Читать книгу Deeper - Меган Харт - Страница 7

Then

“Sure you don’t want a hit?” Missy waved the joint in Bess’s direction, sending a cloud of fragrant smoke to tickle her nostrils. “C’mon, Bessie. It’s a party.”

“Bessie is a cow’s name.” Bess flipped the other girl the finger and cracked the top on a can of soda. “And, no, I don’t need your weed, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She drew deep and coughed, destroying her carefully wrought illusion that she was some sort of druggie queen. “That’s some good shit!”

Bess rolled her eyes and eyed the bowl of potato chips on Missy’s coffee table. “How long have those been there?” She coughed again. “I just put them out, bitch. Right before you got here.”

Bess pulled the bowl closer and checked them carefully. Missy’s trailer was consistently filthy. Seeing no bugs or garbage even when she tipped the bowl from side to side, Bess took a chance. She was starving.

“Christ, I could go for a pizza.” Missy flopped onto the battered armchair and hung her legs over the side. The bottoms of her feet were dark with dirt. Her skirt rode up, flashing a hint of hot-pink lace. “Let’s get a pizza.”

“I have exactly two dollars to last me until payday.” Bess crunched chips and swallowed them down with store-brand cola that had already lost its fizz.

Missy waved a languorous hand. “So I’ll call some guys. Make them bring the pizza.”

Before Bess had time to protest, Missy sat up with a grin and tossed her bleached-blond hair over her shoulder. The motion caused one unfettered breast to surge out of her tank top. Missy was built like a brick shit house, as she was fond of saying, and didn’t mind showing it off.

“C’mon,” she said, as if Bess was protesting, though she hadn’t even opened her mouth. “It’ll be a party. Who doesn’t like a party? Well, besides you.”

“I like parties.” Bess leaned back against the couch Missy had stolen from outside the Salvation Army. “But I have to work tomorrow.”

“Shit. So do I. So what? Let’s have a fucking party, okay?” Missy jumped off the chair and settled her joint in the over-flowing ashtray. “It’ll be fun. You need some fun in you, Bess.”

“I have fun!”

Missy rolled her eyes. “I know what kind of fun you have. I’m talking about some real fun. Get some color in those cheeks. And I don’t mean the ones on your face.”

“Nice.” Bess laughed, even though Missy’s assessment of her wasn’t entirely flattering. How could she not? Missy had a way about her that didn’t allow Bess to take her too seriously. “So you’re going to call some boys and tell them to bring pizza. And they’ll just do it.”

Missy lifted the hem of her teensy-weensy skirt and flashed her tiny pink panties. “Of course they will.”

“I’m not screwing some guy for pizza, no matter how hungry I am.” Bess put her feet up on the coffee table without taking off her flip-flops. She would never have done that at home, God no, even in bare feet. Missy didn’t seem to care. Or notice.

“What do I care who you screw?” She was already dialing the phone as she rummaged in the fridge for a beer. “I mean, do you even—Baby, hi!”

Bess listened, fascinated, as Missy finagled her way into free food. She made a couple calls and hung up, then turned back with a triumphant look on her face.

“Done. Ryan and Nick will be here in half an hour with the pizza. I told Seth and Brad to bring some beer. Heather and Kelly are coming, too. You know them, right?”

Bess nodded. She knew Ryan and had met the other girls a few times. They waitressed with Missy at the Fishnet. The other guys she didn’t know, but she didn’t really have to. She knew Missy. They’d either be frat boys slumming, or townies with bleached hair and permanent suntans. “Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled. Not everyone can live in a house on the beach, bitch.”

Missy’s “bitch” wasn’t meant as an insult, and Bess didn’t take it that way. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. Your face says it all.” Missy demonstrated, wrinkling her nose and thinning her lips.

“I don’t look like that.” Bess laughed again to cover up her embarrassment at knowing she probably did.

“Sure, right. Whatever.” Missy waved a hand and returned for her joint, which she sucked greedily, coughing some more. “Poor little rich girl. Can’t your grammy and grampy fork you over some dough?”

Bess finished her soda and got up to put the can in the garbage, even though Missy would hardly have noticed if she’d tossed it onto the living room floor. “They’re letting me live without rent for the summer. What more could I ask for?”

“An allowance.” Missy, still puffing, went to the dresser just outside the hallway to the bedrooms and pulled out a makeup bag from the top drawer. From the bag came more jars and tubes and brushes than Bess had ever seen in any woman’s arsenal. Missy already wore a full coating of cosmetics, but apparently her “at home” face wasn’t presentable enough for company other than Bess.

