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  At the Skyway, Stein and I enter through the back door into the kitchen. Randy, the owner, whips around. “Oh, it’s just you, Stein. I thought I was going to have to get physical with somebody. People from the condos think the back door is an entrance. Since you got such a sweet ass, I’ll let you slide.”

  “You’re so good to me.” Stein says. “Do you care if we bring some girls back?”

  “Are you sure they can handle you?” Randy asks. “You better bring them back just in case they need me.”

  Stein and I fish the girls from the dance floor. They beam and glisten with sweat.

  “We need to freshen up,” Meadow says. “Where’s the restroom?”

  Randy takes her by the hand. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll show you the back way.”

  “Always the back way with Randy,” Stein says.

  I wait for them to exit. “Whew, I feel awesome. This is my first time on this stuff. Do you think we got time for a bump?”

  Stein says, “Maybe a small one, but I usually don’t mix the two. The coke overrides the ecstasy.”

  Cinch isn’t here, so it’s up to me to assume his role. “Who cares?” I say as I remove the small baggie and stick the straw inside. “Be careful. Don’t inhale too hard. You’ll blow the back of your head off.”

  Stein takes his turn, and then I inhale mine. I slide the bag back in my pocket as the girls return with Randy. My eyes begin to water, and I break into a sweat. I should have followed my own advice. “I need a drink. Anybody else?”

  Randy says, “First round’s on me. Stein, give me a hand.”

  Stein has a distant look in his eye. He probably overmedicated himself as well.

  Meadow walks over and leans up against me, splitting the distance between my legs, helping me focus. “You are coming back to the condo with me, aren’t you?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I ask.

  “No, but we want to dance more. Whatever you do, just get me before you leave.”

  Stein returns with cocktails and Jell-O shots. We slurp down the shots, and the girls take their drinks to the dance floor.

  Randy says, “Aren’t you guys the charmers?”

  I gulp down my vodka on the rocks. “They’ll come back. They always come back.”

  My feet anchor to the floor and my body is numb. If the place were on fire, I would die in the flames. Randy refills our drinks. The tingling subsides. By the time the girls return I can feel my toes again.

  Finished with the Skyway, we get a twelve-pack from Randy and walk back to the condos. My supplemental fuel still powers me, but I probably only have another hour or so before my body finally rebels and shuts down.

  In the condo the couples quickly separate. Stein and Lynn go out on the balcony, and Meadow and I wander back to her bedroom.

  At this point I’m functioning solely on instinct. All metacognition has ceased. Whatever thought flows through my mind comes out of my mouth. I go to the restroom for one final refueling.

  When I return, her body, stripped to bra and panties, glows in the soft light from the candle flickering on the nightstand.

  She removes my shirt and shorts. “I was hoping I would get to use this candle tonight.”

  “Does that mean I should expect the hot wax treatment?” The filter is definitely out. I love it. Free to do and say whatever I want. I straddle her and reach behind to undo her bra.

  She grabs my hands. “Hey genius, try the clasp in the front.”

  After a few more seconds of fumbling, I remove the bra and slip my arms through the loops.

  “Is there a history of this?” she asks.

  “It looked so good on you, I thought I might give it a try.” I saunter over to the full-length mirror on the door. “Come stand with me. Let’s see how we look together.” I position her in front of me and kiss her neck. It smells like coconut. She leans forward and puts her left hand on the door for support. I trace the imprint the bra left with my lips while removing her panties. She places her other hand on the door and widens her stance. My hands descend to her hips with my thumbs resting in the dimples on the small of her back. I control her movement, rocking her back and forth.

  My legs begin to ache. I turn her around. “Let’s move to the bed.”

  She climbs on top of me and does all the work. I feel close at times, but then nothing. Eventually she stops in frustration. “What do you want me to do? Is there something wrong?”

  The truth is I’ve pushed my body to the point where a release is probably out of the question. It doesn’t matter, though. Right now, I don’t care about anything. I pull her near. “No. You feel incredible.”

