CHAPTER THREE
The sound of the doorbell’s jarring ring entered my dreams and eased me awake. Something about water, darkness, a baby crying. Then the fragments of the dream were gone. Where was I? My eyes focused lazily on the silky ribbon tails that were sticking out of Ada’s desk drawer. She had won those years ago when she was a promising ballerina. She must be ashamed of them now, I thought absently.
I raised my head up higher and looked at her alarm clock. It was 8 p.m. There was a full cup of tea on the bedside. I must have fallen asleep while she made it for me.
I heard a sharp giggle and flipped over to see her sitting on her window seat, on the phone with someone. She was listening intently and smiling broadly, her cheeks pink. I immediately knew it was a boy.
My phone was lying beside me in bed and everything came flooding back to me. The fight with my parents, what Dex had said. As disappointed as I was to realize that it wasn’t a dream, I was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to care as much as I did earlier. My heart and head were heavy and even when I tried to think about everything that had changed, I was numb.
There was also a tiny bit of relief washing over me. That was the one bright side to all of this: I didn’t have to lie anymore. That weight was no longer on my shoulders.
I eased myself up on my elbows and rubbed my temples. Naps always made me feel more tired than before I went to sleep, and this was definitely no exception.
“Yeah, it’s OK,” Ada said into the phone, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I should stay home. I don’t think my parents would let me out anyway. They’re stupid.”
She burst into a flurry of girlish giggles before saying, “OK hottie, see you tomorrow. Bye.”
She hung up her cell, staring at it for a few moments with a goofy grin on her face before placing it down beside her.
“Hottie? Who was that?” I asked groggily, not meaning to intrude but insanely curious just the same. I knew Ada liked guys, but I didn’t recall her ever calling any of them “hottie” before.
I fully expected her to tell me to mind my own business but instead she rushed over to me and held out her pinky finger.
“Pinky swear you won’t tell Mom and Dad?”
I took her pinky in my own and promised. For once Ada looked and sounded like someone I could relate to.
“Okaaay,” she grinned and went over to her designer bag and started rifling through it. She pulled out a high school yearbook photo, you know the terrible ones you got to hand out to your friends and sign the back of. Not that many people ever wanted mine with my double chin and blue hair and all.
I took it and looked it over. The cute, albeit older, face of a buzz–cut boy stared back at me. He looked like a jock with nary a spark of intelligence behind his dull eyes.
“That’s Layton. He’s my boyfriend.” She pronounced ‘boyfriend’ like it was joke. I could see from her eyes she wasn’t joking though. She was head over heels and trying to play it cool.
“How long have you guys been dating?” I asked, feeling just a tad protective. I remembered last month I had found a box of condoms in her drawer (I wasn’t snooping if that’s what you think) and prayed she wasn’t using it with this guy. He looked too old for her.
“Oh, since the beginning of the school year,” she said in a tone that was both casual and proud.
“And he’s a good kid?”
“Yes,” she sighed, and snatched the photo out of my hands. “Are you Mom now?”
“I’m just wondering.”
“You don’t trust my judgment.”
“I…” I put my hands up in the air and ended up shrugging. “He looks cute. I’m glad he makes you happy.”
“He does,” she squealed. “He’s more than cute, he’s f*cking hot. And he’s on like every sports team there is.”
I never pegged Ada to be the type to think dating a jock was cool, but if it was popular, then that explained a lot. Ada operated a successful fashion blog and who knows how many people she won over on a daily basis from just showing off her enviable body and insane wardrobe.
I wonder if she gets any hateful blog comments, I thought. I made a mental note to ask her later.
The image of the condom box flashed in my head again. I had to say, “I hope you’re not sleeping with him.”
“Perry!” she admonished. “That’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not…and I don’t want it to be. I just want you to be careful. Things can turn ugly really fast and if you’re not careful…” Fuzzy, angry memories drifted into my head. I waved them away.
“I am careful!”
“So you are having sex!” I exclaimed.
She leaped off the bed and crossed her arms. “For your information, no I’m not. And like you’re a saint…you’re sleeping with Dex.”
