The Lighter Side of Life and Death Page 11

  “It’s kind of late right now,” Colette says, matching my tone. “What about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s cool.” Tomorrow’s incredible. I stand up, fold one arm across my ribs and pace back and forth between my bed and desk. “I can meet you at The Java Bean if you want.”

  Colette pauses like she’s thinking it over. Maybe she’s worried about meeting in public but I don’t want to risk sounding sketchy by suggesting her place right off the bat. If anyone’s going to suggest that, it should be her. “It’d be, you know, just like bumping into each other,” I add. Translation: No one would have a clue what we’re up to. Then I suddenly remember about Christopher. “My friend’s not working tomorrow,” I say. He’s doing Tuesday and Friday shifts this week; he told me that yesterday.

  “All right then,” she says. “I’ll see you after work.”

  I pace some more after I hang up, my hands crammed into my pockets and the skin on my face tingling. Then I get it together, change into track pants and run for over an hour. I’m wired, like in the final days before All My Sons, but somehow this is different—maybe because whatever happens between Colette and me depends more on her than it does on me.

  twelve

  It’s pouring rain when I wake up, and Dad knocks on my bedroom door and offers to drive me to school. In the car I’m too tired to talk, but not to think. We listen to details of the latest national political scandal involving the minister of the environment and drunk-driving charges while I picture Colette, in bare feet, her breasts spiky against her top. “We should get that TV tonight,” Dad says. He apologizes for not getting around to it earlier, but the truth is I forgot too.

  “I’m hanging out with some people tonight,” I say. Television’s the last thing on my mind, despite our conversation.

  “Maybe later this week then,” Dad offers.

  “Sure.” But I can’t think past tonight. It’s the same all day long. Not even Kat next to me in history distracts me. I couldn’t give you one accurate detail about her appearance today. The only person that gets my attention, even a little, is Monica G, and that’s only because she rests both hands on my shoulders outside the cafeteria and frowns with her mouth open like she’s trying to be a menace.

  Of course she’s way too hot to succeed. She looks more like a frustrated porn star.

  “I can’t believe you went to a play without me,” she complains, a thick line of disapproval popping up between her eyes. “You never even tried to call me, did you?”

  The play was Christopher’s idea. I didn’t phone anyone. “I guess everyone just assumed you’d be busy with Hugo.” As far as I know they’re still together.

  “We’re not with each other twenty-four seven,” she snaps.

  “I didn’t realize you’d care that much,” I say apologetically.

  “I don’t exactly know a lot of people who are interested in theater.” Monica rubs her finger under her chin and hooks her thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “I thought someone would’ve at least texted me.”

  “Next time for sure, okay?” I touch her hand. “Any news on the commercial?” Last I heard she’d gotten some head shots done and read for the part. “When am I gonna see you on TV trying to sell me lottery tickets?”

  Monica pushes her hand into my chest and smiles reluctantly. “Now you’re just sucking up to me so I won’t be mad at you.”

  Nope, it’s because she’s gorgeous. But seriously, I don’t mean that either. I guess I feel bad about excluding her, even though it was unintentional.

  “No news,” she continues, her smile fading. “But I don’t think I got it. All the other girls there looked more, like, seasoned. And my voice wouldn’t cooperate. I sounded fake.”

  Kat would be happy to hear that but I tell Monica that I’m sure she’s being overly critical and that I bet she did fine. Over lunch I tell everyone what Monica said about wanting to be asked along to Spin Cycle. They confirm that no one even considered inviting her, and Zoe says what everyone is thinking: “I know she was in All My Sons with us, but I guess it seemed like most of the time she was more interested in being a sex kitten.”

  “I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jamie comments.

  Round about then I crawl back into my own head and resume concentrating on tonight. It makes the hours go by slow, until about four-thirty, when I sit on the end of my bed and decide I should sink a Trojan into my back pocket. Stranger things have happened, right? Kat was a virgin and this girl is twenty-three and joked about me being her final fling. So I do it. I slide a condom into my pocket and walk out the door.

