston, with nationally-ranked school districts and parents who mortgaged their careers to get a house, everything was about competition. Getting into the right preschool, the right school district, having parents work extra hours to make sure that they could afford the house and the property taxes that came with being in a top ten school district¡ªthe pressure began before you were potty-trained.


    I had to do all the right activities starting in middle school, learn the right instruments, speak the right foreign languages, volunteer at the right centers, all for the Holy Grail of getting into the best college possible. Around here that was Harvard, MIT and Yale¡ªand if you couldn¡¯t get into one of those top three, you were lesser. Right here, right now, as we got ready for the crackdown where people stopped making eye contact in the halls, where people¡ªcompetitors that you¡¯d joked with three weeks ago¡ªsuddenly clung to their notes and turned away, whispering in corners. This was real life.


    All of it changed relationships.


    I think that was the part that scared me the most; how eviscerated people felt as they were eliminated. Some of my debate friends hadn¡¯t even made it this far, but Sam had. So far when I¡¯d passed him in the halls he¡¯d made eye contact, even smiled, though his face was a bit gray, and there was a sickly sense of something about him. Butterflies probably churned in his stomach as if someone had fed them meth.


    We all felt that way. Every single one of us had spent the last few weeks poring over our cases, constructing careful analogies, worrying through wordings, sayings, and statistics. It was preparation for law school for plenty of us, and yet¡ªnothing like it.


    Let me explain how intense the world of Lincoln-Douglas debate can get. If you did well on your PSATs, the brochures began coming in. The emails started to pop up. You received invitations to visit the top debate teams at colleges across the country. Alluring and enticing comments about full tuition scholarships for a handful of students nationwide made you want to win. A phone call might even come from one of those top schools, a coach on the other end, friendly talks with your parents¡ªall revolving around one thing.


    Winning. And not the Charlie Sheen kind.


    It was nothing like sports. Most of us were sports rejects. A handful of golden boys and girls managed to balance it all. That definitely wasn¡¯t me. For as mentally agile and coordinated as I was in a classroom or in a debate session, I might as well have been an octopus on roller skates when it came to a baseball, a soccer ball, a track hurdle or anything else other than the occasional recreational swim. College tuition was on the line for plenty of debaters, but I had a full ride already lined up. So for me, it was more ephemeral. I could go into this just wanting the glory, adding the notch on my academic belt.


    As I flipped through my pages, preparing for my next debate, I saw Sam walk by again, running a hand through that auburn hair. Oh, how I wished it were my hand. Memory took over my mind and body, the thought of his arms around me just two weeks ago so evocative.


    He stopped at a drinking fountain and bent over, the gray wool of his suit stretching tight across his shoulders. His lips drank greedily from the stream of water, and suddenly everything else disappeared. The butterflies in my stomach, the tightness in my shoulders, the sense that everything hinged on what I was about to do today¡ªit all rushed away in one mad wave.


    All that was left was me taking in everything about this one person who mattered more than anything I was about to do today.


    Sam


    Don¡¯t throw up, don¡¯t throw up.


    I felt like a genie was trapped in my stomach and struggling violently to get out. A burning sensation rose up through my esophagus, and tension squeezed my jawline. I felt a fiery flush from the anxiety, up my cheeks all the way to my scalp, and I bent over the water fountain as much to hide it as to cool it down. My entire future rested on today. My dad had told me that everything weighed on this win¡ªeverything. I had to make it to Nationals, and I must win without question. The top three would make it, and I had to be one of those three. Just third would do; even dad had relented on that point. It wasn¡¯t about being number one.


    For once, it was about being good enough.


    And yet, good enough would be damn hard.


    Dad was a minister at a local church, a pillar of the community, right? Then that made me a preacher¡¯s kid. He wasn¡¯t a preacher in the southern sense, though. No one here in New England would tolerate anything quite as big as what Dad called a ¡°Holy Roller,¡± but he had a way of making sure that God infused everything in our lives. Funny how God always seemed to have the same exact views as Dad. I¡¯d gone to a small private school from preschool to eighth grade, learning everything through the lens of God. When money started to get tight, he¡¯d relented and let me go to the local public school.


    I¡¯d been shocked my first session of science class, sitting in a biology lecture, and learning about evolution. Dad had told me that evolution was something that people had created as a way to separate us from God, so I knew the basics. The scary part was that now I was being told to bridge two worlds, somehow to remain devout and without sin¡ªor at least with as little sin as possible, at the same time that I accepted what so many people at my old school and at my church, Dad¡¯s church, told me were signs of moral failure.


    ¡°Fake it,¡± Dad said. ¡°Get good grades and pretend enough to get the grades you need, and don¡¯t let it bother you. God knows that you understand it¡¯s just not true, and there¡¯s no violation of God¡¯s law unless you choose to actually believe it.¡±


    That¡¯s what he said, but you know, things have a way of backfiring when you lie, and that¡¯s exactly what Dad taught me. To lie. To lie to myself by learning something that I wasn¡¯t supposed to believe in, and then realizing I did believe in what they taught, and realizing I had to lie at home. That? That I could master. Easily. Because what Dad didn¡¯t know is that I had been doing it most of my life.


    Violently poison-tongued, my father could wield words like weapons, especially when he had too much to drink. And that was the first lie, the central lie, that taught me how to really pretend to believe something that wasn¡¯t true. The fact was that my father was supposed to be an ethical man, the interpreter of God for his flock, and yet at home he was a tyrant, a real son of a bitch. My stomach tightened at the thought of calling him that, at the contradiction between the truth that it represents and the sin that it is.


    Back then, though, in ninth grade, sitting there while my teacher explained the role of vestigial limbs or why humans walk upright, I found a divergence. It was the same feeling today, getting ready for debate. It was a sense that I was being told to go through the motions for the sake of the motions, but I was actually doing it because it¡¯s what I believed. A full ride to college rested on how I performed. Two different high level schools had coaches who said if I could get into the top three, I could make my way through their schools with no debt. Dad didn¡¯t have a college fund for me. He said I could go to a Bible school if I couldn¡¯t get a free ride somewhere else. I¡¯d rather scrape and save and work five jobs to pay for a different college than go to the kind of Bible school my father would choose for me, where people couldn¡¯t touch each other, where dancing was considered a sin, and where attitudes about homosexuality were like something out of a 1960s documentary.

 Page 16

    Anything outside of the authoritarian rules set up in the structure for someone else was deemed an abomination.


    Here in debate the rules were objective. They never changed, and the goal posts weren¡¯t moved. The answers were challenged with fact and reason and analysis, not with emotional mudslinging and accusations. This was a world that made sense.Advertisement


    It was like drumming. The notes were on the page, the measures were clear. Which instrument needed to be struck at which time was laid out in an orderly pattern. How you tackled it emotionally was up to you. Emotions and debate didn¡¯t really have much to do with each other, except in one area.


    And she walked past me just as I bent down to get a drink of water.


    Amy


    Harboring a crush on a guy for years is probably the definition¡ªno, the epitome¡ªof desperate. I talked to Sam, sure, and I debated him, and I joked with him, and I did plenty of other things that gave me an opportunity to interact, but when it came to sending out a signal, or flirting, or finding some way to communicate how I felt? Nope. I closed up. Watching him take a drink from the water fountain, knowing he was just as nervous as I was about the debates today, gave me a warm sense of camaraderie with him, yet I kept my feelings to myself.


    It was easier that way because if I didn¡¯t take the chance I couldn¡¯t get rejected, right? I was torn between wanting to let him know, and terrified of the genie I¡¯d be unable to tuck back in its bottle if I pulled the cork.


    Instead, I lived in that world of ambiguity, where I knew that the feelings I had for him were becoming larger and stronger, at the same time that I couldn¡¯t take any of the pressure off by letting them out. When our eyes met, there seemed to be a kindred spirit there, but if he felt anything, even one one-thousandth of what I felt for him, I had no way of knowing it. You would think that our hug from two weeks ago would have calmed me even now, that it told me how he felt, and yet a deep insecurity in me left me with more questions than answers from his touch. More was what I wanted.


    Did he?


    I walked past him at the water fountain, and he stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then called out to me when my back was to him. ¡°Hey! Amy!¡±


    I stopped and froze, skittering a little bit on the tile floor, unaccustomed to wearing high heels. I turned around gingerly, making sure I didn¡¯t fall. The last thing I needed was to split my skirt open or bang up my knee, or worse, embarrass myself in front of him.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I replied. Witty, I was, first thing in the morning. Shaking inside¡ªand not just from the specter of the day¡¯s debates. His smile made me feel like none of it mattered. As if the entire world was nothing but us.


    He leaned back against the wall and crossed his long legs at the ankles, his elbow bent, the skin around his eyes crinkled up as those warm eyes took me in. The seconds ticked by. My skin floated inches above my body and I took my hand and rested it on my thigh, unsure what to do. The tangible feeling of my own fingers against my body felt like the most real thing on the planet. The only thing more real would have been if his hands had touched the same place.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to even ask if you¡¯re nervous,¡± he said, looking down.


    ¡°Does a bear shit in the woods?¡± a guy¡¯s voice said, interrupting us.


    I turned, and then my heart picked up in double time because there stood Joe Ross. Every, and I mean, every girl except for the gay ones, had a crush on Joe at some point. He looked like a really hot version of Orlando Bloom, and yet that wasn¡¯t quite right. Add in a little Brad Pitt, and then some George Clooney, and a touch of Channing Tatum, all mixed into a Roman God, and you had Joe.


    Too bad his personality didn¡¯t match. He was the biggest grade grubber you could imagine, and in the debate world, he was the great white shark. What I didn¡¯t like about him was that he had this way of making comments that pierced my confidence. He wasn¡¯t a sexist jerk; he was a jerk to guys and girls alike. An equal-opportunity jerk. I slid a step away from him, as if being closer to him would make it more likely that he could wound me and make me go into my first debate unstable and questioning myself. His presence snapped me out of the wonder of Sam.


    With a blank look on his face, Sam turned to Joe and said ¡°You doing your pre-debate damage, Ross?¡±


    Joe had the decency to pretend to look offended, even taking one hand and pressing it over his heart, as if shocked. ¡°What are you implying, Hinton?¡±


    ¡°Take it however you want,¡± Sam said, his face impassive.


    One-on-one in a debate, that impassivity was Sam¡¯s greatest tool. The power in the ability to appear unruffled was something so divine that a part of me would have traded anything for that skill. Okay¡ªalmost.


    Almost trade.


    His eyes were hooded and his face was slack, leaving the other person absolutely no way of knowing what he was thinking. It undermined Joe and made my face crack with a smile. I bit my lips and turned away to try to hide it, but Joe just nudged me, making me wobble on these damn high heels.


    ¡°If your case is as droll as your face, then good luck getting to third place.¡± Joe¡¯s eyes narrowed as he tried to stare Sam down.


    ¡°You¡¯re a poet, and you know it,¡± was all Sam said in return.


    I took two steps back and turned, standing at the midpoint between them. Sam, tall and slim with that wavy red hair and those speckled eyes, eyes that gave no quarter. Joe, with a face carved out of marble, an angry red flush in his cheeks, and clenched hands. They stared each other down and I began to feel a strange, tingling sense of arousal. The naked aggression that each showed triggered something more adult in me. It transcended all of the silly flirting, and skirting, and questioning that made up the web of high school relationships and gave me a glimpse into a world of something completely different between men and women, and between men and men.


    This was a high stakes game, but nobody realized just how high the stakes really were that day.


    Sam


    What the fuck was Joe up to? Nothing I¡¯d done should have triggered this kind of bullshit. With Amy¡¯s eyes on us I tried to keep myself in neutral. Faking placidity wasn¡¯t just a skill I¡¯d honed; it was a survival strategy at home. When your father screams at you for forgetting to mop up the water you spilled on the floor while in the shower, or hauls you out back for a thrashing because God told him to keep you from mouthing off after you forgot to say ¡°Sir,¡± you learn to hold it all together and act as if nothing upsets you.


    Nothing. It can¡¯t, because giving that little splash of emotion to the world means that anyone can pick it up and use it like a hammer against you. Joe was trying to provoke me and while he might be a master at finding weak spots in people, I was the fucking king of impassivity when it came to emotionally charged situations. Joe wasn¡¯t my dad, and I could probably kick his ass if I had to, but who wants to do that at a debate tournament? It wasn¡¯t like we were at a cage fighting event, you know?


    ¡°Why should I care?¡± Ross said, feigning ambivalence. ¡°I already got into BU on early acceptance. I don¡¯t need a trophy.¡± But his eyes said otherwise.


    ¡°Then just do your best and have fun,¡± Amy replied in a sing-songy voice.


    He glowered at her. ¡°I¡¯ll shred you if we face off, Smithson.¡±


    ¡°Like you did three weeks ago on the voting topic?¡± Zing. Amy had practically ripped his balls off and pinned them to the grill of his school¡¯s bus. She¡¯d gone 4-0 and won the entire tournament.


    ¡°Like I¡ª? Oh, shut up.¡± He stormed out, grumbling to himself. His phone rang and we heard the distant echo of his voice as he talked to his mother, muttering something about making sure he had his car back by four o¡¯clock.


    We both laughed, and the tension lifted. Good. In that moment everything changed, as if color itself became brighter, the air more infused with oxygen, the quality of light making everything about Amy ethereal and so real. As if everything else in the world was fake, and the only way to connect to a different level of the universe was to touch her.


    So I did. She tipped her face up to me as I took two steps toward her and reached for her hand, the smooth, soft skin like a lifeline. I didn¡¯t realize how much I¡¯d been drowning, but when I felt her skin against mine I was suddenly on dry ground. Solid land. She was my anchor, my savior.


    My home.


    Her lips were the front door, and I crossed the threshold with a boldness I didn¡¯t know I possessed.


    Amy


    The rasp of his palms sliding around my waist, the wool of his suit crackling static against mine, the softness of his lips, all told me I wasn¡¯t dreaming. And then my own hands were behind his neck, and my lips were returning the kiss as ardently, and my brain and body melted into a puddle of Amy. He pulled his lips away and then came back, this time with more intensity. This was the kind of kiss I¡¯d read about in books, the kind of kiss I¡¯d hoped for.


    ¡°Hey, you two! Go to your assignments!¡±


    We broke away, completely shocked, and I slid backwards and almost fell, only saved by Sam¡¯s strong arms grabbing onto me, lifting me up. We both turned in surprise and Sam wiped his mouth, while I pressed my fingertips to my lips as if holding the kiss in. It was Erin, my best friend.


    ¡°What. Are. You. Doing?¡± she said, in a hushed voice. She pointed to the pairing sheet. ¡°Get to your classrooms before you¡¯re disqualified.¡± When she turned to me, her eyes lit up like a string of Christmas lights. ¡°And you and I are going to talk about this later!¡± She looked at Sam, looked at me, and then skittered down the hall to her own event. It was a miracle that I could even hear her with the blood pounding in my ears. I couldn¡¯t look at Sam at first, so stunned by the kiss, until his warm, deep voice reached out.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he said. It was a command, not a question.


    I could have held back if I had tried really hard. I could have walked away at that moment. I could have held up my hand and marched off and said ¡®no,¡¯ but I didn¡¯t. I turned and followed the demand in his voice. The heat in his eyes burned me, the movement of his hands, those fingers trying to find the resting tone, all of it triggered by one not-so-simple kiss.


    ¡°You have a hell of a way of trying to undermine me, Hinton,¡± I said, keeping my face slack, matching him.


    He shook his head violently, brow furrowed. ¡°No, no,¡± he said, his voice hoarse. ¡°Amy that¡¯s not what I...¡±


    I held my hand up and touched him for the first time since we¡¯d pulled apart, this time my fingertips on his lips. So soft. His clean shaven face, just rough enough for me to imagine what it would feel like brushing against my bare skin. A rush of warmth pooled in my belly, and other places, places untouched but in need of exploration. ¡°It was a joke, Sam.¡±


    He smiled and then reached up and took my hand, interlacing our fingers. ¡°Whatever happens today, Amy...¡±


    I cut him off. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what¡¯s going to happen today, Sam.¡±


    Laughter twinkled in his eyes. ¡°You will?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll predict it.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re both going to Nationals.¡±

 Page 17

    ¡°Good prediction,¡± he said, nodding slowly.


    And then we parted quickly, my ankles wobbling as I shuffled, half ran, to my room, ready to take on the world.Advertisement


    Sam


    A huge ball of guilt bowled through my veins, planted there firmly by the image of my father telling me that I was a sinner. He had this funny way of infiltrating my deepest thoughts with just a word, a phrase, or a sentence. Joe Ross had the same ability, except it wasn¡¯t as refined. Dad had it honed. I suppose pastors had to, at least the ones who were hypocrites. Did God really care that I had just kissed Amy? Was there something wrong with an eighteen year old kissing a seventeen year old? But the expectations at home were that I would do whatever Dad told me to do.


    Except, he couldn¡¯t control me. He could send me here and tell me that I had to win. I could sit here and think not about the way she tasted like cotton candy and vanilla and lust, but instead about his eyes, hard and black if I came home with anything less than third place. I could think not about how her hands had responded and slid up my chest and around my neck, the tips of her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of my neck, but instead about his shouts and how he would quote Bible verses in a way that made me feel unconditionally flawed. I could think not about the raging hard on¡ªno, wait, I actually couldn¡¯t not think about that, it was too uncomfortable.


    Now I had to clear my head, my lips, my fingers, and my body of all the traces of Amy and go in and face my first opponent. How do you do that, though? How do you shift like that, compartmentalizing your life so that, from one minute to the next, you have laser focus on the thing that¡¯s in front of you? I could do it most of the time; it wasn¡¯t even hard. Maybe it was an instinct built into me from birth, but right now that instinct was shattered by her response, by my own boldness.


    I mopped the floor with my first opponent that morning, a geeky tenth grader from Cambridge Rindge and Latin. He came in wearing a suit two sizes too big and a nasty snarl of contempt that told me everything I needed to know before he even opened his mouth. Staying slack, loose, respectful, and pleasant was the best weapon against that kind of arrogance. Too bad it didn¡¯t work against my father.By the time the results were processed and my coach came over to tell me, and the next set of pairings were put together in the room where the tournament administrators cooked up their alchemy and produced final results that they taped to the walls, I was a teeming mess on the inside, but a damn fine debater on the outside. Maybe being rattled, maybe being risky, actually helped my performance. Who¡¯d have thought it?


    I kept craning my neck, looking around the cafeteria, trying to find Amy¡¯s team. The groups at the tables were all generally segregated by school, although plenty of people crossed over. You made friends when you spent every Saturday together from October to March. I couldn¡¯t find her anywhere though; she wasn¡¯t with her normal group of friends. I decided to go on a walkabout.


    This school was like any other in the area. Nashoba Regional, Lincoln-Sudbury, they were all the same, long hallways lined with lockers, the rooms stretched out and uniform. Cubes that held us day in and day out. Our school days, from afar, looking like an ant hive as we ran in and out of each cube according to some sort of large system run by a queen. Amy wasn¡¯t in any of the usually suspected places. Not the cafeteria, not the auditorium where the final ceremonies would take place, and not outside at any of the entrances where some of the competitors went to catch fresh air, or go for a long, pacing walk.


    I pretty much had given up and figured I better get back and grab something to eat, when a glimpse of that long, brown hair caught my eye. I swallowed and closed my eyes. This was it, man, time to face my own boldness. Was she...crying? Her back was to me and her shoulders were hunched a little forward. A plume of concern filled me, a protectiveness I didn¡¯t know I could possess, something far deeper than anything I¡¯d felt for my sister when I caught her crying, or even my mom. This was a mix of worry, of evaluation, and of anger, because God help whatever guy may have done this to her.


    Why was I even thinking that way? What a weird, random thought. And yet, it filled me, even in the seconds that it took to walk quickly over to her, muscles tight, body resigned, and on fire all the same.


    ¡°Amy?¡± I said, my own voice surprising me, the firmness in it.


    She looked up, eyes red rimmed. ¡°Sam,¡± she said, wiping one eye with the back of her hand.


    Compassion, or something close to it, hit me right in the heart. ¡°You were eliminated, huh?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, um, actually,¡± she said, smiling a shaky grin that twisted her lips into a funny expression I couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°No...uh, uh, I¡¯m still in...uh, I just...¡± she stumbled over her words.


    The air felt like a giant cotton ball between us, a transparent cotton ball. I didn¡¯t know what to do. I knew sort of what to do, but there weren¡¯t any manuals for this. How do you talk to a girl after you surprise kiss her before going off to be deadly enemies in a debate contest, where your father will practically kill you if you don¡¯t win? It¡¯s not like there is a Dummies Guide for that, or even a Reddit AMA.


    ¡°So, why are you crying?¡± I asked, the question so obvious that I had to hold back rolling my eyes.


    ¡°Because of you,¡± she said, quietly.


    If Amy had reached through my skin, and ribs, and cartilage, and grabbed my beating heart with her fingers, and squeezed, she couldn¡¯t have put me in more pain. ¡°Me?¡± I said. It felt like marbles were in the back of my throat.


    ¡°Yeah, you.¡± Her face was tipped down, her eyes looked up at me.


    I had never seen a girl more sensual, more open and raw. Were we really having this conversation in a classroom painted that puke-green institutional color, with boring gray tiles that were supposed to look like fake marble, and plastic chairs attached to little pseudo-desks? Was this where the most intense romantic encounter of my life was about to happen? And then, Amy did something that would be branded in my brain for the rest of my life. Confident and alluring, her hips moving as if her entire body were one long, luscious thread of ribbon, she took three steps toward me, planted her palms on either side of my face and not-so-gently pulled me down to her.


    A kiss. A fiery unleashing of a girl I wanted to know. Her tongue pressed between my lips and mine didn¡¯t need to be asked twice to do the same. My arms slid around her, taking a chance at cupping one breast while her hands wrapped around me. Her body pressed against mine, our abdomens pushing into each other, as if trying to introduce ourselves that way. Her mouth said so many things to me that I couldn¡¯t even comprehend because all of the words spilled out of my head and down into my raging hard on. And then, just as fast as she had kissed me, she pulled back, breaking the contact. My mouth felt cold and abandoned.


    Her eyes were wild. ¡°Go to prom with me,¡± she demanded. It felt like a cross examination.


    ¡°Hell, yes,¡± I said, ¡°especially if you kiss me again.¡±


    ¡°You guys want Joe Ross to win?¡± Erin hissed, skittering in on weak ankles, her stilettos skating on the linoleum. She moved her wrist in a circle and flashed wide, wild eyes at me. ¡°You can make out any time. Right now you¡¯re late!¡±


    She wobbled out, only to be replaced by my coach, Mr. Feehan. ¡°Sam!¡± he barked, eyes flitting to Amy. Mr. Feehan looked like a barrel-chested wrestling coach, with red-Irish hair and pale skin freckled in every place possible. ¡°Get to your assignment! They¡¯re looking for you! You too, Amy.¡±


    And with that, my future began and ended, though I didn¡¯t know it.


    Amy


    I once added up how many debates I had done so far, and it came to about 200. You do four debates in an average tournament. I¡¯m in sixteen or so tournaments a year, and you multiply that by three and you get...well, my brain was scrambled, and the math didn¡¯t much matter, but it was more than 200. Here I stood as the affirmative, which meant that I had to defend the resolution. In Lincoln-Douglas debate everyone debates the same topic, which changes throughout the year, and it tends to be a value proposition. Our topic was ¡°When in conflict, the rights of the majority ought to supersede those of the minority.¡±


    Typical debate fare.


    It sounds about as boring as watching paint dry, right? Except for us, this was pure joy. If you were assigned the affirmative, you had to defend that proposition. My job was to go in there like a shark and say that no matter what, when in conflict, the rights of the majority ought to supersede the rights of the minority. Majority rule should prevail. Period. End of story. And defend that point to the death, like a pundit on Fox News or MSNBC who sticks to his guns no matter what the evidence.


    My opponent had to defend the negative, meaning he had to disprove that statement. He or she had to convince the judge that majority rights weren¡¯t always more important that minority rights.


    Sounds easy, except that you had to convince yourself, to the core, that whichever side you argued was absolutely true. And in another debate, you would have to totally convince yourself of the opposite.


    For weeks I had sat down with my coach after school, every day, sometimes in the morning, too, before school, banging out value propositions, finding philosophers and political scientists and theorists who supported the idea. Of course, I had to create a negative case, too, because I never knew which side I would defend. You typically go in and defend either side twice in a tournament.


    The tournament to go to national competition was different. I didn¡¯t know what I would end up defending and I didn¡¯t know how many debates I would be engaged in that day because they took us all the way to the top until they had three winners. And that was that. It was like a Geek Celebrity Death Match except the stakes were higher.


    At least they were to us.


    I felt great at the end of this first debate, but the problem was that I couldn¡¯t focus, I couldn¡¯t think, because the steady drumbeat of Sam¡¯s name was behind every word that came out of my mouth. Cutting myself off emotionally was the only option I had¡ªbecause otherwise I was a whirling dervish of feeling, and in debate, that was like a gazelle getting a deep scratch and bleeding around a pack of lions.


    Had I really asked him to go to prom? Had he really said yes? How was that possible? I came out of the round after shaking hands with my opponent, reading his defeat in his eyes, and shifted all of my attention to that thumping roar inside me. I needed to find Sam, I needed to know that the kiss we had just shared was real¡ªthat it wasn¡¯t going away, that it wasn¡¯t ephemeral or something he¡¯d done on a whim.


    Finding truth in everything had become my singular pursuit over the past few years, and that included that kiss.


    Sam


    The blood pumped through my body like the most intense beat ever. It never varied. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Loud and hard, like a bass drum, with a searing edge of a snare, right around the fringe of the sound. It made me win¡ªuntil it didn¡¯t. The best debater in the entire region, the girl we knew would end up being number one, was Talia Sheridan. So far, she was undefeated, the only person in the entire tournament undefeated, and everyone had just assumed that of course she¡¯d be number one and the rest of us would fight for the table scraps.

 Page 18

    It was funny how being so wired for Amy made all of my normal anxiety seem like a joke. When your body¡¯s on fire, and every nerve ending pulses with its own score, who gives a shit about the minority and majority rights? The resolution was important, it was everything, in fact, as my coaches and my dad kept pounding into me. But it paled when I caught a glimpse of that long, brown hair, her sweet skin, the way she was so animated talking to her friends.


    I walked into the cafeteria and halted at the threshold. My stomach was churning. The room felt like it would spin if I gave it a long enough stare, and everything in my mind was pure, unadulterated chaos.Advertisement


    Boom, boom, boom.


    Amy, Amy, Amy.


    We had about fifteen minutes before they¡¯d announce the pairings, and if Talia won, which was pretty much a given, then it was all about the power of opponent, and how many debates we¡¯d lost. I didn¡¯t know how Amy had done in this last round. The pairing sheets were pulled down already, so I had to ask her. Thank God I had to ask her, that meant breaking through what we¡¯d just gone through. That meant reaching out, touching her, kissing her. My fingers itched to play. She would be the best instrument of my life if she would let me. My mind wandered as I stood there, and then suddenly she appeared, as if conjured by some sort of magic that lust taps into. Except, it wasn¡¯t just lust ¨C if it were that, I could have handled it. This was a chord that ran so deep inside me, I couldn¡¯t find the beginning of the sound.


    Amy. Her name triggered a flash of emotion that slid through my body from toe to head, but settled in between. Thank God for suit jackets.


    ¡°Can I talk to you?¡± she asked softly. Her voice was like a caress, like a stroke, as if her hand had reached down into me and taken me.


    Something in her half-lidded eyes told me that for as sweet, and gentle, and smart as she was, something was waiting to be unleashed. I wanted to be the one to open that door. Maybe we could open each other¡¯s doors and find the treasures inside. She reached over and took my hand, not palm to palm, the way you hold a friend¡¯s hand, or a little kid¡¯s, but interlacing the fingers like a promise of bodies entwined, all in the form of a simple hand. She didn¡¯t have to drag me, I went willingly, and we went into a classroom. She was a little shaky in those high heels, but damn, the lines of her calves, the way it made her hips sway, made me feel like a man. They made me feel a lot of things that were new and old all at once.


    ¡°I meant what I said,¡± she said, bold now, her eyes blazing, ¡°will you go to prom with me?¡±


    We didn¡¯t go to the same school, and at my school I wasn¡¯t planning to go to prom. It seemed like a stupid ritual that a bunch of us had decided to forgo in favor of just hanging out, getting drunk, and then going to after-prom parties. But for Amy? ¡°Yes,¡± I said, so quickly the word came out of me a grunt, ¡°yes, of course.¡±


    The tux, the limo, the flowers, the dinner, the ritual and the silliness, all started to make sense as I stared into her eyes, and then something inside me just rose up and I leaned down to take her mouth, which she gave freely. The resolution, the question of majority rights versus minority rights, the pairings, the tournament itself, all melted away as her hands, the same fingers that had intertwined with mine, wrapped around my back and my own embraced her, our lips hungry, our mouths making invitations that I hoped to God would be extended till the end of time.


    ¡°Hey,¡± a voice barked.Ross. We pulled apart. He shot us a what the fuck? look.


    ¡°How can you make out at a time like this? The pairings were just announced.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Talia took number one, she was the only one undefeated, but there are four people, two debates, to square off for spots two and three. I¡¯m not one of ¡®em, obviously,¡± he said, bitter, ¡°but you two are.¡±


    Amy looked at me, eyes wide. ¡°Oh! Sam, Sam, Sam!¡± She started jumping up and down in those spiked high heels, boobs bouncing hypnotically. I could stare at those all day. ¡°We did it, we did it.¡±


    Ross cut us off. ¡°Don¡¯t get too excited,¡± he said, ¡°you two are squaring off.¡±


    Her face went slack and based on the way my muscles felt, mine must have, too. We both came to a dead halt, her hands frozen on my forearms. I just stared at him, horrified, unable to look at her eyes. ¡°What?¡± we both said in unison.


    ¡°It¡¯s you two against each other. Only one of you is going to Nationals.¡±


    Now I turned, a magnet pulling me to her face. Ross disappeared, probably off to feed the gossip mill and tell them about what he¡¯d found. I didn¡¯t give a shit. My mouth went dry, my body froze.


    ¡°Oh, Sam,¡± she said, her eyes filling with tears.


    I could handle anything but this. Not Amy crying. ¡°Don¡¯t cry, don¡¯t cry,¡± I said, my voice feeling like it came from an echo chamber. All I could do was reach for her and pull her into my arms. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so lush.


    She said something muffled into my chest, and I felt her face wiggling against my shoulder. She pulled back. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    My Dad¡¯s voice echoed inside my head. ¡®You come home a winner. You come home a winner.¡¯ What if that meant something other than what my dad thought? I could mind fuck her right now, and it would be easy. She wanted me, she invited me to prom, I wanted her back and I wanted all of this just as much as she did. I could string her along, I could make an allusion to not dating her if I lost, ¨C she was that ripe. I had that much power. It was sickening.


    The only way someone has that kind of power is if you give it to them. Maybe Amy was giving it to me out of a totally different sense than I gave it to my father. I just had too much chaos in my mind to know. Some core of decency sprang up and then, with a clarity I didn¡¯t know I possessed, I knew exactly what I needed to do.


    I pulled her back from me, hands on her shoulders. Everything turned into a pinpoint. My hands on her, the soft swell of her body, my tight legs, my stomach in knots, the air between us was like its own little atmosphere of excitement, and confusion, and wanting.¡°You¡¯re going in there, and I¡¯m going in there, and we¡¯re going to do our best. Nobody¡¯s pulling any punches, nobody¡¯s holding back. Do you hear me?¡±


    Relief. That¡¯s what showed in her eyes. Relief. ¡°Yes,¡± she whispered.


    I pulled back and got on my neutral debate face, which wasn¡¯t all that different from my regular face. I extended my hand, she took it, smiling, wiping her tears away with the other.


    ¡°May the best man win.¡±


    ¡°Woman!¡± she interjected.


    ¡°May the best debater win.¡±


    Amy


    We walked like we were part of a funeral procession, out of that classroom, our hands clasped, Sam taking the lead. The pairing sheet was taped in front of the cafeteria, and I felt people clapping me on the back, heard my name said a thousand times, saw my coach¡¯s face as he spoke to me, animated and joyful, and then concerned and intense. The cacophony around me was like a cloud or a pillow full of voices, and faces, and people. What grounded me was the feel of Sam¡¯s hand in mine, and then he slowly, finger by finger, inch of skin by inch, let go, leaving me floating in a soup of overwhelm. He faded off into the crowd, one last look at me with a sad smile.


    The voices went from being muffled sounds to specific words. My name, the resolution, ¡®oh my God¡¯ over and over. I heard girls saying ¡°oh my God¡± and ¡°what if?¡± But I had to beat Sam. Sam. What did this mean? What would this do? Would he hate me if I won? Would I hate him if he won?


    He was so laid back and mellow in some ways, but I¡¯d faced him before in a debate. He was sharp. Not in that weaselly way that Joe Ross could be, but sharp like a hunter, who could sit for days fully camouflaged and utterly silent, waiting for that one perfect moment to pounce and win. That was Sam¡¯s style. I¡¯d seen it over the years and learned to adapt. My own strategy against him was to match it, stay calm and cool, not aggressive, and absolutely use no sarcasm. Smile, fake as much confidence as I could, and meet him, mature mind to mature mind, with analysis, facts and the superior argument.


    Different voices told me that I was on the affirmative, and that was my stronger case. I knew that Sam was weaker in the negative. It made me sick to my stomach that I was thinking about him this way.


    Two weeks ago, I would have reveled in it. I¡¯d have been torn, but I¡¯d have known that this was about the superior mind and who, under controlled conditions, could come out the victor. Now? Who won in this scenario? It felt Pyrrhic; it felt impossible. For the first time in all my years of debating, in all my years of speech, even, I thought about throwing a debate.


    Sam¡¯s words echoed in my head. It would be dishonorable to do that. Even worse, it would cheapen him in addition to cheapening me. Throwing the debate would say that I didn¡¯t have the confidence that he was my equal or my better, and that¡¯s what I wanted. That true confidence, right?


    A keening rose up inside me as my coach opened up his portfolio and went over some key salient points in my case. All I heard was the voice of the teacher in those Charlie Brown specials that my mom made us watch in her nostalgia for her own childhood. Mwah mwah, mwah mwah mwah mwah. that¡¯s what I heard. What I felt, though, was a whole other universe. Sam¡¯s fingers, his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his everything. That heart and that desire. I could feel it pounding into me like his drumsticks on my heart.