Now it was my time to leap off the bed. “I am not!”
The accusation was ludicrous (though immensely appealing).
She raised her penciled brow at me. “Right,” she said slowly. “You just spend all this time with this ‘hot’ older guy, you know, being chased by ghosts or whatever and jetting all over the place. Sure you’re not f*cking him.”
My jaw dropped. It all sounded so vulgar coming from her mouth. Suddenly I felt ashamed that I had those feelings to begin with. And why did she use air quotes around “hot”?
“First of all, Missy,” I said, sticking up my fingers and ticking them off, “I’m 23–”
“22.”
“Whatever. I’m 22. Which means I’m old enough to be able to handle having sex with someone. Second of all, Dex has a girlfriend. Third of all, Dex is my partner. Yes, we spend a lot of time together, but it’s on a purely professional level.”
More images flitted into my head while I was saying that. The way he sometimes looked at me, like he was searching deep inside my skull to discover how I was really feeling. The times I found myself being comforted in his arms. The way I had fallen asleep with my head on his bare chest, hearing his heartbeat lull me to sleep. The way his lips felt on my mouth, the jolt of electricity that made dying almost seem like a fair tradeoff.
“Yeah, well you obviously want to sleep with him and it’s only a matter of time,” she said, stuffing the photo back into her purse like it was a secret document.
My ears pricked up at that comment but I brushed it away. “I doubt it, Ada. It won’t happen.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said as she walked over to the side table and picked up the cold mug of tea. “Do you want me to make you more tea since this went to waste?”
“Sure and what do you mean, you hope I’m right?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out,” she said overconfidently and walked out of the room.
Figure it out? Figure what out?
I hopped off of her bed and followed her into the hallway like a curious cat. She had stopped halfway down the staircase and was just standing there, staring into the living room just as she had done earlier when I was fighting with my parents. A horrible feeling swept across me. What was she looking at? Were my parents both dead in the living room?
I didn’t even let my mind dwell on that morbid thought. I walked down the stairs to join her and heard my dad’s voice boom, “Just know I don’t like this one bit,” letting me know that they weren’t dead after all.
I stopped beside my sister and followed her gaze.
My dad and mom were sitting in their armchairs. It was like they hadn’t moved at all. The glass fragments and paintings were still on the floor.
They weren’t alone. On the couch across from them was a man.
It took a few seconds to realize that I knew who the man was. I knew his slouchy position as he leaned forward on his cargo pants, his grey hoodie, his floppy, messy dark hair.
My nerves were on fire, gluing me to the spot. I wanted to look at Ada to see if she could see what I was seeing but I couldn’t look away.
I closed my eyes tightly, thinking it was some f*cked–up illusion. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
When I opened them, the room had gone quiet and my parents were looking up at me. Dex slowly turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. Those eyes of his were unmistakable. Dex was in my living room, talking with my parents.
What. The. F*ck?
I was speechless. And thoughtless. I could only stand there, staring. I’m pretty sure my mouth was agape too.
“Perry, seems you have a visitor,” my mother said.
I barely heard her. My eyes were still locked with Dex’s. They were masked and offered no clues to what was going on. But the tiniest twitch of his upper lip said enough.
Out of the corner of my eye I became aware that Ada was watching me closely. Everyone was waiting for me to say something.
So I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Dex…what are you doing here?”
He pursed his lips and let it slide. He casually looked at my dad, who had stood up.
“Dex came all the way over here from Seattle to talk business. Your business,” Dad said in that command respect sort of way. It was the professor in him coming out.
I finally looked at Ada. Her eyes were wide but she seemed to be enjoying the whole situation.
Dex was looking at us. He got up, easing himself off the couch, and sauntered over to the staircase, eyeing Ada with a bemused smirk.”This must be Little Fifteen.”
“The name’s Ada,” she said in her angsty teen voice, the amusement disappearing from her face. “You must be Perry’s crazy partner. You’re a lot shorter than I thought you’d be.”
