Eastlick and Other Stories Page 2

  “Really?” I ask.

  “You bet. We take off after dark. It’s a blast. Be here at eight, we’ll go.”

  “Um … okay.”

  Now I’m all nervous. I want to go, I want to be with his gang, whatever that means. And now I’ve been here too long, I’ll be late getting home, and that makes me even more nervous. Dru will notice, she’ll tell Mom. And how in the world am I going to ask Mom for permission? She’ll want to call Dana’s mom! No way. This is crazy. He’s going to hate me.

  I finish my Coke and hand him the glass. “Thanks. I gotta go.” I get to my feet and linger at the top of the steps. He gets up too, and stands really close to me. He smells like his own Coke, and car engine, and man. Not boy: man. I know what man smells like.

  “I’ll see you later,” he says, and touches me along the side of my cheek.

  I’m still shivering when I get home. And for the whole rest of the evening, every time I remember the touch on my cheek, I shiver again, with a shimmery delight.

  ~o0o~

  Mom was going to take me to the shoe store after she got paid on the first of the month, but we’re only going now. “It can be your birthday present,” she says. I don’t protest, even though this way it won’t be a surprise.

  We walk into the store and I immediately see what I want. Tall Frye boots, in a rich brown color. They have a stacked wooden heel, and a braid up the side. They’re stunning, gorgeous, amazing—and, better still, they are just like a pair of boots Dru has.

  They’re also a hundred dollars.

  A little gasp escapes me as I see them. Mom is already looking at the sale rack, at the low Oxfords with black laces.

  I don’t even know what to do. We can’t afford a hundred dollars. That’s a car payment.

  “Mom—I want these,” I say, before I can stop myself.

  Mom doesn’t hear me. She’s talking to the sales lady, who gets out the little metal measuring device. “Come here,” Mom says. “Are you a seven or a seven and a half?”

  “Eight and a half,” I say, with the tired whiny sound I hate in my own voice but that I just can’t help.

  She’s holding the hideous oxford. I walk over holding the Frye boot. The sales lady is holding the metal device. We look like we’re ready for battle, each with our chosen weapons.

  Mom barely glances at the boot, but she sees the price. I knew she would. “No,” she says, without hesitation. “Sit down, take off your shoes.”

  I brandish the Frye. “Why not?” I know damn well why not, but I want to make her say it. I know she doesn’t want to, she’s embarrassed in front of the sales lady, embarrassed to be divorced, poor, a failure. But I can use this, maybe. I can make her buy them; she doesn’t like to look bad.

  “I said no. Sit down.” She’s frowning, and her forehead is scrunched up and wrinkly. I glance at the sales lady. I know she wants to make a sale, maybe she can help me. She looks bored, but I suddenly catch a thought from her. Almost like she said it out loud, but she didn’t open her mouth. Another brat whining at her mother.

  I sit down, dropping the Frye. Mom leans over and unlaces my right shoe, yanking it off my foot. I don’t help, but I don’t resist. I’m too freaked out. I heard what the sales lady said, clear as day. She’s not on my side. But she didn’t speak, I know she didn’t. I can’t read minds.

  And I didn’t move the Ouija thing.

  We buy the oxfords. I barely say another word, just the essentials, and I shut myself in my bedroom when we get home.

  ~o0o~

  Dru lets me hang out with her on Saturday. She does my makeup, smoothing pretty blue eye shadow on my lids and sparkly blush on my cheeks, and then fixes my hair. Hers is perfect, of course, but she lets me learn how to do French braids on her. Her hair is so soft and smooth in my hands, and it slides away, out of my clumsy fingers. She just laughs, and brushes it out, and tells me to start over. She says I’m not holding it tight enough, but I’m afraid of pulling, of hurting her. But I keep trying, and after a while I produce something barely passable.

  “It’s great,” she says. “Now we’ll teach you to do your own.”

  No way. I’ll never be able to do my own. How can you do it, if you can’t even see behind your head?

  I fiddle and struggle and swear at my hair anyway, because she’s helping me. “This is stupid,” I finally say, dropping the mess.

  “You have to want it,” Dru says. “Focus. You can do it.”