  It’s bright and warm outside, like the weather got a memo that we just hit May, and my ego’s bloating up like a sumo wrestler but I’m edgy too. At JB I order a latte and sit facing the front door. I’m a few minutes early, which is a good thing, because I see Jamie and Dustin the second they step inside.

  “What’re you guys doing here?” I ask anxiously.

  “Same thing as you,” Jamie replies, all ironic. “Imbibing the local java.” He’s still hauling that anti-Mason attitude around, grimacing at me like I’m a rung beneath him on the evolutionary chain, but I don’t have time for it today.

  “I have to talk to you.” I struggle out of my chair and motion for him to follow. Dustin sidles over to the counter while Jamie reluctantly trails me back towards the door. “I need you guys to do me a favor and get out of here,” I tell him. “I’m meeting someone and she won’t come in if she sees me with anyone else.”

  “Who?” Jamie probes. “Who’re you meeting?”

  He’s so easy to read that I feel sorry for him. It would cut him into pieces if I said Kat’s name. “Nobody you know. She’s older. Don’t say anything to Dustin or anyone.” It doesn’t matter that Jamie’s angry with me. I know I can still trust him to keep a secret.

  “How much older?” Jamie asks, raising his eyebrows. “Where’d you meet this girl?”

  “She’s twenty-three,” I whisper. “I don’t have time for details. She could be here any minute.”

  “Twenty-three!” Jamie exclaims. He looks like he’s just seen the ghost of someone he’s not sure he likes and he squints past me as he says, “What the fuck happened to you anyway, Mason?” Indignant confusion hangs on Jamie’s features as he refocuses on me. “You’re turning into a regular chick magnet.” He ambles towards Dustin at the counter and two minutes later they’re gone.

  I drink my coffee and wait and when Colette comes in she smiles at me before heading for the counter. She’s wearing a black skirt that comes down to just above her knees and a burgundy silk shirt. I think about her breasts under the silk and mentally feel for the Trojan in my pocket. I know I brought it. I’m safe.

  Colette crosses over to my table with her coffee and it’s like a déjà vu from the times before, only I’m way more nervous, which doesn’t make much sense because this time I know she wants to see me. Anyway, Colette stands with her knees against the table and says, “I’m not feeling very well. I wasn’t sure what you’d think if I canceled.”

  “You want to cancel?” I hate that I sound little-boy disappointed.

  “I thought if I did that you’d think I was chickening out,” she says, looking into my eyes. “The truth is Andrea called last night after I spoke to you and I kept thinking about what a bad idea this is. But … I’m still here.”

  I run a hand through my hair and focus on my coffee cup. “So you’re actually sick?” My gaze zooms up to meet hers again. I want this to happen so bad that I can’t keep my eyes off her for two seconds.

  “Just a cold,” she says, and I notice that her voice sounds slightly scratchy. She fishes a tissue out of her purse and wipes her nose. Even the way she wipes her nose is sexy. If she does have a cold I think I want to catch it. I look at her knees pressed up against the table and imagine wrapping my hand around one and stroking the back of her thigh. Would she like that or would she ask me to stop? The thought alone has me paralyzed midbre
ath.

  “I really don’t feel up to doing much,” she adds. “I just want to put on my sweatpants and laze around in front of the TV for the night. I know it’s not very exciting, but if you want to …”

  I remind myself to act like this isn’t a matter of life and death. No more of that desperation garbage; that doesn’t impress anyone. “Yeah, sure,” I say evenly. “We could pick up some takeout.”

  So that’s exactly what we do. We stop at Mr. Greeks on the way to her place and I insist on paying. I get pork souvlaki and roast potatoes and she orders the shrimp dinner. The food nearly taps me out and it occurs to me that I can’t wait until summer to get a job; if I’m going to spend any more time with Colette I need one now.

  It’s quiet back in her apartment. No one’s home upstairs; we’re completely alone. That relaxes me for a second but it doesn’t last. I wish I could read Colette’s mind. Then maybe I’d calm down some. Then again, the anticipation’s part of the thrill.