I closed my eyes in embarrassment while Dex said, “Ah. I can already tell you guys are related. The Snarky Sisters.”
I opened my eyes at that just in time to see Ada muster the evilest stink eye as she flounced down the stairs and went into the kitchen. I looked back down at Dex.
“Sorry to just show up unannounced. Can we talk?” he asked in that rich voice of his. I glanced over his head at my parents. They seemed to expect it. I don’t know what they had been talking about but it was obvious Dex needed to bring me up to speed in private.
I nodded and looked up the stairs. My bedroom seemed like the most obvious place. I could almost feel Ada snickering in the kitchen at how absurd (and fitting) the situation had gotten in the last few minutes, from talking about how I hadn’t slept with Dex, to leading him to my bedroom. It was insanity.
I walked up them with Dex coming up behind me. I felt shaky, nervous and pale. I wasn’t prepared for this. I could almost feel the energy he radiated glowing at my back. Then vanity kicked in. Was my bedroom clean? Did I have underwear flung all over the place? I must have looked like absolute shit from crying my eyes out.
I opened my door. The desk lamp was already on but that light was a bit too romantic so I flipped on the overhead lights and ushered Dex inside. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, taking it all in. I closed the door behind us and did a quick scan to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary.
It was messy as usual but my underwear and embarrassing items were tucked away for once. Well, I guess the row of stuffed animals I had could have counted as embarrassing. Least they were when he laughed and lazed over to them, picking up my tattered monkey Tim. >
He waved it in my direction. “How old is this poor guy? His f*cking eye is hanging out.” He flicked it with his finger and it waved back and forth like a pendulum.
I gasped and ran over, plucking Tim out of his destructive hands. “That’s Tim and I’ve had him since I was two years old.” I held Tim to my chest in protective instinct. Dex stared at me with utter amusement.
“So I have stuffed animals, so what?” I asked defensively. I thought my Alice in Chains and Melvins posters made up for that fact.
He smiled, shrugged. I put Tim back down in the pile with the rest of his friends.
“So?” I asked, turning around to face him, feeling all nervy again.
He was looking over my walls. “So what?” he repeated blankly.
I reached over and smacked him lightly on his shoulder so his focus was on me.
“Dex. What are you doing here?”
He frowned. “You’re not happy to see me?”
My head craned back on my neck, caught off guard. “Well, yeah, but…I mean...”
“It’s OK, I won’t hold it against you. Unless you want me to.”
I raised my brow.
He grinned, a very quick flash, before he wiped it off with the back of his hand. Then he was all serious, his lips in a tight line.
“I couldn’t let you back out of the show,” he admitted. “I knew if you talked to your parents you’d just f*ck it all up even more.”
I winced. That wasn’t very nice. But Dex was nothing if not brutally honest at times.
“It’s just a two–hour drive,” he continued, oblivious. “I’ve done more for a lot less.”
“You should have told me,” I said.
“Yeah? And have you freaking out for the next two hours? Come on, kiddo, I think I know you by now. This way was easier. And it worked. You can thank me, by the way.”
“What do you mean, it worked?”
He walked over to my bed, humming some song to himself. He lied down on it, putting his hands behind his head and kicked the mattress with the back of his heel. “Not bad, not bad. Could be a bit bigger, though. How do you fit your boyfriends on here?”
As annoying as he was being, it was a nice change to see him being a little more playful than the last time I saw him. Still, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and I wanted to be a little bit serious about the situation. I went over to my chair, pulled it over to him and sat down.
“Dex. What did you talk about with my parents? What was the business?”
“Oh,” he said as if he was surprised. “I just told your father that you’d be in some legal trouble if you broke your contract.”
My jaw opened a little bit.
“Uh, you have some balls, you know that?”
“Oh, I know.” He grinned to himself.
“I’m serious. That’s like…that’s like threatening my father. My father does not take threats well. Believe me.”