  I look back at her, helpless. What is she talking about? Of course I want it! She nods at me in the mirror. “Go on.”

  So I try again, wanting it. And I braid my hair. It looks pretty good.

  Dru smiles now. There’s a gleam in her eye I haven’t seen before, and it makes me a little scared. Then it’s gone, and she’s herself again. “So—big birthday plans?” she asks.

  “Nah, not really,” I say, starting on the second braid. But then I have a fantastic idea. I could tell Mom I’m hanging out with Dru! Then I could go with the guys down the street … well, with Dana down the street, and whoever his friends are. It would be so much fun. And Mom knows Dru, she wouldn’t have a problem.

  I open my mouth to ask, but then don’t. Dru wouldn’t lie for me, she just wouldn’t. Mom trusts her. It’s no use.

  Dru must see my face light up and then shut right down again, as she watches me in the mirror. “What’s the matter?”

  I shrug, continuing to focus on the braid. “Nothing. Just—nothing.”

  She watches me for a minute, then says, “No, a smaller piece. Then wrap it under. See?” Her eyes stay on my face, in the mirror.

  ~o0o~

  Halloween is my birthday, but we’re going to do the family celebration on the weekend, when Dad is in town. At least I hope he’ll be in town. But, never mind. I don’t care if he is or not, actually. It doesn’t matter.

  “Is your friend coming by?” Mom asks. “What’s her name again?”

  I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom—the only big mirror in the apartment—fiddling with my costume. It isn’t anything like I’d hoped it would be. I wanted to be a witch, because of what Dana said that once, but I don’t look scary at all. Dru loaned me a tall black hat, and I’m supposed to be wearing black stockings, but I could only find grey nylons. My “long black dress” has little white flowers on it, and barely goes past my knees. I keep tugging at it, but it’s not going to get any longer. And underneath I’m wearing a small pad, the kind that sticks to your panties. My period should be over by now, but it kind of dribbled on, stopping and starting again. Mom says it does that, before it gets going for real. Having a blood stain on my clothes has suddenly become an obsessive fear.

  “Kristin,” I lie. “No, her mom’s picking me up at the end of the block.” My cheeks flush as I say this, so I turn and pretend to inspect something on the side of my face, away from her. I’d told her I was going trick-or-treating with a friend from band over on the nice side of town, where the rich houses are.

  “I don’t know why she can’t drive one extra block,” Mom says.

  I turn back to her and give her a long look. If I roll my eyes, she won’t let me go, but oh, how I want to. I want so hard for her to stop asking questions. I envision her shrugging, and then…

  Mom frowns, and shrugs. “Okay. You’ll be back by ten, right?”

  “Right.”

  After she goes out to the kitchen, I stare at my reflection a while longer. I don’t have a wig, and my hair is way too blonde to be witchy. The heavy makeup is good, but I look more like a hooker than anything else, come to think of it. And the Oxford shoes don’t help one bit.

  Well, this is as good as it’s going to get.

  I pause by the bowl of candy at the door—icky things, like suckers and Jolly Ranchers and stuff like that. Cheap stuff. I don’t want any of it.

  Not that anyone gets all the way down to the end of Eastlick. None of the houses along the block have their porch lights on, and who trick-
or-treats at an apartment complex anyway?

  “Bye,” I say, my hand on the doorknob.

  Mom’s cooking a package of Rice-A-Roni, stirring the melted margarine in the pan with the noodle bits and rice, the hot water already measured out and waiting. “Come here, let me look at you.”

  This time I do roll my eyes, but not where she can see. Then I walk into the kitchen, which isn’t really a separate room, except that it’s got linoleum instead of carpet.

  Mom eyes me up and down, hesitating at the nylons for a moment. I stand there, looking back at her. Then she sighs, and smiles, although she still looks sad. “Have fun.”

  “I will.”

  Outside, it’s cool and dark, and now the thin dress seems like not enough. But I won’t go back and get a jacket. It would ruin the costume.

  I’m at Dana’s house in a minute. His porch light isn’t on either, but I go inside the gate and up onto his porch, and ring the doorbell before I have a chance to talk myself out of it.

  Then I wait a long time, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. I can hear people inside, laughing and talking.

