She Loves You, She Loves You Not... (13 page)

“Bring the work with you,” she said.

“I can’t,” you insisted. “Most of it is research for reports. And I have
this group project in sociology.” Which was a lie. You stood up and took your plate to the sink. “I’m just going to stay home and work. Really concentrate my efforts.”

“No,” Tanith said.

“Wait a minute,” Dad cut in. “I think that’s smart. Very responsible.” He asked you, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You said to Tanith, to reassure her, “I’m just going to work the whole time.”

Dad said, “Okay, then. Paulie, you keep an eye on your sister. No hanky-panky.” He shot you a warning flare.

“Wait. Paulie’s staying too?”

Dad reached out and took Tanith’s hand. “We’ll make it a second honeymoon.”

That
wasn’t
the plan.

You spent half your break doing schoolwork and the other half playing stupid Guitar Hero with Paulie. Sarah went with her family to Florida. She might’ve told you earlier that she was leaving, so you wouldn’t have been forced to babysit your brother for a week.

One morning Paulie came into your room and flopped on the bed. You were half-naked in a tank and jockeys. “Hello? Remember this?” You knuckled his head to imitate door knocking.

“I’m bored. Can we call Ben?”

You resumed reading your history text. “Don’t you have any friends?” The image of ten-year-old hoodlums invading the house materialized in your brain. “On second thought…” And you weren’t even getting paid to babysit, and you were bummed about Sarah being gone, and you hated yourself for being such a coward. Paulie, with those sad puppy eyes. You slapped the history book closed. “Sure. Why not?”

Paulie grabbed your cell off the desk. “Is he star zero star?”

“What?” You took the phone from him and scrolled through your contacts list for Ben. Star zero star was Sarah. When the phone began to ring on Ben’s end, you handed it back to Paulie. “You ask him.”

There were weird vibes between you and Ben lately. You weren’t sure why. He’d stopped hanging out with you and Sarah. He hadn’t been coming to GSA. Paulie said, “Is Ben there?”

You figured you’d take a shower if Ben was coming over, since you’d been slumming all week, and your hair was a grease pan.

As soon as you shut the bathroom door down the hall, Paulie knocked. “Don’t come in,” you said. You were already naked.

Through the door, he told you, “Ben’s not home. He went to Florida for spring break.”

Why can I never see what’s right in front of my face? Because trust makes a person want to believe. Trust is more blind than love.

I run upstairs to put on shoes, to get out of the house before Carly returns, and what’s right in front of my face? Finn’s shoes. Now I hate them, but I don’t have anything else to put on my feet. All this time Finn was avoiding the subject of Carly for a reason. The shock on her face when she found out I was gay too. How fake.

My brain is a hornet’s nest of anger—mostly at myself. I’m so naive. I drive down the access road, kind of erratically while I’m fiddling with the AC and finding a radio station. Finn’s so full of shit. Is everyone a liar? Or do they only lie to me because I’m easily duped?

It’s twelve forty-five when I veer into the Egg Drop’s parking area in back. I skid to a stop on the cracked, dry dirt. The diner’s back door is propped open, and I hear the fan whirring away.

Finn’s racking dishes as I enter. I cross over to her at the
dishwasher. “Did you enjoy the show?” I say behind her back. “Did you get off on it? Did you think I wouldn’t find out about you and Carly?” My rising voice carries over both the radio and the fan. Arlo spins around at the grill, where he’s scraping the burned surface.

Finn frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I lower my voice and go, “You know damn well. Are you having an affair with her?” Carly said herself she has gay friends. Does that include girlfriends?

Finn spreads her hands at Arlo like,
I have no idea what this lunatic is ranting about.

I say, “I was at the strip club last night. I saw you.”

Finn blinks. “Saw me what?” she says, but her cheeks flush.

“If you’re in a relationship with Carly, just tell me and I’ll—” I almost say,
Back off.
Then she’d know…. And I’m
not
interested.

Arlo coughs or something, and I catch him grinning before he returns his attention to the grill. My arm is suddenly clenched in a vise grip, and Finn steers me out the back door. She says, “What were you doing at the club? You’re not old enough to be in there, and if you have a fake ID—”

I pull away from her. “Here I thought you were so in the closet that you didn’t even know your own self. Bull. Shit.”