Dex looked at me, turning his head to the side. “You give your parents too much credit. Your dad is just a dude. He may be your big, scary father but to me he’s just a man who likes his wine, indulges in hypocrisy on a daily basis, and does what he can to be the main provider of the house. He responded just like I thought he would, like any man would. To reason. To logic. If you backed out of the contract, ShowNet would take action. You can’t break it without just cause and the fact that you haven’t figured out how to have a proper relationship with your parents is not just cause. Sometimes you need someone on the outside to point out common sense.”
I mulled that over with a mix of emotions. I didn’t like how Dex assumed he knew my parents better than I did, and I didn’t appreciate his condescending opinion on our relationship. He knew nothing about me and my parents – he hadn’t been here, growing up in this house, dealing with all the shit we had to deal with. But on the other hand…it worked.
I didn’t feel like giving him credit though.
“And then…” I coaxed him.
“What? He agreed. He gave me some big long spiel about how disappointed he was in you and how he raised you better than that, which I tried not to laugh at, and how this show was not a proper career and blah, blah, blah–”
“Yeah, I’ve heard enough of that today, thank you.”
“But then he came around and said it was only professional to do the right thing. Which is to keep doing the show. But you’re going to have to start paying rent here. Sorry about that.”
“What!?” I yelled, the loudness of my own voice surprising me. It didn’t surprise Dex, though. He only looked mildly apologetic.
“You’re 22. You probably should start paying rent. I have to pay my mortgage. It’s called being an adult. Responsibility.”
My fists began to clench again. I’d have a heart attack by the time this dreadful day was over.
“Thanks for the lecture, Dex. I turn 23 next week.”
He chuckled. “That’s not helping your case.”
I sighed angrily and walked over to my dresser. I spotted a vial of this herbal remedy you sprayed in your mouth every time you were upset or about to have a panic attack. It was probably all a placebo effect but that didn’t matter if it worked, did it? It was almost empty.
I sprayed it into my mouth as Dex got off of the bed and sauntered over to me, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Breath freshener?” he asked, taking it from my hands and reading the label over. He looked disbelieving and gave it back to me. “You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?”
“How can you tell?” I muttered sarcastically.
“It’s written all over your face,” he said pointing at my eyes. “Those bags belong in cargo hold.”
I gave him my most withering look. “Did you come here to make things better or make things worse?”
I aimed the spray into my mouth but the nozzle was turned the other way.
I ended up squirting Dex right in the face.
He winced hard, grunted and turned away. I swear it was an accident but it was a perfect one. I burst into giggles.
He wiped his watering eyes and stepped backward.
“I guess I deserved that,” he said, blinking rapidly at me. “What’s in this, pure alcohol? No wonder it calms you down.”
He came forward again and rested his hand on my shoulder. I felt that warm current flowing between us.
“Look, kiddo, I saved your ass,” he grimaced, wiping away a tear.
“It’s a pretty big ass.”
The smile came easily to his lips, his eyes red but dancing. “We both know how I feel about your ass.”
Ah, yes. He had grabbed it while we were slow dancing at the bar in Red Fox. It was the first time anyone had complimented my bubble butt. Well, anyone of importance, that is. And just like that I was starting to get inappropriate thoughts, images and feelings in my head, swimming around in a heady circle.
And the reality, that he was in my bedroom, standing close to me, his hand on my shoulder, wasn’t helping matters either. I became aware that I hadn’t said anything and the silence was getting awkward.
I cleared my throat. “I’m thankful you saved my ass. I really am.”
He squeezed my shoulder. I stared up at his face, his strong jaw and expressively wide mouth flanked by his barely there ‘stache, his low, dark brow that sheltered those all–knowing eyes that shined like polished coffee, the way his black hair flopped lazily across his handsome forehead. Wow. Thoughts like that weren’t helping the awkwardness either.
He’s your partner you idiot, I told myself. I broke my study of him and focused on the rescue spray in my hands. “So we’re still on for this weekend?”
With his hand still on my shoulder he said, “How about right now?”
“What?”
“How fast can you pack?”
“Sorry, you didn’t answer my ‘what?’” I wasn’t supposed to be ready until Friday.