    Something in me would have to shut down in order to look him in the eye, to read my case, to cross examine this man I had just kissed, who had just kissed me. How was I going to do this? That thought, how was I going to do this? made my throat ache, made me blink furiously trying to control the tears and focus, or at least pretend to look like I was focusing on what my coach was saying. He closed the portfolio, clapped me on the back and I took that as a sign that whatever he had been saying was over.


    Debaters filed out and I knew what they were doing. These final runoffs were open to anyone who could get a seat, as long as they were quiet during the debate. Half the girls from my team were going to come in and watch, I knew. A few of them had an inkling that I was interested in Sam, and some of them simply wanted to watch him. He wasn¡¯t exactly unpopular, and for a hot guy who was quiet and shy, he had a little bit of a following of girls crushing on him, me included, except none of them had just gotten a kiss.


    When I got to the door he was already in there, his head down, reading over his papers. He looked up and gave me a closed mouth, tight smile and a nod. I returned it. Here we were, everything in my life coalescing in one point. I had to debate the one guy in the whole wide world who made my soul sing, and if I didn¡¯t give it my all, I¡¯d let myself down. Even if it meant I had to lose Sam, being true to me would, ironically, have to be the ultimate sacrifice.


    Sam


    From the minute her opening words were out of her mouth, ¡°Resolved: when in conflict, the rights of the majority ought to supersede those of the minority,¡± I knew it was over.


    Over.


    Her opening case was brilliant, my cross examination was perfect, my opening case was outstanding, and it was like volleying a ball back and forth, to and fro, as if we were performers in a play, unscripted like an improv. Something sparkled between us. I could feel it. There was a high to it, the way you get when you¡¯re on a sports team, like you¡¯re playing basketball, and everyone¡¯s smooth, and the passes are perfect, and the dribble, and the motion, and the jump, and the release ¨C it all just flows.

 Page 19

    That¡¯s how it was with me and Amy. The words were perfect, the intensity was high, the analysis, the intellect, the give and take, the back and forth, was all lockstep. Dead on. She was in the affirmative and had her case down cold, and because I was in the negative and had my case down cold, what it came down to was the stronger argument. She was more confident on the affirmative, and I was less confident on the neg, no matter how hard I tried. Because we were equals, it was going to come down to a loss for me. I tried. I did.


    But at the end when we shook hands, I knew. I just knew. Her eyes were confused, brilliant and alive, but perplexed because our emotional connection had deepened enough that she could read me. It made my pants tighten. My free hand twisted to a fist. My jaw clenched. An impulse to pull her into my arms and kiss her almost overrode the sense of polite decency that was expected of us. Besides, I had no desire to get expelled.Advertisement


    ¡°Want to wait together?¡± she said.


    Something inside me gave way. I knew it was over. I knew that I was fourth or fifth, which to my father meant that I might as well have been 1,117th. He would consider me dog shit; I considered myself a king. As we walked back to that quiet classroom, where everything had turned on a dime, before we knew we were debating each other, the hard reality sank in, seeping through every muscle, making me feel like a walking bag of concrete. I¡¯d lost. They didn¡¯t have to announce it for me to know. I¡¯d lost.


    My fingers played a mindless beat against my leg, my other hand twisted with Amy¡¯s. She was so alive and trying to cover it up. I didn¡¯t want that. Nobody wants to see an angel clip their wings. Nobody wants to take away someone else¡¯s drive. Nobody except my dad, that is. I wasn¡¯t going to be like him. I wasn¡¯t going to crush her just because I could, or because it served some bigger purpose in my life. Selfish motives weren¡¯t my thing. If I was going to be great it would be because I was great, not because I pushed other people down.


    Amy stood there, holding my hand, looking at me as if she were chronicling my entire life with those brown eyes. She hadn¡¯t needed to push me down in order to rise above me. All she¡¯d needed was to be my equal and then to do better. I have to admit, as a guy, and a fairly competitive one, it crushed me. I won¡¯t lie. Losing a game of mini golf on a date was one thing, but losing a full ride and knowing what I had to go home to was a whole other situation.


    Was I perfect? No. Was I mature? Not really. And so, when I leaned down and took that ever-so-sweet kiss, I didn¡¯t know what the fuck I was doing. Why did everything have to happen at once? My mind raced as our lips touched, as I tasted her pleasure and her energy. It gave me some sort of fuel for my soul at the same time that a fire was tamping out inside. How could so many good things happen and one horrible thing cancel it all out?


    I would go home to a father who would come as close as humanly possible to killing me. Not with his hands, not with a weapon, but with his mouth. How could I take so much enjoyment from one person¡¯s mouth, Amy¡¯s pure connection, and yet, experience so much pain from another¡¯s? It was funny, a mouth¡¯s a mouth, but it¡¯s how you use it that turns it into an instrument of the divine, or a tool for destruction.


    Too many thoughts raced through me, too many feelings pounded through me, too many drum beats out of sync made my brain hurt.


    ¡°Get a room,¡± growled a familiar voice.


    Amy pushed me back, turning. Her turn to wipe her mouth. ¡°Joe,¡± she whimpered.


    ¡°It¡¯s final ceremonies,¡± he said, looking at both of us and then just shaking his head, turning away.


    It felt like being an inmate on death row, and being told it was time. I knew what they were going to say. Amy wanted to hold my hand walking back, and I knew I should, but the part of me that wanted to be a dick was starting to come out. The part that needed to go and sit with headphones on, and blast music and drum along, and drown out the world, was starting to emerge. I wished I had time, I wished I had space.


    I wished I could go for a twenty mile run, or drum for three hours, or take some kind of drug that would just get me out of my own mind, but I couldn¡¯t. I had to walk, step by step, next to her down the linoleum floored hallway. I had to turn and step on the carpet in the auditorium and look at the expectant faces of my teammates. I had to break contact from her, and nod and pretend everything was going to be okay, even as a knot formed in my stomach and my skin buzzed at the thought of going home.


    My phone rang. I ignored it. I knew it was my dad, calling to find out. If he really cared he¡¯d be here, right? Right? What he cared about was the surface, not the depth. Amy could be deep. Right now I just didn¡¯t give a fuck about anything anymore. I wanted it all to go away. All of it.


    Mr. Feehan whispered something about what I thought the final rankings would be, and I turned to him and said, ¡°I think I lost.¡±


    ¡°Everyone thinks that,¡± he said back, bright blue eyes twinkling, bags under his eyes a swollen pink. I know he was trying to make me feel better, but it just added to the cacophony.


    The final ceremonies dragged on, the Lincoln-Douglas results toward the end. If I had been sitting next to Amy, by the time we got to the announcements of our names, well, her name, I probably would have had her in tears because I was shut down. You could have gotten more emotions out of a slab of granite.


    Talia Sheridan¡¯s name was first, Mike Zendo was second, and when they went to announce number three my team looked at me expectantly, everybody holding their breath, the freshmen with their fingers crossed. So much energy erroneously focused on me because I knew, God dammit I knew. When the coach who gave the announcements said ¡°Amy Smithson¡± I stood up and walked out, scores of eyes on me. Including Amy¡¯s.


    Dick move? Hell, yeah.


    Then again, I am my father¡¯s son.


    Amy


    2 months later


    I stared at my prom dress. It was perfect. Peach with a slight copper undertone to it that set off the occasional topaz flecks in my brown eyes. Princess perfect.


    Tonight, I was supposed to be a princess and Sam was supposed to be my prince. I knew I was supposed to be kind of jaded and hard edged and not talk like that. I was supposed to be all Gossip Girl, and smooth, and edgy. But really, even smart, above-that-crap girls could be allowed to be a damn princess on prom night. For prom night, I was supposed to put that dress on. I was supposed to have someone come to my house with a corsage, drive up in a limo with a group of friends all paired off for the night, either with boyfriends and girlfriends, or just going as buddies. Tonight, I was supposed to dance in Sam¡¯s arms, marvel at how handsome he looked in the tux, look into those eyes, feel his arms around me, sense the comfort.


    Tonight, I was supposed to sneak off to a hotel that everyone knew we would get, that our parents would turn a blind eye to as long as we didn¡¯t drink and drive. Tonight, I was supposed to lose my virginity in a glory of clich¨¦.


    Instead, here I was, sitting in my bedroom, staring at the dress. The dress my mom helped me pick out long before I had a prom date, when I was hopeful and optimistic that I¡¯d have fun going stag with my friends and maybe get to be that perfect princess. The shoeless dress. I never went out and bought anything to go with it. No jewelry, no shoes, no matching nail polish, or perfect earrings, nothing.Because I hadn¡¯t seen Sam since the day he walked out of the auditorium when they announced my name. Hadn¡¯t heard from him, hadn¡¯t¡ªanything. Nothing. The cold reality of the past months of silence, emptiness, and despair meant that I¡¯d be throwing good money after bad if I assembled any sort of fashion plate for myself. My friends tried to convince me to go. Even Erin showed up at the last minute, pulling me along, literally yanking on my arm and trying to convince me that I could still go stag.


    ¡°You¡¯re crazy,¡± she said.


    We¡¯d been best friends since kindergarten. She was going with her boyfriend, Jonathan, captain of the football team. A guy who looked just enough like Tom Brady to make you wonder if he wasn¡¯t his bastard child. Her dress was slutty¡ªher word, no judgment from me¡ªin a really good sort of way. They¡¯d have fun, I knew. It was easier to be immobile and immutable than to let the tiniest crack of hope seep in and make me think that maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI should go.


    Mom was almost inconsolable. She couldn¡¯t believe that her little girl wouldn¡¯t go to prom. ¡°There are so many other boys you could ask,¡± she said.


    No, Mom, I thought, there aren¡¯t. I asked the only one I wanted to go with. So, instead, my date would be Ben and Jerry¡¯s. Who knew? A threesome. And a movie, something from Judd Apatow. I needed a good laugh. Maybe I¡¯d even watch Fanboys again. That would be my night.


    It felt a little bit like paying penance, as if I¡¯d done something wrong and needed to be punished. Being ignored by Sam was punishment enough, no question there.


    Making it to Nationals meant that in a few weeks, after graduation, I¡¯d be on a plane to some Southern state I didn¡¯t care about to compete in an event that had no real impact on my future. It wouldn¡¯t get me more money for school. It was just a feather in my cap. A very expensive feather in my cap. It cost me a guy I could have loved. Who am I fooling?


    A guy I already loved a little.


    I wondered what he was doing. Was he hanging out with his buddies? He went to a different school and I knew that their prom night wasn¡¯t the same, so to him this was nothing, just a throwaway night. Like I was a throwaway girl.


    Why the hell did he walk out of that auditorium and never say a word to me again? I got his cell phone number from Joe Ross and texted him. Nothing. I wasn¡¯t going to try anything else. I looked him up on Facebook, but couldn¡¯t bring myself to push the Friend button, because what if it hung out there in limbo?


    With debate season over, my Saturdays were free again, and instead of feeling an opening in my life, it felt like something had closed. The feeling of his arms around me, of his lips pressed against mine, of the potential that rested in our touch, had swirled down the drain the moment we shook hands and that debate had begun.


    And yet, if I could turn back time, I don¡¯t know if I would do anything differently. If I¡¯d pulled any punches along the way it would have been false, and Sam would have hated that. If he had condescended to me, I wouldn¡¯t be pining away for him right now, that¡¯s for sure.


    I can understand being mad at me. I could understand being embarrassed, or pissed, or frustrated, but the silent treatment, being able to just push aside what we had? It¡¯s so unlike the Sam I thought I knew. I wanted to storm over to his house, barge in on him, make him talk to me. Instead, I sat here on my bed, my phone turned off, staring at a bunch of peach cloth. I stood up and pulled the dress out of the closet, then threw it on the bed like a blanket. It was perfect for a perfect night that never would happen.


    The doorbell rang and I ignored it. Evan hollered up, ¡°Liam¡¯s here!¡±


    Liam? I¡¯d known Liam McCarthy since we were, well...babies. He was popular. His parents had divorced years ago. He lived with his mom over in the same school district that Joe and Sam went to, but his dad lived next door, still in the house, so he was over here constantly.

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    He bounded up the stairs, came through the door, all blonde and tan and Godlike. My friends all wanted to date him. Half of them wanted to fuck him. But to me he was like a brother. Except I hadn¡¯t seen him much this past year and he looked nothing like my brother.


    ¡°Sam never called?¡± Liam was a straight shooter. He was dressed in soccer shorts, a v-neck short-sleeve shirt made of the same lightweight material, and he smelled faintly of a mixture of Old Spice, Polo and oranges. My head swam for a moment as he stretched his long legs out, easing onto the bed beside me, a serious look on his face. Blond, curly hair peppered the tanned skin that stretched out for miles in front of me, my eyes trying so hard not to drift up the black, silky shorts that covered his middle. His shirt was the same color and his eyes were a bluish-green, like looking at the ocean as it met the sand dunes in Truro, on Cape Cod, just after a storm.Advertisement


    My pulse needed a minute to recover. My heart was still stuck on Sam. My body, though, knew exactly what it wanted¡ªand recovering wasn¡¯t it.


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Asshole.¡± He sat on the bed next to my dress and fingered the hemline.


    ¡°Yup.¡± They were in the fledgling band that Trevor Connor and Joe Ross had put together this year. They had a weird name I couldn¡¯t remember. That meant Liam saw Sam regularly, and my heart soared¡ªnot just from Liam¡¯s hot skin so tantalizing on my bed, either.


    ¡°Did you talk to him about me?¡± I tried to keep the hope out of my voice, but failed miserably.


    Uncertain how to answer, Liam seemed to struggle with his words. This was not his normal state; the guy was confidence itself on legs. ¡°Sure. Told him he was crazy to give up a chance of tapping you. Fresh virgin meat.¡± A predatory smile made my knees go weak and a wet warmth spread from my¡ª


    Pressing my hands over my heart, I said, ¡°Like words from Shakespeare.¡±


    ¡°I aim to please.¡±


    My laughter came out like normal, at first, and then settled into a strange braying sound of half sobs and half giggle. Liam looked at me with alarm and sat up, his body impossibly big and beautiful, right in front of me where Sam should be.


    ¡°Amy?¡±


    Waving my hands in front of my face like I was swatting a bee, I said, ¡°I¡¯m fine! I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretending to be fine! I¡¯m pretending to be fine!¡±


    ¡°That makes two of us.¡± His face fell, and in his pain I could see the man he would become. It was jarring.


    Yet I knew why he winced. ¡°Charlotte, huh?¡±


    He leaned back, folding his hands under his head, and sighed. I swallowed, hard, as the soft cloth of his shirt rode up at the waist, showing a thickening of those golden curls right where it would lead down to¡ª


    ¡°I miss her,¡± he huffed, not quite convinced he should tell me.


    ¡°I can imagine,¡± I squeaked, feeling like an adulteress to the memory of Sam. How stupid! This was Liam. The guy who launched spitballs in my hair on the bus. The one I took baths with when we were kids. The dude who kissed my cheek at our first co-ed party when we played Truth or Dare. The guy who was like a brother to me in a way that my own brother barely was.


    And also? I owed no allegiance to Sam or my imagined reality with him. Go away, Sam. Get outta my head.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you break up with her?¡±


    He sat up fast, like a wrestler doing quick sit ups, his flat stomach muscled in ways that made me want to reach out and touch him for the pure joy of touching a body that could do that.


    ¡°Because.¡± His voice went cold.


    ¡°Gotcha. I¡¯ll shut up about it.¡±


    He stood quickly and walked over to my prom dress. ¡°You would look good in this. Why don¡¯t you go?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s your tux?¡± I joked.


    A look of confusion, then a kind of dawning horror, spread across his face. ¡°Aw, Amy, I never even thought about it!¡± Then pity. ¡°Of course I would have taken you.¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± I shouted, jumping to my feet. ¡°No, no, no, no, no, that¡¯s not what I meant! I don¡¯t need a pity date.¡±


    ¡°So not a pity date, Amy,¡± he answered, eyes combing over me, then the dress. ¡°I¡¯d have been honored.¡±


    Tears came in a giant wave then, the power overwhelming me, my stomach clenching in one hard wall of anguish. ¡°Why won¡¯t Sam even talk to me?¡± I wailed. ¡°Why am I the weirdo stuck at home on prom night?¡±


    And then Liam was holding me, arms wrapped around my sobbing self. His body felt so good, and comforting, and hard. Not like a brother, suddenly.


    Like a man.


    ¡°I am so sorry,¡± he crooned into my hair, the vibration of his deep voice making my neck tingle. ¡°At least there are two of us. You¡¯re not the only weirdo.¡±


    I half-laughed, half-sobbed into his shoulder. My hands slid across his back and he held me closer, lips touching my earlobe with the briefest of kisses. Was he...was this...did he want...?


    In an instant, he put my questioning to rest by pulling back, his hand at my cheek, soulful eyes taking mine in. ¡°I wish everything were different.¡±


    And then another hug.


    ¡°I know you miss Charlotte,¡± I whispered, faltering as I tried to think of what to say. He stiffened.


    Wrong thing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about Charlotte,¡± he murmured against my cheek. In a breathtaking split second his lips were on me, and Liam¡ªthe same Liam who had teased and tormented and played and cajoled as kids, the one I¡¯d captured fireflies in a jar with, who had gone on camping trips with my family when we were little¡ªwas a muscled wall of man above me, hovering over me and doing to my mouth, my body, what Sam was supposed to be doing this very moment.


    Sam.


    Tears formed at the corner of my eyes and slid down the edge of my face. Liam felt it as he kissed me tenderly, and wiped one away. ¡°Amy, I¡ªshould I stop?¡± He froze, starting to roll off.


    Gratitude mixed with frustration and I pulled him back to me.


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t stop. Please don¡¯t stop at all. I want this. I want more. I want it all.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± No question in his voice¡ªhe was confirming.


    ¡°I am. What about you?¡± I asked.


    His warm lips and confident hands were my answer as he eased me onto the bed, our bodies resting on top of a pile of peach cloth.


    And so Liam took as much as he gave, and it was pure and tender and what I needed.


    In the end, I had lost my virginity on prom night, alright.


    Except with the last guy I¡¯d ever imagined.


    Chapter Five


    Sam


    Amy¡¯s apartment, after the show


    Reaching for her again, my hands cradled her jaw, fingers interlaced in the long hair at the back of her neck, our breath mixing as tongues touched. My hands shifted to her arms, finally settling down and then¡ª


    Peace.


    Something deep inside me just stopped, as if it could finally rest.


    Sanctuary.


    This wasn¡¯t about fucking. That I could get nearly any time I wanted after a show. This was about intimacy. The point when you¡¯re with someone, touching them and you realize that you¡¯ve been invited to cross an invisible line and enter a new world. We all build shells around ourselves, and cracking them open to display what¡¯s underneath takes a lot of courage. Sex itself isn¡¯t what I¡¯m talking about; there are degrees of touching and knowing and forging ahead with someone when it comes to being intimate.


    Amy trusted me enough to let me touch her again.


    It¡¯s all about trust.


    My hands roamed over her waist, the curve of her side and hips, the ends of her long hair tickling my palms. God, she smelled so good, and the heat of her lush body felt made solely for me, conjured only for the space between us. Her mouth devoured mine, her boldness making me rock hard as we entwined ourselves on her bed. Months without sex made me more than ready.


    A tight band of need clenched every muscle in my body as Amy¡¯s hands found my ass, then roamed up my back. No woman I¡¯d been with had ever been so bold, and it turned everything up a notch. Wanting a willing body in bed was one thing; finding a woman willing to tell me what she wanted so that we could make everything so much better had been a rich fantasy of mine for¡ªwell, forever.


    Could this really be Amy?


    ¡°Amy,¡± I said, pulling back just enough to look in her eyes, ¡°I don¡¯t get many second chances in life. I feel like I¡¯m living in some sort of surreal moment where it could all be taken away in an instant, like when I open my eyes, or when I blink, as if this is an alternate reality,¡± I explained, my words feeling empty and stupid.


    ¡°No,¡± she gasped, interrupting me, wrapping those warm arms around my neck. ¡°It¡¯s the past four years that were the alternate reality. This,¡± she added, punctuating her words with a kiss that shot down my core and back to my brain like being stroked, ¡°this is the life we should be living.¡±


    ¡°And now we are,¡± I finished for her, so ready to make love to her, to connect and deepen, to serve her for all the rest of time¡ªin whatever reality we could carve out for ourselves. Pumped by desire, it was hard to balance my body¡¯s screaming need to be in her, to give myself to her and to have her do the same, to get hot and sweaty and breathless on her bed with what I also knew¡ªvia a thin shred of restraint¡ªneeded to be respected.


    I¡¯d hurt her so intimately four years ago.


    Could I heal her with intimacy now?


    If this was her giving me the chance, then maybe I could start to believe in the divine again.


    Amy


    ¡°Tell me what you want,¡± Sam said, murmuring in my ear before kissing my neck.


    ¡°What I want?¡± I laughed, my palms meandering down his back. What was left to want?


    ¡°I want to know everything about you, Amy. How you want to be kissed, how you want to be touched.¡± His eyes sought mine, looking up through his eyelashes as his mouth traversed my shoulder and collarbone.


    As his lips touched mine again, tongue languid and searching, seeking as much to touch and know me as to communicate his own need, Sam¡¯s words echoed in my head. My inexperience hit me hard, cutting short the yearning touch my hands wanted to continue. Once with Liam, a year with Brent¡ªthat was it. Sam must have been with so many people. A drummer in a band? And so hot? Of course he had expectations and comparisons and I¡ªI had just my own wanting of him.


    Half naked and all-eager, the full impact hit me just as Sam¡¯s hungry kiss swept me out of my mind. His hands were on me, stroking my breasts and making my nipples ache. His palms were cupping my ass and his erection was at my fingertips, his hard, muscled back was mine to explore with my own hands.


    But so much more than that¡ªhis words. Who says these things? I¡¯d played out this moment thousands of times in my head over the years. Wondered how it would feel to hear him whisper my name, to be told he wanted me¡ªneeded me¡ªcraved me like no other woman.


    His words were enough.


    I didn¡¯t want enough. I wanted so much more, and he offered it to me right now with his mouth, his hands, the hard press of his rigid manhood against my torso, my hand now seeking it out, enjoying the anticipated groan.

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    Sam didn¡¯t disappoint. He slid his hands under my bra and unclasped it, nimble fingers so confident, as if he¡¯d touched me this way a thousand times before. I felt unbound in more ways than one. Without saying a word, I pulled my own top and bra off, the air chilly enough to make my flesh pebble. When I threw my clothes aside and brushed my hair from my eyes, I found Sam gloriously shirtless, too, his eyes expectantly delighted. Matching mine.


    So many years of pretending to be someone I wasn¡¯t faded as reality filled the room like oxygen, fresh and clean and rejuvenating. Images of what it meant to be a sexual being tore through my mind like the moment of orgasm, where time speeds up and slows down at once. The headiness and import of this epiphany dissolved as I lit up in a grin, which Sam returned. I decided in that moment that I simply would not be self-conscious. Any hesitation was gone.Advertisement


    Gone.


    Like his stilled hands, the butterflies of self-doubt stopped their fluttering.


    And something in me just...broke.


    Snapped.


    Surrendered.


    Be still, my heart had a whole new meaning as his eyes took me in and I found him appreciating what he saw. My fingers drank in his skin, parched, seeking to be quenched. Everything outside of this room faded, leaving only the sound of our breath, the rasp of skin against skin and sheets, and the deafening silence of questions unasked but quickly answered through touch.


    Oh, how hot and soft and hard and good his body felt against mine.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he groaned, the vibration against my lips as his hands inventoried me, taking what I¡¯d thought of as my ribs, my hips, my waist, my breasts and turning them into some kind of holy path to be traversed and revered. Those hands said millions of words that would never escape from Sam¡¯s lips, but that I knew now in the most intimate of ways.


    How many more words could his body say?


    Bring on the dictionary. Please. And then a thesaurus...


    I felt seventeen and twenty-two at the same time, a scrabbling piece of my brain trying to stop the undeniable¡ªthat we were a man and a woman ready to make love, and not stumbling teens dancing around what we wanted. Sam¡¯s strong touch dipped down under my waistband, my throat tightening in a gasp as his finger slid under my panties, the pads of his fingers sinking into my ass and raking up, the sensation making me want him inside me, thrusting and sweaty, calling my name.


    His mouth on my breast, his tongue played with my nipple as I tried to catch my breath, each nip and suckle interrupting all attempts at finding any shred of self-control.


    Good.


    My own hands seemed useless, as if I¡¯d forgotten what to do with them as Sam took every remaining brain cell I possessed and tweaked it with his tongue. His hands now worked to dispense the final barrier between us, my pants opening and sliding down over my thighs as if they had a will of their own, the delicate hush of silken panties against my skin like a chorus cheering us on.


    ¡°You are so amazing,¡± he murmured, coming up to kiss me. A quick kiss, then he gently leaned me back on the futon and nuzzled my belly, trailing kisses up to the underside of my breasts, then down...down...to foreign territory.


    That¡¯s right.


    No man had ever gone there with his mouth.


    And Sam¡¯s sexual GPS seemed to have my clit as its destination.


    Don¡¯t recalculate. Don¡¯t recalculate.


    All the reading, all the romance novels and sex manuals and erotica and sex magazine stories and articles, had made me want this with a dripping need that made me ache from throat to...


    There.


    Oh, yes¡ªthere. For years I¡¯d wondered what it would actually feel like to have someone do this to me¡ªto want to do this. To enjoy doing this. Sam¡¯s fingers were so gentle, yet commanding. He knew what he was doing, I¡ªI hadn¡¯t had to ask. Earlier, he¡¯d asked me to tell him what I wanted.


    And yet he knew.


    ¡°Oh!¡± fluttered from my throat, the sound almost an afterthought, the touch of his lips and tongue on my bare lips and clit so enticing and electrifying it felt more like a shock than an erotic sensation. A flash of heat poured through all the nerve endings in the softer, wetter parts of me, a slower, deeper tightening in muscles through my belly and ass contrasting with the microshocks of pulsing shivers that his mouth elicited.


    The feeling of giving my body to him so intimately, his mouth guiding me to a place of pleasure I knew existed in theory but couldn¡¯t imagine was so¡ª


    Sam stopped and ran his hands up over my hips, to the edge of my breasts, and kissed my mons, the gesture surprisingly sweet compared to the very erotic nature of what he¡¯d just done with me. ¡°Tell me what you want,¡± he whispered.


    Too shy to look down at him, afraid I would meet his eyes and he¡¯d see the mix of everything scattered inside me, I arched my hips without realizing I did it, let my fingers sink into his hair, and whispered back the only word I could think or speak:¡°More.¡±


    His hands came back to my thighs, taking in my skin as if he were memorizing it, his hands so worshipful it made me relax. No self-conscious posturing, no worrying about the light and having my physical flaws exposed. We were just here and enjoying each other. That was all this had to be, even if there really was so much more.


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± he said, his voice filled with a playful tone that made me want him even more. As his tongue savored me I inhaled sharply, pressing against his mouth ever so hesitantly, wanting this to last forever, even as I felt the familiar tendrils of an orgasm beginning to grow inside, seeking light and the explosive release I anticipated would come soon.


    His mouth knew exactly how to play my body, though, and then just as I ached for him to enter me, to make love, I felt a finger slip in, slow and measured, as Sam¡¯s tongue teased and laved, his other hand sliding over my belly, my hips beginning to shift in concert with his tongue.


    Oh, God. Perfect. This was like rich, melted chocolate poured over the core of my sexuality, like wet velvet and¡ªall the clich¨¦s seemed simultaneously deeply true and exceptionally shallow to describe how it felt to be licked and suckled and the flittering touch of a man who clearly loved to go down on a woman. His hands, his mouth¡ªhis whole being¡ªtransmitted that fact with his slow motions, how he took his sweet time, how he checked in and treasured all of this.


    All of me.


    And then¡ªsome shift inside made my mind go blank, my body arching up, an uncontrolled shaking taking over. Reflex made me pull away but Sam followed, his hand pressing deeper into my navel, his mouth pursuing my clit as I began to writhe, the waves of heat like a nuclear cloud, both explosive and expansive at once.


    I needed to freeze. I needed to twitch. I needed to pull away. I needed to shove myself deeper onto his tongue. All those states needed to exist at the same time and it defied the laws of physics to even try, yet that¡¯s what happened as every muscle in my body tightened at once, my walls clamping on his fingers, my legs squeezing together, my arms reaching up to grasp a pillow and pull it apart, the harsh sound of the sheets ripping off the corners of the bed as I balled them in my fists.


    The tension abated and all my muscles melted as Sam¡¯s mouth changed against my lower lips, as if I could feel him smile, his tongue slowing, and then¡ªthe pulse began again, my entire body riding this new wave. This time, though, the wave didn¡¯t crest. It built and built, Sam¡¯s ribs embraced by my thighs, his mouth a mystery that solved my need, and the climax he pulled out of me shattered everything I thought I knew about life.


    All I wanted was him. His skin, his flesh, his tongue, his whole self as the orgasm took over all my blood, a heated rush trying to escape through my core, my mouth, my hands, my¡ªanything that would unleash what was in me. What Sam had found in me.


    What Sam had put in me all those years ago.


    ¡°Sam!¡± I moaned, his name replacing the word more, because I had enough right here, right now, and as I said his name a second time I thrashed, my head twisting from side to side as the room spun and swayed, my body exploding vessel by vessel, nerve by nerve, with a pleasure that made me part of everything.


    And then it was too much. Too intense. Too¡ªjust too.


    ¡°No!¡± I begged. ¡°Please. Stop, stop, stop,¡± I pleaded, scooting back and sitting up fast, my core on fire and my legs shaking. ¡°It¡¯s too much. I just¡ªwow.¡±


    Sam sat up, too, and I realized he was still half-clothed. I was completely nude and wet and my scent was all over him as he crawled to me and took me in a breathtaking kiss, my own taste in me without warning, the boldness making me ready for more instantly.


    With hurried fingers I dispatched with the snap on his jeans, the hiss of the zipper like a gasp to match my own, and then Sam kicked off his pants, never breaking the kiss. My own taste seemed normal now, and his rock-hard erection was in my hands in a second, his mouth a groan that rewarded my own boldness.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he sighed.


    ¡°No one has ever done that to me,¡± I ventured. A grateful, astounded, dumbfounded part of my brain was reeling even as I began to stroke him, the thick veins and hard heat familiar and new at once.


    He pulled back and caught my eyes, my impulse to look away so close, but I resisted. Sam stared back, and it was Sam¡ªthe real Sam I¡¯d loved for so long and wanted.


    ¡°No one?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Your boyfriend never...?¡±


    Shake. ¡°No.¡±


    Sam¡¯s eyes narrowed, his hair a mess, his chest heaving with desire and slick with the warmth our bodies generated. Thickly muscled arms and pecs carved from marble were like eye candy for me in the muted moonlight, and his kind, quiet eyes morphed into something wolfish and hungry.


    ¡°Then you have years to catch up on. I¡¯ll be happy to help.¡±


    I laughed. I couldn¡¯t help it¡ªthis was just too real and raw and mind blowing and I was nothing but rawness and eager need. He chuckled, too, and then gave me a look of such earnest adoration and sexual fire that I felt like the only woman in the world. Every touch, each move, all our sighs and strokes and sounds of joy and primal joining felt like a lover¡¯s language and culture we were making up as we went along. Which we were.


    So I did the only thing I could think of, which was to bend down and put my lips on him. Time to hold his pleasure in my hands.


    Or, um...my mouth.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± he whispered, the words fading as it became very clear that I most certainly did have to, his entire body tensing, neck veins popping out as he tipped his head back and inhaled with a shuddering tremor that made my heart swell.


    Along with other parts.


    ¡°I want to,¡± I whispered back as I pulled my mouth off and stroked him, the slickness making him grow harder (which seemed impossible, but he did). I meant it¡ªthis I knew how to do. Giving a guy oral pleasure meant having the root of him in my hands, between my lips, ensconced by my tongue, his hot demand in my control.


    Plus ¨C it was fun.


    As my mouth descended down his shaft, I focused, at first, on what I knew felt good. As his back began to arch and his hands to sink more urgently in my hair, I experimented with my hands, seeing what might optimize what my mouth was doing.


    The resulting groan told me I¡¯d been right.

 Page 22

    I liked being right.


    Still stunned by what his mouth had done to me, I wanted to return what he¡¯d given with equal¡ªor more¡ªpleasure, letting him take center stage and be the object of my mastery. Giving felt good. It felt real. Hot flesh with a pulse in my mouth urged me to continue, the combination of Sam¡¯s hands on my body, his ragged breaths, and his urgent need pushing him to climax faster than I¡¯d expected, hot fluid spurting in my mouth and catching me by surprise.Advertisement


    I swallowed.


    He pulled back and looked at me with wide eyes, an admiration there I hadn¡¯t seen from any man. Ever.


    ¡°You just¡ª¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And you don¡¯t mind?¡±


    The taste and the texture had never bothered me. Swallowing was no big deal to me, but it obviously meant something to Sam.


    ¡°Why would I mind doing something that seems natural?¡±


    I didn¡¯t think his eyes could get wider¡ªor more primal. ¡°You¡¯re not like anyone in the world, Amy.¡± He pulled me into his arms and we rested on the bed, an intermission in a play I hoped had no ending.


    ¡°I¡¯m a freak,¡± I laughed, trying not to be self-conscious.


    ¡°No,¡± he crooned, pulling my chin up so my eyes met his. ¡°You¡¯re incredible.¡±


    Words that should have made this deepen, that should have made me more relaxed and in awe, instead made me realize the gravity of the moment. Sam. I was naked with Sam. And we¡¯d just gone to a very intimate place together, but there was so much more...


    What did he expect next?


    As his lips sought mine, I held back, a combination of wondering if he wanted to taste himself and the tumult of my own emotions. His tongue broke through my lips and answered the first issue¡ªbut the second?


    The abrupt withdrawal of his warmth surprised me. ¡°Amy? You OK?¡± He had pulled away to ask, and to watch me.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I whispered, not even convincing myself.


    Sam yanked the sheet up over us both and tucked me in close, his arms wrapped around me, my leg draped over his legs with a casualness that pleased me.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he murmured. ¡°Talk to me. I wasted so much time, not talking with you. No more.¡±


    A fluttering in my chest rose up, as if a protector inside me were sending out a warning sign to close up, put up walls, reinforce the shields. This was Sam, though. We¡¯d just been sensual and raw and raunchy with each other and I wanted more¡ªso much more¡ªand yet...