  “Do you drink beer, Mason?” Colette asks as she reaches into the fridge.

  “I’ll take one.” She flips the top off and hands me the bottle. I sip some down and stand with my weight on the kitchen counter as she starts to unpack the food. She has to stop in the middle of it to grab another tissue from her purse and I take over the unpacking and watch her at the same time. “Time for more hardcore cold medication,” she says. “Did you ever notice that only the nighttime stuff works and that just knocks you out anyway?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t work. Maybe it’s just a sleeping pill disguised as cold medication.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Colette says hoarsely. She swallows a mouthful of beer as she looks at me. “If I felt better I’d be nervous,” she confides.

  “I’m nervous now,” I say with a laugh. “I hate that.”

  “Don’t be nervous.” Colette sniffles. “I’m too sick to prey on you much tonight.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So you’ll just prey on me a little. I can handle that.” I’m so relieved she didn’t cancel that I don’t care what happens. Just being here is enough.

  Colette smiles and touches my face. Her fingers are cold but I don’t jump. “God, your face is so smooth. Do you even have to shave?”

  Sure I shave. Twice a week without fail.

  Colette leans her face in and kisses me sweet. She tastes the same as last time, despite being sick, and I run my tongue along hers and touch her hair. Her hand’s light on my neck, almost a tickle. I’d laugh but I don’t want us to stop. I skim my fingers along her shoulders and splay them out on her back, pulling her close. Her chest crushes against mine and I drop my hand and rest it against her breast.

  I stroke it until the nipple aims into my hand. Colette laughs and buries her head in my shoulder. “And you said you were nervous.”

  “I was.” I stop to peer into her face. She’s all severe angles, perfect skin and these stunning almond-shaped eyes that are so dark they’re almost black.

  “Past tense,” Colette says into my neck. She pulls back and slides her hands into my back pockets and I stiffen, knowing exactly what she’ll find.

  Sure enough her fingers reach for the condom and dangle it gleefully in front of my face. “You couldn’t have been that nervous,” she says, setting it down next to my souvlaki. “You obviously thought you were getting lucky tonight.” Her tone doesn’t give me any clues. I don’t know whether she’s kidding around or if she’s trying to teach me a lesson like that time with the dicing.

  My shoulders sink and Colette cups her hands around my neck and says, “Don’t worry, Mason. It’s okay. God, you can be really funny sometimes. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

  Maybe she doesn’t mean to but she makes me feel inexperienced. That’s what she’s picking up on. Also, I’m so turned on that I’m not thinking in layers like I usually do. It’s all black and white—she’s laughing at me and I don’t know why. I must be guilty of something. I must be an ass.

  Colette turns her head away and sneezes in the direction of the living room. I hand her another tissue and she blows her nose into it. “This is such a pain,” she groans. Then she rubs my chest like we’ve been a couple for years. “I don’t think this is going to happen tonight, Mason. Trying to kiss you right now feels like holding my breath underwater.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Let’s just eat.”

  Nothing turns out the way I imagine with this girl. Every moment seems unconnected from the last.

  “I’m going to dig out that cold stuff and change into my comfy-ugly clothes,” she says. “I won’t be long.”

  She leaves me in the kitchen and I carry our takeout over to the coffee table, shoving away a collection of pamphlets and magazines to make room. I eat in front of the television whenever I’m sick; I’m guessing Colette’s the same. I find the cutlery and bring that over with our beers. I don’t feel weird about being here anymore and I’m done feeling awkward about the condom too. Knowing nothing’s going to happen between us tonight goes a long way in cutting the tension.

  The pamphlets, now that I look at them, are mostly about saving various animal species—pandas, seals, orangutans. But there are ones from Amnesty International, UNICEF and United Way too. I guess she hasn’t decided which cause she wants to get involved in yet.