Finally he took his hand off of me. My shoulder felt cold and exposed without his comforting palm. He walked over to my closet and flung it open.
“It’s just as nineties as I thought,” he said to himself, inspecting the haphazard contents. “Should I just start grabbing stuff? You kind of wear the same thing every day. Let’s see, we need leggings, a band t–shirt and skirt. Maybe jeans.”
I marched over to him and shut my closet door, facing him with my arms held against it like I was guarding some secret passage. “Seriously, where could we possibly be going tonight? Also, I wear my band shirts to sleep.”
“I’ve seen you wear them at other times. Weren’t you wearing a Kings of Leon shirt last week?”
“Dex!” I said through gritted teeth. I hated KOL with a passion. And also, he was pissing me off with his avoidance.
He yawned. Don’t tell me he was bored?
“Here’s the plan. I drove all the way down here to, uh, fix things. Now it makes perfect sense that you come up with me tonight to Vancouver. BC. Canada. Not the fake Vancouver across the river.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “It’s like nine o’clock at night!”
“OK, maybe we won’t make it as far as Vancouver, but anyway, we’ll get as far as we can. We have a hockey game to attend!”
“What?” I rubbed my temples again. None of this was making any sense.
“You said last time that it would be ‘great’ if we actually hung out in a normal setting and got to know each other as people instead of running around with ghosts and scaring our panties off each other.”
It’s true. I did say that. Not the panties part but I did mention, offhand by the way, that it would be nice if we could just hang out like normal people did. Like friends. But I didn’t see where this was going.
He read the confusion on my face. It wasn’t hard. “There’s a Canucks hockey game against the Rangers tomorrow night. I got us tickets. We have to go to Vancouver anyway, to talk to someone about the filming. So you know, I was just trying to be a good guy and please you.”
“Phhff,” I sniffed. “Please me? What if I said I hated hockey?”
“I’d never speak to you again,” he said, narrowing his eyes. It was hard to see how serious he was. He hadn’t really mentioned hockey before, at least not when I was listening, but he also took the weirdest things very seriously. “Is it true?”
“No.” I didn’t have anything against the sport, I just didn’t know anything about hockey. Understandable, since we had no NHL teams in Oregon, just the minor league Portland Winterhawks.
“Good,” he said, still watching me carefully. “Then we can still be friends.”
“So, we leave tonight…go to the island on Friday?”
“Correct–a–mundo. Then we come back on Sunday, just in time for your birthday on Monday.”
“You know when my birthday is?” I was sorta touched by that. It was sad that I was so easily impressed.
He tapped his head. “I’m more observant than you think. Now, without any more jerking off from you, I suggest you get packing as fast as you can. I’ll help. Where are your bras and underwear?”
I rolled my eyes, pulled out my overnight bag and started cramming crap in there.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve ever packed so fast in my life – I obviously needed to get out of that house more than I knew.
With Dex at my side it also kept any exchanges with my parents at a polite distance. My dad even helped us rummage through the garage to find me a sleeping bag. Staying on the island did not involve staying in any fancy cabins. We would be camping the entire time. Yeah, in November. In Canada. Fun times.
I could tell my parents were having a hard time coming to terms with the situation. They were still mad at my lies, disappointed in my choices but at the same time they understood where Dex was coming from. As much as they hated the idea that I had involved another person in my problem, they had no choice but to accept it. And having Dex there, an accomplished (sorta) and mature (again, sorta) man there probably helped.
And Ada…well, I knew how Ada felt about the whole thing. Just as we were coming out of the garage, she yanked me aside.
“You’re totally going to sleep with him now,” she hissed roughly in my ear.
I ignored her. There was no way I was going to get caught in that argument again, not with the subject slinking around in front of me.
Luckily we made it out of the house in record time and were soon cruising through the darkness on the I–5, heading north. Dex’s black Highlander was packed with everything from filmmaking equipment to a tent and camping gear.