    Something in me hesitated.


    Why?


    ¡°It¡¯s too much, isn¡¯t it?¡± he guessed, tightening his embrace.


    Blink. Images, like still photos from the past four years, paraded through my mind. Me at National Qualifiers. The kiss we shared. Sam walking out of the auditorium. All the texts unanswered, the mental screen shot of my phone¡¯s glass screen taunting me. Prom night. Liam. Naked Liam. Naked me and Liam. Meeting Brent. Dating Brent. Naked Brent. Naked me with Brent.


    All those years. All that joy and pain overshadowed by not understanding what had happened with Sam.


    And now my nude body slid against his bare skin like we were old lovers so familiar with each other we could touch as if we owned the skin, and I just¡ª


    Couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯m closing down,¡± I confessed. ¡°It is too much, Sam. Not the sex,¡± I hurried to say. ¡°It¡¯s incredible. You¡¯re incredible.¡± I reached up to trace his mouth with my finger, the gesture implying what my words couldn¡¯t. ¡°So many unanswered questions, and this is almost too good.¡±


    Here came the tears.


    ¡°I keep thinking about what might have been,¡± I said, sighing.


    A groan of deep pain came from his chest, the sound amplified because my ear was pressed into his rib cage. If this was going to be real and true and honest, then it had to start somewhere. Especially considering the fact that we were covered in (and full of) each other¡¯s scent and sex. If you can¡¯t be vulnerable emotionally after giving and taking so much pleasure, when can you?


    Holding my breath, I waited for his answer. Please get it. Please get it. Please get it.


    ¡°Me too,¡± he whispered, kissing the top of my head. My arms tightened around his chest and all the air rushed out of me.


    ¡°Sam,¡± I said, enjoying the feel of his name on my lips, knowing he could hear me.


    He swallowed and I felt his head nod slightly. My fingers made a slow journey around his chest, down the dip of breastbone, over his nipples, which tightened from my touch. Joyous¡ªjust touching him felt like a privilege. His own hands returned the favor, sliding over my skin with a yearning I could feel.


    ¡°I meant it when I said you¡¯re incredible.¡± His hand stilled at my hip, the other pinned under my neck and shoulders, the fingers resting on my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re complex and nuanced and everything I¡¯ve always wanted in a woman. But our past...¡±


    My tears shifted to something entirely different, a thrill of fear coursing through my heart.


    ¡°My past,¡± he said, as if correcting himself. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve you.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I said, sitting up, my voice hoarse with protest. ¡°No! You know that¡¯s not true and...and....¡± Fury and pain and desire and lust all stirred inside me. Modesty went out the window as I charged him, my face inches from his. Someone peering in would think we were about to commence a sex act, Sam lounging on his back on the bed, me on hands and knees over him.


    ¡°And what?¡± he asked, shocked by my response, but also filled with something else. The corners of his mouth betrayed him, twisting ever-so-slightly in a tantalizing way.


    ¡°And you don¡¯t get to hide from me again. You don¡¯t get to use your own assumptions about me to conveniently rationalize why you shouldn¡¯t give us a try.¡±


    His head snapped back as much as it could on the pillow and his hands slipped off me. ¡°You think that¡¯s what I did four years ago? But I told you,¡± he said, eyes blazing. ¡°I told you what happened.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sam. You told me what you did. But you didn¡¯t tell me why you did what you did. There¡¯s a huge difference.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re starting a fight because you¡¯re afraid to let me make love to you.¡±


    Thud.


    That was the sound of my jaw hitting the floor.


    God damn it.


    Sam knew me. Really knew me.


    I closed my eyes and I felt tears run down my face. His gentle fingers sought out each drop and wiped them away, so tender, as if each tear should be revered and preserved. When I opened my eyes he was sitting up, the contours of his body right there for me to see and feel, skin impossibly hard and soft at once, each curve of muscle like a piece of art for my eyes and fingers to honor.


    ¡°Why, Amy? I want you so much. I¡¯ll respect whatever you want. Making love to you seems like atonement right now. I can¡¯t get those four years back. But I can give you now. And tomorrow¡¯s now. And next week¡¯s now. And all the nows you¡¯ll let me give you.¡±


    ¡°I just¡ª¡±


    His fingers on my lips shushed me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to justify anything. This isn¡¯t a debate and you don¡¯t need evidence or philosophical superiority. Feelings aren¡¯t like that. The fact that you feel a certain way is enough. It doesn¡¯t have to be validated by anyone except you.¡±


    Soft lips pressed against mine, and then his arms were around me as I knelt on my bed. Our combined sighs let more skin press together, abs communing, heartbeats in sync.


    ¡°Do you mean it?¡± I asked, my lips buried in his chest.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say it if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    My laugh was deep and low. ¡°Plenty of people say things they don¡¯t mean. All the time.¡±


    ¡°Even naked?¡±


    ¡°Especially naked.¡±


    Shaking with giggles, we just tightened our arms around each other. The urgency faded. Now all I wanted was this¡ªburied in his arms, discovering the terrain of this new world we were creating, layer by layer, stone by stone.


    Sam pulled back and brushed the hair out of my eyes with one still hand. His knuckles seemed odd. How had I not noticed it before? A bit twisted and swollen, like my grandmother¡¯s. The fingers still tapered, lean like a surgeon¡¯s, but the incongruity caught my eye.


    Before I could comment, he changed the subject, yawning. ¡°I have to go. Work in a few hours.¡±


    ¡°Work?¡±


    Nodding, he searched for his clothes. Regret pulled at me. Don¡¯t leave, I wanted to whisper. But I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯m working for a moving company tomorrow. Just labor.¡± He shrugged his way into his wrinkled t-shirt. My eyes ate him up, sad to see him go from naked and open to closed and clothed. Joining him, I threw my own clothes on, stirred up and still uncertain I¡¯d done the right thing telling him what was going on inside me.


    Dispelling some of that fear, Sam took me in his arms and kissed me so softly my heart ached a bit. ¡°When the time is right, we¡¯ll know. In the meantime,¡± he said, nipping at my earlobe as he whispered in my ear, ¡°what we shared tonight was a taste of what¡¯s to come.¡±


    ¡°Literally,¡± I joked, the room open again. Light-hearted. The way I¡¯d imagined intimacy could be, all flesh and heat and wonder.


    ¡°I hate to leave, but...¡± I sensed he wasn¡¯t just looking for an excuse. Time was short and I got the reality of work. My own luxury of a few weeks off would end soon enough, when school started.


    The wall of Sam hit me again with a fevered kiss that made my knees weak, and then he was gone. ¡°I¡¯ll text!¡± he whispered, disappearing down the hall, leaving me to wonder if what we¡¯d just shared had really happened.


    Random Acts indeed.


    Except ours wasn¡¯t one of crazy.


    It was a random act of trust.


    Sam


    The walk home was excruciating and exhilarating, all at once. It turned out that Amy didn¡¯t live that far from Trevor and Joe. At three in the morning, Boston is silent¡ªI got the city mostly to myself. It was an eerie quiet, and it helped with the echo in my head. The ringing from the amps and the equipment on stage was mostly gone. The smell of Amy was on my fingers, the taste of her on my lips, the feel of her skin on my chest, waist, and my reawakened hard on was a testimony to so many things that I wanted to do.


    By the time I got to Trevor¡¯s and pulled out the key, my phone buzzed its text tone. I scrambled it out of my pocket, hoping it was Amy.


    Not Amy.


    The text read, Come for an interview tomorrow. 10 PM. And then an address. An interview? Oh, shit. That must be the job that Liam told me about, the one I¡¯d called and left a message for. An interview!


    So, I got a possible place to live permanently, Amy, and a job interview all in one evening. Life was good. Life was finally good.


    Amy


    There I was, staring at a spot on the ceiling, a streak of dirt the color of dark burgundy. I¡¯d never noticed it before. The glow of the security light outside made it eerie. Sam had just left and I¡¯d done my nighttime routine; brushed my teeth and flossed like a good little girl, climbed into a nightshirt and my undies, and snuggled under the covers, alone. My typical bedmate was my tablet and a sex toy or two. Right now, though, I just wanted to lie there and let my body feel everything it had just experienced in the last few hours.

 Page 23

    Sam. Sam. Sam. His name had become a bass drum beat in my head. Four and a half years of wondering had turned to four and a half hours of bliss. It was as if fate had snapped its fingers and decided that my entire life would take a different trajectory. I had been sad, and a little desperate, and yearning for something that I could never have just a few hours ago, going a bit shamefaced and sheepish to watch Random Acts of Crazy in yet another dark bar.


    And then, he marched off that stage, his eyes on me and only me, as if the rest of the world didn¡¯t exist. I¡¯d tried to say something and he¡¯d shut me up with those lips. That¡¯s what Sam was. That¡¯s who he was making me become. Real. All the words that had flown between us over the past few hours, the touches, the sighs, the needs, the wants, and the restraint, formed a giant web inside me that I was trying to untangle right now, even as my hands slipped over my thighs, imagining they were his.Advertisement


    The brush of my cotton sheets against bare skin was a kind of torture, because it wasn¡¯t the warmth of his fingertips. My cheek against my pillow left me bereft, because it wasn¡¯t Sam¡¯s shoulder that I rested against. Even the glow of the security lights of middle-of-the-night Boston left me empty, because they weren¡¯t reflecting on his skin. What did all of this mean? Where did we go from here?


    We¡¯d both held back, his hands going to find the core of my desire for him, and my own hands touching parts of him that I had dreamed about for so many years, finding the truth so much better than anything my imagination could conjure. Hard muscle and soft skin met my palms, my forearms, driving into his flesh, my fingers, my lips, my mouth seeking every part of him that I could connect with.


    Why had I held back? Why had I breathlessly poured out my heart like that, all while keeping my body at bay? It¡¯s not as if we were virgins; that train had left the station long ago. Liam. Liam had been the conductor on that one. Sam would be my third. And I hoped Sam would be my last.


    The touch of his tongue on my clit had been divine. The feel of him throbbing in my grasp, of his flesh wrapped by my lips, how he lost control and I gained it in one move¡ªall of that was just a brief glimpse of what we both knew could be more intense, more revealing, more raw.


    More.


    Exhaustion hit me in increasingly-massive waves until sleep took me away. I didn¡¯t dream that night.


    My favorite, most frequent dream had just happened in real life.


    Chapter Six


    Sam


    Two beers, a sandwich, and an episode of It¡¯s Always Sunny in Philadelphia later, I was just getting settled on the couch under a thin blanket, loose and a little buzzed. The heat of what had happened between me and Amy made even the lightweight cotton feel like a torture blanket of lava, and the crazy shit Charlie, Glen, Dee and Mac did on the show reminded me a little too much of Darla, Trevor, Joe and Liam. And, I guess, me.


    As that thought rumbled around in my mind, my phone buzzed again. Maybe Amy this time? I checked, but it wasn¡¯t her.


    Can you come in now? it said.


    And then the name, Louise.


    That¡¯s weird. I checked¡ªit was the same number as the person who had texted me for the interview.


    I typed back, Now? It¡¯s 4 AM.


    Yeah, now, the reply came back quickly. Are you available?


    What the hell kind of job was this? I wondered. It couldn¡¯t be that bad if Liam had referred me to them, but a 4 AM job interview?


    OK, I texted back, Where are you?


    She typed back an address, one that I knew. I could walk there in ten minutes, but...this time of night? I guess I¡¯d be all right.


    I wrote back, Anything I need to bring?


    Her reply was quite simple: No.


    I looked at my jeans and collected tee shirts, thinking. All the advice we¡¯d received from the career counselors at UMass said that you went to a job interview dressed in business clothes with a fresh haircut, clean and sharp. I didn¡¯t have any of that. In fact¡ªI ran a hand across my jaw¡ªI hadn¡¯t even shaved today. A job interview is a job interview, but a spur of the moment 4AM interview request made me doubt ¡°Louise¡± was a particularly particular HR manager. And even if she were, for some reason, expecting a suit, all I had here were jeans, and t-shirts, and a few winter things.


    I went into the bathroom to clean up at least a little. My hair was caked with sweat along the scalp line, and yet, I had never seen my face so alive. She did that to me. Amy. I smelled like sex and beer. At least I could wash the sex off.


    A quick face wash, then I pulled out the electric razor and buzzed through quickly, scrubbing the sweat away ruefully. Some deodorant to make sure I wasn¡¯t too stinky, and I figured whatever came next was whatever was fated for me.


    I regretted not grabbing a jacket when the cold air hit me outside, but I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked. Living in the city had taught me not to make too much eye contact, which was my tendency, but to keep my head down instead¡ªlooking people in the eye all the time was kind of a pain. I found that at least some of every single person¡¯s emotions were reflected in their eyes and after a while, and I too easily became too full, full of everybody else¡¯s feelings.


    Struggling with my own was hard enough ¨C I didn¡¯t need to have anyone else¡¯s suffering ping back and forth inside me. Maybe that was why it had been so hard to do anything but shut Amy out four and a half years ago. Thank God she was the forgiving type.


    As I crossed the street and took a left, headed toward the address, I thought about that one for a minute. Thank God¡ªGod? I hadn¡¯t thought about God for four and a half years. That wasn¡¯t quite right...it¡¯s more that I hadn¡¯t wanted to think about God. Dad¡¯s entire career was built around Our Heavenly Father, and he expected us to worship him the same way that he expected his congregants to worship The Almighty.


    If God had a hand in my interview right now, then it was a pretty fucking random one. And if God had a hand in my life, then he had some really twisted ways of trying to lead me to salvation. You know where I found The Divine? In Amy¡¯s kiss ¨C that¡¯s where.


    I found the address quickly. I looked at the door; it listed a lawyer and a CPA on official, businesslike placards. The third listing read L. Erhardt Entertainment. That must be it. I pushed the doorbell and shoved my hands deeper in my pockets, my arms covered in gooseflesh until the door opened with a buzz-click!


    I got an immediate creepy feeling despite the welcome warmth; my muscles tensed and my arms instinctively readying to grab, hit, or run.


    Why had it taken me this long to realize that maybe I was being set up for something? Liam would never do that in a million years, but¡­I had only assumed.


    Those texts hadn¡¯t mentioned Liam.


    Looking around, I forced myself to calm down. Whatever this was might be a little on the sketchy side, but this was an office building, respectable looking. The office directory on the lobby wall said L. Entertainment was on the second floor. I took the steps, not wanting to get caught in an elevator with anyone hinky. Just opposite the second floor landing was a door with a black painted window in its center. Above the window, in a boring and businesslike font, gold and black lettering read L. Entertainment Industries.


    A light shone under the door, so I knocked, and someone shouted, ¡°Come in!¡±


    An older woman with short, curly, gray and black hair sat behind a desk; two guys about my age, lounging on a couch. They wore jeans and t-shirts, and one of them was counting cash out in a roll. I looked around. I didn¡¯t see any bags of grass or white powder, this wasn¡¯t some kind of drug operation, but what the fuck had Liam gotten me into?


    She stood, blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. Her face was a bit plump; she could have been anybody¡¯s mother. She held her hand out and I crossed the room, remembering my manners. As we clasped hands she looked me straight in the eye, narrowed her own, and combed over my entire body as if I were a rack of ribs. ¡°Louise Erhardt,¡± she said.


    ¡°Sam Hinton,¡± I nodded. I looked around and our hands let go.


    She thumbed toward the guys. ¡°That¡¯s Aaron and Jack.¡± They both nodded, one of them grunting. I did the same. ¡°Did Liam explain to you what we do here?¡± she asked, looking at me with a cagey expression.


    I just shrugged. ¡°He just said that this might be a good gig for me.¡±


    ¡°You comfortable with undressing?¡± she asked.


    That made me stop cold. ¡°Undressing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll bet, in the right uniform, and under the right circumstances, you¡¯ve got what it takes.¡±


    ¡°What it takes?¡± I was regretting those beers. The room was a little too...something. Maybe my life really was turning into something like Charlie Kelly¡¯s. Minus the glue huffing.


    ¡°What it takes to make three hundred a night for about...five hours work.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ve got a gig that pays three hundred a night for five hours work, I¡¯ll make sure I¡¯ve got what it takes,¡± I said. Holy shit! Three hundred bucks a night? I could work two nights a week and be fine, and the rest of my time would be saved for music. ¡°But...what is this?¡± I asked, wary and looking around.


    Suddenly, two guys walked around the corner, both dressed in cop uniforms. In one fluid motion, one of the guys reached up to his collar and pulled down viciously, the entire outfit separating into two parts, neck to ankle, along velcroed seams. He stepped nimbly, almost delicately, out of the fabric and stood there in a shining blue g-string and the hat on his head.


    Louise pointed. ¡°That¡¯s what the gig does.¡±


    ¡°Stripping?¡± I choked out.


    The two pseudo-cops and the guys on the couch started laughing, a low gravelly sound. They weren¡¯t making fun of me. This was why I was here for a job interview at four in the morning ¨C these were the hours. I got an extra good look at the cop who hadn¡¯t stripped down, the rim of his hat bent over his face, and realized I knew him.


    ¡°Goddammit, Liam! Why didn¡¯t you just tell me what this was?¡±


    He threw the hat on the couch and burst out laughing, golden hair more caked with sweat than mine had been. He crossed his arms over his chest, the fake gold badge on his shirt brushing against his forearm, and he said, ¡°¡¯Cuz in a million years I never imagined you¡¯d actually come and try this out.¡±


    ¡°For three hundred bucks a night? I¡¯ll try out damn near anything.¡± And then I frowned. ¡°Wait a minute,¡± I mumbled. I looked at Louise. ¡°It¡¯s just stripping, right?¡±


    The guy standing there in the shining g-string, looking like a very hot version of Borat, said, ¡°That part is up to you. Some of us,¡± he mulled over his answer, ¡°let opportunity dictate how much we make.¡±


    ¡°He means that some guys will take the extras that women offer,¡± Liam said bluntly.


    Louise pretended not to notice the conversation and started shuffling some folders. I was starting to get the point. ¡°How does this work?¡± I asked.


    She said, ¡°Well, I need you to do an audition.¡±


    ¡°An audition?¡± I choked out.


    Liam mugged, his blue eyes sparkling. ¡°We all have to do it,¡± he said.


    ¡°Do I get a chance to practice?¡±

 Page 24

    ¡°If you want. Most guys don¡¯t.¡± She paused, then added, ¡°We need to record it, though.¡±


    My jaw clenched involuntarily. ¡°It doesn¡¯t end up on YouTube, or TMZ, or Reddit, does it?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t end up anywhere, Sam. I just have a couple of test women who will watch it and tell me what they think. If you¡¯re good enough, though, your two minute audition here may get you the job.¡±


    I took a long, deep breath in, then let it out slowly. I looked around the room and thought about how life could change so quickly. It was the fact that I took a giant leap and didn¡¯t let my past dictate my future that got me Amy tonight. What else could I break free from if I just acted?


    I clapped my hands together once, looked at Louise, and said, ¡°All right. Where do we start?¡±


    I waved Liam over and huddled with him. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face with a cup of battery acid, but that wasn¡¯t going to help the situation. ¡°She wants me to do a strip tease right now?¡±


    Liam¡¯s grin spread across his face as if it were contagious. ¡°That¡¯s how Louise works.¡±


    ¡°You gotta be shittin¡¯ me,¡± I whispered. ¡°Is this for real or is this some kind of elaborate practical joke? Is there a camera here?¡±


    ¡°The only camera here is the one that¡¯s going to video tape you so she can test you in front of a group of women. Unless you do so well that she doesn¡¯t even have to do that.¡±


    My eyes bored into his. ¡°Let me guess, you did so well in your audition that you didn¡¯t have to go through the video thing.¡±


    Liam pounded his chest like a silverback gorilla. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said. ¡°See, even you knew that.¡±


    ¡°Fuck. How do you do a strip tease?¡± I asked, confused and overwhelmed. But the idea of making three- or four-hundred bucks a night, a couple nights a week, meant that I could put a lot of things aside, including my dignity.


    ¡°Just do what they do in those Chippendale shows, or that movie that came out awhile ago, Magic Mike.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly Channing Tatum.¡±


    Liam stood to his full height and squared his shoulders. ¡°Hell no we¡¯re not. We¡¯re better.¡±


    That made me laugh. ¡°So the people that you do this for¡­¡±


    His eyes went hard. ¡°Be prepared to dance for your mom.¡±


    ¡°What? WHAT?¡± I shouted. Everyone in the room turned and looked at me.


    ¡°Keep your voice down,¡± he said. ¡°Most of these things are chicks about five years older than us and a bunch of their moms. Be prepared for these women to just want to touch you, and stick money down your pants.¡±


    ¡°You get tips?¡±


    ¡°Hell yeah, you get tips, that¡¯s where all the money comes from.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything with anyone, do you?¡±


    ¡°No. No.¡± He held his palm out in a firm gesture of a boundary. ¡°Some of these guys might, but I don¡¯t do any of that shit.¡±


    ¡°And you still make good money?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m making about seven hundred bucks a week, just for two nights work. Fridays and Saturdays are it, after our band gigs.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need to do that kind of work?¡± I asked him. ¡°Your parents paid for college and did all of that for you.¡±


    He rolled his eyes. ¡°Dad cut me off when I graduated.¡±


    ¡°Your dad cut you off?¡±


    ¡°Since I wouldn¡¯t go to law school, or med school, or any of the other visions that they had for me.¡± Eyeroll.


    I snickered. I couldn¡¯t help it, and then put my hand over my mouth. ¡°So, do your parents know you do this?¡±


    ¡°Fuck, no, they don¡¯t know that I do this,¡± he said, irritated. Funny how Liam changed when he didn¡¯t have all the power. ¡°But, I can live pretty well on this and whatever we make from our band gigs, so¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°Get ready to take your clothes off, dude.¡±


    ¡°How far down do I have to go?¡±


    He pointed to the guy¡¯s dayglow blue g-string. ¡°Are you okay with that?¡±


    It was about as bad as wearing a Speedo on the swim team. I mulled it over. Would I do that for seven hundred bucks a week? Would I let women touch me and tuck money into that thing, their hands sliding over my hips, probably grabbing my ass here and there? Seven hundred a week. ¡­versus¡­ass grabbing. Seven hundred a week. Ass grabbing. For seven hundred a week.


    Seven hundred a week won.


    ¡°What do I need to do?¡± I said, in a louder voice, turning to Louise.


    She docked her iPod into some speakers and ran her fingers over it, looking for a song. ¡°Get started when you hear the music, honey.¡±


    Think of it as drumming and just follow the beat, I told myself, trying not to get tense while I waited. If I just followed the beat, I could do damn near anything. My mind tried to occupy itself with anything other than the thought that I was now going to go down to my boxer briefs for a group of people I¡¯d never met, very possibly for free, all before five in the morning.


    The second time I¡¯d gotten naked in so many hours.


    The first time was so much better.


    The music helped. I picked up the beat the second it started. I got my hips going, and then I decided to play it up to the crowd. In one fluid motion, I pulled my shirt off, imagining I was doing this for Amy. It felt pretty fucking weird though, because aren¡¯t women supposed to strip for men? Maybe that was outdated. I focused on Liam, who had seen me be ridiculous before. We¡¯d been friends through plenty of stupid displays, some of them sober. Most of them not.


    And now, if he wanted to sit there with that smirk on his face, then I was going to give him a show. I flung my sweaty t-shirt right at him, and then pointed and winked. The guys all guffawed, and Liam rolled his eyes, but went along with the joke. I paraded, I pranced, I danced, I gyrated, I did whatever I remembered from the handful of shows I¡¯d seen of guys stripping. By the end, I struck an Olympian pose, half-and twisted to the right, showing off my glutes and thighs, as the music faded out. Liam was covered in my jeans, socks, shirt, but not, thank God, my underwear. The guys all clapped¡ªsoft golf claps¡ªand I couldn¡¯t tell whether they were sarcastic or genuine.


    Louise just shook her head. ¡°If you can be that jaunty with the women, then you¡¯ve got a job, but if you¡¯re just playing it up to the men, then we might have an issue. There¡¯s a whole separate division where we have male strippers for men.¡±


    ¡°No, no, no, no, no,¡± I interrupted her. ¡°It¡¯s all good, I¡¯m happy to do it for women.¡± Then I paused. ¡°Wait¡ªdoes it pay more if you do it for men?¡± The room filled with laughter.


    She reached out and I took her hand in mine, with two pumps, the deal was done. ¡°You¡¯re hired,¡± she said. ¡°Can you work tomorrow night?¡±


    ¡°Do I walk away with cash on the spot?¡± I asked, hopeful.


    Liam tossed my clothes at me. My pants hit me in the head and then fell down my shoulder, sliding to the floor. I was surprisingly unselfconscious standing there in my blue boxer briefs.


    ¡°You walk home with your tips after a gig; otherwise, you get a paycheck every two weeks like everybody else.¡±


    Like everybody else, I thought. Finally, a steady job. I was officially supporting myself without student loans, without living in my car, and I¡¯d have my own bed. Was it worth rubbing up against a bunch of women a couple nights a week? My involuntary grin faded slightly when my mind went to Amy. What would she think?


    Louise¡¯s eyes hardened, she leaned back in her chair. ¡°You having second thoughts?¡±


    ¡°No, ma¡¯am. My thoughts are all focused and ready to work.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you your first set of uniforms, then,¡± she said, walking around the desk, guiding me with an arm around my shoulder to a closet door. Aaron was pulling clothes out. ¡°The guys will start to explain the routines. Welcome to the club.¡± She smiled at me again. ¡±You fuck up, you¡¯re fired.¡± Her eyes said she meant every word.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fuck this up,¡± I said, wishing I could find the right words to explain how much I needed this and how awed I was that it had fallen into my lap.


    Liam grabbed my upper arm and led to the pile of clothes out the couch. Without asking or being asked, he just sorted until he found a cop costume that looked like it would fit me.


    ¡°Start with cop?¡± he asked Louise, who was back at her desk, rummaging in a drawer. She didn¡¯t even look up; a grunt and a nod sufficed.


    ¡°Here,¡± Liam said, holding a uniform up to me. ¡°You have to wash it on Friday nights¡ªhand wash, hang dry.¡± He rifled through the pile and told Aaron, ¡°We¡¯re out of any more in his size.¡±


    ¡°Try it on, make sure it fits,¡± Louise said, jerking her head toward the open bathroom door. ¡°And try these on.¡± From the drawer in her desk, she pulled a plastic package, and flung it at me.


    I caught it with swift reflexes and examined it.


    A sequined green silk g-string.


    ¡°Redheads look great in emerald green.¡± Her eyes danced over my body, and then the only real flicker of emotion came from her when she asked, ¡°Does the carpet match the drapes?¡±


    Liam guffawed as I blushed and stammered, ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°A blusher.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°How cute. You can really milk them for great tips with that one, Sam. Especially the aggressive cougars.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The women your mom¡¯s age,¡± she said tersely. ¡°The ones who want to fuck you.¡±Your mom and want to fuck you are two phrases that should never, ever be in the same sentence. Even Liam went somber and I pulled my new work uniform with me into the bathroom, nearly breaking the g-string when I accidentally put both legs into the same hole. And then¡ª


    Butt floss.


    How do women wear these things? The silky thread stretched up my ass crack and the sequins sewn into the¡­pouch?... were so strained I wondered if maybe I had an oversized ball sac or something. The clients would be able to tell whether I was circumcised or not.


    And that was now, when I was soft.


    What if I¡ª?


    Oh.


    Hadn¡¯t thought about that part. I climbed into the police uniform and made the two pieces of velcro match along both sides of my body. Coordinating that was harder than you¡¯d think.


    By the time I came out of the bathroom, only Louise and Liam remained.


    ¡°Perfect fit,¡± Liam crooned. ¡°See, Louise? Told you I sized him right.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll order more uniforms next week,¡± she said. ¡°If you work out.¡±


    I nodded, then reached back to pluck my ass.


    ¡°Tight?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Liam was close enough for me to whisper as Louise went to the main door and started putting on her coat. ¡°What if I get a hard on?¡±


    ¡°Then your tips rise, too!¡± Louise cackled, whipping out the door and disappearing.


    Liam pulled a key from his pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll lock up.¡±


    ¡°She trusts you?¡±

 Page 25

    He shrugged. ¡°After a while, she¡¯ll trust you, too. Just do a good job.¡±


    My mind was still reeling. ¡°You really do this. For real. For real?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°It pays well,¡± he said blandly, matter-of-factly collecting his stuff so he could lock up. ¡°The women have fun, and so what if I happen to get half naked to make a pile of money.¡±


    ¡°More like 95 percent naked,¡± I argued, picking at the string. Women wear these willingly? I felt like this was a form of torture.


    $700 a week for two nights, I reminded myself. I decided to learn to deal with the ass flossing.


    I quickly changed back into my own clothes and we left, Liam obviously comfortable with the building and the neighborhood.


    ¡°Need a ride?¡± He pointed to his car, parked in a spot reserved for the building.


    Never turn down a free ride at five in the morning. ¡°Hell yes. Trevor and Joe¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°I know where you live.¡± He rolled his eyes and started to say something, then finally did. ¡°You and Amy...?¡±


    ¡°Me and Amy what?¡±


    ¡°You guys hook up?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    A funny look, like nostalgia and regret mixed with happiness and relief, crossed his face. ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Your approval means so much to me.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off. You were such a douche to her.¡±


    ¡°No shit.¡± Like I needed that thrown in my face after the night I¡¯d just experienced.


    ¡°I know you know, but I don¡¯t think you really understand what you did to her.¡± Liam¡¯s voice was tight and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. What the fuck was this about?


    ¡°Why are you butting in on this?¡± I asked. A simmer was starting in me and I didn¡¯t like it.


    ¡°Because she has been my friend since, like, forever. Since we were little kids.¡±


    And then I remembered. His dad lived next to Amy. Liam had gone to my school but spent a lot of time with his dad. My turn to get tense. ¡°She talked about me with you?¡±


    He cleared his throat. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    What did that mean?


    The car came to a halt at the intersection near Joe and Trevor¡¯s. Our friendliness had shifted into a guarded tension I didn¡¯t like. I grabbed the costume and got out.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, bending down and waving through the closed window.


    ¡°No prob,¡± he said without making eye contact. The twin red glowing eyes of his rear lights stayed in my eyesight like a visual echo, long after he was gone.


    The walk to the apartment felt like I carried blocks of concrete in my knees.


    Even though I scored the job, I still needed to make some money over the next few weeks before the first paycheck would come in. Tips would help, sure, but right now, I needed cash in hand. A few days earlier, before I¡¯d imagined I¡¯d be interviewed and hired like this, I¡¯d found a labor gig on Craigslist. You could go on there and find just about anything that would pay you on the spot. I stayed away from the illegal and the illicit, although the irony that I¡¯d just secured a stable job as a stripper wasn¡¯t beyond me. If you had strong arms and weren¡¯t afraid to take a few risks, you could go on Craigslist and find somebody who needed a couple of guys and a truck, and would pay you twenty, fifty, one-hundred bucks on the spot. Plus lunch, if I was lucky.


    I didn¡¯t have a truck, but I had strong arms. More importantly, I had a cell phone bill to pay, and this pesky little thing called hunger. The phone buzzed in my pocket and I patted it, pulled it out, hoping it was Amy. It was Darla, though, texting me, You with Amy?


    I texted back, No, why?


    Amy left her tablet at the bar last night. Can I give it to you to give to her?


    I wouldn¡¯t be done with this job for hours. A full day. I can¡¯t give it to her ¡®til tomorrow I replied.


    K, Darla sent back quickly. What¡¯s her number? I¡¯ll call her.


    I entered the number, but added, It¡¯s 6AM, too early, don¡¯t call her.


    K. I¡¯ll drop it in her mailbox on my way to work. What¡¯s the address?


    I texted it back, and then added, if you do see her, tell her I said hi.


    You tell her, was all Darla wrote back, with a little smiley face.


    I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and resumed my wait for the dude with the truck to show up, so I could spend the next eight hours helping someone move from the Back Bay out to Weston, one of the tonier suburbs of Boston. At the end of the day I¡¯d walk home with about a hundred and twenty bucks, and that was the kind of security I needed. That and money for coffee. And food.


    This $120 hauling boxes and furniture would save my ass until my first paycheck. I really needed stripping with Liam to work out, so I could hope this was the last Craigslist gig I¡¯d ever need.


    I didn¡¯t want Amy to know just how on the edge I lived. It was shameful, a shame I needed to hide.


    As a big, white box truck pulled up, and two guys named Jose and Paolo shook my hand and smiled, I climbed in, ready to go off and make my own security. To make myself worthy.


    Amy


    The first thin ribbon of ultra-bright morning sunshine had aimed itself straight for my left eye to torture me. Turning over helped, but then I found myself staring at the back of the door, remembering Sam leaving last night, how his jeans cupped his ass as he turned the corner, the way his hands had¡ª


    And there is was.


    The female equivalent of a hard on.


    Oh, we get them. It¡¯s a gentle throbbing and wet warmth that tells us we¡¯re ready for orgasm. Now, please.


    And please, sir, may I have another?


    You think blue balls are bad?


    Try blue clit.


    Wait. That sounds like some kind of STD. Nevermind.


    The only surefire way to handle the throbbing is to rub one off. Masturbate. Self-pleasure. Pick your term, but it all boils down to taking arousal and translating it into an orgasm, followed by ice cream and a lengthy stretch of time choosing not to worry about the possible pathology of having seventeen sex toys to choose from.


    Which collection was now in my closet, among the other still-packed boxes. The boxes were four across, three deep, and six high. A giant block of crap I¡¯d probably never really need, but carried through life with me because it contained keys to my identity.


    Except the small white file box labeled ¡°Philosophy Papers¡± as camouflage. Anyone looking in there would think I was a professional tester for Adam and Eve. Which should definitely be a real job. Because maybe Library Science wasn¡¯t going to cut it....


    Opening the closet, I search the first layer of boxes. Nope.


    Unloading every box seemed ridiculous, and would take too long, besides¡ªShe Who Rhymes With Delores was screaming for some attention and dreams about Sam¡¯s tongue on her. That was the problem with real-life sex: it never sated her.


    It just whetted her appetite.


    And now that she¡¯d had the Holy Grail of encounters with a tongue, she was desperate for more.