  I ring again, and knock.

  A guy opens the door. He’s ugly, with lots of pimples, and greasy blond hair. He might be Dana’s age, or maybe older. He’s not in costume, unless he’s dressed up as a hillbilly, or a mechanic. “Sorry, we don’t have any candy,” he says, still laughing at something behind him.

  “Is Dana here?” I ask, before he can shut the door on me.

  He pauses, looking over his shoulder, then seems to hear me. He turns back to face me. “Dana? Yeah, um—who are you?”

  “Lara.”

  The guy looks blank, then gives a wide smile. His teeth are not as white as Dana’s, but they’re not bad or anything. No, he’s not in costume. This is how he looks: just a dog of a guy. “Lara. Well, come on in, Lara!” He throws the door open wide.

  I follow him in. There’s sort of a party going on. I see a lot of beer, and I can smell hard liquor, and dust, and cooking oil. There’s only guys in this room. No one’s dressed up, nobody has Halloween bags or anything. Are they going to go trick-or-treating like this? I pause two steps into the house, looking around, fear tightening my chest. It’s not too late. I could turn around and go home now, say Kristin never showed up. Or just wait outside two hours, then go home and say I had a great time.

  Then I see Dana. He comes in from some back room, his face lighting up in a gorgeous smile when he sees me. “Lara! You made it!”

  Now it’s a whole lot better, although I still feel stupid in my costume. I smile at him as I yank the witch hat off my head, holding it behind me. “Yeah.”

  He crosses the room and puts an arm around me, and starts introducing me to people. I forget the names at once, there’s too many of them, and I’m just loving the feeling of him touching me. I notice another girl here. I think I recognize her from school, but she must be one of the eighth graders, or at least she’s not in any of my classes. Anyway, I don’t talk to her, as Dana moves us along to meet more people.

  “Here, for you.” The guy who answered the door is in front of us, holding out a plastic cup of Coke.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip, but it’s got some alcohol in it. Rum, I think. It gives the Coke a bad taste, but I take another sip anyway, because I don’t want to look like a nerd.

  Dana leads me to a couch and pokes at two guys. “Hey, scoot over.” They do, sort of, and then he sits down in the corner and pulls me down next to him. I have to almost sit on his lap, and my other side is leaning into the guy next to me, but he’s talking to the first guy and ignoring me, so I guess it’s all right. Dru’s hat is getting crushed, so I set it on the floor and take another sip. The Coke and whatever is sloshing around in the cup. If I drink it down lower, it won’t spill.

  Dana is talking fast, his dark eyes moist and pretty. No, that’s wrong. Guys’ eyes aren’t pretty; they’re handsome. I’m not listening to what he’s saying, because I’ve never been this close to his eyes before, and I just want to look at them.

  It’s not very long before my cup is empty. Did I drink that whole rum and Coke? Maybe I spilled some. I’m feeling very warm, and very happy. I can’t believe I was so nervous earlier. Everyone’s so nice. Now a couple of guys are standing before Dana and me, in front of the couch. Dana has his arm around me, and he’s touching my shoulder in a really sweet way. I lean over to put my cup down, but then one of the other guys grabs it out of my hand. “Another drink for the lady!” he says, and skips off to the kitchen.

  That strikes me as super funny—he’s like a comedian on TV, he said it in a real silly high voice. I laugh, and then Dana laughs too, and then the guy is back with a full cup. I take it and sip it. This one tastes more like Coke. Good, I don’t want to get drunk.

  I lean into Dana. It’s so nice to be near someone. Near him.

  It gets warmer and warmer. There’s a lot of people in the room, and they’re all drinking and talking so loud. Maybe we could open a window? But I can’t seem to say this, I’m confused, and sleepy. I suddenly wonder what time it is. There’s a clock on the mantel, but it’s stopped, it says three-thirty, and it hasn’t moved since I got here. Lots of beer bottles and empty cups are on the mantel too. Again I wonder who lives here with Dana, but now I can’t ask him, he’s talking to one of the other guys, even as he’s holding me really tight against him and stroking my shoulder and the top of my collarbone.

  Now I’m glad the dress is thin.

