Nicolette squints and makes a face at me. “Fine, Jack, all right? Fine.”
Then she takes an hour-long shower and runs the hair dryer forever, long enough to dry her hair one strand at a time.
All night, I sit there next to her watching her sleep like she’s a baby quadruped, burrowing into my side, grabbing on to me with her hands and feet, her hair curling around her face and brushing against my arm. The room gets lighter, until there are shadows in the hollows of her cheeks, and she’s climbed out from under the covers, lying on the bedspread, still asleep, still grabbing on.
One eye opens. “Are you guarding me?”
“No.”
You can hear other travelers getting a move on, wheeling suitcases through the parking lot, slamming shut their trunks.
Nicolette sits up and stretches her neck, shoulders, and legs, working her hamstrings on the side of the bed. “God, I wish I could run right now.”
We’re in a middle-of-nowhere motel on flat, empty terrain.
I say, “How come you were so careful before, no one could find you, and now you want to jog down the highway in broad daylight? If you want to get caught before we get to Cotter’s Mill, I’m all over it. Let’s call the FBI right now. We could end this right here.”
I put the filter into the coffee maker. It’s going to be a long day.
“Someone could find me before,” she says. “You could.”
“I’m not playing bodyguard while you jog.”
“Don’t be like that,” she says. “Am I saying I’m going to do it? And I don’t jog, I run. You should try it. I hear it’s invigorating.”
“Nicolette, don’t. Come on. There are plenty of invigorating things we can do that don’t make you a target.”
“Give it a rest! I’m not giving it up in a fleabag motel room. Forget it.”
“You forget it! You’re the one who wanted to check into a motel in El Molino that night.”
“Any inducement to keep you from driving us into a tree.”
“Stop acting like I’m a pirate who’s going to steal your virginity and plant a skull and crossbones in your navel! I don’t know where you got that, but I actually like you—God knows why—and it’s insulting.”
“I’m not a virgin!”
“What?”
She sits back down on the side of the bed, turning her head so her now-black hair covers her face. “You’re the only person who knows that, so shut up.”
I have nothing, absolutely nothing, against girls who have sex. I’m for it. But I always thought that if they were already doing it, they didn’t fight you so hard over unhooking their bras: wrong again. I try to say something less addled than What the hell? or Huh? I say, “Sorry, but you can’t carry that off solo.”
She’s stands up, blushing to the point that her chest is mottled red. “The only person except for the guy, obviously. Thank you so much for pointing that out. Fine, so it was really idiotic. I hate him. I wish he was dead. I wish it didn’t happen, and I take it back.”
“Really? Because I heard it isn’t physiologically possible to take that back.”
“Yes, really! Shut up!” She pulls me toward the bed, and I’m not actually unbalanced, but I let her push me all the way down. “So, do you want it or not? Because this might be a one-time offer. Right now. Going, going—”
She’s sitting on my thighs, her palms flat on my chest.
“Not that this isn’t a great offer, but didn’t you just say you weren’t giving it up—”
“Damn, Jack. Damn! You’ve been trying for this the whole time, and now that I’m not Miss Pure and it’s not your idea, you won’t?”
“Baby . . .”
She’s naked in three seconds. I don’t have that much experience watching girls wriggle out of their underwear, but this is warp speed. There’s no part of her, not a single square inch anywhere on her—with the possible exception of the paint-by-number eyebrows—that isn’t beautiful.
“Now you,” she says. “And if you think I’m too fat or whatever, you’d better lie.”
“You’re not fat. You’re perfect.”
“Tell that to the boys who used to toss me in the air and catch me. Why are you still dressed?”
She starts to undo my belt.
I say, “Could we slow this down for a minute?”
“Are you turning me down? Because in Girl Land, where I come from, ‘Slow it down’ means no. And if you think I’m so perfect, no isn’t your best move.”
I start to sit up; she doesn’t weigh that much. “Get off. You’re always going on about how impulsive you are. Are you sure you’re not—”
“Do I look like I’m going to regret this? Don’t I look happy? Do you need me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? I lost it to a complete—don’t get shocked—shit, and you’re my do-over. I want to! Take off your clothes.”
I take off my clothes and grab a condom.
71
Nicolette
The sheets are cold and slippery.