  She coerces me to stay until she falls asleep. We lie together naked except for the bra I’m wearing. After she drifts off, determined to take home a souvenir, I slip on my clothes over the bra and blow out the candle.

  When I get to my bike behind the Skyway, people are inside cleaning, so I walk it to the road to avoid drawing attention. Once on Langram I flip on the lights and pedal home. The aerobic activity at the condo combined with my pedaling has given me a second wind, or maybe a third, or a fourth. I’ve completely lost count.

  In the red barn, noise from Cinch’s room draws me into the bathroom to listen through the common wall. What at first sounds like conversation is now clearly moaning as Brooke alternately proclaims her faith in God and Cinch. The X must be working for him as well.

  I move to the locked door. “Is everything all right in there? Let me in. I have something to show you.”

  “Show us in the morning,” Cinch says. “There’s a surprise waiting for you, too.”

  I shake the door to test its strength. “You better let me in.” Not hearing any movement, I push with my shoulder and pop open the door.

  “Aaahhh!” Brooke hops in the middle of the room, pulling her panties up with one arm while reaching for a shirt with the other. Cinch is propped up in the bottom bunk with his back against the wall, lighting a cigarette.

  “I guess I’d be lying if I said I was sorry.” I don’t even bother turning away while Brooke gets dressed. “Why was the door locked?”

  Now fully covered, Brooke says, “Silly me. I thought it might give us some privacy.”

  “Are you ready for my surprise?” I flash my new undergarment. “I guess I should’ve loaned you this when I came in.”

  Cinch asks, “Where in the hell did you get that?”

  “Stein and I went to a party, and some girl was talking how she only wears black bras and black thongs. Stein asked her to prove it, which obviously she wanted to or she wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, and then I asked her if I could try it on. She agreed and I didn’t want to give it back, so I gave her twenty bucks for it.”

  Cinch takes a long drag and exhales. “Don’t tell me you have her thong on, too?”

  Brooke says, “If you do, we’ll take your word for it.”

  “No, just the bra.” I sit down on the bed next to Cinch. “I think I look good in black.”

  Brooke says, “I guess since you’re staying, I might as well get something to drink. Anybody else?”

  Cinch and I both request a beer. I try to tell him the real story, but Brooke returns too quickly. She asks, “Did you tell him our surprise?”

  Cinch shakes his head. “You better go check your bed.”

  The smell of familiar perfume mixed with alcohol conveys the answer before I get there. Blonde hair strewn across the pillows confirms my assumption.

  I say, “Oh, that’s nice. She feels she can sleep over whenever she wants?”

  “It’s my fault,” Cinch says. “I didn’t want to take her home, so I said she could crash there. I didn’t think you would care. Sorry.”

  “As long as it was your doing, it’s okay,” I tell him.

  “Why don’t the two of you date?” Brooke asks.

  I kiss Cinch on the cheek. “Good night, dear. It’s time for me to go to bed.”

  I disrobe except for the bra and climb i
nto bed. I can deal with the discomfort just to see the reaction from Dawn.

  She stirs when I get into bed. “Sorry, must’ve fallen asleep.” She slides next to me and rubs her hand across my chest. I lie still, waiting for a reaction. She grabs the bra. “What’s this? What the fuck is this?”

  I relay the story I told Cinch and Brooke, but she doesn’t find the same level of humor in the story as I do. I unhook the bra and fling it toward the dresser. “Christ! Why don’t you get a sense of humor?” I turn away from her. “I didn’t ask you to be here anyway.”

  She curls up behind me. “I’m sorry. I guess I was a little surprised and disoriented. And just for the record, I didn’t ask to stay here. Cinch invited me because he didn’t want to take me back to Robin’s. I admit, when I didn’t see you before, I was upset. But it was only because I missed you, not because I was mad at you. We’re just having fun, remember?”