    I couldn¡¯t give her more of that, but I could give her my pink Rabbit. Its little feelers might calm her down. But....nope. No visual on my Philosophy Papers box.


    At some point in the move, had I misplaced my sex toys? A panic threatened to creep in. What if I¡¯d left them at home with my mother? Scrambling to check, I began unloading boxes.


    Throb.


    Three boxes.


    Scream.


    Seven boxes.


    I will not be ignored!


    Shit. A few more boxes and my apartment would be impassable. Plus my angry clit would be boiling a bunny in a pot at this rate.


    Then I remembered my smartphone.


    I¡¯d downloaded a vibrator app a few weeks ago, just for fun and because¡ªseriously? How cool is it that some techie decided to invest the time to write the code for THAT instead of yet another tipping or weight loss app.


    The $9 seemed sooooo worth it.


    But I hadn¡¯t used it.


    Yet.


    Time to pop my vibrator app cherry?


    Yesssssss, my clit whispered. My precious.......


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting a clit ring,¡± I argued back. ¡°It¡¯s just a vibrating phone.¡±


    I was arguing with my genitals the way people talk to their cats.


    That¡¯s how desperate I was.


    I found my phone and checked the lock on my front door. Doesn¡¯t every woman do that? No one wants to be walked in on while masturbating. That would be worse than being caught reading dinosaur porn.


    Or admitting you wrote some.


    Getting comfortable is totally different when you masturbate with a sex toy, because there really is no prelude. It¡¯s pretty much bzzzzzz and ahhhhhhhh. There¡¯s no foreplay, no kisses, no hairpulling with a vibrator.


    It¡¯s a business transaction.


    The phone was warm in my hand and I found my way to the app, which had a dizzying array of choices. Pulse. Speed of pulse. Patterns. Pre-programmed patterns. Control of vibrator app by another user.


    Good grief. I wanted an orgasm, not an orgy. I set the app to a steady buzz and lowered the corner of my phone to my clit.


    Ohhhhh mmmmyyyy.


    Wet within seconds, my body responded to the touch, mind instantly flooded with thoughts of Sam. How his head had been between my legs, his tongue on me, mouth making love the way I knew his body wanted to.


    Sam Sam Sam.


    The pulse of my clit met the vibrations of the warm metal and I stroked up and down, moving the slick of my juices up to my clit, loving the feel. A growing, full-body flush told me I was close, and as always, I craved something in me¡ªthe vibrator, so my wet vaginal muscles could clamp down, making the combination of muscles create a more powerful orgasm.


    As the frenzy of an extremely fast climax built in me, catching me breathless, my mind flooded with thoughts of Sam¡¯s touch, his mouth, his body, his everything, and I moved the phone down, pushing it into me just a little, my body wanting more, more, more, to imagine it was Sam entering me, the tantalizing touch of the vibrations and the pressure of the slim phone giving me the deep touch I so wanted. There is this one spot, about an inch inside and up to the top, off at an angle that is so exquisite, so perfect when touched, and if I could only¡ª


    And then¡ªan exploding, thrashing orgasm that made one arm reach up to my pillow to muffle my screams, my hip twisting sideways, the hand holding the phone slipping on my juices and then¡ª


    Oh, no.


    No no no no no no NO.


    My phone was IN me.


    Buzzing away.


    I sat up and nearly screamed. Impossible. Impossible!


    INCONCEIVABLE.


    Who loses their smartphone in their vagina? Not me.


    Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.


    I stood and squatted, reaching my fingers in. It was at a weird angle, pressing under my pubic bone. My fingers were too slippery, so I wiped them on the bedspread and tried again, bearing down.


    Nope.


    Among my other undiscovered sexual frontiers, I had never, in fact, put an entire smartphone inside myself. I¡¯m sure I¡¯m not alone in that regard. That damn vibrator app was used by millions of women, many of them highly intelligent and analytical, and perfectly reasonable, rational human beings, who were simply trying to use a device that was manufactured to advance the cause of women¡¯s pleasure, just like me.


    I would say every single fucking one of them, except for me, had managed to use that app appropriately and not get their fucking smartphone trapped in their vagina.


    If I had any doubt whether an entire fist can really fit inside a woman¡¯s vagina (other than in those cable television birthing shows where the midwife shoved her arm in all the way to the elbow), I now knew the answer is YES.

 Page 26

    Especially when my smartphone is in there.


    I couldn¡¯t pull it out.Advertisement


    Bbbbzzzzzzzzzz.


    A cold horror set in as minutes ticked by and I Could.Not.Get.It.Out. I went to the toilet and tried to push it out. It could land in the toilet and find its way through the sewers of Boston to float out into the ocean and wash up on the shores of Provincetown for all I cared at this point.


    Moisture damage was probably a given by now anyway.


    But¡ªnope.


    I lay back on the floor and pushed.


    Nothing.


    I wiggled and waggled and twisted and turned like I was a contortionist auditioning in front of a very naughty Howie Mandel.


    Nada.


    The bottle of lube beckoned, so I poured an unholy amount all over my naked mons, putting the bottle¡¯s top in my vagina and squeezing. For a brief second, as I let go, it shifted inside me a few millimeters and I panicked, pulling it out fast, as if having that stuck in there was somehow worse.


    The lube did nothing but leave a stain on my floor.


    And then, someone knocked on my front door. I froze. Oh, sweet, merciful Jesus, who in the hell could that be, right here, right now? I stayed in place and stood naked from the waist down, in my own apartment, in horror. No way could I answer the knocking with my vagina humming like a demented version of a song out of Glee.


    I looked around and found my underwear and yoga pants, and yanked them on as quickly as I could, wincing as I bent and turned, unaccustomed to having an entire smartphone up my snatch.


    ¡°Amy!¡± A very familiar, sickeningly familiar, voice came through my door. A voice with an Ohio accent.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! ¡°Amy? You in there? I was gonna drop this off but your mailbox isn¡¯t labeled.¡±


    Uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh. I froze and stood there like a toddler with a loaded diaper, bowlegged as if I¡¯d just ridden a horse for five miles across a rocky stretch of mountain at a forty-five degree angle, being chased by a mountain lion. I would just keep quiet and she¡¯d go away.


    Bzzzzzz. The only way to stop the damn app was to turn it off. Slipping my pants down and squatting, I shoved as many fingers as I could inside myself and frantically tapped the glass side, Squish¡ªtap. Squish¡ªtap. Crying without tears, I succeeded on the third try.


    No more humming. I¡¯d turned the app off.


    And then, my pelvis buzzed. WTF? Was this some kind of super-BDSM vibrator app, one that turned Siri into a dominatrix? Did she decide when I was done? Thank you, Mistress, may I have another?


    My addled brain quickly put together that Darla was texting me. Oh, dear God, this had just gone from disgustingly bad to horrifically worse.


    Bzzzzz!


    ¡°No luck,¡± I heard Darla mutter to herself. Good, good, go away, go away, I thought, standing there, my knees bent at an unnatural angle, my body wracked by the thought that she was texting me and making my g-spot go nuts. And then the distinct ringtone of Call Me Maybe came out of my crotch. Of all the ringtones to pick.


    ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± I heard her say as the knocking started again.


    ¡°Amy, you in there? I hear your phone buzzing! Amy? Amy?¡± Her tone of voice had become concerned. Midwesterners were so weird. Maybe I wasn¡¯t in a place to judge, though.


    Maybe I could just get her to go away if I answered the door and let her know I was fine. I ran my fingers through my hair and took a step. Ow. Another step. Ow. Another step. Shift. Huah! Lurching step by step like a drug smuggler with a bag of cocaine up my ass, I decided no payoff would be enough for me to be a drug coyote. It hadn¡¯t been an aspiration of mine anyway, but it was now official policy. Opening the door was an act of extreme faith. Or stupidity. I don¡¯t think there was much of a difference at this point.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I said, a little too brightly. ¡°Hi, Darla! come on in!¡±


    Her eyebrows went from concerned furrow to surprised arches and back down to suspicious scrunch. ¡°Um. Okay. Are you all right?¡± she said, stepping inside. I stayed near the door, as much to keep her from deciding to get comfortable as to keep from making myself more uncomfortable by walking. We were weirdly close together, but I pretended everything was normal.


    The flip phone in her hand looked like a cat-o-nine-tails from my current perspective, and I was delighted to see her shove it in her back pocket. My stupid brain took a second to think, You can text with a phone that old? That¡¯s pretty amazing.


    ¡°Uh, sure, yeah, totally okay! Is there something...you, uh...what brings you by?¡±


    She reached into a rather large backpack and pulled out an all-too-familiar object. My tablet.


    ¡°Did I leave that at the bar?¡± I asked. I took it from her and then turned to put it on the nightstand, and came to a dead halt, flinching. Lurch. Lurch. Lurch. I walked over.


    Darla was simultaneously surveying the boxes piled around the futon on the floor, and watching me mince around. ¡°Amy? Are you sure you¡¯re okay? You¡¯re walking like¡­Did you...hurt your hoohaw?¡±


    ¡°My what?¡±


    ¡°Your...you know.¡± She gestured to the crotch area. ¡°Your woman parts.¡±


    ¡°You mean my vagina?¡±


    ¡°Any of it,¡± she said. ¡°Vagina, vulva, clitoris. Whatever. You okay?¡± And then her face changed. ¡°Oh, did you have a really good night of sex? Did I interrupt somethin¡¯? Is there a guy in your bathroom? Oh, shit, I¡¯ll get goin¡¯.¡±


    If my wits had been present, I would have told her, ¡°Yes, there is a guy in the bathroom and please get the fuck out, now.¡± Except my wits weren¡¯t with me. Hell, if they had been, I wouldn¡¯t have been standing there with Steve Jobs¡¯ baby midway to my womb. ¡°No, no, I don¡¯t have a guy...no, no.¡±


    ¡°Well, then,¡± she leaned in, ¡°you got a yeast problem? ¡¯Cuz,¡± she twisted the backpack around to her hip and began to rummage in it, whispering, ¡°I have a coupon you can use¡­¡±


    I looked around the hundred square feet we were in and said, ¡°There¡¯s no one else here, so you don¡¯t have to whisper.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I was just trying to be, you know, modest.¡±


    ¡°You? Modest?¡±


    Darla, still confused but suspecting she ought to be insulted, opened her mouth to say something to me


    And at that exact moment, Darth Vader appeared. ¡°Dum dum dum da duh dum da duh dum,¡± my vagina said.


    ¡°Is that your phone?¡± Darla said, looking around. ¡°Where is it? Sounds like it¡¯s under something. I tried to call or text you before, is that why you didn¡¯t answer?¡± She crouched down to start helping me look for it. Before it dawned on her that my place was too small for furniture that had an ¡°under,¡± the ring came again. As close as we were to each other, she couldn¡¯t help but realize where it was coming from. My pocketless yoga pants were too tight to hope she thought it was anywhere else.


    ¡°Amy, you¡¯ve got a vagina that can play music!¡± Darla shouted. ¡°You¡¯ve been hiding one hell of a special gift. Holy shit!¡± Phone forgotten, she stood back up, and looked around. ¡°All right, where¡¯s Ashton Kutcher? C¡¯mon. I¡¯m gettin¡¯ Punk¡¯d here, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    The Star Wars theme continued as she walked over to the bathroom door, opened it wide, looked in, slid the shower curtain open. ¡°Nope, nope. Come on, come on out.¡± She waved her hand. ¡°Get out, get the cam- where¡¯re the cameras? Come on. Come...on,¡± she stammered, looking at me. ¡°Where...are the cameras? This has to be a joke, right? You¡¯re, like, on some reality TV show here, because nobody¡¯s vagina plays Star Wars.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t speak because at this point my face was on fire, and I would have been deeply appreciative had the universe spontaneously combusted me, leaving only the smartphone behind in my mortified ashes. At least the ringing had stopped.


    ¡°Unless¡­is this some really bizarre cosplay body mod?¡± Darla asked, her tone turned down to sympathetic and conspiratorial. You know, Amy, it¡¯s one thing to dress up as Link, or Zelda, or Duella Dent, but sticking a microchip inside your pretty place, is...wow.¡± She held a finger to her temple and made a face of disgust. ¡°There¡¯s...there¡¯s some limits you gotta employ.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t ¨C I¡¯m not ¨C Ugh,¡± I sighed. I went over to my futon on the floor and bent down, and made a face as my knees hit the ground. My pelvis felt very very strange, and moving made it worse.


    As did the voicemail alert, I discovered as it started buzzing and made me jump and yelp.


    Darla freaked out, too. ¡°What is it? What is that?¡± She looked at my crotch. ¡°Oh, sweet Jesus.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± I said.


    ¡°Good, because I don¡¯t know what to think, but I¡¯m imagining all sorts of crazy ass shit, and I¡¯ve got a pretty good imagination, Amy. So, if it¡¯s not what I think, please tell me what it is. The truth can¡¯t be any worse than what I¡¯m thinking.¡±


    ¡°Well, what are you thinking?¡± I whined.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ you¡¯ve got a Star Wars dildo up your vagina or maybe a Storm Trooper butt plug, cause¡­¡±


    ¡°A what?¡± On the continuum of sex toys that could be stuck inside me, the thought that a Storm Trooper butt plug might be the thing that leapt to her mind first made me recoil in horror. Apparently, there¡¯s a spectrum of acceptable items to have shoved in one¡¯s genital area, and in my spectrum, the Storm Trooper butt plug was worse than my smartphone.


    Saying the words meant acknowledging what I had just done to myself, and of all the people I wanted to share that with, Darla was about 147,000th on my list. And then, the absolute kiss of death. The opening lines of I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer, the ringtone I¡¯d assigned Sam when I saved his number in my phone the night before, began to play out of my nether regions. He must have texted me and now he was calling.


    ¡°How is it playing that now? What ¡­.¡± Her eyes got big and she said, ¡°Amy, is your phone up your crotch?¡±


    I buried my head in my hands. ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± I said again. Those words were so anemic.


    ¡°I think you put your phone up your...twat,¡± she said.


    ¡°Um, then it is what you think,¡± I stammered.


    She inhaled, started to say something, then frowned, put her finger to her lips, started to say something, then stopped, looked out the window for a second, squinted, raised her eyebrows, looked at me again, and then said, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It has a vibrator app.¡±


    ¡°Your phone has a vibrator app?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Explain, please.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s pretty fucking clear,¡± I said through clenched teeth. ¡°My phone has a vibrator app.¡±


    ¡°So you can turn a $500 phone into a vibrator?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just buy a $20 vibrator and then leave yourself with a phone that doesn¡¯t smell like a porno set?¡±


    Sigh. She had a point. ¡°Do you really want to know the entire story?¡±


    That made her shut her mouth.


    ¡°Good,¡± I continued, ¡°I didn¡¯t think so.¡±

 Page 27

    She pulled out her phone and began to press numbers.


    ¡°Who are you calling?¡± I asked.Advertisement


    Bzzzzz! ¡°Ow!¡±


    She closed the phone. ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding.¡±


    I put my finger in her face. ¡°I hate you.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t hate me, honey, ¡¯cause I¡¯m the only one who can help you right now.¡± She held her hands up with palms facing the ceiling in a gesture that made me homicidal.


    ¡°What are you going to do, pull it out?¡± I spat.


    She snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t midwife smartphones. Have you tried pulling it out?¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯ve tried pulling it out. I fit my entire fucking fist up there.¡±


    ¡°Whoa¡ªdidn¡¯t need to know that. TMI.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and it¡¯s not TMI to tell you that I have an entire smartphone shoved up my hoohaw?¡±


    ¡°Did you, like, go in there and try to use something to pull it out?¡±


    ¡°Like what, salad tongs?¡±


    ¡°Well?¡± she said, making a face like it was something to consider.


    ¡°I have squatted over the toilet, I have reached up with my own hand, I have borne down, I have squirted enough lube inside me to have sex every day for the next five years and not feel a fucking thing. I¡¯ve tried everything, Darla, trust me. You don¡¯t walk around with a smartphone shoved up there and not try everything.¡±


    She looked thoughtful for a moment. ¡°Have you done a kegel?¡±


    I did one involuntarily on the spot. ¡°Yes, why? That¡¯ll just keep it in more, not push it out.¡±


    ¡°No, I just wonder if you could open an app with the right kegels, you know, like, work those muscles and maybe do some Pilates things, and you know, see if you could¡­¡±


    ¡°Get out.¡±


    She held up her hands. ¡°It¡¯s funny! You¡¯ve gotta admit it¡¯s funny, Amy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to admit anything. I have an entire phone in my va-gi-na.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, suddenly somber. ¡°You do,¡± she added, pulling her phone out again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare buzz me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna buzz you, but I am going to make a phone call that¡¯s going to help you.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯re you going to call?¡±


    ¡°A doctor.¡±


    ¡°A doctor? I don¡¯t want a¡­¡±


    ¡°Amy,¡± she said kindly, putting her hand on my shoulder. ¡°You need to go to the ER.¡±


    ¡°Noooo.¡± I¡¯d wiggled my way over to the bathroom. If I had a bathtub I could soak and try to get this thing out, but all I had was a shower. I couldn¡¯t go to the ER. It would show up on my insurance forms and my mom would ask me why, and ¨C the horror. I was about to become a Facebook urban legend. ¡°All I wanted was to masturbate and dream about sex with a hot guy,¡± I cried.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what we all just want?,¡± Darla said, philosophically. ¡°Don¡¯t you have any other sex toys, though? Maybe that¡­¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t find them. I have this whole collection, but I moved, and without my trusty Rabbit I¡­¡±


    Her hand went back up. ¡°Okay, again...TMI.¡±


    ¡°You asked!¡±


    ¡°All right, fair enough, I did ask.¡± She hunched her shoulders up in defense. ¡°So you downloaded an app and used your phone?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Aaaaannnd¡­ you pushed¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said.


    ¡°And then what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to say,¡± I groaned. ¡°I don¡¯t want to say what happened next.¡±


    ¡°What? You wanted some feeling in¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I waved my hands away. ¡°Now this is TMI.¡±


    ¡°Well, I kinda have to know.¡±


    ¡°Why do you have to know?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, I don¡¯t have to know,¡± she admitted. ¡°But you need to go to an ER.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°I just can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°But Amy, you have to.¡± She flipped her phone open again.


    ¡°So who are you calling?¡± I groaned.


    ¡°My aunt.¡±


    ¡°Your aunt?¡±


    ¡°Shush. I know a doctor who¡¯s a gynecologist, and he might be able to help. Give me a minute.¡± She dialed a few numbers and then waited. ¡°Hey, Josie,¡± she said. ¡°Yeah, On my way. Running a little late, I had to¡­I have to¡­.¡± She looked over at me with a sideways glance. ¡°There¡¯s something I have to take care of. Is Alex on call anywhere right now? Or workin¡¯ a shift at any of the hospitals? Oh, yeah? He is? Yeah, you know which one? All right. Yeah, you think I can give him a call? Phone¡¯s the same? Yep. Okay. Um, it¡¯s, well, it¡¯s nothing you have to worry about. No. No, I don¡¯t have anything that requires antibiotics. No. Yes, they use con-...yes, we are careful all the time. No, I¡¯m not pregnant.¡±Her shoulders slumped. ¡°I just, I have a friend who needs help with something he can help with. Yes, a friend. No, I¡¯m not using the word ¡®friend¡¯ as code.¡± Darla¡¯s eyes rolled so high in her sockets that she could have changed the light bulb in the light fixture. ¡°All right, fine, thanks. Bye.¡±


    ¡°Your aunt has great faith in you,¡± I said.


    ¡°You have a phone in your vagina. You do not get to make fun of people,¡± she said back.


    She had a point. I shut up while she made another phone call, to this guy, Alex.


    ¡°Yeah. Alex? Hey, it¡¯s Darla. Yeah, you workin¡¯? Yeah, I have a friend who has a, um, delicate gynecological issue. No, she¡¯s really a friend, it¡¯s not me. Yes. Do you and Josie telepathically communicate to torment me?¡±


    Her face soured, then lightened up. ¡°Fine. Yes, I am asking you for a favor for my friend. So, could...is there a way to come to your hospital and get her seen in a way that might be kept quiet? Yeah, can you help? All right, what should I do? Okay, text you when we get there? All right. Okay. I¡¯ll owe you. Yeah, I know. I know. I know! Okay, thanks. Thanks, Alex. Bye.¡±


    And just like that, in two conversations, Darla began to fix my giant mess.


    ¡°First, honey, we need to get a cab and take you to the hospital where Alex works. He said if we can get there quickly, he¡¯ll meet us at the desk and find a quiet exam room where he can take care of you.¡±


    ¡°Take care of me? Who is Alex?¡±


    ¡°Dr. Alex. He¡¯s a gynecologist, you know. An OB. And he¡¯s your only hope.¡±


    ¡°You say that like he¡¯s Obi Wan Kenobi.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°For you, he is. How else do you think you¡¯re going to pry that piece of metal and glass out of your delicate bits without having anyone know? It¡¯s not like we can call Mike Rowe and have him yank it out with a plumber¡¯s wrench.¡±


    We winced in unison.


    ¡°You get my meaning. Alex is my aunt¡¯s boyfriend. He might just be able to keep this all on the down low for you. Isn¡¯t that what you want?¡±


    I considered it. I did a mental inventory: I knew where my insurance card was, I had plenty of cab fare on me, I could call a cab in less than five¡­call a cab. Jesus. I could NOT call a cab, because Siri was pressed against my cervix, and I didn¡¯t want her to read out transit company options.


    This was sooooo not sexy. Dear God, I pleaded. Let me push really hard one more time and let it slide out and I will never, ever use another sex toy for my entire life. Ever. Please.


    Amen.


    I bore down like a woman giving birth¡ªor like I imagined a woman pushed¡ªand held my breath.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Darla asked in alarm, bending down to grab my hand as I squatted and grunted.


    ¡°Birthing iOS7,¡± I sputtered.


    ¡°A new version will be an improvement,¡± she remarked, pulling back.


    Nothing. If anything¡ªouch¡ªthe phone lodged even further at a funny angle, shoving against my cervix now in a decidedly unpleasant way. Fuck.


    I was being fucked by a phone that I¡¯d used to pleasure myself.


    This couldn¡¯t be real.


    ¡°Too bad I don¡¯t have a smartphone,¡± Darla said sadly.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°We could video chat right now. Me and your¡ª¡±


    ¡°Karma¡¯s going to get you for this!¡± I barked.


    The door beckoned, and I couldn¡¯t move. Walking out that door meant acknowledging that this was really happening, that I¡ªAmy¡ªthe intelligent girl who was erudite and smart had actually masturbated with a phone and somehow shoved the whole goddamned thing in my twat.


    I mean, really.


    Seriously? I had done that. I had, all in a frenzy over Sam.


    This was alllllll his fault.


    Right? If he hadn¡¯t been so open, so warm, and with that mouth on me, I wouldn¡¯t have had the throbbing, wouldn¡¯t have needed more release, wouldn¡¯t have¡ª


    Bzzzzzzz. I jumped a foot in the air, landing funny on one foot and making fireworks of pain spark in my visual field as I landed.


    What the fuck?


    Darla was texting me. ¡°Earth to Amy!¡±


    ¡°WHY ARE YOU TORTURING ME? QUIT TEXTING.¡±


    She cackled, folding her flip phone and shoving it in a back pocket. ¡°Got your attention.¡±


    ¡°You could have said, ¡®Excuse me, Amy,¡¯ like any normal human being.¡±


    ¡°My inner sadist can¡¯t help it.¡± She pointed to the door. ¡°You can¡¯t wait. Alex is only on shift for a short time. We gotta go.¡±


    A whine rose up from my belly, flurried and panicked. ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave. There has to be another way!¡± One tender step forward and I gasped in shock from how much this hurt. Practical Amy kicked in. This could be causing permanent damage.


    Time to admit defeat.


    ¡°You have to call the cab,¡± I told Darla.


    ¡°Might be faster to just text Liam and ask him to give us a ride,¡± she said, reaching for her phone.


    ¡°ARE YOU CRAZY?¡± I shouted.


    ¡°OK, no Liam,¡± she said through pursed lips, eyes shifting left and right as if realizing her error.


    I made it to my front door and breathed with little pants of air. It helped with the pain.


    ¡°You really sound like a woman on one of those birthing shows,¡± Darla said brightly, standing a foot away and occasionally putting her hands out to help, then snatching them back as if she were dealing with an unpredictable animal that might bite.


    ¡°Stuff a pillow up my shirt and get me a doula.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯m your doula, Amy,¡± she said as I locked the deadbolt from the hallway and lurched down the long corridor to the stairs, cursing every step.


    ¡°My smartphone doula?¡± The stairs were surprisingly easy to manage as long as I visualized my vagina as a field of broken beer bottles.


    ¡°You can name the baby Siri.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    With wide eyes and a hand over her heart, as if offended, Darla reached slowly for her flip phone, opened it and¡ª


    Bzzzzzz.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± I whispered as I stopped in place and rode it out, eyes watering from overwhelm and humiliation.


    We reached the street and a cab magically appeared as if Darla had called it via bat signal. We climbed in, Darla with remarkable dexterity and speed, me like an old lady with a colostomy bag and a bad case of herpes.

 Page 28

    The driver didn¡¯t give us two glances as Darla told him the hospital name. The car jerked forward and I leaned against the shiny vinyl upholstery, consumed by the scent of coconut air freshener and my own fear.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± she whispered in a stage voice. ¡°The contractions are still far enough apart that it won¡¯t be a problem.¡±Advertisement


    The cab driver leaned on the accelerator noticeably as the car weaved through Boston traffic. He made it feel like we were driving in a stick of butter.


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    Bzzzz.


    I was stuck in some deranged Stanley Milgrim experiment, which Darla would fail miserably. She was exactly the type to torture other people mercilessly, and cackle along with it at the same time, and unfortunately, she was the only person who could help me.


    Her and the mysterious Dr. Alex.


    With any luck, there was no Dr. Alex. He was just a lie she¡¯d created with her illegal network to convince me to leave with her. Darla was actually a front woman for a white slavery underground, and I¡¯d be sold off to some wealthy man who would find my vagina phone so repulsive he¡¯d have it removed and set me free and I¡¯d be that poor future librarian who was sold in human trafficking and come home a pitied heroine.


    Anderson Cooper would do a special about me.


    I¡¯d write a tell-all biography. Even be a contestant on Dancing With the Stars.


    That sounded so much better than what I¡¯d actually done.


    I began to cry.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, lady. This is the hardest part,¡± the cabbie said from the front, his deep, bass voice startling me and making the pain sharper as I twisted in my seat. ¡°This is the hardest part. That moment when you swear you just can¡¯t do it? You¡¯re about an hour away from holding that baby in your arms.¡± He chuckled. ¡°My wife¡¯s done it four times, so I know all about it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, sobbing. Darla¡¯s eyes met mine and I mouthed, You are such an asshole.


    She pulled out the phone and began punching numbers. My ineffectual swipes at her hands couldn¡¯t stop it.


    Bzzzzzzz.


    ¡°Asshole!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°That¡¯s what my wife always said as the baby¡¯s head was coming,¡± the cabbie chortled.


    Sartre was so right.


    Hell is other people.


    Other people in a cab on the way to a hospital to get a phonectomy.


    ¡°Here we are!¡± the cabbie said, jumping out to help open my door. He didn¡¯t bat an eyelash when I climbed out and obviously wasn¡¯t pregnant. I had some extra curves, sure¡ªbut no way was I about to deliver a full-term kid.


    ¡°You really hung on to your figure,¡± he admired. ¡°You only look about five months along.¡±


    Darla bit her lips and made a choking sound from the back of her throat. Mercifully, she paid and seemed to give a generous tip, because the driver smiled even wider as he sped off and called back, ¡°Good luck!¡±


    ¡°I really hate you,¡± I shouted at her.


    ¡°All the girls say that as they¡¯re crowning,¡± he called after us.


    We walked through an enormous lobby that could have just as easily been a foyer at a luxury hotel. Straightening up, I walked with as much dignity as I could muster, which wasn¡¯t much when you considered that my vagina doubled as a street sweeper.


    The walk across those fake-marble floors was as inelegant and torturous as any I would ever experience, bar none. But I made it to a small desk near the emergency room, when Darla pulled out her phone and began tapping.


    ¡°Please?¡± I begged. ¡°I haven¡¯t said anything mean to you for two whole minutes.¡±


    She looked at me like I had a phone in my vagina.


    Oh, wait.


    ¡°I¡¯m texting Alex,¡± she reminded me.


    And then¡ªbzzzzzz.


    ¡°You suck!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°That¡¯s not me,¡± she snickered. The familiar tinkling sounds of I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer sprinkled lightly into the hallway, like fairly dust.


    Juicy, slick fairy dust.


    ¡°Blame Sam for that one,¡± she said, not looking up from her texting.


    Within twenty seconds one of the hottest men I had ever laid eyes on turned the corner next to the desk, tall and muscled, dark and looking like he was missing from the set of Grey¡¯s Anatomy. Green scrubs, messy brown hair, and broad cheekbones, with dark eyes that made me want to disrobe and¡ª


    ¡°Alex!¡± Darla cried out, going to give him a casual hug. As he bent down his eyes caught mine briefly, warm, centered eyes that oozed intelligence and confidence.


    My knees pulsed with a tingly shock of shame. This was Alex? THE Dr. Alex?


    McFuck me.


    The world is so unfair.


    Alex let her go and took a step toward me, offering his hand. ¡°Hi. Alex Derjian. And you are Darla¡¯s friend...¡±


    ¡°Amy.¡± The softness of his hands surprised me. Long surgeon¡¯s fingers¡ªliterally, ones he used to deliver babies, gentle and strong¡ªmet mine in a firm grasp that showed respect. His eyes held mine a beat longer than needed. My hand stayed warm after he let go. It would take days for me to run through the scene again in my mind and realize that he hadn¡¯t used his title.


    ¡°Darla said you needed some care that is confidential. Why don¡¯t we go into this exam room¡ª¡± he pointed to a small one across the hall¡ª¡°and I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    Darla followed, but Alex stopped her as I went in. ¡°I don¡¯t think you should come in.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said. ¡°Um, you¡¯re right.¡±


    Anxiety shot through me. ¡°No! I want her there. She can explain some things.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I had anything to do with this, Amy. There¡¯s nothing I can explain that you can¡¯t.¡±


    The idea of being alone with Alex in an exam room, getting a pelvic exam and having to explain why that was in there was just too much. Even the humiliation of having a friend in there was better than having no one in there.


    Had I just called Darla a friend?


    Alex watched our exchange with a detached curiosity. ¡°It¡¯s the patient¡¯s call,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°In. Just don¡¯t text me!¡± I hissed as Darla scooted in the tiny room.


    Alex closed the door and leaned against a small counter with a sink and various medical instruments. He motioned for me to hop on the exam table. This time I really did need Darla¡¯s help; I had never tried to get on a pelvic exam table without really opening my legs, and it turned out I wasn¡¯t good at it.


    By the time I was actually sitting on the thin white paper that covered the cheap vinyl, Alex¡¯s face had morphed from gorgeously friendly to professionally curious. I had to think of him as a doctor. A savior.


    The guy who would excavate my hoohaw to get the hidden treasure.


    ¡°You¡¯re obviously in pelvic pain. So why don¡¯t you tell me what happened,¡± Alex urged, crossing his arms over his chest in a non-defensive gesture.


    Silence.


    Darla cleared her throat.


    My eyes filled with tears.


    When had my life turned into a demented episode of The Mindy Project?


    Saying the words aloud was just...I couldn¡¯t. Once the words were out this was all true. Until I said it to the doctor it was just something stupid and private and ridiculous, a cosmic joke. But actually saying that I had¡ª


    ¡°Her phone is stuck in her vagina,¡± Darla blurted out.


    Couldn¡¯t be stuffed back in, could it?


    Darla had made it true.


    I had to give Alex credit. He tried. He really, really tried to remain neutral and professional, but those beautiful eyebrows shot up under the stray wave of brown hair that covered his forehead. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, could you clarify?¡± His eyes bored into mine as he pointedly ignored Darla.


    ¡°Her phone¡ª¡±


    He cut her off with a reflexive hand, palm facing her, never taking his eyes off me. ¡°I am talking to Amy.¡±


    Nose out of joint, she made a sour face but stayed quiet. I couldn¡¯t see her¡ªmy peripheral vision went to hell with the stress of what I was about to say.


    ¡°Darla is right,¡± I choked out.


    ¡°Your. Phone. Is. In. Your. Vagina?¡± he asked, each word a sentence, the tone of his voice even and unyielding. No hint of laughter or teasing in his eyes, face or body¡ªthank God. Because I couldn¡¯t handle that.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    He swallowed so hard I could see his Adam¡¯s apple bob, but his face remained placid. ¡°I see. And you¡¯re certain?¡±


    Darla snorted. ¡°I think women know when an entire phone is shoved up in there, unless you have a vagina that¡¯s so big sex is like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.¡±


    Alex turned away, grabbed her upper arm, and whispered furiously, ¡°You are not being helpful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been plenty helpful!¡±


    ¡°Making jokes at her expense is not helpful.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon. It¡¯s funny and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Not to her.¡±


    Alex was my new best friend. Darla was back off the list.


    He turned back to me and bent at the knees to look me eye to eye. ¡°I understand why you wanted to keep this private. I have to ask some questions, though.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°How, exactly, did the phone get inside your vagina?¡±


    ¡°She tripped and fell. Oops! Happens all the time. Last week it was the cable remote,¡± Darla snickered.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± I said through gritted teeth, returning my eyes to Alex. ¡°Do you know what a vibrator app is?¡±


    ¡°You mean an app like on the phone? There¡¯s an app for that?¡±


    Darla groaned. Alex didn¡¯t seem to realize he¡¯d made an accidental joke.


    We both ignored her. ¡°Yes,¡± I answered simply. ¡°And I was using it, and...¡± With splayed hands, palms up, I gestured to my pelvis.


    ¡°Some women search all their lives for their G-spot,¡± Darla chimed in. ¡°Amy was looking for her 4G spot.¡±


    Both Alex and I pointedly ignored her.


    ¡°You were using the app to turn the phone into a vibrator and shoved it inside your vagina,¡± he said simply, nodding as if this were as plausible as saying, ¡°You were walking your dog and tripped and tore your ACL.¡±


    ¡°No! No! It wasn¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°How was it not exactly like that?¡± Darla argued.