“I’m twenty years old. I’m past the point of getting an allowance.” Bess didn’t point out that though her weekly paychecks were less than what Missy pulled in with her tips, Bess was saving for college and Missy was just…living.

Missy painted on a fresh set of arched eyebrows and turned her face from side to side to stare at her reflection. “I’m going to dye my hair black.”

“What?” Bess was used to her non sequiturs by now, but this was a little out there. “Why?”

Missy shrugged, then adjusted her tank top to expose more cleavage. She swiped her eyelids with shadow and spoke with pursed lips as she used a brush to paint them. “Just because. C’mon, Bess, haven’t you ever wanted to do something different?”

“Not really.”

She turned to look at her full on. “Not ever?”

Bess chewed the inside of her cheek before remembering it was a bad habit, and stopped. “Different like how?”

Missy swaggered close enough to pluck at the collar of Bess’s Izod shirt. “I could lend you something to wear before the guys get here, if you want.”

Bess glanced at her khaki skirt, bare legs and flip-flops before looking at Missy’s denim mini and tiny top. “What’s the matter with what I have on?”

Missy shrugged and went back to her face. “Nothing…for you. I guess.”

Girls have a language in which the words have nothing to do with the meaning. Bess flushed, looking again at her clothes. She touched her hair, bound on top of her head with a spring clip. She’d showered after work and used some powder and gloss, but nothing more than that. She’d figured they’d watch TV or something, not have a party.

“I think I look fine.” She sounded defensive. “I told you, I’m not planning to get screwed.”

“Of course you’re not.” Missy sounded so patronizing and sympathetic, Bess erupted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She strode to the mirror, pushing Missy aside to stare at her reflection before turning away to glare. “Anyway, anyone who doesn’t like me the way I am can just…suck it!”

Missy’s drawn-on brows rose at Bess’s exclamation. “Cool it down, sugar-tits. Jesus! Fine, don’t get laid. Save yourself for your lame-ass boyfriend back home.”

“I’m not saving myself for anyone,” Bess said. “Just because you don’t comprehend the concept of being faithful doesn’t mean nobody else does. And he’s not lame.”

And he might not be her boyfriend anymore.

Missy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Do I care?”

“I don’t know. Do you? You sure as hell keep bringing it up.” Bess put her hands on her hips.

Missy glared. Bess glared back. After a second, though, Missy’s lips twitched. A second after that, both of them were guffawing.

“You are such a drama queen.” Missy pushed Bess aside in order to put away her makeup.

“Screw you, Missy.”

“I didn’t know you swang that way, sugar-tits.” She fluttered her heavily mascaraed eyelashes.

Bess, as usual, had nothing wittier to counter with, and settled for trying to tidy up the disaster of Missy’s living room. She’d only managed to clear piles of magazines and newspapers off the couch and chairs before the door opened and Heather arrived with Kelly in tow. Both looked pretty drunk already.

“Hey, girl!”

“Lookit you, bitch! What the hell? Who did your hair?”

“Where’s the fucking pizza?”

Bess watched the interchange and wondered what it would be like to have a house where people came in without knocking and tossed themselves onto the furniture as if they lived there. She was pretty sure she’d hate it. She nodded when Kelly waved at her, but Heather, typically, ignored her. Heather didn’t like Bess. The feeling was mutual, because Bess knew Heather thought she was a stuck-up princess.

People arrived for the next hour, many more than Missy had actually invited, but news of a party always spread fast. The trailer, not even a double-wide, soon became a haze of smoke, body heat and music. Bess, stomach growling, kept hoping someone would show up with the promised pizza. Bags of chips and pretzels appeared along with forties of malt liquor and bottles of every other kind of booze. At least Missy’s friends brought their own with enough to share.

Bess wasn’t the only one underage, but she was probably the only one not drinking. Nobody cared, assuming as long as she had a cup in her hand she was getting as wasted as the rest of them. Missy would have known, but was so busy drifting from lap to lap she couldn’t be bothered with Bess.

A cheer went up when the pizza arrived, finally. Bess had met Ryan before. He fucked Missy once in a while, when they were both drunk or stoned or bored. He held the pizza boxes high, shouting out, “Two bucks, two bucks,” to everyone he passed.