  Her warm body presses against me. I turn toward her to acknowledge her advance. Our lips connect. She climbs on top of me. What began at the Skyway is finished a few miles away in the red barn.

  Memories of last night linger like a pungent odor. The bra draped across the dresser represents another experience. I shake my head to dispel not only the vertigo from the ecstasy but the guilt as well. I know the dizziness will pass; I’m not so sure about the self-reproach. This morning should not be spent alone. It can’t be spent alone.

  After taking the girls back to Robin’s, I find Cinch in the living room in his usual position. “One more day,” I say. “Even after only a few weeks, I feel like it’s been years.”

  He releases the remaining smoke from his lungs. “Today things might get ugly. After partying hard for several days, not sleeping enough, people will be strung out. The hard-core drunks will come out. Maybe we should go down to the docks for an hour before we punch in. You can see some of the tools we’ll be dealing with today.”

  The sunlight revitalizes my tired body, and retelling the story from last night invigorates me mentally. If I had done it for the story, then telling it gives my actions purpose. I begin the story with Dawn in the bedroom yesterday afternoon and bring it back full circle to end it there. It awakes my ego and quiets my conscience. I can’t believe Cinch and I are beginning the party all over again, but it’s easier to keep going than change. I have to get through the day to get through the weekend. Monday will bring order.

  Cinch gathers three regulars from the bar and has me share the story again. The same tale that triggered disgust when I awoke now lifts me to heroic status on the docks, and I willingly accept their admiration. The more description I add, the more they enjoy it. The only complaint is that I don’t have the souvenir with me. How many times will this story be passed on? Hopefully not so many that it gets back to the other two participants.

  “So are you glad you came this summer?” Cinch asks on our way back to the red barn.

  “It’s kind of strange,” I say. “My favorite parts of being here are the times we have at night at the monument, or the cove, or the boat ramp. None of which I even expected.”

  It’s a rare serious moment for us. Not that our relationship is complete frivolity, but most things are understood. You don’t have to spend years together to have a bond like Cinch and I do. You earn brotherhood—the purest friendship, trust, love, whatever you want to call it—moment by moment through how you treat others. Whether people admit it or not, they’re always keeping score. Little by little, you either build a friendship, destroy one, or maybe just hang out never really knowing if you can trust the other person or not. It’s probably this uncertainty that causes most people to talk seriously. They require continual affirmation of feelings and thoughts because the spoken word is all they have to share. Most are afraid to give up anything more.

  In the red barn Cinch locks the door behind him and retrieves the lock box. “Probably time to survey my supplies. We’ve been partying pretty hard. A trip off the island might be necessary sooner than I planned.”

  On one side of the lock box is a stack of twenties, tens, fives, and hundreds, totaling $1,570. Scattered throughout are small bags, several straws, a scoop spoon, a scale, a bag of mushrooms, and a bag of pot.

  I say, “There’s an American portrait Warhol should’ve done.”

  To make light of the excess is the only way to downplay the potential consequences. To abuse the indulgence is the only way to rationalize the risk.

  Cinch fans himself with the stack of bills. “It’s been a busy weekend. We have twenty-five grams left and almost the whole investment returned.”

  “Is twenty-five grams a lot?” I ask.

  Cinch holds up the golf ball–sized bag. “A little under an ounce.”

  I use the opportunity to ask another question that has been bugging me about why coke is measured in both grams and ounces.

  Cinch says, “Not sure. It’s a weird US/metric hybrid system for coke. A kilo is equivalent to about thirty-six ounces, and things go down from there. A half of a kilo is eighteen ounces, and a quarter kilo or ‘quarter bird’ equals nine ounces. I usually stay within the one- to two-ounce range, or twenty-eight to fifty-six grams. Consumer levels begin after you get below the half-ounce mark: a quarter ounce is seven grams; an eighth or ‘eight ball’ is three and a half grams; a sixteenth or ‘teeter’ is anywhere between one and a half and one and three-quarters. From there it’s all metric: a gram, a half-gram, even a quarter-gram.”