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°I can make her leave the room,¡± Alex said coolly. I was contemplating that very idea now as the words were out and the truth circulated in the air. His way of handling this was so rational and kind that whatever fears I¡¯d had were¡ª


    Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


    Twitching suddenly, I slid half off the exam table and almost fell on Alex, who deftly moved to catch and stabilize me.


    ¡°Was that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not me!¡± Darla held her empty hands high in the air. ¡°Not me!¡±


    I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer played from my crotch.


    The doctor, bless him, finally cracked a smile. Darla joined him, and then finally so did it.


    ¡°It¡¯s like picking up a radio station with your fillings,¡± Darla joked.


    He quickly regained composure and took a deep breath. ¡°Step One is simple: Darla needs to leave. Step Two: I¡¯ll insert a speculum and we¡¯ll easily wiggle the phone out. Step Three is an exam to make certain there aren¡¯t any lacerations.¡±

 Page 29

    Having it logically laid out helped.


    ¡°I do need to ask you to do paperwork for the visit, but I think I can have that done after we¡¯re finished, and we¡¯ll just list something vague on the medical coding, Amy. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s an ICD code for ¡®phone in vagina.¡¯¡±Advertisement


    ¡°People must come in with worse,¡± Darla said.


    ¡°No comment.¡±


    ¡°This is the worst thing you¡¯ve seen in a vagina?¡± I squeaked.


    ¡°Oh, no¡ªI just meant I wasn¡¯t going to give Darla any lurid tales to take back to Trevor and Joe and share,¡± he assured me as he shooed Darla out.


    ¡°Quick comment,¡± Darla said as the door literally shut on her, Alex putting obvious muscle into it. ¡°When you put the speculum in, be careful you don¡¯t ruin the phone. Don¡¯t want to compromise Amy¡¯s chances for an upgrade.¡± If I could have thrown something at her I would have.


    Once he¡¯d locked the door behind her, I asked, ¡°Have you ever seen a phone in...there? Like this?¡± I asked.


    He shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t say that I have.¡± Mercifully, I had an excuse to lie back and close my eyes then.


    The procedure was remarkably easy. Note to self: buy a speculum to keep at home for emergencies. Alex removed the phone in less than five minutes, as if he¡¯d done this a thousand times before.


    ¡°Bet that was the easiest birth ever,¡± I joked.


    ¡°It was the most interesting,¡± he said, a kind smile on his face. I could see why Darla had called him. Nice guy, smart guy.


    Non-judgmental. I needed non-judgmental right now.


    Alex left the phone on a piece of paper towel by the sink as I sat up, my legs still draped under the exam sheet. ¡°You can wash that in the sink and tuck it in your pocket and no one¡¯s the wiser. You do have a few small tears and raw spots inside, with a little bleeding at the cervix. You must have been in quite a lot of pain.¡±


    A lump in my throat threatened what shred of equilibrium I had. I just nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry it hurt so much. I¡¯m just going to put ¡®bleeding¡¯ down for the reason you¡¯re here. Which is the truth. Some of it, at least.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Nice meeting you, Amy, even if the circumstances weren¡¯t ideal.¡±


    ¡°Nice meeting you too, Alex, and I really can¡¯t thank you enough.¡±


    And with that, he was out the door. As I slid one leg into my pants I heard a booming, joyful laugh from the hallway. I had to give him credit.


    He¡¯d held it together longer than most people could have.


    Washing the phone was no big deal and yes¡ªit worked fine. No worse the wear for nearly being my womb fruit. I found Darla leaning against the corridor wall just outside the room.


    ¡°Can you hear me now?¡± she yelled. She¡¯d clearly been waiting to use that one.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I groaned, rolling my eyes.


    She reached for her phone, then stopped. ¡°Can¡¯t do that anymore, can I.¡±


    ¡°You are a psycho hose beast.¡±


    ¡°I am your psycho hose beast who just saved you, sister.¡±


    ¡°I hate you.¡±


    She threw an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear. ¡°You hate that I am the one who figured this out.¡±


    The paperwork was easy to complete, and walking without phone pressed against my anus was a remarkably freeing feeling. After grabbing scones and coffee at a shop in the lobby, we walked outside and hailed a cab.


    ¡°Just think ¨C dating will be so much easier now.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°You just have to say, ¡®Siri, find my clitoris¡¯ and the guy will ¨C ¡±


    I punched her ¨C lightly ¨C in the shoulder as she laughed, a cab responding to my raised hand.


    This time I paid.


    And she was right¡ªI didn¡¯t hate her.


    Right now she and Dr. Alex were my favorite people.


    Aside from Sam, that is. A quick check of my phone showed three messages from him. All were just little check-ins, the kind of text you send when you¡¯re in a relationship.


    How¡¯s it going?


    Miss you.:)


    Call me. You free soon?


    Little check-ins that had bzzzzzed me to a new level of horror, but that turned out to be so banal, so ordinary, that the juxtaposition against what I¡¯d just experienced seemed surreal.


    Everything seemed surreal.


    Because it was becoming more real.


    And there¡¯s no app for that.


    Chapter Seven


    Sam


    As I walked toward the apartment, beaten and bruised from eight hours of moving couches and end tables and boxes, I had $150 cash in my pocket (the owners tipped us¡ªa nice bonus) and the new job lined up for tonight, so life was good.


    Amy hadn¡¯t answered my texts all day, so I jumped when my phone rang. Maybe this was her?


    Nope. Trevor. ¡°Hey, you got any ideas for a new permanent bass player? That new guy sucked.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to join an existing band,¡± I said diplomatically. The problem, as we both knew, was really that he wasn¡¯t Joe. Nobody would be as good with us as Joe. And we didn¡¯t need anybody dragging us down¡ªbut saying the new guy sucked was taking it a bit too far. ¡°I don¡¯t have any ideas, though,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s cool,¡± Trevor said, sighing. ¡°I¡¯ll give Tyler another chance. He definitely picked up some attention from the chicks in the crowd.¡±


    ¡°That means Darla thought he was hot.¡±


    ¡°Shut it.¡± Trevor barked. I¡¯d hit a nerve. And then it was his turn as he asked, ¡°So, what¡¯s going on with Amy?¡±


    Aha, I thought, that¡¯s why he¡¯s calling. Because who calls another person instead of texting? Calling was so 1990s. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I confessed. ¡°I have no idea. I just know that Darla called me this morning and asked for Amy¡¯s address, and I haven¡¯t heard a word since.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Well, wherever she is, and whatever she¡¯s doing, I think Darla¡¯s with her,¡± Trevor said.


    Aha, another layer to this. So, was this why Trevor was really calling? ¡°You can¡¯t find Darla?¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± he said, quickly. ¡°She¡¯s been texting me, but I just wanted to figure out what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°Is something wrong, do you think?¡± I asked.


    Trevor¡¯s voice was calm and soothing, not that I needed it. ¡°No, no, man. I¡¯m sure everything is fine. It¡¯s not like they¡¯re out fucking chickens.¡±


    Goddamn Trevor. He had his shit together; he could even laugh at himself. My snort died out quickly. Where the hell was Amy? If even Trevor was calling to find out the story, whatever had happened must be big.


    ¡°Amy hasn¡¯t answered my texts all day. Can you ask Darla what¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Already did. She said she¡¯s on her way home right now. No mention of Amy.¡±


    ¡°I hope she¡¯s OK,¡± I mused.


    ¡°Something bad go down between you?¡±


    I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. ¡°No. Actually, something good went down between us.¡±


    Silence. And then a burst of knowing laughter. ¡°Gotcha. Nice. About time, dickhead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a late bloomer.¡±


    He chuckled. I heard a series of clicks and swipes in the background, then Darla¡¯s voice. The phone went muffled and then Trevor came back. ¡°Darla said Amy should be at her apartment now, but she¡¯s not feeling well, so give her some space.¡±


    Confusion set in. ¡°If she¡¯s not feeling well, why shouldn¡¯t I see her?¡±


    More muffled voices. ¡°Darla said do whatever you want, but just know Amy¡¯s under the weather.¡±


    ¡°Under the weather?¡±


    ¡°Whatever, dude. Just repeating what she tells me.¡±


    ¡°¡¯K. Thanks. I¡¯m at the front door right now so see you in a few seconds.¡±


    ¡°Darla,¡± he shouted right into the phone so I could hear it, ¡°hide the sex swing and the cuffs!¡±


    ¡°Asshole.¡± But it made me laugh. We both clicked out and I immediately checked my texts. Nothing.


    Not well.


    Under the weather.


    Give her some space.


    Was this some kind of chickspeak I didn¡¯t understand? Code of some kind I couldn¡¯t read that meant I needed to back off? Or maybe she¡¯s actually not feeling well, I told myself, and I should quit worrying.


    I walked in the door to find Darla in a black leather coat, like something out of The Matrix, and Trevor in his underwear, He had a lacrosse ball shoved in his mouth like a ball gag. Darla held her palm flat against his cottoned ass and pretended I wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°You left your dirty socks on the hamper lid. Ten smacks!¡±


    ¡°Mmmmfff mfff mff mff,¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°Guys, cut it out,¡± I said, smacking Trevor¡¯s ass as I walked toward the bathroom to shower. My slap had more oomph to it than hers; the lacrosse ball shot across the room and hit the neck of Joe¡¯s bass, toppling it over. Encased in its black cover, it was fine.


    Peals of laughter from Darla filled the air. ¡°Told you he wouldn¡¯t be fazed.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve seen it too many times. Except, when Darla does it to Joe, there¡¯s always a strap on. You can¡¯t top that, Trev¡± I yelled as I shut the bathroom door


    ¡°I never did¡ª¡± was all of Darla¡¯s protest that I heard before the sound of the shower cranking on drowned her out. I stripped down and ducked under the hot water. Shower, dinner, and a two hour nap¡ªwith earplugs¡ªand I¡¯d be ready to report to my first bachelorette party tonight. That was my focus now.


    And a text from Amy wouldn¡¯t hurt.


    Amy


    After a good, thorough scrubbing, my phone had proven to be as hearty as my vagina. Darla had so helpfully made that claim, and now I couldn¡¯t help but think about it as the phone rang and I put it to my ear. No caller ID flashed, so this could be anyone from a telemarketer to my mom, calling from her office.


    ¡°Amy,¡± Evan said, breathless. Shit. His was the last voice I needed to hear right now. All I wanted to do was to answer Sam¡¯s texts and talk.


    ¡°Hi, Evan,¡± I said. This was not going to be good. The only time Evan ever called me was when he was in trouble.


    ¡°Amy. Amy, I have to hurry,¡± he said, his voice hushed and urgent. ¡°I need you to come and bail me out.¡±


    ¡°Whose house are you at and where¡¯s the car?¡± I sighed.


    ¡°Not like that. For real. I mean it, I need you to bail me out.¡±


    My voice felt like it had razor blades in it. ¡°Where do I need to come and pick you up?¡±


    ¡°Middlesex County Jail,¡± he said.


    I never expected that one. Not, at least, for a few years. ¡°Middlesex County Jail?¡± I repeated.


    ¡°Look, there¡¯s this really scary guy standing here and I only have one more minute. They¡¯re giving me the warning. You need to come and bail me out. It looks like my bond is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bond? What¡¯s a bond?¡± Click. Conversation over. I imagined him in some kind of holding cell with an old payphone and three burly guys standing around him, ready to reenact that famous scene from Pulp Fiction. No matter how weary I was, and sick of Evan dominating everything in our family, I wasn¡¯t going to abandon him.

 Page 30

    I also knew that I couldn¡¯t call Mom. I¡¯d never had to bail Evan out of jail before. Show up to a huge house party with vandalism and a bunch of drunk teenagers with Evan in a police car? Sure. Twice, they¡¯d been nice enough to release him to me. Evan had been warned by the local cops if it happened again he¡¯d be arrested. Had he finally crossed the line? What if it was something worse? How bad was this? What the hell had he done? And what was a bond? How do you bail someone out? I don¡¯t have that kind of money. Should I call my mom? My mind started to race, and my pulse followed suit.


    As if I didn¡¯t have enough shit going on in my own life, now I had to deal with something out of a reality TV series. Who do you call when your baby brother is in jail and you need to get him out? Calling Mom was out. Our grandparents didn¡¯t live in the area. No dad. No family. No friends who knew anything about this kind of activity. Fuck. I could feel my shoulders tightening and I thought I might actually start to hyperventilate until it occurred to me: I actually did know one person who might have an inkling about how this all worked.Advertisement


    Darla.


    Sam


    We were watching a rerun of It¡¯s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which was new to Darla. Her cackling at something Charlie and Glen did was great to watch. It was always interesting to see something familiar to me through another person¡¯s eyes as they experienced it for the first time. Joe was visiting his mom and dad. Darla and Trevor had spent the day visiting his brother, Rick, and Darla was cuddled next to Trevor, laughing her head off. I felt an emptiness in the space next to me on the couch and wondered how much longer I could wait before texting Amy again without looking like a stalker douchebag.


    Ten minutes seemed right.


    My nap had been fitful, two hours too full of might-have-beens and should-do-nows to be restorative.


    Darla¡¯s phone rang and she thrust her hand into her back pocket and dug around, finally pulling it out and flipping it open. ¡°Yeah?¡± she said. ¡°Okay, yeah Amy. What¡¯s up?¡±


    Why was Amy calling Darla right now when she wasn¡¯t answering any of my texts? What had been comfortable suddenly became anything but.


    I looked pointedly at Darla, raising my eyebrows when she glanced at me. In response she frowned, walking across the living room away from me and Trevor pressing the phone hard against her head and using a finger to cover her spare ear. ¡°You okay?¡± she said. ¡°Yeah. What? Why do you assume that I¡­ So you called me?¡± Her voice got louder as her tone became incredulous. And angry. This was not a happy conversation.


    I turned, throwing one arm behind the back of the couch, all my muscles feeling tense. Whatever was going on wasn¡¯t good.


    Trevor caught my eye and shrugged. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± he mouthed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± I said in a low voice.


    ¡°You just assumed that someone like me,¡± Darla said in a mocking tone, ¡°would be able to help you with this?¡± I could hear Darla¡¯s heavy breathing, her outrage taking over the room. Trevor grabbed the remote, pausing Charlie in mid-scream on the screen. ¡°Okay, al- alright, alright¡± Darla said, her voice progressively more compassionate. It was a tone that very few people could pull off, simultaneously pissed and nice. ¡°I¡¯m coming. I¡¯m coming, and we¡¯ll figure this out.¡± She flipped the phone shut, avoided eye contact with me, and addressed Trevor directly.


    ¡°I have to go. We¡¯ll have to watch the rest of this later.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked. ¡°Is Amy okay?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fine, she¡¯s fine,¡± Darla said, but the fact that she wouldn¡¯t look at me told me that Amy wasn¡¯t fine, that she was anything but fine. My mind raced. Was Amy sick? Was it me? Had she changed her mind? Had something gone wrong? Was this her way of reaching out to Darla? ¡°What do you mean,¡± I said to Darla. ¡°Why are you so upset that Amy called you?¡±


    Darla opened and closed her mouth so many times she started to look like one of those fish that you put on the wall and that sings when you walk by. ¡°I can¡¯t explain, Sam,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but it¡¯s none of your business.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going with you,¡± I said as Darla grabbed a lightweight sweater to go out the front door.


    She halted and turned to me slowly. The blend of anger and determination in her eyes stopped me. Even Trevor took a step back; they were that startling. ¡°Sometimes people have business that they don¡¯t want other people to know about,¡± she said slowly. ¡°Amy called me. Not you. So, let me be, Sam. Let me go and help her because I¡¯m the one who has to go in and clean up the crime scene.¡±


    ¡°There was a crime?¡± I said.


    She held up her hand, weighing her words, the expression on her face almost comical. ¡°I don¡¯t want to say whether there was a crime or not, but let¡¯s just say Amy is safe.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Trevor asked, folding his arms across his chest. He was just as pissed as I was, except it wasn¡¯t his...whatever, girlfriend, who was in trouble.


    ¡°Look,¡± Darla said, ¡°she¡¯s not pregnant, she¡¯s not physically injured, she¡¯s not...it¡¯s not as if she lost her phone up her hoohaw.¡±


    Trevor and I looked blankly at each other. Sometimes Darla¡¯s Ohioisms were baffling.


    Darla waved her hand, exasperated. ¡°What I mean is, it¡¯s not as if she¡¯s harmed, but if you don¡¯t let me get going, you¡¯re just going to extend her hurt. I¡¯ll make sure she calls you.¡± Darla reached out and touched my arm, squeezing it with assurance. ¡°I promise.¡±


    And with that she walked out the door, leaving me with more questions than answers. Leaving me alone to wonder.


    Amy


    ¡°You fucking piece of shit,¡± I hissed in Evan¡¯s ear.


    ¡°Ooh, your girlfriend¡¯s pissed,¡± said one of the guys in the waiting room as the guard brought Evan out. The guy held two fingers up to his lips and wagged his tongue between them. I rolled my eyes with disgust and turned away. Darla was waiting in yet another room. She¡¯d walked me through the bond process.


    It turned out Evan¡¯s bail was $7,500 which meant that somehow I needed to come up with seven hundred fifty cash, and sign over some sort of guarantee. The only thing I had with that kind of value was my car. Once I realized I didn¡¯t need it in the Fenway, I stored it back home at Mom¡¯s¡ªwith strict instructions NOT to let Evan use it. It was paid for, and the blue book value was just over $7,000. Between next month¡¯s rent from my checking account and the title of my car, I was able to bail him out. I didn¡¯t worry that the entitled little son-of-a-bitch would skip out. Evan wasn¡¯t the type to forge out on his own in the big bad world.


    I had to hand it to Darla¡ªshe might have been angry that I called her, that I made the grand mental leap that she was the one person in my life that could walk me through bailing somebody out of jail ¨C but I was right.


    She was. Keeper of secrets and finder of smartphone extractors, she also was the only person in my life who had any kind of experience with this kind of thing, or, at least, that I knew had any experience with this kind of thing. Darla knew what to say to the judicial clerks, she knew what to say when we called a bail bondsman, she knew how to tell me where and when to gather my things.


    And here we were, a handful of hours later. It was 9 AM, jail had opened, and Evan was barking bullshit in my ear. ¡°Thank you Amy, thank you so much Amy,¡± he said, hugging me. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe the kinds of assholes in there.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m staring at one.¡±


    ¡°Ha ha, no really. It¡¯s not like I really did anything.¡±


    ¡°What did you do, Evan?¡±


    ¡°Like, nothing!¡±


    ¡°The police don¡¯t routinely arrest and detain you, and charge you with shit for doing nothing. It¡¯s not like you were sitting in front of the grocery store selling Girl Scout cookies now, were you?¡± Darla cracked.


    ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± Evan snapped at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m your fairy godmother.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s the person who figured all this out Evan, so shut the fuck up.¡±


    He pulled his neck back in surprise as we walked. Evan looked like our dad; tall, lanky, with slightly stooped shoulders, and no neck. It was a strange combination. Most guys who are tall and slim have long necks with Adam¡¯s apples that poke out, as if announcing their presence. But Evan looked shorter than he was, and the hunching made him seem more ominous. With Dad¡¯s brown hair, just like mine, and Mom¡¯s blue eyes, there was a pinched quality to him. He had just turned eighteen, and all the juvie records were about to be put behind him.


    This one, though? He was so nailed.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I said, my voice like ice chips rattling around in a cup.


    ¡°I just gave some pot to a friend¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gave?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°You sold some pot to a friend?¡± I groaned.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I haven¡¯t done it a million times.¡± He threw up a hand to shield his eyes as we walked out the main doors, as if aliens were descending to take him away. I wished they were.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Darla said. ¡°You don¡¯t exactly announce that in front of cop central.¡± Evan glowered at her, but clammed up. She was right. A few hatted heads turned, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.


    ¡°I was in Arlington,¡± he continued, as if that explained anything.


    ¡°You were in Arlington? We...you don¡¯t live anywhere near Arlington.¡±


    ¡°I have friends in lots of places,¡± he said smugly. He grinned like a character in a John Hughes movie, the pastel-suited guy with the feathered, flippy hair. The guy you knew¡ªyou knew¡ªwithin three seconds of his introduction, was going to be the bad guy.


    ¡°Well, good luck getting home. Call Mom for a ride.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t tell Mom.¡± He grabbed my arm, hard. I could tell it would bruise. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time Evan had hurt me, but it would be the last.


    Darla grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand off of my arm, and twisted it. He howled in pain, and two cops nearby watched. I waved and smiled. They still watched.


    ¡°You touch her like that again and I will get two guys to come over to your house and kick the ever-loving-fucking-shit out of you, and your balls will end up so far up your throat you¡¯ll think you¡¯re suckin¡¯ on two cough drops. You got that?¡±


    All we could hear was our breathing, a straining, primal whine underscoring Evan¡¯s. In the bright daylight I could see how pale he was, how sickly, but his eyes were calculating and clever still. Not afraid. He wasn¡¯t actually afraid of anything.


    Evan wasn¡¯t real unless every speck of attention was focused on him. He was enjoying the idea that he could engage us in this nastiness. Everything he had done was based on some brokenness in him that would never heal.


    Evan would never heal, and Mom would never change. Like the slightest bump that sends a perfect ball of dandelion seeds reeling out into space and time, Evan¡¯s oily half-grin was all it took to knock off a lifetime habit of going along with this. I almost wanted to thank him for the clarity.

 Page 31

    Instead, I picked up my phone, went into my contacts and hit the most familiar number. She picked up on the third ring. ¡°Hi, Mom.¡±


    ¡°No! No!¡± Evan shouted.Advertisement


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m here at Middlesex County Jail. Evan was arrested on drug charges last night. I put up my car as bail for him. I thought you would like to know.¡± I hung up before she could respond, even though of course she¡¯d just call me right back.


    ¡°You put your car up?¡± Evan¡¯s smug tone returned. Bending over, with his hands on his knees, he hacked out a laugh so derisive it made Darla flinch.


    ¡°What¡¯s so fucking funny?¡± I barked, ignoring the phone when, as I knew it would, it buzzed.


    ¡°Your car is totaled. It¡¯s a junker.¡±


    ¡°What? What are you talking about? It¡¯s perfectly... It¡¯s at Mom¡¯s. I left it¡­it¡¯s in the driveway.¡± I stammered as I began to realize what he was really telling me.


    His laughter faded out as Darla gave him a death stare in triplicate.


    ¡°What did you do to it?¡± she asked in a cold voice that fairly slithered.


    I inhaled so fast and hard I sounded like I was having an asthma attack. ¡°You drove my car?¡± I screeched. ¡°You stole the keys from Mom?¡±


    Darla¡¯s face changed, her cheeks going pale, face turning sympathetic as she touched my shoulder. She said nothing, but she seemed to know something I didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal anything. Mom gave me the keys.¡±


    ¡°Liar! Mom swore she would never...¡±


    Stupid.


    Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.


    How could I be so stupid?


    Bzzzz. My phone was still ringing. I could see that it was Mom. I cut the call off.


    ¡°Go away, Evan. Just go away. I¡¯m done with you. Done.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Whatever. Not my fault you¡¯re a sucker.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re paying me back for this!¡± I screamed at his back as he strode off.


    A middle finger was my response.


    Darla gently nudged my shoulder and guided me toward the T.


    We were done here.


    I left the jail that day, climbed on the subway, and didn¡¯t say another damn word to Darla until we were almost home.


    My phone buzzed in my pocket off and on the entire ride as my mother desperately demanded me, and I ignored it.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go back to my apartment with me,¡± I told Darla, who was now buried in a magazine that she¡¯d picked up back at the station.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, shrugging. ¡°Sometimes it helps to have someone there, even if you don¡¯t feel like talking.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Know what?¡±


    ¡°How do you know that sometimes...no, not sometimes, that right now that¡¯s what I need?¡±


    Her eyes shifted a bit and she frowned, rolling the question around a bit with her tongue inside her teeth. Her nostrils flared, and then she said, ¡°It¡¯s what comes natural.¡±


    It¡¯s what comes natural, I thought. What came natural to me? My phone rang again. I picked it up and decided to face what lies beneath. ¡°Hello,¡± I said, knowing and holding the phone about three inches from my ear.


    ¡°Evan! What happened to Evan?¡± my mom screamed.


    Stay calm, I told myself, remember, you are no longer emotionally involved. ¡°I left Evan at the Middlesex County Jail,¡± I recounted. ¡°He might need a ride. The two of you need to figure this out. Then again, it¡¯s not like you can pick him up in my car.¡±


    Mom let out a string of words that made no sense. Darla held her palms up and made a motion with her head that indicated she didn¡¯t understand a word Mom was saying. Neither did I. The emotion was clear. ¡°What happened?¡± Mom finally said.


    ¡°Ask him.¡±


    ¡°Amy!¡± The chiding outrage didn¡¯t work this time. Nothing. The sound of her voice smacked up against a vacuum in me.


    Another string of high pitched shrieking and groaning came out of the phone, and it surprised me to realize that¡¯s all it was. There were no words, no sentences, and as Mom went on and on, I summoned my new clarity. It would always be like this.


    It would always be like this.


    Evan sucked all the oxygen out of the room, and Mom was right there, eager to enable him.


    I couldn¡¯t do anything. I could sign the title of my (trashed) car over as his bond and still get screamed at. I could probably give up my first born child, and it wouldn¡¯t be enough. As Mom babbled into the phone, a kind of comforting detachment seeped into my bones. I didn¡¯t have to play this game anymore.


    ¡°You can¡¯t tell anyone,¡± Mom fumed into the phone. ¡°My God, do you know what this would do to me at work, if people knew that Evan¡ªthat¡ªwell, there must be some mistake.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no mistake, Mom.¡±


    ¡°Well, how did he¡ªhow did he get out of j¡ªwhat ha¡ª?¡±


    ¡°He had a $7500 bail set, Mom. He called me, so I went down there and paid $750 and put my car up as bond.¡±


    ¡°You ¡­what? Why would he call you and not me?¡±


    Unbelievable. Nothing about the crashed car. Nothing about my rescuing Evan. Nothing.


    Yesterday¡ªearlier today, even¡ªI would have hoped that my sacrifice would have been acknowledged, that my mom would give me some attention for being the good girl. That was the dynamic that had been set up so many years ago, but now? Recounting facts for her was really just recounting the new emotional reality for myself. Just a series of factual statements, of transactions: $750, a car title, a statement of fact. No hope.


    ¡°I¡ªI mean,¡± Mom was sputtering, ¡°I¡¯m sorry that you chose to do that. You could have called me and I could have come down there and taken care of it.¡±


    ¡°I could have done that, but I didn¡¯t. Evan wanted me to take care of it without letting you know.¡±


    ¡°Well, you should know better than to¡ª¡±


    Click. If I wanted to be verbally abused, I didn¡¯t need to hear it from her through my phone, did I? She¡¯d planted her voice in my head,


    The phone rang again. This time I really was done. I turned it off.


    A day or two ago I would have started crying at this point, but again, once you let go of hope the only tears left are for the person you once were¡ªwho had hope. Without it, there¡¯s nothing to cry about.


    The train lurched a hard left, and then it stopped, bringing us to my station. ¡°You okay?¡± Darla asked.


    ¡°I can take it from here,¡± I said. ¡°You go on to Trevor, and thank you. Thank you so much for everything that you did. It¡¯s been a hell of a two days. I was really wrong about you,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Go on,¡± she said, folding her arms across her chest. ¡°I got all day to hear this.¡± Wisecracking Darla had faded, and the woman standing before me was more vulnerable. More human. I really had misjudged her, and my words didn¡¯t come easily. Probably because the feelings didn¡¯t, either.


    ¡°That day you met me on the subway? I¡¯d just moved to the city. My boyfriend and I split up a few months ago and my mom was...well, you know more about what my family is really like now.¡±


    ¡°I can only imagine. Hovermom with a blind spot for that piece of shit,¡± she said, nodding.


    I snorted. ¡°That is the most cogent explanation of my family I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± Seriously.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve been carrying a torch for Sam since high school,¡± she ventured, rolling her wrist in a circle, encouraging me.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°I have. There¡¯s so much more to it, and then there¡¯s Liam ¨C ¡±


    ¡°What does Liam got to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°Next time I shove a phone up my crotch I¡¯ll tell you about Liam on the cab ride.¡±


    A hearty laugh and kinder eyes were her answer. ¡°Get back to the whole ¡®You¡¯re the greatest, Darla¡¯ speech.¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± I said simply. ¡°You¡¯ve helped me out of two of the most bizarre, embarrassing, horrifying experience of my life ¨C in the same damn week ¨C and I barely know you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called being a f-r-i-e-n-d,¡± she answered, spelling out the word.


    ¡°Most of my friends, I...I couldn¡¯t go to with this.¡±


    She let that sentence just hang there.


    ¡°Thank you for going places with me that most people wouldn¡¯t. You¡¯re a very special person, and I appreciate everything you¡¯ve done,¡± I finished.


    The words that came out of my mouth were what I had hoped to hear from my own mom, and Darla seemed to recognize that, throwing her arms around me in a quick hug and then scampering off.


    She¡¯d respected exactly what I¡¯d asked of her. Maybe that was her secret.


    She just did what you needed most.


    Chapter Eight


    Sam


    Instead of getting the sleep I needed, I sat on the couch listening to Darla, Trevor and Joe fight. Joe had come back from orientation and their days together before he left for law school were numbered. If I could have been anywhere else I would have been. I needed to get a decent night¡¯s sleep, or at least part of a night¡¯s sleep. I thought I¡¯d have some success napping from about seven to ten before heading off for one of my gigs. No such luck.


    ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t like my Spam?¡± Darla snapped.


    ¡°It¡¯s disgusting,¡± Joe said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not disgusting. It tastes perfectly fine. You mix it in with eggs and Velveeta and it¡¯s good.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem, Spam and Velveeta in the same meal.¡± Joe shuddered. ¡°Ugh.¡±


    ¡°Well, what would you prefer I make?¡± she asked in a sickly voice. ¡°Would you like lavender-massaged chicken with a side of fingerling potatoes, a pound of which costs more than I used to make in an hour?¡±


    Joe grabbed the Spam can of the counter. ¡°This is glutamate hell. You¡¯re feeding us preservative hell,¡± he insisted, running his finger over the list of ingredients that was half the can long. ¡°Do you realize that some of these things are chemicals that are used in biological warfare? And Velveeta? Are you kidding me? You might as well mix candle wax with cheese.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just looking for a reason to pick a fight,¡± Trevor said, glaring at Joe.


    I knew what he was thinking: don¡¯t blow it, this is our last chance for sex before you leave. And Joe knew it, too, of course. But he was so wracked with fear and anxiety over going to Penn, over leaving Trevor and Darla, and over finally getting away from his parents geographical grasp, that he needed to distract himself, and for some reason he chose to do that by picking a fight with the people he knew would never reject him.


    I didn¡¯t understand the strategy, really, but my own approach, complete withdrawal, hadn¡¯t exactly turned out that well. I was just hoping that things kept going the way they¡¯d started to with Amy, and that maybe it really was possible to undo a complete clusterfuck of my own making.


    ¡°This is what I know,¡± she said, ¡°this is what I eat. This is my food. This is my comfort food. I like canned meat. I like Velveeta. I like macaroni and cheese that comes in a box and not the kind that is found at the hot foods counter at Whole Foods. I like the flavor and the taste of these things, and if you don¡¯t, you don¡¯t have to eat it.¡±

 Page 32

    ¡°But I have to smell it.¡± Joe¡¯s voice told me he was going in for the kill. I recognized this tactic from his debate cross examinations; he was looking for any hint of blood.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so sorry to offend your sensitive olfactory sensibilities,¡± she said, clanging the frying pan down on the stove. ¡°Make your own goddamn dinner.¡± And with that, she stormed out, Trevor following. He turned back for a moment to glare at Joe and mouth, What the fuck?Advertisement


    Being on the outside, I could see the clash. Joe and Trevor came from families with moms who acted like a McDonald¡¯s french fry was napalm. If Darla ever met Joe¡¯s mom, and that hadn¡¯t happened yet, (a point of contention for the three of them) she¡¯d probably die of the spot from being in such close proximity to someone who ate MSG.


    Deprived of the fight he¡¯d been going for, Joe stood there comically for minute, staring at the slammed bedroom door. He looked at me, shook his head and then hung it, walking slowly into their bedroom after them. I laughed; Joe was going to pay for that. Five minutes later, it turned out I was right.Man, I wish I had been wrong because I heard Darla giggle and then say ¡°there¡¯s nothing wrong with pegging, honey¡± and then Joe¡¯s muted response. I crammed orange foam earplugs into my ears and slammed the pillow over my head. There really was no hope for a nap, but I tried.


    You would think that living with a group of people who were part of a band that had regular nighttime gigs would offer plenty of opportunities to sleep during the days, but more often than not, sleep eluded me. The band was only part of our schedule; four people in and out of a small apartment where my bed was the couch meant sleeping was only possible if I poured concrete in my ears.


    Even silence wouldn¡¯t have let me sleep while Amy still hadn¡¯t responded to my texts. Two days of radio silence. I guess in the bigger scheme of things two days wasn¡¯t that bad. But other than saying Amy wasn¡¯t feeling well, and then telling me to mind my own business, Darla was uncharacteristically quiet about Amy, not giving me anything. Stalking Amy¡¯s apartment was an option, but one that left a sour taste in my mouth. Definitely not my style. My style was giving up, though. I wasn¡¯t going to do that again. Insanity is thinking you can do the same thing over and over and get a different result, they say.


    This time I wasn¡¯t giving up, I was giving her space.


    If Amy needed some time and space then I¡¯d give it to her. If she was pulling my heart strings to jerk me around as revenge for what happened four years ago, that was (a little bit) fine as well.


    As long as we ended up together.


    Amy


    Blocking out the world and watching the old Pride and Prejudice¡ªthe one with Colin Firth¡ªwas so much easier than facing that large, round, yellow thing in the sky. Dr. Alex had told me to go home and rest and heal, and I was finally doing exactly that.


    And if he hadn¡¯t actually prescribed a pint of Late Night Snack ice cream, I could still consider it medicine. Ben & Jerry¡¯s should be tax deductible.


    No one with a soul would disagree.


    I watched Elizabeth watching Mr. Darcy come back from his swim in the pond. There is something so perfect about the way he stops short, how her breath catches¡ªand how neither can actually reveal their feelings. Their true passion.


    That deep, inner yearning that makes you fuck a phone.