Two bucks. All she had in her pocket. For two bucks she could have gone and bought her own slice and a drink, but at the party she’d be able to eat as much as she wanted or could snag before it all disappeared. Ryan clearly knew what he was doing, though, because he’d brought four pizzas. The guy behind him, his face shadowed by a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, carried another three.

“Bess.” Ryan winked at her as she moved aside the empty cans and paper plates already stained from previous pizzas to make room for the boxes. “How you doin’, baby?”

“Good.” She brushed off her hands. The table was sticky, but it wasn’t worth the effort to clean it. She turned in Missy’s tiny kitchen to grab some paper plates from the cupboard and set them down. Already hands were digging into the boxes and carrying away slices. She wanted to get hers.

“This is my buddy, Nick.” Ryan jerked a thumb over his shoulder as his friend set down the other boxes.

Concentrating on sliding the steaming slices onto her plate, Bess did little more than flick a glance in his direction. Her stomach had sprouted the pins and needles preceding the shakes of low blood sugar, and though there’d be more than one person passed out here by the end of the night, she didn’t intend to be the first. When she looked up, Nick was gone, swallowed by the mass of writhing, dancing bodies.

Ryan leaned across her to grab a napkin from the counter behind her. His arm brushed her breast. His breath wafted over her throat and cheek. Pinned between the table and the counter with no place to go, Bess flushed at the intimacy, especially when Ryan grinned and winked. His glance fell to the front of her shirt before he looked at her face again.

“Nice party,” he said, and turned away to load his plate with pizza.

It wasn’t the first time Ryan had flirted with her, and it wasn’t even that Bess minded. Whatever arrangement he and Missy had didn’t seem to be exclusive for either of them. Ryan was cute and knew it. It didn’t make her feel special. Just a little off balance. It had been so long since she’d paid attention to any sort of male interest, she wasn’t sure how to react.

“What are you drinking?” This came from a guy Bess didn’t know by name, though she’d seen him around. He held up a bottle of tequila. “Margarita?”

Bess looked for a blender and saw none. “Umm…no, thanks.”

“Okay.” The guy shrugged and turned to the girl next to him, who waited with open mouth. He took the bottles of tequila and margarita mix and poured both into her mouth at the same time, stopping when the liquid started overflowing. She swallowed and choked, coughing, waving her hands, and they laughed.

Bess tried hard not to make that face, the one Missy had mimicked, but…ew. Gross. Not to mention a good way to end up in the hospital. Shielding her pizza with her body, she eased through the throng, but found no place to sit in the living room. She leaned instead against the wall in a corner. People were playing quarters already. Someone else had set up a beer bong. Bess concentrated on eating.

The problem was, once finished, she was thirsty again, which meant a return trip through the party jungle to the kitchen. She had to stop to dance a little along the way with Brian, who worked with her at Sugarland, because he snagged her wrist and wouldn’t let her pass without a bit of bump and grind. Brian liked boys, but was fond of reminding Bess frottage didn’t need a gender.

“You look pretty tonight!” He shouted over the heavy bass thumping of “Rump Shaker.” “Zooma zoom, baby!”

Bess rolled her eyes as he grabbed her ass and ground against her. “Thanks, Brian. You like guys, remember?”

“Honey,” he said into her ear, with a lick that made her giggle and squirm, “that makes it even more of a compliment.”

She could hardly deny that, so she let him feel her up and down for a few minutes while they danced.

“So, who’ve you got your eye on?” she shouted into his ear.

“Oh, boys, boys, boys,” Brian said with a shake of his highlighted bangs. “Boys all over, honey, but sadly, most of them are straight. How ’bout you? Still remaining true to your Prince Charming?”

Bess kept herself from making a face at Brian’s assessment of her love life. He didn’t need to know about her problems with Andy. He’d either commiserate, which she didn’t want, or give her advice, which she didn’t need.

“Dish!” Brian ordered, twirling her. “Mr. Right’s Mr. Wrong, all of a sudden?”

If she’d been able to get in touch with Andy more than once in the past three weeks, maybe she’d know. Bess shook her head and eased herself out of Brian’s grasp. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shouted in her ear, and she winced. “What did that bastard do?”

“Nothing!” Bess tugged her hands out of his.

Brian didn’t let her go easily. “I don’t believe you!”

“I’m going to get a drink.”

“You have to work tomorrow!” He pretended to be scandalized, but his easy grin gave him away.

Bess laughed, shaking her head. “So do you. See you later, Brian.”

