“Scooter invited me to the party, but he didn't mention he had a brother!” she says, playfully shoving my knee.
I give her a shy chuckle. With Vesper, I've spoken clearly more frequently than I ever have. I no longer have to wait for a new home to enter so I can feel that rush that tunes me like a dialer searching for a crisp channel on the radio. My notes are always off, my words spotty, but when I'm focused on survival, sex, or anger, it's like someone turns my tuner to the right spot and the words come out like a perfect melody.
“Well, I better finish up my gardening.” She finally relents.
I smile and nod.
“I'll see you later then?”
I nod again and give her a friendly wave.
She baby-waves at me before spinning on her heel and shoving her hands in her pocket.
Milly sways her hips as she crosses the street. A recent divorcee out on the prowl. I can smell the desperation.
At any other point in my life I'd be carving out a plan to get into that house and make her regret all the attention she ever begged for. But all I can think about is the pretty girl sitting in her room, with her ass stretched, waiting for me to fuck her.
Scoot failed to mention that the family dinner he had invited me to had grown into a neighborhood cookout. That's him in a nutshell right there: always pretending to give a shit, when he doesn't at all. He doesn't really know me or understand me. He thinks he can just keep prodding and pushing and I'll become like him. He knows this is my nightmare. A social gathering, where I have to talk to a bunch of people, some of whom I have never met. But if I leave he'll end up coming over to apologize and that's the last thing I need.
Just to add to the inherent misery, a few of his neighborhood friends who are cops are here tonight. I’m not worried they know who I am. In fact, when I do have to interact with these guys, I get a kick out of knowing they have no idea. Who would think Scoot’s little brother is The Night Prowler? But cops in general, they remind me of my dad, and I’d rather keep my contact with them to a minimum. I’ve kept my ear out for chatter when I was around them, but the one time work came up, Katie butted in and playfully ordered they not talk shop.
I know it would seem like the thing to do would be to get chummy with the cops at the party, but I’ve always been reserved around them so the change in behavior would be odd. It’s best not to talk. Any seemingly innocent piece of information could slip and implicate me down the line. I could place myself near the scene of a crime on a certain day or mention something about The Night Prowler that only the man himself would know. Some of these guys, they are like hawks, always scanning people, always hunting. So while everyone is drinking and socializing, I find a way to hide out upstairs where the kids are playing, like a fucking weirdo. Now I'm the stuttering creep who hides from the party with kids. I can't fucking win.
When the sky begins to swirl with shades of blush and umber, I decide I've played this game long enough and hope to make a quick exit. By the time I get downstairs and peek out into the backyard, it's clear everyone is trashed. Tiki torches are lit. Pot and cigarette smoke wafts in the breeze. The off duty cops always seem to lose their sense of smell at these shindigs. And these suburban folk sure like to get loose on the weekends. I debate whether I should risk slipping out without saying goodbye.
“Saaaaam!” Milly slurs. I roll my eyes before turning to face her with a plastic smile, and am surprised to see her arm wrapped around Scooter. Her legs wobble on top of her high heeled clogs. I wonder if he's fucked her already.
“Hey, where the hell have you been?” he asks playfully. “I was just about to take her home. She's had a little too much. Why don't you escort her for me?” He winks out of her line of vision.
“I-I-I was j-j-just leaving.”
“Oh come on! Take me!” she says, throwing herself into my arms. “Your brother told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Scoot says again, shooting me with a finger pistol and backing out before I can protest.
She's sloppy drunk, and a hint of her nipple is hanging out of her top. She disgusts me. Scoot thinks he's throwing me an easy lay, but I don't want these scraps. She's just delaying the delicacy I have back at the ranch.
Now I'm stuck with her and I have to play the whole gentleman thing, so I walk her across the street.
“Hey, I want to show you something,” she says, playfully pulling me to the side of the house, dark with shadows from the half-set sun. She stops and there is nothing in particular to show me, in fact we are in total privacy with most of the neighborhood being at my brother's.
She pushes me up against the house and presses her weight against me. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a joint, and lights it.
“Here, have some,” she whispers mischievously.
I take it from her, suck in some, but don’t inhale. I don’t want a foggy mind right now.