Saul counts before he takes the photo.
I try to smile when he gets to three, but my lips won’t turn up so I hide the bottom half of my face behind my shoulder a second before the shutter clicks.
twenty-one.
Cemetery movies are a summertime tradition, and they’re exactly what they sound like: People pay money to watch movies in a cemetery.
But it’s a pretty cemetery in Hollywood, a lot filled with gorgeous mausoleums and crypts belonging to old-time movie stars and important people of Los Angeles. The movie is set up away from the gravestones, which eliminates the creep factor. And I always think there’s something peaceful about walking through the manicured grounds.
Lionel insists on driving to pick up Rafaela, but Emil wants to drive, too, so we take two cars. I have to wonder how much of Lionel’s insistence is because he doesn’t want to be trapped in a car with me. His energy level seems steady, like it hasn’t increased since the evening of the fight. It hasn’t gone down, either, but I’m waiting for that crash. Dreading its nearly inevitable arrival, no matter how unpredictable its timing.
He and Rafaela arrive first and we squeeze into the line ahead of them, ignoring the frowns of the people behind us. The gates don’t open for a couple more hours, but everyone lines up early to get the best spot on the grass.
“We brought snacks.” I hold up the paper bag in my hand.
“And we brought blankets and booze.” Rafaela points to the canvas backpack on her shoulders. “Oh, and I got a joint from Alicia.”
Lionel is in a good mood; I can see the energy behind his eyes, but he seems relatively calm. Sometimes I think about what he said to me that night, that we’re not really family, and I wonder if it actually happened. I’d think I’d completely imagined it, but every time he and I make eye contact there’s a hardness behind his gaze, and I know it was real. I suppose he realizes it was enough to get me to keep my mouth shut, because he doesn’t seem at all concerned that I’ll go to Mom and Saul. And I don’t feel comforted by the fact that my brother knows me so well.
As soon as we get through the gates he grabs Rafaela’s arm and they start running toward the viewing area. They push past people who were in line ahead of us, the blankets Lionel was in charge of tucked under his arm like a football. Rafaela screams as they sprint away, wild and giddy, like she’s tearing through the air on a roller coaster.
“Damn. Lionel might’ve missed his calling with track,” Emil says, watching them go.
I take a deep breath and tell myself that’s not the sign. Not yet.
By the time we find them, Lionel and Rafaela have already claimed a patch of grass big enough for the four of us to spread out. They’re carefully smoothing out the wrinkles in the blankets when we arrive and Lionel looks up with a proud grin. “A pretty perfect spot, right?”
Rafaela doesn’t wait for us to respond before she confirms this with a kiss. “The best, babe.”
Babe? Wow. My eyebrows go up involuntarily and I feel Emil’s hand slip into my free one. I glance at him, wondering why he chose that moment to take my hand. He only smiles.
The time before the movie is prime for people-watching, when the DJ is spinning and people are popping open bottles of wine and setting up full-fledged picnics. I’m always fascinated by the groups of people who sit together, how sometimes they all seem to look and dress alike, and then others appear to be a bunch of people who were randomly selected to be friends. I wonder what people think when they look at the four of us together.
Emil and I raided the shit out of our respective refrigerators, so we have paper-thin slices of prosciutto, six different kinds of cheese, fancy crackers, and fig jam. There are red and green grapes and hard-boiled eggs and pickles and an entire loaf of French bread, along with some leftover challah I managed to save from last night’s Shabbat dinner. Rafaela and Lionel produce small plastic cups and two bottles of red wine that look expensive; I don’t ask how they got them.
“I’ve never seen Dazed and Confused,” Emil says almost sheepishly as the film is about to begin.
“Me either,” I admit.
“It’s a classic,” Rafaela declares. “Makes me wish I grew up in the seventies.”
“I’m not laid-back enough for the seventies,” Emil muses, moving a plate of cheese to the side.
“No free love for you?” she teases.
My eyes slide toward her. When she makes eye contact I know we’re both thinking of that night in the bathroom, of how things would be different between us if we all believed in free love.
“Nah. I’m more of a one-woman kind of guy.” Emil puts his arm around me and my face turns hot, as if he could read our thoughts. Rafaela smiles over at us and snuggles into Lionel, her palm grazing the freckles on his arm.
The audience is vocal, saying the lines with the characters or shouting them out before they’ve been recited. Rafaela pulls out the joint and sparks it up about a third of the way into the movie, but the smell of weed already permeates the air around us. She takes a long drag and passes it to me. I consider it for a moment, then take a small hit; it’s been a while since I’ve smoked pot. And it’s strong, but the small bit of smoke I inhale is smooth going down my throat. I hold out the joint to Emil, who shakes his head.
Lionel looks at me expectantly, but I hesitate before I hand it to him. I have no idea if he’s ever smoked before. What if he has a bad reaction?
Then he snatches the joint out of my hand without a word, reminding me that he doesn’t care what I think is best for him. I watch as he inspects it, puts it in his mouth, and sucks in. He repeats this two more times, and I think he’d have gone for a fourth hit if Rafaela hadn’t said, “Yo, save some for the rest of us.”
But I’m done. I can already feel it hitting me. Just strong enough to loosen my limbs and cloud my head with a delicious haziness, but not so much that I’m unaware of what’s going on around me.
“Feeling good?” Emil whispers by my ear.
I nod and relax against him.
Halfway through the movie, I sit up to grab my bottle of water. My throat is parched. I can’t find it next to me, and when I start searching the blanket, I look up and find Rafaela and Lionel making out. Not short, sweet kisses like before, but full-on lips melded together, his hands tangled in her hair with hers draped lazily around his waist. They’re practically lying back on the blanket and it all makes my stomach turn, but I can’t stop watching, either.
“Hey,” Emil says, and when I don’t reply, he lightly rubs my arm. “Hey, let’s go for a walk.”
I start to protest, point out that the movie is still playing, but both of us know I’m not even pretending to watch. So when he stands and holds out his hand, I take it and follow him off to the edge of the viewing area. We pass the portable toilets and stop next to the fat base of a date palm tree.