Before he could protest, she kissed him quickly on the cheek and disengaged from his octopus hands so she could finish her quest for something to drink. She pushed away and through the crowd, toward the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk about Andy to Brian. Or to Missy. She didn’t really want to talk or think about Andy at all, because once she started, she might very well have to admit that things were going suddenly, desperately sour.

The sodas had all disappeared from the fridge, and she wasn’t about to trust the open two-liter bottles littered all over the counter and table. The pizza had been completely devoured, with nothing but a few strings of cheese and some splotches of sauce left on the boxes to prove it had ever been there at all. Bess gathered up the empty cardboard and shoved it beneath the table, then searched for a plastic cup that didn’t look as if it had been used. She filled it with tap water and the last couple of ice cubes, then refilled the ice-cube trays and put them back in the freezer.

“It wouldn’t be a party without you, Mommy.” Missy draped herself over Bess’s shoulder and kissed her loudly on the cheek. “There. Now you can’t say you didn’t get any action tonight.”

“Too late. Brian beat you to it.” Bess wiped off Missy’s kiss and looked out over the room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they rocked the trailer right off its blocks. Or set the place on fire from spontaneous combustion.

Missy babbled something, slurring, but Bess wasn’t listening. Across the room, standing along the back wall next to the hall, stood a boy. She recognized the faded T-shirt after a second. Ryan’s friend. He’d taken off his ball cap.

He wasn’t doing anything notable, just tipping a bottle of beer to his lips, but he turned to look toward her just as she noticed him. Their eyes met, or she thought they did, though it was impossible to tell if he was looking at her.

That moment stamped itself into her mind forever. The smell of weed and beer, the lingering taste of pizza, the warmth of Missy’s hand on her arm. The splash of cold on her calf as someone spilled a drink at that moment.

The first moment she really looked at him.

“Missy. Who is that?”

Missy, busy making fun of the guy who’d lost his cup, didn’t look up at first. In the half minute it took for her to answer, Bess had already imagined herself walking across the room and taking the beer out of his hands. Putting it to her mouth. Putting him to her mouth.

“Who?”

Bess pointed, not caring if he saw.

“Oh, that’s Nick the Prick. Dude! Wipe it the fuck up!”

Missy, no longer amused by her guest’s fumbling fingers, punched him in the arm. “This isn’t a fucking bar!”

Bess ignored them both, just moved out of the way to let the guy get on the floor to wipe up the spill. Nick was no longer looking at her, and she was glad, because that meant she could stare all she wanted. She imprinted his profile on her mind. From this distance she had to imagine the length of his lashes, the depth of his dimple. The way he’d smell…

“Bess!” Missy shook her arm.

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

Missy gaped. She looked at Bess, then toward Nick and back again. “You’re shitting me. Nick?”

Bess nodded. She’d forgotten her ice water and grabbed it up now, needing to quench the sudden dryness in her throat. She’s going to say he has a girlfriend, she thought. She’s going to tell me he’s in love with some girl with big tits and bigger hair. Or worse, she fucked him. Missy fucked him…

Missy blew upward to move her bangs off her forehead. She shook her head. “Why do you want to know?”

Blaming the booze and weed for the stupid question, Bess shot her a look Missy couldn’t possibly misunderstand. She gaped again, then laughed. “Nick? You have a boyfriend, remember, sugar-tits?”

Bess hadn’t forgotten. Then again, it was sort of up in the air whether or not she still had one. She looked at Missy. “If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would be on him like butter on a cob of corn.”

Missy guffawed and slapped her thigh. “Are you serious?”

Bess had never been more serious about anything in her life. “Does he?”

“Have a girlfriend?” Missy’s thickly lined eyes turned calculating, and she looked over Bess’s shoulder, presumably at the topic of their conversation. “No. He’s into guys.”

“What? No!” Bess clenched her fists, turning to stare. Nick’s head bobbed to the beat, up and down, and he tipped his beer again. “He’s gay?”

“Sorry,” Missy said.

She gritted her teeth and tucked her fists beneath her opposite arms. “Goddamn it.”

Missy’s brows flew up to her hairline. “Dude!”

“I’m not a dude,” Bess snapped, so disappointed she couldn’t think straight.

Missy patted her arm. “Have a drink. It won’t seem so bad then.”

“It’s not bad.” Bess shook her head and gulped ice water. “Forget I said anything.”

Missy ho-ho-hoed. “Have a drink anyways.”