    Sam had texted and called and I wanted to answer but¡ªElizabeth! Mr. Darcy! Hellloooo? Sam could wait. Why deal with messy real-life relationships when I could watch other people squirm in fictional ones?


    So. Much. Easier to ignore real people for now. I was already ignoring Mom and Evan. Ignoring everyone was my answer.


    Besides. Sam had made me wait for years. He could survive a couple of days.


    In a poignant moment of incredible unfairness, I¡¯d found my sex toys within thirty minutes of coming home from seeing Evan. I reached into a box labeled ¡°Bathroom¡± for my hot water bottle, so I could curl up in bed and sleep off those two days. When I lifted the red, rubber bottle there they were, lined up so elegantly, like little soldiers ready to be assigned to their duty stations. Clit. Ass. Vagina. Nipple.


    You guys were AWOL when I needed you most, I thought, cursing them. Fuckers.


    My phone rang. Mom again. I shut the phone off and dug in to my ice cream. How many times could she try? A rancid smell permeated the room as I bent over from the futon and put my phone on the little end table on the floor.


    Oh. That was me. When was my last shower? Probably I should shower.


    The pint was nearly empty so I finished it off and jumped in the shower, dispatching with the necessities quickly. Clean clothes helped lend a fresher perspective to what I hoped would be a better day than yesterday.


    Time for a cup of coffee and some¡ª


    Bang bang bang. That wasn¡¯t just any knock. Someone was seriously wailing on my door. I jumped and bleated some weird sort of noise.


    ¡°Amy! I know you¡¯re in there!¡±


    ¡°Mom?¡±


    Sam


    She isn¡¯t answering my texts. My finger hovered over the send button after typing that. How much should I share with Darla? How out there should I put myself? I closed my eyes and hit Send anyhow, not caring any more. Sick with worry and feeling stupid, I just needed to know what the hell was going on.


    Darla wrote back, I¡¯m sure she¡¯s just busy.


    Busy. Yeah. K, thanks, I wrote back, hit send, and then shoved my phone in my pocket. We¡¯re all busy, aren¡¯t we? Me and Amy. Busy.


    If I just went to her apartment and knocked and found her there, would she freak? Crossing that line¡ªfrom being ignored electronically to showing up in the flesh¡ªseemed both perfectly normal and freakishly obsessive. In an age where people texted pictures of their lunch fries and checked in at every store or movie theater, having Amy go ¡°dead¡± online and by phone like this was creepy.


    I didn¡¯t want to up the creep factor, though, by intruding where I wasn¡¯t wanted.


    Wanting, though, is exactly what she said she...uh...wanted. Mixed signals were never fun, and Amy was sending them like SETI trying to reach extraterrestrial life.


    Creepy to go to Amy¡¯s apartment and check on her? I texted Darla.


    No answer.


    My whole body went tense and my hands tapped as much as they could on every surface possible in the apartment. I¡¯d already spent hours banging out a new song. Drums, coffee, long walks and cold showers¡ªdone, done, done and more than done.


    One option left.


    Amy.


    Amy


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I sputtered as Mom just barged right in as if she owned the place. ¡°I didn¡¯t raise you to live like this,¡± she scolded, picking up an empty Chinese food container and throwing it in the garbage. ¡°I knew something was wrong.¡± A quick look around made it clear I wasn¡¯t exactly Martha Fucking Stewart, but neither was the apartment at Hoarder¡¯s level.


    Yet.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong.¡±


    She jolted slightly and I couldn¡¯t blame her. My voice made me jump out of my own skin. I hadn¡¯t spoken aloud, other that talking to the movies I¡¯d watched, in two days. Gravel and bitterness poured out of my mouth.


    ¡°Then why aren¡¯t you answering my calls?¡±


    ¡°Because Evan is an asshole and you let him drive my car.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. Mom looked like an older version of me, with about the same kind of body, and smaller, more almond-shaped, eyes. Her forehead was higher and her hair perfectly straight. Dad had been gone for so long I only knew him from photographs. I had a touch of him in my face, but Evan had most of his genes.


    In more ways than one.


    Dad was an addict; that was yet another of Mom¡¯s dirty little secrets, another I¡¯d kept all these years. He¡¯d skipped out when I was five and Evan was one and no one knew where he was.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about Evan like that. He¡¯s struggling, and we all have our struggles.¡± She made a strange sniffing noise and hoisted her heavy purse up her shoulder. ¡°You should understand that.¡±


    Empty words. A few days ago I¡¯d have jumped like a Golden retriever puppy all over that one and at least politely aimed to please, but this time cold silence hung in the air like an angry fog.


    ¡°Are you here to talk about who is repairing my car?¡± That was all she¡¯d get out of me.


    She blinked and made a nervous sound in her throat. Her arms wrapped around her waist as if she were chilled and it made me realize how human she was. Mom was just as prone to mistakes and misjudgments as anyone else. Being forty-seven didn¡¯t make her somehow wiser or give her a better handle on life.


    It just made her older.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see to the car. Evan was hit by some crazy driver who¡ª¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re always crazy drivers. Ever notice that? And all his bosses are assholes, and he never has more than two beers, and he has you completely snowed, Mom.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t come here to check on me.


    She¡¯d come here to force me to comply with her lie.


    Because that lie was her reality. Some part of her needed¡ªon a pathological level¡ªto believe that Evan really was good and clean and trying so hard. That he wasn¡¯t like our Dad, and that she wasn¡¯t a failure.


    All this time I¡¯d thought I could be some sort of goody-two-shoes balance that would neutralize what Evan did, but Mom didn¡¯t want that.


    At all.


    The idea that Evan was anything other than pure of heart was anathema to her entire being. And nothing I did would change that.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to dignify that with an answer,¡± she said, and a balloon filled with injustice inside me, the one that puffed up every time Evan did something that that turned the spotlight on him¡ªit deflated. As if someone had torn a tiny pinhole in it, the deflation was slow and steady. No outrageous POP! No flying debris.


    Just the steady exhale of resignation.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to, Mom,¡± I answered. You aren¡¯t capable.


    Taking that as some sort of surrender, she went in for the kill. An expectation that I would feel guilty laced her next words. ¡°I have more than enough on my plate, you know, with Evan and these trumped up drug felony charges¡ª¡±


    ¡°Felony?¡± Holy shit. What had Evan done?


    ¡°Yes¡ªcan you believe it? All he did was give a sophomore a ride to a soccer game and the kid left a baggie of something in the car, and then...¡± Prattling on, Mom¡¯s one-woman act went on, her stage presence impeccable, the act maturing as the years went on and while the words changed, the play never did.


    Evan had dealt to an underaged friend. That was obvious.


    And now that he was eighteen, the legal system would treat him very differently. The panic in Mom had sharpened, and now I understood.


    Her baby had met an immutable force.


    The law.


    No hoverparenting, no called-in favors, no cajoling or wheedling or pleading would get Evan out of what Evan had gotten in to.


    Two wide eyes stared as I realized I¡¯d zoned out. Expectation painted Mom¡¯s face, the thick eyeliner around her eyes so ragged. Heavy. Old.


    ¡°You understand?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Understand?¡±


    Irritation infused her words. ¡°You weren¡¯t listening! Amy, you need to take out more loans for the rest of grad school. I need to use the fund for Evan¡¯s defense team.¡±

 Page 33

    ¡°Defense team.¡± Now I just repeated her last words.


    ¡°Yes. If we hire the right lawyers, I think we can plead this down or beat it. But with a $10,000 retainer and then more billable hours, this will....¡± The fund. We called our college money ¡°the fund.¡± Mom had saved an equal amount for each of us, and I¡¯d gotten decent scholarships for undergrad, leaving a lot of money in mine¡ªmaking my library science master¡¯s degree possible.Advertisement


    ¡°Wait¡ªbut what¡¯s left of my half of the fund is for my grad school,¡± I said slowly, the implication of what she was saying crystallizing in my head.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d say that,¡± she said with a prissy expression. ¡°You can¡¯t be selfish like this. Not now. I can¡¯t be asked to choose between my kids.¡±


    Oh, you chose long ago.


    ¡°And that¡¯s the only money that we have for Evan¡¯s defense. His original half isn¡¯t enough to cover the basic lawyer¡¯s fee¡ªwe need more.¡±


    Practically speaking, my first semester was covered. A tightness in my chest bloomed and closed, a well-worn pattern that meant my body was going in to fight or flight mode. Living away from home had made the physical sensation go away, but Mom¡¯s proximity and the monumental unfairness of this rooted itself in my body and made me unable to speak.


    Because this really was unspeakable.


    Knock knock knock.


    We both flinched and stared at the door. A rush of outrage took me out of my frozen contemplation and I found my voice. ¡°You brought Evan here?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she protested.


    Knock knock knock.


    I crossed the room and looked through the peephole.


    Two very familiar green eyes topped with copper waves stood inches away.


    Sam


    Nerves almost got the better of me. Slipping in her apartment building might be a bad idea, but I didn¡¯t want to have any artificial barriers. If she was home and didn¡¯t want to see me, fine¡ªshe could just say it to my face.


    The alternative¡ªthat she was hurt, or sick, or something had gone wrong¡ªworried me much more. The knock on her door held more urgency than I¡¯d intended, and the shuffle of sounds near the thick wooden threshold filled me with relief. Amy was there and alive.


    Exhaling, I ran through what I¡¯d intended to say as the click of locks unlocking rattled out into the hallway. All the words disappeared when I saw her, her hair darker than normal and slightly wet, her grey yoga pants curving in the right places and a pink v-neck showing enough breast to make my mind shove relief away and make room for far more carnal thoughts.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I said. Brilliant, dude. Nominate me for an Oscar for best screenplay.


    ¡°Um, hi.¡± She was nervous and twitchy, in an uncomfortable way, but it had nothing to do with me.


    ¡°Is someone there, Amy?¡± an older woman asked, her voice tight and angry.


    ¡°Hang on, Mom.¡± Amy stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her, walking into my space so fast I couldn¡¯t move quickly enough, our bodies brushing against each other. She smelled like vanilla and coconut. Good enough to eat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I haven¡¯t called or texted,¡± she whispered, avoiding eye contact. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ª¡±


    The door swung open, sending a rush of air over us, making the ends of Amy¡¯s hair fly up. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± her mom demanded, peering at me, a polite smile on her face. She looked at my face then at Amy, whose cheeks burned.


    You couldn¡¯t have cut the tension with a knife.


    You¡¯d have needed a chainsaw.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sam, ¡°I answered, reaching out to shake my hand. ¡°Sam Hinton.¡±


    Our palms met and she pumped once, then halted, her polite smile turning into a quizzical frown. ¡°Sam...the same Sam who...¡± Letting go of my hand, she turned to Amy and raised her eyebrows.


    Amy nodded and reached out to take my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine. A grounded warmth flooded me, arms tensing out of a protective instinct, my body moving unconsciously closer to Amy. This had not been a mistake. Coming here was the right thing to do.


    ¡°Same Sam,¡± Amy said, smiling at her mother with such ferocious enthusiasm she might have been auditioning for Mean Girls.


    ¡°I see. Amy, can I have a minute with you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Amy said sweetly, the incongruity jarring, looking at her mother with eyes I¡¯d seen only on women betrayed. Back in college if a woman looked at a guy like that, his shit would be out on the common with beer poured all over it within days.


    What did it mean to have a woman look at her own mother like this?


    Amy¡¯s fingers tightened around mine and I realized she was unhinged. Whatever conversation had taken place before I arrived, it created some sort of crazy dynamic here, and I happened to come along at the exact wrong moment.


    My specialty: lousy timing.


    ¡°Amy. Be reasonable,¡± her mom cajoled. My neck tightened and shoulders straightened, so involuntary I couldn¡¯t have stopped it if you¡¯d tried to force me. I knew that voice.


    My mom had that voice.


    ¡°I am being reasonable, Mom.¡± The voice of Death incarnate might have been less devoid of emotion. I tried to remain completely unreadable, cheering Amy on silently.


    ¡°You¡¯re letting yourself be walked all over by an unstable boy¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± Amy¡¯s last word rang down the hall like a gunshot as she actually took her mother by the hand and led her to the door. Stepping awkwardly past me, Mrs. Smithson seemed to find me a safe target for her anger, because her face was like a dragon¡¯s, ready to turn me into a piece of crispy toast with one breath.


    Her mouth puckered into a tight starfish as she reluctantly walked into the hallway, and she sniped, ¡°The least you could do is call your poor father. After what you did to him and what he¡¯s going through.¡± And then she actually tsk tsked me.


    My what? What did my father have to do with any of this? Huh?


    Amy¡¯s gasp sounded like a sonic boom and then I found myself being dragged into her apartment, the door slamming as if Amy had telepathically commanded it, the locks clicking like tongues clucking.


    And then she faced me. The soulful eyes big as saucers lived on one half of her face, her mouth and jaw dragged low and long by conflict and despair. Her mom didn¡¯t knock. Didn¡¯t shout. In fact, the carpet muffled the first few steps she took away from the door, and then she was gone.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt,¡± I said, ready to apologize. What was that shit about my dad? The words floated to the surface but died in my throat.


    ¡°Sam,¡± she said, my name a broken word, cracked in half by a sob that made her crumble into a ball in the middle of her futon.


    I cracked in half, too, and took the two pieces of me¡ªthe two Sams, from four years ago and now¡ªand wrapped them around Amy, hoping my warmth and love and comfort would be enough, because it was all I could give her right now.


    Wishing it were more, I rocked her as she cried, no words forthcoming. Just tears.


    Maybe my timing wasn¡¯t so bad after all.


    Amy


    What had just happened?


    What the fuck had just happened?


    Had my mom seriously just come to my apartment to convince me that it was OK to guilt me out of my college fund to pay for Evan¡¯s drug felony defense?


    Our bodies began to shake as Sam did his best to cover every square inch of my body with his, legs entwined in mine, arms and chest pressed softly against my back, the steady rise and fall of his breath, in concert with mine, helping me to find my way home to some sort of inner peace that quelled¡ªfor now¡ªthe massive hurricane unleashed inside.


    Standing up to Mom didn¡¯t mean some big blowout fight or a screaming match. Being true to myself had been a surprisingly quiet affair, like a tidal wave that you can¡¯t detect without the most subtle, sophisticated instruments¡ªbut one that lurked fast beneath the surface, the accumulated force of the waves amplified by time, the energy so strong when it finally hits shore that nothing is left standing in its wake.


    Except it hadn¡¯t washed away anything but my mother¡¯s unreality.


    Gone. All those years of dancing like a marionette with its hair on fire, wearing tap shoes and a tutu, trying to please an audience of haters¡ªgone. The ins and outs of lies and half-truths she expected me to memorize like state capitals represented more mental real estate than any formal school curriculum.


    And Mom¡¯s standardized testing wasn¡¯t once a year.


    It was every.fucking.second of my life.


    Until now.


    ¡°I can tell you what it means when my mom wrings her hands,¡± I hissed, still curled in a ball, my hot breath mingling with Sam¡¯s. ¡°Or how to read a glance she sends my way when Evan comes to a football game at the high school, drunk off his ass.¡±


    He grunted, the sound an encouragement.


    ¡°I know how to word everything so that no one in our family looks bad. What to say when someone mentions a transgression of Evan¡¯s. Even that damn word¡ªtransgression¡ªis my mom¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been hiding from you because I was embarrassed¡ªashamed.¡± Memories of the phone in my hoohaw made me start to laugh, a loopy, deranged sound that made Sam¡¯s arms tighten around me. Most guys would have bought themselves more space.


    Sam dug in and held on for the ride.


    ¡°Ashamed of Evan?¡±


    ¡°Ashamed to be in a family where my brother just got arrested.¡± As the words came out of my mouth in a perfectly formed line, like little drummers on a football field at half time, the steam dissipated. They had no power, no oooomph, no magic hold over me. I was stating a fact. Not opening myself up to judgment.


    ¡°Your brother did that. Not you.¡±


    I sniffed and realized I was crying, still. Wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve, I laughed, the sound pure and mature, the chortle of someone older than their years. ¡°I know that. And you know that. But Mom has spent my entire life catering to the least reasonable person in the room.¡±


    ¡°And today she thought that was you,¡± he whispered.


    Thud.


    There it was again. He knew me so well. My jaw dropped as Sam nailed it.


    ¡°Is that why she gave up quietly?¡± I asked. He shrugged, pulling my arms up a bit with the movement, making me unwind a bit and stretch out, finally meeting his eyes.


    Kindness. Kindness and acceptance and a touch of something I¡¯d seen in Dr. Alex.


    Goodness. Untouched, untainted goodness.


    Sam¡¯s fingertips brushed my damp hair out of my eyes, pulling a strand that had been caught in my mouth. ¡°Just because your mother wants to hook you into her created reality doesn¡¯t mean you have to oblige.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°I know whereof I speak.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡± New territory with Sam. He¡¯d opened up that night we¡¯d reconnected but the distance between our emotional realities had widened. My fault for some of that, but Sam¡¯s, too.


    ¡°I told you what happened after the debate. My dad and mom have their own fucked up version of how life¡¯s supposed to be. I get it.¡±


    ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°Amy, there¡¯s way more fakery back home than you¡¯d ever imagine.¡± His voice was tight and I could feel him slipping away.

 Page 34

    ¡°I¡¯ve been too weak to fight it,¡± I confessed. No more.


    ¡°Be weak. Be strong,¡± he implored, as if asking me to have those emotional states right here, right now, an urgency in his voice and body that made me lean in. ¡°Each of us should be able to be both whenever we need to be. The problem is that you don¡¯t get to pick and choose when you get to be weak or strong. Life doesn¡¯t work that way. It¡¯s unfair and cruel and the best you can do is to recognize that fact and shore yourself up. Where it gets hard is when you need to be weak and can¡¯t. Then it¡¯s brutal. You go into a core inside yourself where you build walls and feel like telling the world to fuck off because you don¡¯t get what you desperately need.¡±Advertisement


    He sighed, ran his shaking hand through his hair and looked at me with eyes like a caged animal¡¯s, practically begging for release. I felt so helpless. All I could do was listen. That had to be enough.


    ¡°Vulnerability,¡± he continued. ¡°Weakness. It¡¯s not a sin to be weak. It¡¯s the opposite, in fact: it¡¯s a black mark on society that we live in a system that disparages the very essence of what makes us human.¡± His intensity tapped into something deep in me.


    The only way to keep him here seemed to be with a kiss, one that could pin him in place.


    Forever.


    Or, at least, tonight.


    As our mouths met, my hands slipped under his shirt, needing to touch his warmth, his skin, burning to connect on some other level. As his lips caught mine, tongue gentle and then more urgent, I wanted to make the past few days disappear, to have Sam bury himself in me, to wind myself around him and be driven into, made whole through a communing of flesh and soul far greater than anything words could ever express.


    He took my boldness as permission, his own hands under my cotton shirt, and then he stopped, the kisses fading in frequency, the urgency dialed down to mere affection.


    ¡°What?¡± I murmured, confused.


    ¡°Is this what you want, Amy?¡± His hand caressed my jaw, the daylight showing in stark relief how strong and mature he¡¯d become. A man¡¯s full beard could grow on that face, a woman could see true love in those eyes, and a lover could know she was the center of his universe if she would let him.


    ¡°Ye¡ªyes.¡± He caught the hitch in my throat.


    ¡°Not like this,¡± he declared, pulling me in for an embrace. My cheek pressed against the well-worn cotton shirt he wore, hip against his taut abs, his shoulder a place for my head to rest.


    Sniff. ¡°I do want you,¡± I insisted. ¡°But you¡¯re right. Not now. Not like this.¡± Plus, my vagina just went through something no AppleCare plan covers. I was still sore.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want anything more than you want to give. Ever. And I want to be together for the right reasons. Not out of sorrow or sadness. I¡¯m not that guy.¡±


    Liam.


    Was Liam that guy?


    No. Just no.


    The conversation had drifted without Sam¡¯s knowledge into very dangerous territory. How vulnerable could I really be with Sam? How much truth could one relationship handle?


    It was more than being taken advantage of, because I wanted what Liam gave. That had been entirely different, a cleansing of sorts, like being baptized and reborn.


    Sam must have felt me stiffen, because he pulled back and looked at me, the question in his eyes. ¡°Did I say the wrong thing?¡±


    Sigh. ¡°How honest are we being?¡±


    ¡°Is this twenty questions?¡±


    ¡°You only need to ask me two questions.¡± Would he take the hint?


    Puzzled, he opened his mouth to ask, then got it. ¡°Ah. Then you need to ask me¡ª¡°he began counting on his fingers ¡°¡ªeight questions.¡±


    ¡°Are the eight anyone I know?¡± No one likes to play the ¡°what¡¯s your number¡± game, and yet here we were.


    ¡°No,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Any of yours?¡±


    Nodding my head slowly, I just stared in his eyes until he got it.


    ¡°Liam.¡± The name came out like a gasp. Then a growl.


    Then a whispered roar.


    ¡°And it was just like this, Sam. I was crying and sad and he made it¡ªwell, I asked him to¡ª¡± Why was I talking about this? Way to ruin a mood. Open mouth, insert foot.


    Or phone. Or whatever.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this now?¡± he asked. Dropping his hands from me, he took a step back, but didn¡¯t seem pissed. Stunned¡ªyes. Disturbed¡ªyes. But angry? No.


    ¡°Because you just saved me from myself. Again. It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t want to sleep with Liam, it¡¯s just that it was Prom night, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Prom night?¡± The question was a strangled grunt.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to go so bad,¡± he mumbled.


    What?


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    Bzzzzzz.


    My phone rang. I ignored it.


    ¡°Maybe I should go,¡± Sam muttered.


    ¡°Sam Hinton, if you leave this apartment I will take your favorite drumsticks and hide them where you can never find them.¡±


    ¡°I would do a cavity search,¡± he said, grinning.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse things up there.¡± And I had.


    He snorted, relaxing. ¡°Someday I want to hear what happened with Liam. Not¡ª¡± he looked sick ¡°¡ªthe details. Just...what happened.¡±


    ¡°And someday I want to know why you didn¡¯t take me to prom, but wanted to.¡±


    ¡°Should someday be now?¡±


    ¡°Can someday be someday?¡± The daylight was dimming and a wave of utter exhaustion hit me. ¡°Because what I really want most is to lie in bed with you and fall asleep in your arms.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you really want?¡±


    I nodded. Please don¡¯t leave.


    ¡°You¡¯re inviting me to spend the night with you and not have sex.¡±


    Nod.


    ¡°You are so weird, Amy.¡± Crooked grin as he folded himself into me and we stretched out on the bed, the light fading, giving in to the sadness that threatened to sweep me into sleep. Sleeping alone seemed like torture. Sleeping with Sam wasn¡¯t right. Not right now.


    Sleeping next to him, though...


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it.¡±


    And then we did exactly what we said we would, and I had the best night of sleep I¡¯d had in weeks.


    Hot breath tickled that spot between my earlobe and my jaw, the rasp of sandpaper on skin more a sound than a sensation, the scent of him blanketing me before the heat of his body added another layer, all hardness and burn. No moon tonight, leaving the inky darkness of my apartment to turn his face into less a shadow and more a phantom. Kisses turned to demands as his mouth found mine, his sighs and my moans a composition of passion that demanded the finest orchestra to play to its fullest potential.


    ¡°Amy,¡± he whispered, the sound of my name escaping his lips like a thread that tingled from toes to the base of my neck, his palms sliding from behind me to cup warm, swollen breasts, naked and needy. We spooned, his hard erection filling me with want, the press of throbbing granite against my soft skin like something out of a prayer.


    Sam pulled back and the withdrawal of his heat made me groan in disappointment, soon dispatched as he loomed over me, face serious, eyes burning with desire. Another kiss combined with hands that slid down my torso like he owned me, his thighs straddling my hips now, hands taking in my body like a man memorizing a sculpture through tactile transgressions.


    The air between us, charged with unanswered questions, unquenched need, and unleashed lust, tasted like hope. Sam tasted like man, the fevered focus of his energy straight on my body and what our twinned cores could do together arousing me more than he would ever understand. His fingers tapped out love in Morse code, while my mouth licked his shoulder, then kissed him so fiercely he stopped me, pulling back with a ferocity only a man unable to maintain restraint would ever exhibit.


    Good.


    ¡°Amy.¡± This time my name came out like a growl of a man possessed. His hips covered mine, chest broad and textured by muscles, each fitting into a groove with bone, the wide expanse of his shoulder tapering to a flat waist and an exquisite cock that was, alone, a work of art.


    The complete picture was a masterpiece.


    With one knee he nudged my thighs open, my body complying eagerly, so ready¡ªachingly ready¡ªfor him to fill me, for our bodies to join in motion and thrust, to take him in and love him like no one had love him before.


    He found me wet and wanting, and as he entered me he murmured words of love so profound that to repeat them aloud would¡ª


    Oh.


    Oh. Sam rocked his hips and hit a spot in me that made my insides flush with fire and spasms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his pelvis, guiding him deeper. ¡°More, Sam,¡± I begged, my palms traveling up his chest, over the pecs, and behind him, roaming his back as we rocked together, coaxing me to climax, leading me to a joining of our cores that would liberate what we¡¯d never experienced in unison.


    Wet, wild, and in a frantic frenzy as some deep orgasm built layer upon layer inside me, our bodies went slick with sweat and more, throats closed and then open, nerves and pleasure bundling together to make no beginning, no end, no boundaries¡ª


    No rules.


    Sam¡¯s mouth teased my nipple, nipping hard just as he thrust into me, the rhythm enticing and maddening, making all thought dissipate, driving me to a place where everyone in time and space had once been, a primal energy that I connected with through him, my fingers clawing at his back as the pressure grew within, so sweet and shaky and intense that when it took me¡ªas Sam¡¯s body claimed me¡ªthe force of what came as I came made me cry out his name in an endless loop.


    Sam. Sam. Sam.


    I awoke with a start, my body curled up against someone else, clit throbbing, one hand tucked between my thighs, though over my clothes, as if in sleep I were about to reproduce what my dreams had conjured.


    Confused, I sat up and peered over the shoulder that faced me.


    Sam.


    Duh. Of course it¡¯s Sam. Who else would it be?


    I blew out a frustrated puff of air, and as I ran a hand over my face I found it slightly damp, a sheen of sweat on me. That was one fuck of a dream.


    The operative word being fuck.


    My fingertips grazed the hair on his thick muscled thigh, but it wasn¡¯t a pass. It didn¡¯t have to be¡ªit was the luxurious, languid touch of a lover who knew that she could have it whenever she wanted. This felt so adult. So mature.


    That dream. Mine to touch. Mine.


    As my heart rate slowed and the very hot reverie faded, much to my chagrin, I found myself in bed with the real thing. Maybe, though, it was just what it meant to be in a true relationship with another person, this layer that you could only know when you got there. No one told you that this was the wonderful secret behind being vulnerable and real, and finding someone else who was willing to be vulnerable and real right with you. This.


    Those fingertips of mine that rested on his skin, and traced a line of sunshine that shone against the fine hairs? That was eternity, right there. As long as I knew that he was there unconditionally, and that I could reach out whenever I wanted to, it was like being immortal.

 Page 35

    So why the hell hadn¡¯t I slept with him last night?


    My coffee machine bubbled as I looked at him, puzzled. Sam rested across my bed, still clothed.Advertisement


    ¡°You got up and made coffee?¡±


    A sly smile stretched across his face, making him boyish and free. ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°Mind? You just get better and better.¡±


    ¡°I need caffeine to process that.¡± He jumped up, rumpled and fine, and came back with two cups of coffee.


    ¡°You like anything in yours? I should learn this,¡± he said, one corner of his mouth turning up as he blew across the surface of his coffee, taking a tentative sip.


    Gah. That mouth. What it could do to me. And I¡¯d turned down more of that?


    ¡°No sugar. Milk.¡± I stood and fixed my coffee the way I liked it and sat back down.


    ¡°Let me see.¡± He craned to look at the top of my mug.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°So I know the shade you like your coffee. I¡¯ll try to match it when I make it for you next time.¡±


    That woke me up. Next time?


    Yes. Next time.


    The smile we shared was (almost) better than any sex we could have had last night, and a slow-building warmth between my legs turned into a steady throb.


    But one that had to wait.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to sound rude,¡± I started, taking a sip, ¡°but I have a ton of things I have to do today and tomorrow before classes start.¡±


    His turn to sip. Two gorgeous, speckled eyes looked up from his mug, framed by eyelashes that curled up the same way my toes were curling right now.


    ¡°I almost forgot you were in grad school.¡± Sip. ¡°Why library science? Why not law?¡±


    ¡°You too?¡± I groaned.


    ¡°It¡¯s a logical question, Amy.¡±


    Sigh. ¡°You want the answer I give everyone else, or the truth?¡±


    He shot me a duh look. ¡°Lie to me. Please. It turns me on.¡± He nudged my thigh and then rested his hand on it, as if it belonged there.


    Throb.


    ¡°I lost the killer instinct.¡±


    ¡°Is that the lie or the truth?¡±


    Smack. I backhanded his shoulder and he tipped slightly, holding his mug aloft so he wouldn¡¯t spill. ¡°The truth. I decided I wanted to do something a little less...cutthroat.¡± The real truth was that I¡¯d learned a hard lesson four years ago.


    Too much ambition took away what you wanted most.


    ¡°It¡¯s not because of me, is it?¡±


    Damn it. Our eyes locked. How did he know these things about me?


    ¡°Yes,¡± I sighed.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    ¡°Not just because of you...of us...of, well, not us. After that debate I went to nationals and got creamed. Slaughtered. And I realized I didn¡¯t even really like the cross-examination. What I liked most was the research. So I decided I¡¯d go into a field where you get paid to learn things and help other people do research.¡± I finished my coffee with a few gulps as Sam set his mug on the ground next to the bed. He stood. I copied him.


    ¡°C¡¯mere,¡± he said, beckoning with open arms. Those strong hands cupped my ass and pulled me to him, the hard ridge of his bulge pushing into me, making me certain he was awake.


    ¡°I am so sorry, again, for what happened.¡±


    ¡°Sam, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll make a damn fine librarian, but you¡¯d make an even better law librarian,¡± he added.


    ¡°Someday,¡± I said. We both took deep breaths, layers of muscle relaxing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that,¡± he whispered, then kissed me so well my toes uncurled and the throbbing reached my ears.


    ¡°You have school details, and I have things to do. How about we get together at the end of the week?¡± he said, pulling away reluctantly.


    ¡°Perfect.¡±


    The next kiss he gave me as we parted ways had to last three days.


    And it really was that good.


    But the dream was even better.


    Sam


    Moms everywhere seemed to have decided to antagonize their alienated progeny in the same twenty-four hour period, because the second I got out of Amy¡¯s building, my own phone buzzed with my mom¡¯s cell phone on caller ID.


    Taking a page from Amy¡¯s playbook, I ignored it. Mom tried about every month or two to pull me back into the fold. I had to give her credit for persistence.


    Empathy, on the other hand? A big old F-.


    Shaking my head, I walked home, steeling myself for another sexfest. After Joe moved out, Darla and Trevor had become even more amorous. I had to wonder if Trevor bought stock in condoms, because he sure was invested in their use.


    At the apartment I found Trevor sitting on the couch in his boxer briefs, staring dully at some nature show on television.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s an animal,¡± he said hoarsely.


    I looked at the television. ¡°Elephants generally are.¡± Some British actor¡¯s voice narrated a segment on the feeding habits of African beasts.


    ¡°I meant Darla.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t keep up, Bro?¡±


    He actually whimpered.


    ¡°Sam! Your mom called,¡± Darla shouted from the bathroom.


    ¡°Oh. Yeah.¡± Trevor added. ¡°She called my line. Wants to talk. Told me to tell you to please call and not ignore her this time.¡±


    Fuck.


    ¡°And Trevor,¡± she said in a sing-songy voice, ¡°I have some sweetness for you.¡±


    Trevor held up four fingers and winced.


    ¡°Four times already?¡± It wasn¡¯t quite 10 a.m.


    He flinched and pointed at his dick. ¡°It feels like sandpaper.¡±


    ¡°Careful what you wish for,¡± I said, laughing. ¡°Random Acts of Crazy pull you in.¡± He threw a pillow at my head and I dodged it.


    Glad someone was getting some.


    And I was glad (OK, not entirely...) it wasn¡¯t me. Amy wasn¡¯t ready, and I wasn¡¯t going to take advantage of her like Liam had. Sleeping with a crying girl was a serious low.


    Not that I¡¯d consider Liam above it.


    So one of my bandmates, a guy I¡¯d considered one of my best friends, had been Amy¡¯s first, and he¡¯d done it on prom night. And never said a word.


    For four years.


    Was this why Liam had encouraged me to tell Amy how I felt? Guilt. Liam was capable of guilt.


    Fucker damn well ought to feel guilt.


    I had no right to feel this way. I knew it. I¡¯d blown it four years ago and if Amy sought comfort in an old friend¡¯s arms, who was I to¡ª


    Hello. Of course I was pissed. Being Mr. Reasonable was all fine and well when I was with a sobbing Amy, but right now?


    I wanted to punch a wall. Yet another missed chance at something special with her. Years lost. Prom lost. Virginity lost.


    Because I was lost.


    I¡¯d called in those few weeks before prom. Once. And her mom took the message.


    Amy never called back.


    We¡¯re all lost in our own ways.


    Bzzzzzz. My mom.


    Especially my own mother.


    Knowing I shouldn¡¯t do it, I answered anyhow.


    ¡°Sam. Thank God. Don¡¯t you realize that if you don¡¯t answer your phone, I assume you¡¯re...¡± She sounded like Amy¡¯s mom. Is there some sort of training you get in the hospital after you give birth to perfect the art of nagging?


    ¡°What¡¯s up, Mom?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your father.¡± It¡¯s always my father.


    ¡°What about him?¡± I asked, gruffly. The comment Amy¡¯s mom had made floated into my mind.


    ¡°He¡¯s sick.¡±


    ¡°No shit.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t use language like that with me!¡± Her voice got shrill.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me and tell me what to do. You know the rules.¡± Two years ago I¡¯d cut her completely out of my life with a letter that detailed my exact boundaries. My therapist at UMass health services had helped me craft it. Mom was like a toddler; I¡¯d had to constantly remind her of the rules and make her follow them, but she still, occasionally, pushed it.


    ¡°He¡¯s really sick,¡± she pleaded.


    ¡°His liver?¡± I guessed. A fifth of hard liquor a day would make any liver scream.