  But I guess we’re not going out trick-or-treating?

  I suddenly have a thought: Mom’s going to want to see the candy I got! Oh man! What am I going to do? They don’t have any candy here. I lean forward, pulling away from Dana, frightened. Mom’s going to kill me, she’s really going to kill me. She’ll know I lied, I’ll be in trouble forever.

  Dana pulls me back to him, and then turns to look at me. “Hey, I never even gave you a house tour. I bet you want to know where the bathroom is!”

  For some reason, everyone thinks this is super funny. So I laugh too, and then it is funny. Of course! A house tour!

  Dana gets up from the couch and pulls me to my feet. I’m holding tight to his hand, but still I almost flop over. Maybe I am drunk? The room is so hot, I feel giddy. I feel like I do when my favorite song is playing, like Black Water or something, but more confused. The room spins, then settles back to normal. I got up too fast, that’s all. Yeah, maybe I do want the bathroom.

  Dana leads me through the crush of guys—there’s even more guys now than when I got here, I think—and into a hallway. There’s still more guys in the hallway. We push past them and he points to a closed door. “There’s the john—someone’s in there, though. Come on.” He pulls me along down the hall, and I follow. It’s like playing Crack-the-Whip—he just drags me along. It’s nice.

  Most of the doors are closed, but the last one is ajar. “Here’s my room,” Dana says, pushing the door open. It’s dark, but he doesn’t switch the light on.

  He leads me into the bedroom and sits down on the bed. He’s still holding my other hand so I just fall down, landing in his lap. I’m giggling too. It’s all so funny!

  Then he’s holding me and he’s kissing me, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. At least until he sticks his tongue in my mouth.

  I try to pull back, startled. His tongue is huge, and his hand went up my skirt at the same time. But he just holds his tongue in there deeper, rolling it around mine. I’ve never French-kissed before, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t breathe all that well, either—just through my nose. And his big hand is squeezing my thigh, he’s squeezing too hard.

  Suddenly he stops the kiss and pulls away, smiling at me. “Very nice.” But he doesn’t take his hand off my thigh. He’s pushing my skirt up really high, to where you can see the top of the nylons, the ugly part at the top. His fingers keep pulling, reaching. Searching.

  I think this is the first time I’m really afraid.

  I start to try
to get up, off Dana’s lap, but he holds me tight, one hand on my thigh, one arm wrapped around my shoulders, his hand on the back of my head. “Uh-uh, don’t run away now, Lara,” he says, and leans in for another kiss. My mouth is open to say no, so his tongue just marches right in. He holds my head against his, with his fingers clutching my hair, and his other hand reaches further up my skirt, all the way to the top. Now he’s touching me—through the nylons and through the panties and through the thin pad—but I can still feel it, like an electric jolt. He’s rubbing his finger back and forth, and it feels good, and creepy, and I want to get the hell out of there. I never said he could touch me there. I never said he could kiss me or touch me anywhere.

  I struggle harder now, trying to pull away, to get his tongue out of my mouth, his hands off me. But suddenly he twists and pushes me down on the bed, on my back, even as he’s still all over me, his tongue in me. He’s way too heavy, too strong, too big. I can’t move. I’m trying to, but I can’t.

  Dana pulls his tongue out of my mouth long enough to say, “Don’t waste your energy fighting.” Then he settles over me even more. His knees are between my legs, prying them apart. My dress is hiked all the way up, so that the top of my nylons shows, and my naked belly button above it. Dana’s hand snakes down into the tight nylons, into the underwear. He can feel the pad. He laughs, breaking the kiss again, and says, “Hey, a bleeder,” before he puts his mouth right back on mine.

  At the same time, he pulls his hand out of my panties and reaches up on my stomach, higher, pushing aside my bra. He touches my nipple, then squeezes it hard. It hurts, you can’t touch them like that.

  “Mmph!” I try to cry out, twisting my head as hard as I can. I yank my mouth free of his, tasting blood, but I still can’t twist my body out from under him. He’s too big. “No!” I say. “Let me go!” I don’t feel drunk or warm or happy or anything any more. I feel sick, and I have his blood in my mouth, I cut his tongue with my tooth.