Bess lifted her glass of ice water and gulped down the rest before tossing the empty cup into the sink. “I have to get home.”

Her head hurt, suddenly, and her stomach, too. All from a stupid boy she’d never even talked to. She was the stupid one. Bess shoved off her disappointment, angry at herself. Angry at Missy.

“Aww, don’t leave.” Missy grabbed Bess’s hand. “Party’s just getting started.”

“Missy, I really have to go. It’s late.”

It wasn’t, really, and she worked the late shift tomorrow. But suddenly Bess didn’t want to watch everyone else drinking and smoking and making out. She didn’t want to watch everyone else hooking up and having fun. Worst of all, while she’d been talking with Missy, Nick had vanished.

“Call me tomorrow!” Missy yelled after her, but Bess didn’t answer.

She burst from the trailer into the welcome freshness of the cool early June air. Not much of the party had moved outside. A shadowy couple kissed leaning against the wall, their hands groping and the sound of their heavy breathing loud enough to carry. A moaning girl bent over in the bushes while her girlfriends held back her hair and urged her to “get it up.” Bess reached for the pitted metal railing but tripped anyway on the last concrete step and twisted her ankle hard enough to make her curse.

“You okay?”

She looked up to the wink of a cigarette tip. “Yeah. I just tripped. I’m not drunk,” she added, angry that she felt she had to explain.

“You’re one of the only ones.”

It was too much of a coincidence, too much like fate, but even before he stepped out of the shadows and into the streamer of light from the streetlamp, Bess knew it was Nick. He took another drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt to the dirt, where he ground it out with the toe of his boot. They both turned at the sound of vomit splattering and moans, and Nick grimaced. He took Bess by the elbow and steered her around the corner of the trailer, toward the street, so easily she didn’t have time to protest.

He let go of her before she had time to protest that, too. “Some people shouldn’t drink.”

Bess shivered a little. The light was brighter here, and it painted his face in silver with purple highlights. He looked like Robert Downey, Jr. in Less Than Zero, she thought a little disjointedly. The un-strung-out version.

Nick smiled. “Hi. You’re Bess.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded hoarse. Her thoughts seemed fuzzy. Contact high? she wondered as a wave of dizziness swept her. Or Nick’s smile? “You’re Nick. Ryan’s friend.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m heading home,” Bess said. Gay. Why did he have to be gay? How could he be gay? Why was every cute boy around here gay? “I rode my bike.”

“That’s hot,” said Nick with another grin. “What do you ride? A Harley?”

Her thoughts weren’t normally so slow, but somehow lust and disappointment had made syrup of her brain. “What? Oh…no. Ten-speed.”

He laughed. Bess watched his throat work. She wanted to lick him, and had actually moved forward a tiny bit before she stopped herself, embarrassed. Nick didn’t seem to notice.

“Where do you live?”

She hesitated before telling him, not wanting to admit she lived in one of the beachfront homes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer,” Nick said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

She felt really stupid then. “Oh. No, it’s not that. I’m staying in my grandparents’ house on Maplewood Street.”

There was only the barest pause before he nodded. “Uh-huh.”

His gaze traveled over her, up and down, and Bess suddenly wished she’d borrowed some of Missy’s clothes. Put on some makeup. Except what did it matter, when he didn’t like girls, anyway?

“Nice meeting you,” she said. It sounded lame, even to her. The sort of thing you said at a cocktail party, not an impromptu kegger in a trailer park.

“You work at Sugarland, right? I’ve seen you there.” Nick thrust his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans.

“Yes.” Bess looked for her bike, still chained to the hitch of Missy’s trailer.

“With Brian, right?”

Bess gave an inward sigh. Of course he would know Brian. “Yeah.”

“I work at the Surf Pro.” Nick walked with her to the bike and watched as she unlinked the chain and wound it along the straddle bar.

One of the few stores Bess had never been in. The bathing suits were too expensive there, and she didn’t surf. Or sail. She nudged up the kickstand with her foot, grasping the bike’s handles, and swung her leg over the seat.

“You sure you’re okay?” Nick asked. “Your ankle’s okay and everything? You’re okay to…ride?”

“I already told you, I’m not drunk.” Her answer came out a little more clipped than she’d intended, but it was late. She was tired. And she was trying very hard not to notice how nice his mouth looked when he smiled.

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll see you around.” Nick gave her a nod and waved as she pushed off and rode away.

“See you,” Bess called over her shoulder, with no intention of ever seeing him again.