Her eyes dart around wildly.

I’m furious. At myself for being stupid. At her for deceiving me. I stomp toward the Mercedes.

Finn calls, “Alyssa—”

I whirl. “Just tell me the truth. Are you fucking my mother?”

Finn’s jaw drops. My eyes well with tears. Damn.

Finn hurries toward me, and I back up, my arms extended to keep her away. She reaches me because I’ve stopped; I can’t find the keys. “I don’t know what you saw,” she says, “but you got it wrong. I work at Willy’s. I bartend. That’s all. Yeah, sometimes after the show, Carly and Geena hang out at the bar, and we talk. We’re friends, I guess.”

I glare at Finn through my blur of tears.

“Small talk. I barely know Carly. I have a job to do, and I do it.”

I sniffle. “Is that the truth?”

She crosses her heart.

I let out a deep, shuddering breath. Why should I believe her? Those soft, brown eyes, melting my core.

I say, “You think she’s hot, though, don’t you?”

She can’t hold my eyes. I knew it! She takes a step back and turns around, saying something under her breath. I must be delirious because I’m sure I heard, “Not as hot as you.”

“What was that?” I call out.

She pivots, walking backward. “Do the shoes fit?”

My gaze falls to my feet. “I had to cut off three toes, but yeah.”

She smiles. I notice she’s wearing hiking boots.

“Thanks. For the shoes.”

She vanishes inside.

I stand there a minute, leaning against the Mercedes. Kind of unsteady. Getting my butt burned on the blazing metal and feeling idiotic. But warm inside too.

I know how much work it is to clean up after breakfast, so
I return to the kitchen and grab a bus tub. Finn and Arlo are talking, and the conversation halts. Arlo says to me, “You’re not on today.”

“I know.” I suppress the urge to look at Finn. As I press my rear against the swinging doors to finish whatever needs doing in the dining room, Arlo adds, “This is on your own time.”

Yeah, yeah. The tables are cleared, but they need setting, and the floor still needs to be swept and mopped. Finn’s and Arlo’s voices drift out, and I can’t help inching over near the order window to hear what they’re saying.

Finn: “… a month’s advance on my check. Just this once.”

Arlo: “No can do.”

Finn: “A loan, then. I’ll pay it back with interest.”

Arlo: “Before or after you skip town?”

Finn snarls. “Forget it.”

Awkward silence.

I have to go into the kitchen to fill the mop bucket. Finn grabs the mop from me. “I’ll get that,” she says.

I snatch it back. “I’ll finish.” I raise my voice so Arlo can hear. “You go to your other job, your
second
job, or is it the
third
job, so you can make enough money to live and buy yourself some wheels.”

Arlo reaches over and cranks up his radio.

Finn throws me a lopsided grin and bumps my shoulder with hers. It electrifies my nerve endings all the way down. As she’s filling out her hours, she says loudly enough for Arlo to hear, “Anything you want to know about Carly, ask Arlo. Word on the street is, he’s the resident expert.”

Arlo swivels his head slowly and cuts Finn a death look,
which she misses because she’s already gone. He snaps at me, “Get out of here. I’ll do that.”

“I don’t mind.” I roll the mop bucket of soapy water out to the dining room.

Arlo coasts down his ramp and out the swinging doors, crashing into the bucket and sloshing water all over the floor. “You think I can’t mop my own floor because I’m a cripple?”

That makes me reel. “I never said that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t.” I was thinking about using Carly’s ATM card to withdraw money from her bank. Could I withdraw four times? Arlo tries to take the mop from me, but I hang on. We have a tug-of-war, and neither of us lets go. I say, “I’m sure you can do anything you want. There’s this guy I know at school who’s in a chair, and it doesn’t slow him down. He’s a cool guy.” He asked me out my sophomore year and I said no, but not because of his chair. It sort of forced me to come out to him.

“So, you have a thing for this guy?” Arlo asks.

“No,” I say.

“Because he’s a cripple.”

“Because I’m a lesbian.” I snatch the mop out of Arlo’s hand. My heart jackhammers as I roll the mop bucket across the room to begin in the far corner. I just came out to Arlo, and now he’s going to fire me.

He goes back to the kitchen, where he clangs around.

I’m almost done with the floor when he returns. He sits there for a minute watching me. “A cripple could do that in half the time a lesbian does.”