  A couple minutes later Colette shuffles into the living room in track pants and an ancient concert T-shirt that says Lunatic Fringe on the front. She looks like that more-cute-than-sexy younger version of herself I got a glimpse of last time I was here, but that cuteness hooks me too. When I ask her about the shirt she tells me a friend of a friend was in the band and they split up years ago but she still listens to their music. “They were one of those bands that you’re positive are going to be huge—massively talented, fantastic stage presence and true to themselves, the whole package. Then, about four years ago, they just sort of imploded. It was almost tragic.”

  I’ve never liked a band enough to refer to their demise as a tragedy. Maybe I haven’t been listening to the right bands.

  We sit on Colette’s couch, watching crime shows and working our way through our food. Colette complains that she can’t taste much and I try not to think about how much money I wasted on this shrimp dinner she can’t even taste. Not that I obsess about money, but I don’t have a whole lot of it to begin with.

  It gets later and later and neither of us throws away the leftovers so they’re still sitting there and I pick at her shrimp while she mumbles something about making coffee. Her head nestles into my shoulder while her hand rests on my thigh. The way she snuggles up to me reminds me of Billy the panther brushing against my legs. She breathes deep, almost like she’s asleep, and I start to think she might be but then she asks how things are going with Kat lately. I stroke her hair and explain how Kat says we’re still friends but she needs space. I tell her about Jamie’s monosyllabic communications, Ian Chappell’s mesmerizing performance in Spin Cycle and how I listened to her phone message twice Saturday night and haven’t been able to think about anything else since.

  She’s so sleepy and soft next to me that I don’t mind admitting that. She smiles into my face and soon we’re kissing again. I touch her over her T-shirt and then under it. I fall in love with that prehistoric T-shirt with the tragic backstory and crusty lettering. I fit my hands around her teardrop breasts and brush my lips against her mouth. I pull her T-shirt down to cover her up and then search her nipples out all over again. I can’t stop touching her like that, can’t quit looking. She lets me do that for a long time, her eyes half-closed and her voice midway between a whisper and a laugh.

  Sometimes we talk about what’s happening on TV in the background or tiny details about each other and what we’re doing. Am I heavy? I love your eyes. I can never tell what you’re thinking. Yes, you can.

  We could go on like that forever. At least I could. Mostly she’s just lying there, smiling at me with drowsy eyes, letting me do whatever I want.

 
; “You look so tired,” I murmur. “I should go home and let you sleep.”

  “I’m tired,” she agrees, “but it’s okay.” She runs her fingers tenderly through my hair. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. What would people think?”

  I don’t want her to worry about that. There’s nothing wrong with this. We both know what we’re doing.

  “Are you going to work tomorrow?” I ask. “Maybe you should call in sick.”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t want to waste a precious sick day on actually being sick. That’s the difference between work and school. At work they stick you with an outrageously low number of allowable absentee days and then complain when you actually take them.”

  I squeeze Colette’s leg and sit up next to her. “That sucks.” There she goes making me feel like a kid again. Or am I just being oversensitive? It’s hard to be objective about somebody as beautiful as Colette, especially when she’s the type of person who wants to save the world from itself and smiles at you when you touch her, even though she has a cold.

  “I’ll drive you home,” she says, sitting up too.

  “That’s okay. You should get into bed, before your cold gets worse. I haven’t exactly been letting you rest.”

  “It was sort of restful.” Colette smiles. “We were lying down.”

  Can I just say that it’s ridiculous what they make you do to get a driver’s license here? I’ll be practically seventeen before I can go anywhere alone. Clearly I don’t have that kind of time. I need a job and a car. Now. I can’t get by on being beguiling.

  “I can get home on my own,” I tell her.

  “It’s late,” Colette points out. “It’ll only take a couple minutes. Don’t be silly.”

  I let that go too. The back of my neck twinges but I let it go.

  “You can drive if you want.” Colette tosses me the keys and that makes me feel better.

  I drive her Toyota Echo back to my house. Colette listens to the radio and leans against the window like a kid on a road trip. As soon as we roll onto my street, she says, “Stop here. We don’t want anyone to see us.”