    ¡°No.¡± Her tone told me the answer was really yes. Ah, the lies. ¡°He has pneumonia.¡±


    ¡°Poor guy. Bet his ribs ache. I know how that feels.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Something else I need to know, Mom? Because I need to get to work.¡± Another lie, but least this one was mine.


    ¡°Work?¡± she asked, chipper. Change the subject when reality gets uncomfortable. ¡°You have a job?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    Impatience came through the line. ¡°What is it, honey?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a stripper,¡± I said, suppressing a dark laugh.


    ¡°Oh, you joker,¡± she giggled, as if we were best buddies, as if she hadn¡¯t stuck by my father through what he did to me, as if she hadn¡¯t betrayed the very essence of who I was and who she was supposed to be for me.


    Black was white and white was black. I would tell the truth and not be believed. She wanted me to tell a lie and be believed.


    Mirror opposites.


    ¡°Anyhow, nice chatting, Mom.¡± A lie.


    ¡°What about your father?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡±


    Her voice fell to a hush. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen him like this, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Did he ask for me?¡± The void inside me expanded as she hesitated, likely crafting an answer that would feed the lie.


    ¡°Um, he would if he were more rested, you know.¡±


    ¡°Bye, Mom.¡±


    Click.


    Chapter Nine


    Sam


    They don¡¯t actually want me. That¡¯s one of the only reasons why I can do this kind of work. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it¡¯s not that working as a bachelorette party entertainer is back breaking work. You could read the looks in the eyes of the women at these parties and know that they were drooling over something other than the actual guys in front of them. What they were really doing was projecting their fantasies onto us. What they really wanted was the guy that they already had back home to want them the way that they pretended to want us.


    Pretend? Yeah. Pretend.


    They were pretending to want us. The hooting, the chanting, the hands on my bare skin, the fingers that tucked dollar bills just far enough below the waistline to tease and try to titillate, it was all pretend. It was fun for them, at least. And it was fun for me, too.


    My parents would tell me I was going to Hell for all this.


    I¡¯d have to tell them I wasn¡¯t just going there. I was the tour operator. And the nightly show.


    Who wouldn¡¯t want a bunch of women grabbing them? Who wouldn¡¯t want a crowd of women who were in a place for the sole purpose of watching you move your body, and bare your skin, so that they could entertain themselves with a little fantasy that looped around in their mind? But it was their guy¡¯s face that they imagined; it was their fantasy men whose hips thrust toward them, whose legs were bare, whose chests heaved for them.


    Once I understood why these women were here, why they wanted to touch me, I could work it. I wasn¡¯t Sam anymore ¨C I was their Paul, or Keith, or Mark, or John. I was the guy they wanted to be with, the guy they wanted to want them, and once I wasn¡¯t Sam¡ªI could do damn near anything. You want that extra bit of strength in my hips when I push up against you? I¡¯m right there, babe. You want me to flash you a wicked grin and wink, and pretend that I¡¯m gonna do you later on? No problem.

 Page 36

    Liam had it down to a science. He went some extra little distance that I couldn¡¯t bring myself to go, not because it was cheap or because I had any shred of dignity left¡ªI didn¡¯t. The first night I walked home with three-hundred and fifty bucks cash in my pocket and knew that there was a paycheck coming on top of that...dignity went out the door. What Liam had was a natural kind of showmanship, something that I couldn¡¯t create inside.


    My pretending meant it was Amy whose fingertips that slid up my muscled arm, whose lips teased at my neck, whose breasts pressed against my back as we fake danced. She became the woman I wished would want me, and so, in that sense we were all fair and balanced, weren¡¯t we? My audience wanted me to be someone else, and I wanted them to be someone else. The difference was...well, maybe there was no difference. We were just trading on each other¡¯s ability to pretend.Advertisement


    It¡¯s not a lie if everyone walks away happy, right? It¡¯s all fun as long as no one gets hurt.


    If it wasn¡¯t a lie, and it was fun, then why couldn¡¯t I bring myself to tell Amy? That was the problem. Whenever I imagined telling her what my new job was, all I could imagine was how much she would stop wanting me.


    And that¡¯s when it stopped being fun.


    And started being a lie.


    Amy


    The party Darla invited me to was in one of those Brownstones in the Back Bay, the kind of place that looked like it could be in a Sherlock Holmes film just as easily as it could house a Senator. But for tonight, it was a jamming place, full of college students and a group of musicians who had gained international notoriety and that, somehow, Darla had managed to befriend.


    She was such an odd duck¡ªher ability to mingle between different classes and different social groups was something I envied. I got quiet, and shy, and tongue-tied around people who were different from me. I didn¡¯t understand how to act around someone who wasn¡¯t part of my social group. Living in my little suburban bubble had seemed like the best way to live, until I¡¯d gone to college and realized that there were lots of other ways to live.


    The problem was that I felt stuck between the two right now; realizing that the way I was raised wasn¡¯t the only way and that I had choices, and yet, possessing absolutely no social skills to function outside my own norm. I suppose I was grateful for even having that awareness, but how do you get from point A to point B? How do you go from knowing that about yourself to experiencing life enough to acquire another set of skills in a radically different social milieu? That¡¯s what life is, right? Learning how to be all of the different yous that you can be.


    Mom expected one Amy¡ªher Amy. And one Evan, except Evan only knew how to be one kind of Evan, and that was Drunk and High Evan. So, I had to be one kind of Amy, and that was Good Little Girl Amy, because when someone else¡¯s role is already defined you¡¯d better find something very different so that you can get your own sliver of attention that¡¯s just yours. So far, that¡¯s how life had worked...until now.


    I watched Darla, who had been living in a trailer park, working in a gas station, leading the way for me to go into a place so fancy that the door itself probably cost as much as my first semester of college. And she just walked in like she owned the place. Not in some cocky way; she wasn¡¯t arrogant. She was just...there, moving through space, taking step by step by step through time, aware and alive. Boy, had I misjudged her. She turned out to be one of the better friends I could imagine having.


    Plus, she was the keeper of the secret of my wireless vagina. I had to hold her close.


    ¡°It¡¯s way up here, on the fifth floor,¡± she said, turning behind as we walked up a set of stairs, and then another, and then another. You would think that extraordinarily rich people could afford elevators. Maybe, though, we just weren¡¯t allowed to use them.


    When we got to the top floor, I realized that the structure of the townhouse was fascinating. It was one long, narrow home. This was an apartment, not a full townhouse. Imagine a row of ten, or twenty, or more, town homes, all five or six stories tall, it was hard to tell. Some were entire town homes; the richie riches could afford that, to have every single floor to themselves. Other homes were cut up into a combination of apartments. In some cases, people rented entire floors, and in other cases the floors themselves were chopped up into tiny little studios and one-bedrooms. This was a new layout for me, and I studied it avidly.


    Living in my own little, quirky apartment meant that I had acquired an eye for the oddities throughout Boston. You take a city that¡¯s nearly four hundred years old and you¡¯re going to find some really strange historical details. That¡¯s the way history worked. If you dug enough, and paid enough attention, you could find just about anything you were looking for, from the mundane to the bizarre, from the horrific to the glorious.


    The crowd spilled out already through the threshold of the apartment as Darla wended her way through, moving shoulders and hips in ways that seemed to make people part. She said ¡°hello¡± here and there to people she recognized, a quick wave of a hand, a glance of a smile, and then we were just suddenly on a back balcony that people seemed to be ignoring. It was small, and before we walked through the threshold, Darla stopped me. ¡°Hey I want you to meet Jane.¡±


    ¡°Jane?¡±


    ¡°Jane Newhouse. This is her place.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Jane.¡±


    A slim woman, with an auburn page-boy greeted me pleasantly. She was a good five to ten years older than us, and had that flawless creamy skin of someone who had been extremely Emo in her teen years. She smiled with her mouth, but her eyes stayed serious and hawk-like, hidden behind rimless glasses. A purple crushed velvet ensemble, I couldn¡¯t think of a different word for it, finished off the look. She could have been the host of Oddities: Boston Edition, and it wouldn¡¯t surprise me if somewhere in the house she had a completely reconstructed rat skeleton, or better yet, that guy Ryan from the television show, chained to a wall in a red room of pain.


    Darla made quick small chat with Jane, who exchanged two or three sentences with her and then was off working her own crowd, while I marveled at the view from the giant French doors that were open. I had full access to the balcony until Darla grabbed me and said, ¡°Once we have more than eight people out there, we need to leave. It¡¯s an old building.¡±


    I nodded, drawn magnetically to that space. The view was incredible. The Charles River gleamed with the moon smiling down on it. Entranced, I couldn¡¯t see any stars tonight, not from cloud cover but from city lights. You take the glow of a few million people in Boston proper, Cambridge, and the suburbs, and you don¡¯t get to see much of the heavens at night. But what you do get, instead, is one hell of a trade off. Cambridge beckoned, and over to the left, if I peered hard enough, I could probably see the very edge of my hometown. I didn¡¯t peer very hard.


    ¡°This is beautiful,¡± I whispered to Darla who leaned against the railing and nodded quietly.


    ¡°Yeah¡± she thumbed the apartment ¡°but that¡¯s where all the fun is.¡±


    And then, flashing me a wicked grin, she walked back in.


    Sam


    Sometimes Louise sent me and Liam together as two cops on jobs, and other times, like tonight, the party organizer had ordered a foursome. We dressed like that group from the ¡¯70¡¯s, The Village People, and Liam always chose to be the construction dude. He never explained why. I was always the cop.


    This building was fancier than most, although we¡¯d done a couple of jobs in Beacon Hill at those giant Brownstones where one of the old shimmering windows cost about as much as my entire college career. But here on the Back Bay, we were in one of those old brick buildings that stretched up high. This was a first floor apartment, which meant rent cost less than some of the others because there wasn¡¯t a view of the river. Instead, they got a view of Storrow Drive. That didn¡¯t seem to stop anyone, though. There must have been seventy-five women crammed into the joint.


    Antiques cluttered the space, a lot of the furniture pushed up against the walls to accommodate the huge number of people there. Music blared; that was the whole point. I was supposed to walk up to the door and pretend to be a cop answering a noise complaint. And then, the party really began. Liam, waited around the corner with Aaron and Jack in full costume as I marched up to the door and pounded loudly.


    ¡°Police! Open up!¡± I said in my most authoritative voice, and this was the part where something inside me clicked. I became the cop, I became this other Sam who got to strut, and dance, and show these ladies a good time.


    Was this what I aspired to when I went off to UMass and worked three or four jobs for four years trying desperately to finish a degree that my father had told me I was too much of a loser to ever get on my own? Hell, no.


    Would my dad have a heart attack if he knew what I was doing now? Maybe. I think my mom would stroke out and be dead before she hit the floor if she knew that I was dry humping women her age as they tucked $5 and $10 bills into a piece of underwear that was so thin it told people my religion.


    Those thoughts had haunted me after my first night. They stopped, though, when I saw the smiles and counted the money. And so, here I was, pounding on the door and announcing that these women had been very, very bad.


    The door opened and the woman who I could only guess was the future bride answered, flustered and worried. It was the same look I¡¯d seen in the eyes of plenty of hosts and brides as we played out this game. She really thought I was a cop. Again, that burst of energy inside me, that sense that I could play someone other than me, that I could try on a different personality with no risk, fueled something inside me.


    ¡°Y- yes, Officer?¡± she stammered, ¡°I- I¡¯m so sorry. We...we¡¯ll turn the music down.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s not enough,¡± I said, my voice deepening, turning into a growl. I reached down to my waistband and her eyes followed, and then her tongue parted her lips as she licked them. It was a move I¡¯d also noticed so many times before, and one that couldn¡¯t help but remind me of Amy. As my hand reached for the handcuffs on my belt I unclicked them and held them up, letting them dangle from one finger as her eyes searched for mine and widened. It was fear, but there was always something else in their eyes. I started to twirl the handcuffs around my finger lazily. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve been a very, very naughty girl.¡±


    And then Liam, and Aaron, and Jack came from around the corner and we burst into the room. Showtime.


    A woman in the back with long, straight brown hair, large black rimmed glasses, and bright red painted lips waved frantically, arms sweeping in the air like someone trying to alert a search plane. I knew to pay attention to the room and to follow that cue because that was probably the person who had paid for our performance. Liam and Aaron followed; Jack just sort of looked around clueless. I couldn¡¯t blame him¡ªit was his first time. I had to remind myself that this was only my seventh performance. I, too, had been that green.


    But how quickly, how startlingly quickly, this had become second nature.


    We followed her out onto a larger-than-expected patio with a pergola, with beams wrapped in Christmas lights and some kind of vine I couldn¡¯t identify. It gave the whole outside a European feel, as if we were sitting in some sort of a beer pub in Germany. There were picnic tables everywhere, elegant picnic tables, the kind of thing that you would find at an antique store, or some high end place on Newbury Street.

 Page 37

    The crowd came out onto the patio and she pointed to a semi-stage area for us where we would be under the pergola and yet in full view of the whole crowd as they gathered round to watch. And then our cue, this had been planned in advance. ¡°Young man...¡± the song began, and then we were The Village People.


    Performing the song ¡°YMCA¡± had an incredible level of irony to it, when you thought about it, for a bachelorette party. But hey, we didn¡¯t choose it. We just showed up, collected our tips, and gave everyone a good time. The average age in the crowd was probably thirty-five. The bride was a pleasant, giggly woman who reminded me of a blonde version of Amy, if Amy had been raised on the Back Bay of Boston. Then again, every client reminded me of Amy. Hell, every woman I walked past on the street reminded me of her. It made life both easy and hard, all at once.Advertisement


    As we danced I heard a voice cut through the music and it threw me off guard. Darla? Was Darla here? I could hear it faint and floating on the wind, but I had to ignore it. Maybe a guest just happened to have her accent. It was eerie. It set me on guard.


    I knew that Amy and Darla were out for the evening, Darla had told me so I hadn¡¯t worried that I was abandoning Amy for the night. It had given me a sense of security in keeping my secret for another night, because it was one more evening where maybe I could stall before letting her know.


    A woman in a long, flowing burgundy outfit, the skirt jagged on purpose, some sort of a fashion style, came up to me and pressed her body against my leg as I ground my hip into hers. ¡°Do you do extras?¡± she whispered in my ear, the scent of Shalimar overwhelming.


    I looked at her and did exactly what Louise had taught me to do, which was to give her a half-smile, a cocky grin, and say, ¡°Sorry, but I¡¯m taken,¡± and then to thumb toward Jack. He¡¯d made it clear when he was hired that he would do anything. When I¡¯d first learned that some guys did anything, I¡¯d felt a sense of disgust. How hypocritical is that?


    I¡¯d take the hypocritical label over what those guys did, though. Not my thing. And yet, I couldn¡¯t judge any more. Women wanted them, women paid them for more than a look or a quick touch, and everyone walked away with a happy ending.


    So to speak.


    Amy


    I reached down into my front pocket and felt for my phone. I could check it again but...why? There wasn¡¯t going to be a new text. It had only been seven minutes since I¡¯d checked it last. This quiet from Sam was bothering me. I wasn¡¯t deeply worried, but more something rattled around in my mind that told me that things weren¡¯t quite what I thought they were, on the surface at least. Sam wasn¡¯t like that, he didn¡¯t bullshit people. What you saw was what you got, and so, there was something cagey about him lately, as if he were keeping a secret.


    As a cool breeze swept in, made my bangs fly into my eyes, I pushed them aside and thought of how Sam did the same with his hand, especially in between songs when he played. Everything these days reminded me of him. Everything should remind me of Sam, because everything was Sam. This busyness on a weekend, when he wasn¡¯t playing, though...that wasn¡¯t Sam.


    Where was he? He obviously wasn¡¯t here with me, and I had no reason to doubt him. It¡¯s not like he was out screwing some other girl, right? He wasn¡¯t the type.


    Darla walked back out onto the balcony and said, ¡°Hey, come on in. Have a drink.¡± She peered down. ¡°Whoa¡ªthat¡¯s one hell of a bachelorette party, huh?¡± I followed looking down, and tracking her eyes. A group of people crammed a ground floor patio, a set of four guys acting like they were The Village People. Women pressed their bodies up against headless torsos, the men¡¯s upper bodies obscured by an awning. Whatever was going on down there, it certainly looked like fun. More power to them.


    Darla grabbed my elbow and pulled me in. Somehow, she magically conjured an Amaretto Sour and gave it to me with a big grin. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you were drinking when I met you that first night in the bar.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes. Maybe that¡¯s why she was so popular with people. She paid attention. Maybe I needed to pay more attention to other people, and less attention to myself. Or maybe I just needed to pay attention, period. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, meaning it deeply.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± We looked around the crowd. There were a number of people who looked just like us, except more sophisticated. That awkwardness that poured into my cells when I was at a big party began to fill me. Darla sensed it. ¡°We don¡¯t have to stay if this isn¡¯t your thing.¡±


    Jane appeared out of nowhere, looking more and more like Wednesday Addams with red hair. ¡°Darla, may I have a word with you?¡± she said pleasantly, her voice modulated and friendly, her face a mask of neutrality.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Darla shrugged. ¡°Be back,¡± she said to me, and I nodded.


    Drawn by an invisible force to the balcony again, I stood out there. Three or four people smoked cigarettes, in animated conversations it was obvious I wasn¡¯t meant to join. That was okay. The cold iron of the railing was a balm, and I looked down on that giant party again, now watching women about ten years older than me stuffing bills of undetermined amounts into the waistbands of guys with physiques that reminded me of Sam¡¯s and Liam¡¯s.


    They were wearing hats, and...was that red hair under one of them? And surfer blonde hair under another? I couldn¡¯t see their faces but something really familiar was making an alarm bell go off in me. I closed my eyes and shook my head quickly. Stop it, Amy, I told myself, this is ridiculous. You¡¯re creating shadows to be afraid of. What kind of demented mind did I have that I would try to make a couple of male strippers into the two guys that I kept fantasizing about, one of whom was my bedmate...and maybe my soulmate.


    I tried. I really, deeply tried. I drank the Amaretto Sour. I looked out on the river and watched a small boat go by. I even pretended to care about the rantings of some Libertarian next to me who was talking about convincing fifty thousand people to move to New Hampshire, and take over the state. For the next thirty minutes, I tried. And I failed.


    As the party downstairs got louder and louder, I finally heard someone shout, ¡°It¡¯s a Diana sandwich!¡±


    Whoever Diana was, she wasn¡¯t going to be the meat rubbing up against any two pieces of bread I might know. This was silly, I knew it, but it also gave me an excuse to leave. I gently found my way back to the front door and didn¡¯t even bother to try to find Jane, who was pointing to a disturbing bit of watercoloring on her wall that appeared to be different shades of blood. Darla found me just as I was walking down the hallway.


    ¡°Where ya goin¡¯?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just too hot in there,¡± I said.


    ¡°But you were out on the balcony.¡±


    ¡°I- I need to go...I¡¯m going to wander and just get some air. I¡¯m not leaving for good.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said.


    I stumbled down to the stairway, meandering slowly, the drink hitting my head faster than I thought. The stairs and hallway were extremely narrow and not well-lit, unless you were right in front of an apartment door. Dark, stained oak trim and molding made the hall seem tiny, and my body pitched a bit. That was one stiff drink.


    Giggles, Muffled groans. Blurred characters, smashed against the wall, were a giant mass of limbs, bare men¡¯s arms wrapping around a woman, but then there was someone else, too. I struggled to see what was going on, until I heard a name.


    ¡°Diana,¡± the voice said, a man¡¯s voice full of tight emotion. Ah, so this was the mysterious Diana in her man sandwich. Lucky girl. Who wouldn¡¯t want a threesome on a hot night at a party? Her mouth pressed hard as she stood in red leather come-fuck-me-pumps pushed up as she stretched to reach the mouth of the guy against the wall, her body writhing and smashing into him, his arms not quite embracing her.


    And then the light became clearer.


    All. Too. Clear.


    Diana was the meat in a Sam-and-someone sandwich.


    Oh, God.


    Work, huh?


    Some fucking job you¡¯ve got there, Sam.


    ¡°Sam?¡± I choked out, hoping that just saying his name would make it all be untrue, that this was the amaretto sour creating a stupid, intrusive image, but when Diana pulled back I saw his shocked face, lips raw from the kiss, mouth in an ¡°O¡± of surprise.


    What do you do when you run out of good choices?


    You run.


    Sam


    One minute I¡¯m dancing on the patio and the next I¡¯m inside, sipping a soda and trying to get used to letting all these women just touch me when they want to, like I¡¯m a toddler, or a statue, or a pet dog.


    Caress. Stroke. Finger walking up my pecs. Each touch comes with cash attached, which they tuck into the little string at my waist, so no complaints. My pants were back on, the top half of the costume hanging from my hips, the hat at a jaunty tilt on my head.


    They love that.


    I love it, too. Making them happy, that is. No job I¡¯ve ever had involved so much hedonistic fun. The most excitement you can have without doing something illegal (the occasional scent of pot excepted). My body, my time, my increasing bank account.


    And my Amy, off at a party with Darla.


    A pang of guilt smacked my chest at that thought.


    Er¡ªthat was someone¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Hi,¡± said a boozed up blonde with shiny ringlets and wide brown eyes that reminded me of Amy¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m Diana.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Diana.¡± One more drink and those eyeballs would be floating. A little alarm inside me started to ring softly. Louise had warned us about women who got too drunk. If they pushed for more, we needed to tread carefully. Dramatic scenes were definitely unacceptable. We were here to add to the fun. Not let it be ruined by drunk women who turned into screeching banshees when turned down.


    ¡°Wha¡¯s yer name?¡± she asked, fingers sliding down my chest, over my navel and¡ªyep. I turned slightly and set my soda down, using the maneuver to get some inches between us, trying to catch one of the guys¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sam,¡± I said, taking a half step back.


    ¡°Sam,¡± she crooned. ¡°You wanna go getta drink somewhere?¡±


    I did my aw, shucks routine. ¡°Can¡¯t. I¡¯m working.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can make you work,¡± she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a wad of twenties.


    Ah. ¡°Diana, you might want to speak with one of the other guys.¡± My eyes scanned the crowd with panic. Shit. Where were they?


    ¡°Don¡¯ want the other guys,¡± she murmured.


    Time to cut my losses and just walk away. That¡¯s what Liam told me to do. And then¡ª


    ¡°Hey, babe,¡± a deep voice said, coming up behind Diana. The guy was her height and looked like an Italian soccer player, thick with muscle and a five o¡¯clock shadow to beat the band.


    Thank you, bro. ¡°Nice to¡ª¡±


    ¡°You find someone to share you with?¡± His eyes met mine and my balls shriveled all to hell.


    Liam had never, ever warned me about this.


    ¡°Nico,¡± he said, extending his hand. I felt like I couldn¡¯t not shake it, so I did, on guard and hackles up. The guy reminded me of my dad¡ªthat dangerous sort of anger right beneath the surface, like a slithering cobra that could strike without notice.

 Page 38

    ¡°C¡¯mere,¡± he said, grabbing my arm and taking me and a very loose Diana out into the hall. As I left, Liam was finally in sight and he shot me a questioning look.


    Help, I mouthed.Advertisement


    One curt nod and he began peeling women off him, twenty feet or so behind me. And then I lost visual as I walked through the front entrance to the apartment and found myself slammed against the far wall of the hallway by Diana, her hips grinding into my thighs, mouth suddenly hot and loose on mine. The crush of her body, then Nico¡¯s behind hers trapping me, my arms out like I was readying for a crucifixion.


    Where the fuck was Liam? Diana¡¯s mouth wouldn¡¯t give me any kind of break, teeth biting my lips hard, tongue lolling and sloppy, saliva everywhere. I wasn¡¯t being kissed; I was being slimed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Diana sandwich,¡± Nico shouted.


    Liam appeared in the doorway and clapped a hand over his mouth, then threw his hands in the air. What the fuck? he mouthed.


    ¡°Diana!¡± I said, trying to protest, putting my arms on her shoulders to push, but Nico was rubbing her ass with his groin, legs apart, dry humping her.


    I kept my eyes opened as Diana roto-rootered me and flailed with my arms in some sort of movement that I hoped communicated that I needed to be rescued.


    And then:


    ¡°Sam?¡±


    I turned my head as best I could toward the sound of my name, twisting inches, only to find Amy¡¯s horrified face a few feet away, the dim light of the hall making her look like an angel, an aura around her.


    Diana sensed something and pulled back, finally giving me a chance to take a much-needed deep breath and I stared, slack-jawed at Amy.


    And then she ran.


    ¡°No! Come back! Amy! It¡¯s not what you think!¡±


    ¡°Widdle gurfriend¡¯s feewings hurt?¡± Diana said, coming in for another kiss.


    Shoving hard, instinct kicked in. Off. ¡°Get. Off. Me,¡± I shouted. Nico lost his footing as a hundred plus pounds of his own girlfriend came flying fast at him. Whatever force I used was enough to push them both back into the apartment¡¯s entrance, Liam hopping out of the way just in time.


    ¡°No more Diana sandwich,¡± she pouted, her and Nico a flesh pile on the floor.


    The thump of Amy¡¯s footsteps stopped abruptly as a door opened and snapped shut. Outside by now, she was gone.


    I took two steps toward the main door, then realized how I was dressed.


    ¡°Go,¡± Liam urged. ¡°Go get her now, Sam. You need to figure this shit out now. I got this.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡± Nico and Diana were now dry humping on the floor beneath us, apparently having let go of the sandwich idea.


    Piecing my lines of velcro together, I worked to look as decent as possible. Liam tossed me my hat.


    ¡°Wha¡ª?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cold outside. You¡¯ll need that.¡±


    Sprinting down the hallway, I slammed the front door open and looked left and right down the street, the dim lampposts posh and elegant, but it was no use.


    She was gone.


    What had I done?


    Amy


    It¡¯s not what you think, the text read.


    Oh, Sam, I thought, you have got to be fucking kidding me. Is there some textbook that guys are handed that tells them exactly what they¡¯re supposed to say when they have decided to fuck you over? I ignored it.


    Bzzzzz! The next text. Please Amy, please talk to me.


    Yeah, right.


    Bzzzzz! Whatever you think you saw, it wasn¡¯t what you think.


    Really? I thought. My eyes are making up stories, imagine that! Hmm...who knew?


    Bzzzzz! This one was from Darla: Where the hell are you?


    I quickly typed back: At home.


    What happened? You disappeared, she wrote back.


    And then, bzzzzz! It was Sam. Please, Amy. I¡¯m coming to your apartment. Please. I need to talk to you.


    Caught Sam with another woman, was all I could type back as the tears began to cover the glass screen of my phone. I hit ¡®send¡¯ then realized I hadn¡¯t sent that text to Darla. I¡¯d sent it to Sam.


    Fuck. The phone rang, Sam¡¯s number. I let it dump to voicemail. The phone rang again, Sam¡¯s number. Voicemail again.


    If he really was on his way over here, he wouldn¡¯t be able to get into the building without buzzing, and if he buzzed over and over, what would I do? I looked around my apartment. It had been a safe haven, my little place just a couple weeks ago, and now, it was a prison. Better to walk the streets at night and be free than let Sam incarcerate me with a set of lies. Four and a half years ago he¡¯d gone to radio silence when I¡¯d tried everything I could to reach him.


    Payback¡¯s a bitch.


    I couldn¡¯t go home. Couldn¡¯t leave. Couldn¡¯t stay.


    What do you do when you have no options?


    When there is no good choice?


    You run.


    Grabbing my coat, I made sure I had my keys, phone, and some cash, and locked up, the cold night wind all-too-familiar. I¡¯d just been outside an hour ago.


    Bzzzz.


    The off button called my name, so I shut the damn thing off and proceeded to walk wherever I needed to go to erase this fucking night.


    Haunted. For the next hour I was haunted by two memories: the conversation about the party, and seeing Sam in a threesome kiss.


    ¡°What are you doing tonight?¡± I had asked him. ¡°Darla invited me to a party. You wanna come?¡±


    A shadow had crossed his face and he pulled his hands back, it was like being stung. The absence of his touch was stronger than its presence. With half-lidded eyes he had met mine, and then quickly looked away. ¡°I¡¯m working,¡± he had said.


    Working. He and I had very different ideas of what working meant. Apparently, Sam though it meant having his throat tongue-fucked by some woman who was being groped by another dude at the same time. Don¡¯t get me wrong; threesomes are great.


    Just not with my Sam.


    Late night Boston is filled with drunk college students, drunk middle-age couples who come into town for the chic restaurants and expensive shows, and the homeless beggars. The mix is intriguing, and I definitely stood out as an oddball: while you¡¯d think there would be more girls roaming aimlessly, crying after being fucked over by their boyfriends on a weekend night, I appeared to be the only one.


    If you asked me to recount that hour, I couldn¡¯t. The convenience store clerk avoided eye contact as I sobbed my way through buying a candy bar. The chocolate and peanut butter tasted like sour copper in my mouth and I spat it out on the lawn of one of the colleges, leaves marring the perfectly manicured surface, a trash can every twenty feet a reminder of the insistence on order and cleanliness.


    Pitching the rest of the candy, I tightened the buttons on my coat and just walked as the summer¡¯s night turned a bitter cold that felt like a mirror of my heart.


    And walked.


    And walked, calves aching, boots tight against swollen feet. Each step felt like a scar on my heart, each tear like an exhale that pushed more of Sam out of my body and mind. If I could breathe enough and move enough maybe I could stay busy and not have to go still.


    In stillness there lies madness.


    Once I went back to my apartment and sat down I would have to face what Sam had done.


    Had he been a liar all along and I¡¯d never seen it? Been fucking other women behind my back and just played some part of an old flame with me, banging on my heart like it was a cymbal, something to poke for variety from the steady drumline?


    Not one bit of this made sense. Sam¡¯s silence four years ago. That mashup at the party. His declarations of innocence and protests now.


    Who was Sam, really?


    And who was I to be fooled again?


    Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.


    ¡°Hey! Amy!¡± a voice called out from a car next to me, pulling in to a No Parking zone.


    I screamed. ¡°Who? What?¡± Heart climbing out of my chest, I looked over, legs nothing more than spaghetti with nerve endings, hoping I could attract attention if this person attacked.


    ¡°Amy,¡± the man said, the voice familiar. The window of the car zipped down and Liam¡¯s face appeared. ¡°What are you doing wandering the streets this time of night?¡±


    Of all people.... ¡°Hooking.¡±


    He sputtered. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t afford me.¡±


    ¡°That good?¡±


    ¡°You would know.¡±


    Silence. Then a deep sigh. ¡°Amy...¡±


    ¡°You have impeccable timing, Liam McCarthy. You know just when to proposition a girl when she¡¯s hit rock bottom.¡±


    A shadow covered his face as he startled and pulled back into the darkness of the car. ¡°Ouch,¡± he whispered, the sound carrying over the sound of cars rushing by, the beeping of crosswalk signals, the distant, raucous roars of clusters of guys like Liam out on the town.


    I¡¯m sorry stuck in my throat, because it wasn¡¯t fair. I¡¯d wanted what he offered, too. Right now, though, I didn¡¯t much care about anyone¡¯s feelings. The world could fuck fuck fuckitty fuck off.


    ¡°You have claws!¡± declared a voice that made me groan. A giant puff of blonde frizz pocked out the back window.


    ¡°Darla, shut up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not texting your vagina, so you have no right to say that to me.¡±


    ¡°Texting her what?¡± Trevor. A stretch down and I peered in¡ªthe backseat held Trevor, Darla, and Joe.


    ¡°Get in the car. It¡¯s freezing.¡± Darla¡¯s hushed voice scraped against my eardrums. ¡°I¡¯ll explain later, honey,¡± she hissed to Trevor.


    ¡°Joe. Good to see you,¡± I remarked as I climbed in next to Liam. ¡°How¡¯s Penn?¡± The car¡¯s warmth felt divine. My legs shook as they began to warm, and my feet cried out in gratitude for the break.


    ¡°About what you¡¯d expect.¡±


    ¡°Are you all joyriding?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Liam answered cryptically, driving like a man who knew exactly where he was going. And he did.


    My apartment building loomed ahead. So why the whole gang?


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked, craning to catch Darla¡¯s eye. Joe¡¯s hands were all over her, and the two murmured something involving the words ¡°clit piercing¡± and ¡°anal beads.¡± M¡¯kay.


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± Liam said in a clipped tone.


    ¡°We, who?¡±


    ¡°We, everyone.¡±


    Silence ballooned in the car like an animal¡¯s corpse bloating in the sun.


    ¡°Is this an intervention?¡± I said uncomfortably. ¡°Because let me tell you, of all the people in my family who needs one, you picked the wrong body.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡± said Joe from the backseat, interrupting himself. ¡°It¡¯s just something you need to know.¡±


    I pulled my phone out my coat like a dead animal I didn¡¯t want to deal with. Powered it up and looked. Eleven messages from Sam. Six voicemails, three from tonight.


    It¡¯s not what you think.


    I swear it¡¯s not. Ask Liam.


    I¡¯m a stripper for bachelorette parties.


    That woman was kissing me.


    I didn¡¯t want her.


    I wanted you.


    I am so, so sorry.


    Please call or text back.


    Please, Amy. I can¡¯t lose you again.


    Please.


    And then:


    I love you.


    My hearing disappeared. The city lights brightened. My throat tightened and a cloak of dread covered me. Turning slowly, my eyes lasered in on Liam as my mouth formed the words, pushed out by the vibrations of my vocal cords, disbelief dripping from my tone.

 Page 39

    ¡°You and Sam are strippers?¡±


    The car swerved slightly, and I looked down at my phone.Advertisement


    I love you.


    ¡°This just got even more interesting,¡± Darla muttered, leaning forward, propping her chin on the front seat.


    ¡°How did you¡ª¡± Liam looked at my phone. He deflated. ¡°Sam told you?¡±


    ¡°Well, thank God. It¡¯s about time you knew,¡± Darla huffed. ¡°You people and your secrets.¡± She stared pointedly at me. ¡°Ooh! Can I tell him all about yours?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Darla,¡± I said absentmindedly, as if it had become a reflex.


    ¡°When did she become such a bitch?¡± Joe asked Trevor.


    ¡°When I found my boyfriend getting an endoscopy from another woman¡¯s tongue.¡± I shot him a death glare.


    ¡°That would do it,¡± Joe muttered meekly.


    ¡°Liam?¡± I barked.