  “I thought I was the math teacher. They never taught me those conversions in college.” I still don’t consider Cinch a drug dealer—not really, anyway. He’s not pushing coke to kids on street corners or anything. He’s pooling money, buying in bulk, and distributing to acquaintances for no other reason than to keep the party going and have a good time. I say, “Don’t you ever worry about all the hand-offs?”

  “People are always giving and receiving. Transactions define our society. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a newspaper, money, or information. People interact with one another only to gain something or give something. From the outside, no one knows what exactly is being transferred—unless the people involved act strangely. Remember, the key is to act natural.”

  All afternoon the Jet Express arrives with passengers ferried on all three levels. The waves catch the sunlight, juggling it momentarily before throwing it back toward the sky. The island has suddenly become small. When compared side by side, my days can barely be distinguished from one another. The only difference is what I do after work and with whom I do it. It’s not déjà vu; I’ve literally already lived the moment, and probably only twenty-four hours before.

  When I return from break, Haley confronts me by the side door. “Are you dealing drugs?”

  I remain composed, reminding myself what Cinch just taught me, that people only know what you let them know. “What? Get serious.”

  “I know you’ve been partying pretty hard lately, but while you were gone, that fat bouncer from the Beer Barrel came in all coked up looking for you and Cinch. You guys can do whatever you want, but if you’re selling that shit, I don’t want anything to do with you. I can’t have that associated with this bar. I have too much to lose.”

  “Relax. We were at a party the other night where there were drugs. Cinch knew the guy that had it, so he hooked that dude up with him. I do the stuff once in a while, but is that what you think of me? I mean, really, can’t you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?”

  She backs off immediately. “I’m sorry,” she says, her posture relaxing and the attack disappearing from her eyes. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you much, and you and Cinch have been running around like crazy people since you got here. When that guy came in, it all fell together. Please don’t be mad at me. I guess the weekend is catching up with me. Promise we’ll have dinner this week. I just miss you.”

  After all the superficial party chatter I’ve heard the past few days, Haley’s sincerity dissolves my disdain. But watching her slam shot after shot
behind the bar during her shift transforms the warmth to acrimony. Who is she to judge me? I’m not the one who needed help getting home the other night. Fuck her. I can do what I want.

  Knowing tonight’s going to be a wild night, I prepare extra to take along. I pack five grams into one of the baggies and form the remaining pile into two six-inch rails.

  Cinch walks in as I manicure the lines. “We need to get a bigger mirror. What’s gotten into you tonight?”

  “Guess who stopped by all bug-eyed looking for us while we were on break? Fuckin’ fatass from the Beer Barrel. Haley jumped my ass about dealing and partying. What should we do?”

  Cinch snorts his line except for an inch, which he rubs on his gums. He shakes his head, unable to speak. Undeterred, I do mine. The roof of my mouth goes numb. Cinch’s laugh is like a forty-five record played at thirty-three speed. I read his lips: Are you okay?

  I say, “Whoa, that’s the line I’ve been looking for. We better hurry back. Put this stuff away. I already have an adequate care package for us.” The surging endorphins launch another topic. “Hey, did you hear something running around above us this morning? Was that on the roof or in the attic?”

  “Probably just squirrels or mice. Hope they don’t fall through. Can you imagine being asleep and fucked-up when a half-crazed raccoon drops through one of the ceiling tiles into your bed?”

  “As long as they stay out of our stash,” I say. “Do you think we should move it?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s safe in the box. You know, tonight there’s an after hours at Bean’s. His parents own a big house on the water on the east side of the island. They left today, so he’s having people over. Since tonight could be a long one, I picked up two more pills from Stein.” He pops one of the hits in his mouth and gives me the other. “About our visitor: We cut him off. We cut everybody off and just chill for a while. We’re getting low anyway. We don’t want to leave ourselves short.” Cinch takes a final swig and drops his beer in the trash can on our way out the door to head back to work. “You take the side. I’ll check the front.”