Reflexively, I flip him the bird.

He laughs. “Yeah, you’re all Carly.”

“No. I’m not. And stop comparing me to her,” I say.

Arlo doesn’t respond. I sneak a sideways glance at him, and he’s staring at me. Or through me. Out of nowhere, he says, “You hungry?”

I don’t remember the last time I ate. “Yeah. Starving.”

“What’s your pleasure?” he asks. “Besides the ladies.”

Oh, great. Now I’m going to be the brunt of every lez joke he knows. At least he’s okay with my being gay. I wish it didn’t matter to me what others think, but he is my boss, and I’ve heard of people losing their jobs when they come out. I need this job. I
like
this job.

“I’m making myself a ham sandwich.” Arlo backs into the kitchen. “What do you want?”

“That sounds good,” I call out to him.

As I’m dumping the dirty water into the sink to rinse out the bucket, the phone on the wall rings. Arlo rolls over to answer. “Speak of the devil. Hello, Carly.” My ears prick up. “Yeah, it’s been a while.” I turn, and he’s looking at me. “Is
who
here? What does she look like?”

I wave my arms, like
no no no
.

Arlo says, “I don’t see anyone by that description.” He twists away from me. “So, how’ve you been?” He listens. Chuckles. “Anytime,” he says in this voice loaded with sexual innuendo. “Alyssa is an interesting person. What? Oh, sure. She tells me all her secrets. I can’t get her to shut up.”

I smile. Arlo and Carly talk for a while, like old friends. Mostly, Arlo listens. He says, “Whatever you need. You know
that.” When he hangs up, he comes over and goes, “She’s hacked off at you. You’d better—”

“She can go to hell.”

“Whoa.” Arlo’s chair slides back a foot.

I shove the mop supplies into the closet and stalk past him to the restroom. While I’m in there, I give the sink a wipe down and the toilet a swish. It peels off a layer of my attitude. I find Arlo in the dining room, setting out our lunch.

The sandwich looks awesome. I sit, and Arlo pulls in across from me.

The first bite is heaven. I’ve never liked mustard, Dijon or otherwise, but with the tomatoes and lettuce and cheese and mayo… I snarf it down. Pointing to my full mouth, I murmur, “Mmm,” like
yumtastic
.

Arlo studies my face. Then his gaze lowers, and he says, “You have her eyes.”

And that’s all. I keep chewing; take a slug of milk from my glass.

“We were lovers. Once.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Arlo bites off the end of his dill pickle. “Didn’t think cripples could get it up, huh?”

I cast him a withering look. The only person I know with such transparent self-pity is… well, me. I never realized how unattractive self-pity is in a person.

“Oh, I forgot,” Arlo says. “You’re all sensitive and informed about the plight of the disabled.”

I ignore that remark and swallow my mouthful of food. “How long were you and Carly together?”

Arlo chomps his sandwich. “Two years, on and off.”

Wow. Sarah and I didn’t make it a year. “So, I guess you didn’t mind her, um, extracurricular activities?”

Arlo blinks at me. “If you mean the exotic dancing, she wasn’t doing that when she first got here. She worked for me as a waitress while she was getting her business going.”

I must screw up my face because Arlo says, “What?”

“Her ‘business’?”

“The personal training and massage. She had to build a clientele.”

“Right,” I say.

Arlo narrows his eyes at me. “What’s with you?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Sorry.” I’m down to my last bite. “Does she really do those jobs?”

“Yeah, and she’s good at them. She has a great reputation.”

“As a whore.” It slipped out! I didn’t mean to say—

Now Arlo’s glaring at me.

“Sorry.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I just don’t respect her.”

“Because she’s an exotic dancer?”

“Stripper,” I correct him. And call girl. My eyes latch onto the half sandwich he still has on his plate. He’s balled his napkin and set it on the table, so I know he’s done. “If you’re not going to eat that…”

He shoves the plate across the table. I practically lunge for the sandwich.

“She makes good money at that club, especially with all the construction crews here lately. Anyway, what’s it to you? She’s an adult. She can make her own choices.”

And suffer the consequences
, I think. “Was it when she went back to stripping that you dumped her?” I ask.

A smile curls Arlo’s lips. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” I swallow the last bite. The sandwich is gone, but the memory will live on.