Dex is one of those people who prefers to blast the music loudly and keep chit–chat down to a minimum. This trip was no exception. I found a strange comfort in our shared silence now, just hearing the music and the sound of his toothpick as it flitted against his teeth. When we first met I was so nervous being alone with him, I just needed to blab about anything to fill the air. I felt just a teeny bit proud that I knew Dex enough now that if we needed to talk, he’d be the one bringing it up.
Which is what happened an hour into our journey. I was in the midst of checking my emails on my phone when I felt him give me a curious look. It sounds stupid but you can always tell when Dex is looking at you. At least I could, even from miles away. Something about those eyes…
“So I’ve seen you’ve got your fair share of haters on the blog already,” he said. “Good job.”
I sighed loudly. I had wanted to talk about this for so long. >
“You’re telling me,” I said, giving him a pained and drawn–out look.
He seemed to think on that for a moment; a hint of gentleness graced his expression.
“Well, that’s the nature of the internet,” he mused matter–of–factly. “If you didn’t have haters, then I’d worry.”
“Yeah but they are really mean,” I pointed out.
“The internet is full of meanies. Their opinion doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it does, I thought.
He picked up on that. “Okay, it shouldn’t matter.”
“Maybe we should close down the comment section… it reflects badly on the show, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. Don’t underestimate the power of creating a community on the web. By having a place for people to voice their opinion, no matter how f*cked it is, attracts more people to the site. The more people to the site, the more people to watch the show, the more people to watch the show, the more ads we get, the more ads we get, the more pay I get, and eventually you. It’s a numbers game. You just have to buck up and ignore the haters. Everyone gets them, from the smallest blogs to the biggest websites.”
“Besides,” he said, slapping me on the leg. “I think it’ll be good for you. Toughen you up a bit.”
“I’m already tough enough,” I muttered.
“If you were that tough, this wouldn’t be bothering you. It should be water right off your back.”
My eyes automatically narrowed into two little slits. He took his eyes off the road and smiled when he saw them. Not the response I was going for.
“Is that look supposed to scare me?” he asked, his lips twitching in amusement.
I wanted to explode on him, just start shooting the salvos and bring up a lot of crap about my past, so he had an actual idea what it was like to be me. But I couldn’t. Because what he said actually had a point to it. I always considered myself tough…going through drugs and other problems while in high school, growing up with a family shrink (all my doing), the stunt woman classes I had taken for a defunct career. I had been through a lot – mentally and physically. So how was it that a few comments from people I didn’t know were weighing on my mind so much?
I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window at the black rushes of roadside that flew past.
“Honestly,” he spoke in a more serious tone. “It’s not worth your time, Perry. You’re better than that. And the more successful this gets, the more successful you get…it’s only going to get worse. But you’ll be OK.”
At that last bit he reached over for me again, but instead of slapping my leg, he squeezed my knee. It was borderline ticklish. Any more pressure and I would have been squirming. He didn’t remove it right away, either, and I could feel his eyes coaxing mine to meet them.
Too many feelings were running through me and my body was responding; my tongue felt dry and thick, the skin on my upper neck danced nervously, the hairs coming alive. I looked at him. He seemed concerned or interested in my response but there was something else lurking behind those brown eyes. Something I couldn’t place my finger on. It was almost as if he was undecided. A restlessness.
“So where are we staying tonight? Your place?” I found myself saying.
At that his eyes flinched and he quickly withdrew his hand.
“No,” he said, pursing his lips. I obviously said the wrong thing. I wanted to push it.
“Does Jenn object?”
If he flinched it was barely detectable. He did crunch down hard on his toothpick before saying, “No, no. She…it’s just better if we get as close to Vancouver as possible. I think Bellingham is probably a safe bet, just find a Motel 6 there or something like that. If we went through the border now we’d cause too much of a fuss…especially with all the gear back there. I don’t want to tell them we’re there on work since we would need a visa and all that.”
I nodded, not really convinced by his spiel but it did make sense. I wouldn’t have blamed Jenn anyway if she didn’t want me in their apartment. Still, the apprehension that Dex subtly gave off was enough to make me store the memory in my mind for future use. There was something else, and maybe one day I’d figure it out.