    ¡°We¡¯re strippers for bachelorette parties. Sam didn¡¯t want you to know.¡± The words poured out like a little boy confessing he¡¯d stolen candy from his grandmother. He shrugged, as if that let him off the hook, as if he¡¯d just said, We¡¯re fry cooks at Denny¡¯s. Sam didn¡¯t want you to know.


    Relief flooded me. ¡°So Sam really wasn¡¯t kissing her?¡±


    ¡°God, no. That woman attacked him. And her boyfriend wanted a threesome.¡±


    ¡°Nothing wrong with that,¡± came three voices from the backseat in unison.


    ¡°Is this why you¡¯re all here? To tell me my boyfriend gets naked and shakes his dick in front of other women for money?¡± Whatever outrage I was supposed to feel wasn¡¯t there. A deeper disappointment replaced it. Sam hadn¡¯t trusted me.


    And without trust...


    ¡°We do way more than just shake our...¡± Liam¡¯s protests faded out. ¡°OK. That about sums it up,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°You make good money wiggling your winkies,¡± Darla chirped.


    ¡°Says the woman who works for a threesome dating service,¡± Liam jabbed back.


    The backseat went quiet.


    ¡°A threesome dating service?¡± I choked, craning to look at Darla. ¡°There¡¯s no end to the variety of start-ups in Cambridge, is there?¡±


    She uncharacteristically kept her mouth shut.


    I continued. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve all established our perv credentials¡ª¡±


    ¡°Except for you,¡± Liam interrupted. ¡°Miss Pure as the Driven Snow.¡±


    Darla snickered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you say a word,¡± I snapped, finger in her face as I twisted around.


    ¡°Oh, does Amy have a skeleton in her closet?¡± Liam asked as he pulled into a parking spot, grabbing an unbelievably lucky open one right near my front door.


    ¡°More like in her hoohaw.¡± Snicker.


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    We all piled out of the car as the guys exchanged perplexed looks.


    ¡°Then what do you need to tell me?¡± I whirled around and faced the four of them.


    ¡°What you need to know,¡± Joe said, a sad look on his face as he took Darla¡¯s hand in his and walked to my front door, the rest following.


    Apparently, I didn¡¯t have a choice.


    Sam


    She wouldn¡¯t answer my texts and calls.


    She wasn¡¯t at her apartment.


    She wasn¡¯t on the street.


    So where the fuck was Amy? I knew she wouldn¡¯t go back to her mom¡¯s house¡ªnot after what had happened the other day.


    Stupid, stupid, stupid I looped in my stupid mind, over and over, the chant taking over and making it hard to think. How could I have been so fucking stupid and have kept what I did a secret? Now she thought I was throatfucking that chick and cheating on her. Amy had every right to be mad and to think the worst of me, but I wanted a chance to tell her the truth.


    The truth.


    All of it.


    The night air had long ago turned my hands and feet into ice bricks; Liam had my regular clothes in his car, because we always showed up for parties dressed only in the uniform. I¡¯d received a few ¡°Hello, Officer¡± comments as I walked the streets, and it had been funny.


    At first.


    My feet took me, slowly, to the only place I really wanted to go.


    Back to Amy¡¯s apartment to await our fate.


    Which was, now, entirely in her hands.


    Along with my heart.


    Chapter Ten


    Amy


    ¡°Did Sam ever explain exactly what happened to him that day after he left the debate tournament?¡± Trevor asked. For a guy who seemed to be perpetually joking, his countenance was remarkable. Somber, in fact. It set me on edge.


    My apartment wasn¡¯t a clown car, and yet somehow we¡¯d managed to cram all five of us in here, everyone sitting on the floor or my futon. It felt like some cheesy 1960s encounter group. All of them were staring at me, faces practically carved in granite. A slow roll of intrigue took over my skin, a numb feeling and a coolness pouring from my solar plexus out and down. Whatever they were about to tell me was going to alter me forever.


    Whatever they were going to tell me already had.


    ¡°No.¡± I couldn¡¯t think of anything else to say. Just no. The truth.


    Trevor¡¯s hand was shaking, and Joe looked like he was going to throw up. Even Liam seemed rattled. What the hell was this? A tight knot of fear resurged in my stomach, the same one that had lived there all these years, implanted the day Sam cut me off.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure...¡± Liam interrupted, looking between me and Joe. Why Joe?


    ¡°She should know,¡± Trevor insisted, inhaling a ragged breath. He and Liam really did look like brothers. Funny how my mind wandered off when faced with something awful.


    ¡°What happened to him? And why are you looking at Joe like that? Did Joe do something to Sam that day? I know he gave him a ride.¡±


    The jumble of voices made me lean back, away from a ferocious cacophony of protest. Little snippets¡ª¡°Joe didn¡¯t do¡ª¡±


    ¡°No way, he¡¯s the one who saved¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sam¡¯s face was so bad¡ª¡°


    ¡°WAIT!¡± I shouted, putting my palms out in protest. ¡°OK. OK. Just say it!¡± I cried, a cloud of red behind my eyes, heart tearing in two. ¡°Whatever happened to Sam, you have to tell me now! You can¡¯t give me these hints and then clam up.¡±


    Silence.


    Liam came to my defense. ¡°She¡¯s right, guys. Someone should have told her a long time ago.¡± He looked at Joe with a kind expression, one that made me like him even more. ¡°Can you tell the story, Joe? It¡¯s yours to tell.¡±


    ¡°Of course I can.¡± All traces of Joe the Asshole from high school washed away suddenly, and the man staring into my eyes was a compassionate, pained human being.


    ¡°You won the debate.¡±


    No shit, I thought. Instead of saying that, I just nodded.


    ¡°So, Sam snapped. Something in him made him go into some kind of state of shutdown. He wasn¡¯t himself, and it was like watching a zombie wander down the hall and out of the auditorium. I thought he was just destroyed by being beaten by a girl¡ª¡±


    Liam snorted.


    ¡°Hey¡ªI¡¯ve evolved in four years,¡± Joe hedged. ¡°Anyhow,¡± he said, glaring at Liam, who raised his eyebrows and gave Joe a gesture to continue, ¡°I offered him a ride home and he took it. On the drive there he said his dad was going to kill him for not winning.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I know it was important to him. And the scholarship.¡± Choking back a mouthful of tears, I said, ¡°I didn¡¯t know that day. I wish I had.¡±


    ¡°Would you have thrown the debate?¡± Joe asked, incredulous. ¡°Because that would have been worse than winning.¡±


    I¡¯d underestimated him. Most guys would have been thrilled with a win, no matter what. Joe had been so...slimy back then. But this?


    ¡°I know it would have¡ªI¡¯m just surprised to hear you say so.¡±


    ¡°No one wants to be thrown a bone. A pity fuck? Sure. A pity debate...¡±


    ¡°Get back to the point,¡± Trevor barked. ¡°Quit stalling.¡±


    Joe shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. ¡°So, I remember saying something stupid, like how my own dad would kill me for coming in seventh, yadda yadda yadda and then Sam turned to me with the deadest eyes I¡¯ve ever seen in anyone and said, ¡®No, I mean he¡¯s going to kill me. If you don¡¯t see me in school on Monday, you¡¯ll know why.¡¯¡±


    Inhaling sharply, I sought out everyone¡¯s eyes. Four pairs looked back with a mixture of regret, alarm, pain and struggle.


    ¡°He¡ªwhat?¡±


    ¡°¡®I don¡¯t want to go home,¡¯ Sam told me on that drive. We went and got McDonald¡¯s and delayed, but my mom kept calling me and hounding me to get home, so I finally dropped him off around eight that night. Every light in his house was burning, and as I pulled in to the driveway Sam grabbed my arm and said, ¡®I meant it.¡¯ And that was¡ªhe jumped out of the car and his dad was right there at the door, a concerned and pissed look on his face.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡± I rasped.


    ¡°I went home.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But I couldn¡¯t get it out of my head, so I texted him the next day. His dad¡¯s a preacher, so I knew he¡¯d be at church a lot, but Sam didn¡¯t answer any of my texts. None. That was odd, because we all scheduled practices for the band and shot the shit from texts, and Sam never went silent. I called his house phone¡ªgot voicemail.¡±


    Trevor ran his hand through his hair and flicked his eyes between me and Joe. ¡°And then you texted me and asked if I¡¯d heard from Sam.¡±


    ¡°Right. Sam always went to his dad¡¯s first service, and then we met to practice after. Nothing. So I decided to go to his house and see what was up.¡± Joe gulped, hard, his voice starting to crack.


    ¡°You went?¡± I asked. The room felt like someone had died.


    ¡°I knocked on the front door and Mrs. Hinton was there. That was fucking weird.¡± A whoosh of air came out of him, like an exorcism. ¡°Because she shouldn¡¯t be. Preacher¡¯s wife and all that, right? But she was so nervous and blocked me from even seeing what was going on in the house. Like, opened the door an inch and wouldn¡¯t talk. I kept asking for Sam and she¡¯d just get more nervous, her voice getting higher and higher, and then I called Sam¡¯s phone right in front of her.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Liam nudged my elbow. ¡°Just wait.¡±


    ¡°It rang. Right there. So I shouted, ¡®Sam? You there?¡¯ and Mrs. Hinton about shat a brick. Shut the door on me.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Texted Trevor and Liam, and then Trevor called his mom.¡±


    ¡°Your mom?¡± I turned to Trevor. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because Joe¡¯s mom isn¡¯t really the type to call in a crisis.¡±


    ¡°And then I waited. But Mrs. Hinton opened the door and started screaming at me to leave. She was so¡ª¡± he swallowed and frowned, clearly pained by the recounting. A million questions poured into me, but I kept my mouth shut. Hearing him out was more important. Questions could come later. ¡°¡ªlike a screaming banshee. All I could hear was that if her husband caught me there he¡¯d call the police, that I was trespassing, and I needed to leave before her husband got there. Over and over. She was fucking terrified of him. Terrified.¡±

 Page 40

    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And I tried to ignore her and wait for Trevor and Liam, but then the hand...¡± His voice broke.Advertisement


    ¡°Whose hand?¡± My own voice was getting shrill.


    ¡°This hand with dried blood on it, and broken, mangled fingers appeared in the window next to the door. Mrs. Hinton slammed the door and I heard her speaking in a low, quiet voice, then a man¡¯s voice saying something back. Then the voice said, ¡®Mom.¡¯¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sam¡¯s hand? Mangled?


    ¡°So I shouted, ¡®Sam?¡¯ And all he said was ¡®Help.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Oh, my God.¡± My mouth and eyes filled with tears. ¡°Oh, Joe, what did you do?¡±


    ¡°I called 911 and told them there was a bloody hand in the window at Sam¡¯s address and I suspected assault. And I texted Trevor and Liam again. Fuckers were running late.¡±


    They both laughed a sad, bitter chuckle.


    ¡°Mrs. Hinton screamed at me to turn off the phone, but I left the line open and told the 911 operator I needed her to hear everything. She told me not to go into the home, so I waited. Trevor and Liam showed up just as a cop car and an ambulance appeared.¡±


    ¡°What had happened to Sam?¡±


    A voice behind us, from my door, spoke up. ¡°Six broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, two broken ribs and a liver injury that means I can¡¯t drink like a college student,¡± Sam answered. We all looked up, and I wondered what we must look like, discussing the man who stood before us with a face that was impassive as a British palace guard. Except he was dressed like a pale imitation of one of Boston¡¯s finest, hat and all.


    ¡°Your father did that to you? Because you lost?¡± I wanted to apologize, to tell him how I had no idea, how if I¡¯d have known I would have...would have what?


    ¡°My father beat the shit out of me because he¡¯s an evil, abusive alcoholic, Amy. It was going to happen no matter what.¡± Sam took the cap off and ran a shaking hand through his sweaty hair, gently placing the hat on my little nightstand.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t your mom take you to the hospital?¡±


    ¡°Because he told her not to.¡±


    ¡°What kind of mother does that?¡± The words were out before I could stop them. My own mom could be narrow-minded and an asshole sometimes, but not like that.


    ¡°A mother who is completely controlled by my dad.¡±


    ¡°Did the police do anything?¡±


    And that¡¯s the point when the entire room changed, yet again.


    ¡°Tell her what Reverend Hinton did,¡± Liam said bitterly.


    His shoulders slumping a bit, Sam seemed to need a moment to tell the next part. How much worse could it get? I glanced at his fingers and finally understood them.


    ¡°After my dad started to hit me, I punched him back. Once.¡± He coughed. ¡°And I missed. It was the first time I¡¯d ever tried hitting back¡ª¡°


    ¡°He¡¯d hit you before?¡±


    ¡°Spare the rod, spoil the child.¡±


    ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±


    ¡°When I took a swing, he went into this super-charged, psychotic mode. Pinned me to the floor and held my hand. Snapped my index, middle and ring fingers on each hand like he was snapping summer beans from the garden.¡± I winced, imagining the crack of bone.


    ¡°And then the rest of the beating. When he was done, he left me in a pile on the living room floor and took off his shirt. He reached for my broken left ring finger and yanked off my class ring. Then he slowly, systematically, scratched himself all over with it, leaving bloody trails.¡±


    ¡°Why would he¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Because when Joe called the cops and they later interviewed him, he claimed I¡¯d done that to him. That it was all a family affair and he¡¯d prefer to keep it that way.¡±


    ¡°The police believed him?¡±


    ¡°Reverend Hinton would never hit his own child unless it was self defense,¡± Sam said in a sing-songy voice.


    ¡°Oh, God.¡±


    ¡°The fucker planned it,¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°Dad would have made a great debater. Thinking eight steps ahead.¡±


    ¡°That is so evil.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m the evil one. I didn¡¯t honor my father by doing what he commanded.¡±


    Sam¡¯s bitterness made me want to run away with him and just hold him for ten years.


    ¡°That asshole,¡± Joe muttered.


    ¡°You!¡± I whispered. ¡°You saved him.¡±


    ¡°Joe¡¯s my messiah,¡± Sam said. ¡°I accepted him as my personal savior.¡±


    ¡°Ha ha,¡± Joe said, looking a bit sick.


    I planted a quick kiss on Sam¡¯s cheek and looked into his soulful eyes. ¡°Thank you. I didn¡¯t know any of this.¡±


    ¡°I know you didn¡¯t. And I should have told you a very, very long time ago, Amy,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t any of you tell?¡±


    Uncomfortable silence. Liam avoided my eyes.


    ¡°There¡¯s more?¡±


    ¡°After Sam got out of the hospital, my mom offered to have him come live with us. But Sam¡¯s dad convinced most of the town that Sam was this unstable, raging maniac who had abused his entire family and practically held them emotional hostage.¡±


    ¡°Way to project.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± Trevor agreed. ¡°Once Sam lived with us, Mom figured out damn fast that the problem wasn¡¯t Sam. But she told us that most parents¡ªincluding your mom¡ªbelieved the stories.¡±


    Mom hadn¡¯t said a word about it. And no one else had, either.


    ¡°I live one town over from your district! Why didn¡¯t I ever hear about this?¡±


    ¡°Sam¡¯s dad did a good job of keeping it quiet.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon. Gossip is a fucking art form around here.¡±


    ¡°So is emotional blackmail. Think about the shit my dad knows about a lot of people in town,¡± Sam answered.


    Evan. Did Reverend Hinton know about Evan? Was that why my mom would have kept the secret? ¡°My mom,¡± Amy groaned.


    ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bet that¡¯s why I never heard. She wanted to keep Evan a secret.¡±


    ¡°About his drinking?¡± Trevor asked.


    I snapped my head up like a puppet on a string being pulled by a master. ¡°You know?¡±


    ¡°I know he was a partier because I was, and he was at every big one.¡±


    All the shame I¡¯d felt was gone. Evan¡¯s and Mom¡¯s choices were theirs. Not mine. Nothing they did reflected on me. Why had I worried so much? ¡°Evan¡¯s been in and out of rehab for years. Mom makes me keep it secret. Hell, I had to bail him out of jail. For drug felonies.¡± I looked at Darla.


    ¡°Is that what happened that night?¡± Sam asked, looking between us.


    Darla was uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°When I said Amy had some business you didn¡¯t need to know about? Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything, Liam?¡± I asked, the words making him flinch.


    Every set of eyes was on him, Sam¡¯s unreadable, as Liam struggled for words. ¡°I...I¡¯ve asked myself that a lot over the years. Trust me ¨C it¡¯s not something I just blew off. Charlotte had just ¨C and I thought you already knew because your mom must know ¨C and then....¡± He sighed and looked at me with a soulful, apologetic look.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    I took in half the air in the room with a long inhale, then slowly let it out as I said, ¡°We really hold on to our parents¡¯ secrets, don¡¯t we? We¡¯re trained from early childhood that their lies are some sort of objective reality, and that we have to follow the charade at all costs. And then we grow up and it¡¯s like a demented sort of inheritance. An emotionally fucked up trust fund that just keeps on giving.¡±


    Five pairs of eyes bored into me.


    ¡°Carry the secrets around like we invented them, but they aren¡¯t ours. Never were.¡±


    Sam interrupted me and added, ¡°And never will be again.¡±


    Sam


    ¡°You guys have a lot to talk about,¡± Trevor said, clearing his throat. The others got the hint and trickled out, though Darla lingered and approached Amy.


    ¡°If you need anything, just text me.¡± Amy nodded, and then Darla caught her eye with great intent. ¡°And tell him, Amy,¡± she whispered. ¡°Just tell him everything.¡±


    ¡°Everything?¡± Amy asked, a weird look on her face.


    Darla seemed puzzled, then alarmed. ¡°No, not about¡ª¡± she waved her hands around her hips¡ª¡°that!¡±


    What the hell were they talking about? Both looked at me, then each other, and shook their heads quickly. Darla shot out of the room like it was contaminated.


    ¡°Something I need to know?¡± I asked.


    Amy snickered. ¡°Someday. But it¡¯s not as important as what we need to talk about.¡±


    I nodded. Here it came. Four and a half years of everything. Tired of hiding, tired of not saying what needed to be said, tired of shutting down, I just decided that this was it¡ªthis was life. Our emotional reality had to be in sync and if I poured out my soul in the space between us and she didn¡¯t like what she saw, then I would have to deal with that and move on.


    Because being true to myself hadn¡¯t been a one-time event four and a half years ago. It was an ongoing, lifelong process that could only come through in daily decisions that added up to a life of being me.


    The real me.


    ¡°Tell me what happened that day. When you went home,¡± Amy urged.


    ¡°I just did.¡±


    ¡°Not everything.¡± She reached out for my hand and caught my eyes. ¡°You came in and filled in the blanks after Joe and Trevor told part of the story. I want to know it all. I have all the time in the world. Nothing is more important than this.¡±


    No one had ever asked me that. Not Joe, not Trevor, not their parents. They knew the barest of details and let me keep the rest quiet.


    ¡°Joe dropped me off in the driveway. I walked in the front door and felt cold inside. Dead. Like I was preparing myself, for I knew what would happen.¡± I didn¡¯t need to close my eyes to envision the scene.


    It was burned in my brain every second I lived.


    ¡°Dad was there and he said, ¡®Did you do it?¡¯¡±


    All I could say was, ¡°Fourth.¡±


    Amy winced and squeezed my hand.


    A deep breath in, then out, and I continued. ¡°¡¯Fourth?¡¯ He screamed. ¡®What happened?¡±


    ¡°It was a runoff and I lost my debate. She won, so¡ª¡°


    ¡°¡®SHE?¡¯¡± I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s when my mom came running in the room and looked at the two of us. The way she twisted her neck, how her eyes were so disappointed in me, and so afraid at the same time, it¡ªit kicked something off in me. Triggered it. I don¡¯t know...¡± My heart was slamming in my chest. Amy had to be able to hear it, because it drowned out everything in my ears.


    ¡°If it¡¯s too much, you can just tell me later,¡± she said, a worried look on her face.


    ¡°No. I want to tell it all.¡± My voice came out more like a growl than I¡¯d intended.


    She flinched.


    I softened. ¡°Because you¡¯re the first person who has ever asked and you¡¯re the only person who really should know.¡±

 Page 41

    Tears filled her eyes and she stayed quiet. The seconds ticked by. Reckoning¡ªthis was a reckoning.


    ¡°And then he screamed for a good two minutes about how I¡¯d let a girl beat me.¡±Advertisement


    Amy rolled her eyes and I felt a smile spread across my face.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the worst of it. He grabbed my arm¡ªhard enough to leave a two-week bruise¡ªand then sputtered that I was a disappointment because I¡¯d let a cunt beat me.¡±


    All Amy did was blink.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I sputtered, realizing how foolish it was to just blurt that out. The image of Dad¡¯s words and face was so branded in me, and it was that moment¡ªthat fucking moment when he said that damn word¡ªthat changed my entire life.


    One word.


    One single word.


    ¡°He said that?¡± she gasped.


    ¡°Yes. Reverend Hinton called the girl I¡¯d fallen in love with a¡ªyes.¡±


    ¡°See you next Tuesday,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°No, he said the whole word,¡± I explained. ¡°Because that¡¯s when I turned into some sort of Hulk state. It set something off in me. No one calls you that and gets away with it.¡±


    She smiled, her lips shaking and eyes filled with tears.


    ¡°No one, Amy. No one.¡± This time I didn¡¯t try to keep the growl out of my voice. ¡°Not even my fucking father.¡±


    Through a ragged breath, I choked out: ¡°Especially not my father.¡±


    Amy


    My apartment had been so crowded that the breath of so many occupants warmed the air still, even though it was just me and Sam now. Yet his story chilled me. The broken fingers, his father¡¯s self-abuse to spin a story, the minister spewing words about me that were unspeakable¡ªit all made me ache inside for poor Sam and all he¡¯d endured.


    ¡°Before we talk about anything else, let me say that when you saw me with that woman tonight, it wasn¡¯t what you thought. I swear, Amy, she came on to me and her boyfriend shoved me against the way and Liam saw it all¡ª¡±


    ¡°I believe you.¡±


    ¡°You do?


    I love you. The text said I love you. Everyone in the group knew he was a stripper, and I could imagine a drunk, horny woman wanting Sam, because right now, I wanted Sam, too.


    Except I wanted all of him. Not just his body.


    I love you.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you trust me enough to tell me?¡±


    A kick to the stomach couldn¡¯t have has as much impact as my words. His face screwed up in pain. ¡°Because I¡¯m stupid.¡±


    I shot him an oh, please look.


    ¡°No, I really am. I can¡¯t seem to get anything right with you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need everything to be right.¡± The air crackled with energy, sparks flying between us. ¡°I need you to be real.¡±


    Placing his palms together, like a little kid praying, he put his hands in front of his lips and closed his eyes. Disconcerting, though¡ªhe was still wearing that damn cop uniform and it made the whole conversation tilt a bit, surreal and weird.


    ¡°Ask away.¡±


    ¡°The whole truth?¡±


    ¡°Nothing but.¡±


    ¡°Get ready for the cross examination of your life.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been completely on your own this entire time?¡±


    ¡°Once I graduated high school, yes. I mean, the Connors and the Rosses have helped me here and there when I needed a place to crash, like for Spring Break, but otherwise...¡± His voice trailed off. He looked sick, like someone had gut punched him.


    I knew that feeling. Telling the truth when you¡¯ve been taught to craft lies made you feel ill. Crazy, right? Backwards and inside out it all was, but that¡¯s reality when you¡¯ve lived with parents whose entire sense of being revolves around convincing their kids that the surface lie matters more than the deep truth.


    ¡°Sam, why didn¡¯t you call or text me? Or answer my emails?¡±


    ¡°At first I just was injured and trying to figure out what to do. Amy, it was like I lived in a constant state of panic, and I didn¡¯t know how to talk to you. I had broken hands, no home, no money, and¡ªI figured you would just reject me once the rumors got out that I was some maniac who attacked my dad, so....¡±


    A memory. Prom night. My mom saying it was a ¡°good thing¡± after all that I didn¡¯t end up with ¡°someone like that.¡± Oh, God.


    She knew.


    Except she didn¡¯t know. She knew the cover story and ran with it.


    ¡°And then the one time I did call you, you didn¡¯t call back.¡±


    The what? ¡°The one time what?¡±


    ¡°I lost my phone service¡ªdad cut it off¡ªand so the only number I knew was your home number. So I called and your mom answered. She said she¡¯d give you the message. And when you never called, I....¡± He shrugged.


    A vortex of disbelief surrounded me and began to spin, making the room off kilter. ¡°My mom what?¡±


    His face changed, a resigned sigh pouring forth from that beautiful, soulful mouth. ¡°She never told you, did she? I always wondered...¡±


    ¡°Sam, if you had called I would have run the Ironman triathlon to get to a phone and call back if I¡¯d known!¡±


    ¡°All these years, I thought¡ª¡± we said in unison.


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t?¡± we said again.


    Sam put his hands on my shoulders and bent down so we were eye to eye.


    ¡°You wanted me after all?¡± he whispered.


    A huge lump in my throat made it impossible to answer, so I just nodded.


    ¡°Really?¡± Incredulity stretched his voice as if he were a teen again, a pained sound of longing in there.


    ¡°God, Sam, yes.¡± A flash of prom night, of crying in Liam¡¯s arms, and of turning to him for comfort and love that was a pale substitute for what¡ªit turned out¡ªSam wanted, too, made a giant ball of fury build inside me.


    Ready to be thrown straight at my mother.


    ¡°Let me be clear,¡± I said, reaching for his face. My palms brushed against his strong jaw and the light stubble of a man¡¯s beard. ¡°I thought you were ignoring me and never wanted to see me again because of the debate. If I had known you called, I would have seen you. I loved you then,¡± I said, my voice breaking. And I love you now. The words were on my lips when he interrupted.


    ¡°And Liam?¡± he asked.


    Screech. That put a halt to all the love talk. Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard. ¡°What about Beth? And Brent? And other girls you¡¯ve been with? What do our pasts have to do with now? When I am in bed, alone, and lonely, it¡¯s you I think about. Every.Single.Moment. Our kisses, your touch, the way you made me feel¡ªit¡¯s made every sexual encounter I¡¯ve had seem like child¡¯s play. A kiss or a caress from you is one thousand times greater than making love with anyone else. It¡¯s always been you.¡±


    A fierceness filled his eyes, and his hands tightened on my shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re reading my heart,¡± he rasped. ¡°I¡¯ve tried so hard to get over you,¡± he added. ¡°Tried to forget how you tapped into my core and made me feel whole. You got me, Amy. No one gets me.¡± He laughed bitterly. ¡°No one. And so now you¡¯re telling me that I¡¯ve spent more than four years thinking you rejected me and you¡¯ve spent all these years thinking the same and we tried to fill the emptiness with other people.¡±


    Time stood still.


    We just stared into each other¡¯s eyes, knowing.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. You¡¯re so right. I don¡¯t care about who we¡¯ve been with. I care only about who you¡¯re going to be with for the rest of your life, Amy.¡±


    And then he was kissing me and once again, time tesseracted and folded, as if those years were blended into right now, as if we had been together forever and would be together forever.


    Just like that, the macrobeats and the microbeats lined up and the cacophony that plagued us both turned into a symphonic joy only we could hear.


    The rush of blood pounding through me, the softness of his lips on mine, the feel of his arms around me, tightening as his tongue explored, impassioned lips closing over my lower lip to play and connect¡ªit all felt so natural.


    This was who I was. This was where I was meant to be. Sam was mine and I was his and my tiny apartment felt like the entire world as the rush of desire consumed us both. I reached for his shirt to take it off and...couldn¡¯t.


    My hands sought out the hem of his shirt, until I remembered he was still wearing his fake cop¡¯s uniform. Reaching for the seams on either side of his neck, I pulled¡ªhard¡ªand then his entire outfit peeled off in one strange tearing sound. He stood before me wearing only a lovely, very tight G-string.


    ¡°Occupational hazard,¡± he muttered, kissing me fiercely.


    ¡°Let me get some ones to tuck in there.¡±


    He burst out laughing, lips against my cheek, and then our wobbly legs fought against us as we discarded the only remaining layer between us, a frantic need for skin and heat and lust so great we both felt it take over the space between us as clothing was discarded, Sam¡¯s hands on my waist as he peeled every boundary between us off and tossed it aside like it was nothing.


    Our bodies shimmered in the dark, the sliver of moon giving a gentle reminder of what light could do, the shadows and curves of our flesh like a sculptor¡¯s relief map of sensuality. He looked so beautiful, and made me feel so real, our eyes locked, each second deepening the flow of love between us. Layer by layer, life as I knew it separated, replaced by a raw sense that awakened within.


    ¡°Tell me what you want,¡± he whispered, a foot away from me, his eyes roaming over my exposed body the way I¡¯d always wanted a man to see me.


    ¡°I want you to love me as much as I love you.¡±


    ¡°Too easy,¡± he murmured, moving fast, hot hands on my waist, lips on my shoulder, teasing out a shudder of desire and joy. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing that for years.¡±


    ¡°Then show me how you love me,¡± I ventured, bold with him. His skin was so tantalizing, my curves against his hardness, our limbs and hands finding spaces and folds that fit together as if carved to interlock without fail.


    ¡°Too easy, too,¡± he sighed, the sound turning guttural and primal in the back of his throat. My breath caught in my throat as his mouth found the hollow at my collarbone, his fingers stroking a nipple, the sensation filling me with a wet yearning that could only be filled by him.


    Now.


    It was finally perfect.


    Without words, we dropped to the bed, his hands exploring my body, my climax ready in anticipation of Sam¡¯s attention. Greedy hands¡ªmine¡ªsoaked his body in, the freedom to roam more sensual than the actual caresses, my mind unwinding and relenting, all fears and worries dashed away by access to this delightful play.


    A few kisses, wet and wild with the need to express years of want, and then his mouth traveled down my breasts, over my belly, and then exactly where I needed to be appreciated most.


    I stopped him with my hands against each side of his face, and he tipped his head up, eyes dark and filled with a timeless lust that seemed to be spun, wholesale, from the emotions that hovered in the air.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± A tearful chuckle came out of me as he stroked my thigh, light traces on the inside making me shudder.

 Page 42

    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For proving I wasn¡¯t a fool for wanting you all these years, and for hoping that somehow this could be real.¡±Advertisement


    Pulling up, he crawled over me, hovering with a hard, muscled ease. Heat escaped from his skin in waves, matching my own. ¡°Let me show you how real we can be, Amy.¡± Bending down, he planted a sweet kiss on my mouth, changing to a luscious promise. And then¡ª


    The rush of his tongue against my folds, the throb of my engorged lips and the raw intimacy pushed me to the edge with a cry, my fingers buried in his hair as he pushed me into abandon so quickly it surprised us both. As another orgasm grabbed me and shook me I cried out his name, the word all I knew, my body ragged and worn by the time his tongue stopped playing the virtuoso performance.


    I reached for his hard self but his hand stopped me. ¡°No. I need to be in you tonight. Deep in you. I want to touch the very core of you, Amy, and to watch your face as you come again, knowing you love me and I love you.¡±


    Desire rushed full force again, bursting through my soul. ¡°I do love you.¡±


    ¡°I love you, too.¡± The kiss was wet and lush, the taste of me on Sam¡¯s tongue like a possession. Own me, I thought. Not in some obsessive way, but in a reciprocity and reveling in each other. I twisted and reached for my little end table, his hands all over my ass and breasts. Fumbling, I found my quarry and opened the foil wrapper, slowly rolling the condom over Sam¡¯s pulsing cock.


    ¡°Ah, God,¡± he groaned, and then he did something I never expected.


    Stretching out, he pulled me on top of him, guiding my hips into place so I perched above him. ¡°I want to watch you in the moonlight,¡± he said as I dipped my head down to kiss him.


    ¡°Ride me.¡±


    Sliding down over him was like coming to my real home, like finding my true core, as every connection of flesh with Sam strengthened me. The feel of him in me was so complete, and his hands filled with my breasts, the exotic, lavish touch more real than any reality I¡¯d ever struggled to uphold.


    Urging me with his hips, I began to pull up, then plunge down, gasping as he began to thrust back. Sam took one hand and reached between us, finding my sensitive clit, and stroked it with lazy circles. I tightened and he groaned, so I pulled my muscles inward and the effect was like lightning.


    ¡°That¡¯s...incredible...¡± he said.


    ¡°So is that,¡± I murmured, meaning his fingers, playing me with perfect rhythm as separate parts of my body tightened and loosened, limbs and core all pulsing in different combinations until I increased the speed of our movements, Sam¡¯s urgency and powerful strokes making me shake, building a powerful pressure inside me I¡¯d never felt before.


    ¡°Oh, God!¡± I rasped. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Let it happen,¡± he said through gritted teeth, his own orgasm obviously close.


    And then.


    And then.


    I arched up, my body no longer mine, our bodies now a distinct entity, cleaved and welded together as one, the climax greater than any I¡¯d ever experienced. Sam¡¯s hoarse words matched my cries of ecstasy and I rode him with unbridled, unselfconscious bliss. Lost in every aspect of what our bodies and hearts and mouths and hands were doing right now, we existed solely to connect and bring pleasure to each other, the mounting pressure now released in a white-hot power that seemed otherworldly. Love, in flesh form, transported me, the rush of my hair against my back, the whisper of his fingertips at my breasts, the hot breath that danced between us all part of so many years, so many dreams.


    My fingers dug into his shoulders, my ass curled up, my body shook and wept until I collapsed on his, completely spent, my breathing labored and hard, hot air curling into his neck and hair as we both twitched and panted our way back to the pale imitation that others called ¡°reality.¡±


    A kiss on my shoulder shook me out of my stupor. ¡°Amy.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I just love saying your name while I¡¯m in you.¡±


    That made me laugh and that made him no longer be in me. We descended into a fit of giggles that took a very long time to control.


    ¡°I love you. I love being able to say that,¡± I confessed.


    ¡°I love you, too.¡± He kissed my shoulder. ¡°And I love hearing you say it.¡±


    We rested in silence, staring at the ceiling, my breasts pressed into his ribs, one hand playing with the hair on his chest, his palm caressing my arm. The way our skin effortlessly molded together, like we were made to fit together, gave the moment a deeper meaning.


    ¡°Amy?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask you a question? Are we still being truthful?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± My fingers played with the little thatch of hair on his chest, the red a deep auburn.


    ¡°Darla made a joke once about your hoohaw.¡±


    I froze.


    ¡°Something about a phone.¡± Warm palms roamed over my breasts, just touching for the sake of touch.


    ¡°You know, Sam.¡± I cleared my throat. ¡°Sometimes there can be too much truth in a relationship....¡±


    THE END