A Twist of Hate (5 page)

              “We just talked,” Camden said through a loud yawn. He picked up one of two cardboard trays laden with a giant bucket of oily popcorn flanked by 44-ounce soft drinks.

              “You and the Jungle Queen spent the night talking,” Michael scoffed. “About what, the price of watermelon in England? Or maybe her favorite fried chicken recipe?” Michael took the other tray and led the way to the popcorn seasoning station.

              “Is that what the two of you did when you went out with her?” Camden asked with deceptive calm. “You just talked?”

              Michael drew his eyebrows together and snatched up the powdered cheddar cheese seasoning. “What are you asking me, Cam?” He shook the canister furiously, sending a cloud of cheddar powder rising above his popcorn bucket.

              “Nothing.” Camden yawned again. “Just trying to clear something up. It’s weird you didn’t tell me about your date with Siobhan. You tell me all about your other conquests. But she wasn’t really a conquest, was she…”

              Michael slammed down the canister and grabbed Camden’s arm, pulling him closer. “Do you want to be here tonight?” he sneered, his voice low. “I did you a huge favor by setting you up with Bitsy. She’s so hot for you, she’s ready to spew lava. The least you could do is stay awake. ” He violently shook powdered seasoning onto his popcorn, and spat his final comment over his shoulder. “Unlike that cold black fish you were with last night, Bitsy wants to do things to you with her mouth that don’t involve
talk
.”

***

              “I don’t think he likes me.” Bitsy Keeler leaned against the counter between two wash basins in the crowded ladies room. “Camden’s barely said two words to me all night.”

              Chrissie Abernathy jockeyed for a place in the mirror to check her makeup. Her long blond hair crackled in the fluorescent light as she under brushed it to give it more volume. “It’s not you. Cam’s got issues.”

              “He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever met,” Bitsy exclaimed. “He could be a Calvin Klein underwear model. Doesn’t he look good tonight?”

              “Cam always looks good.” Chrissie borrowed Bitsy’s Cherry Bliss gloss and swiped it across her lips. She cupped her hand in front of her mouth, exhaled, and directed the puff of air toward her nose. “Do you have a mint or some gum? I can still taste the onions from my salad at dinner.”

              Bitsy drew a pack of sugarfree fruit-flavored chewing gum from the pocket of her jeans. “Wouldn’t it be great if Cam and I hit it off?” she said dreamily. “I hate going to Sacred Heart, especially now that I’m a senior. It wouldn’t be so bad if we had boys. I wish I could have gotten into Prescott. I could be in all of Cam’s classes and just sit there and watch him think all day.”

              “You wouldn’t be in the same classes,” Chrissie said. “Cam’s in AP everything again this year.”

              “What’s ‘A-P’?”

              “Advanced Placement. When Cam goes to college, he’ll practically be a sophomore already.”

              “Nerd brain, god’s bod. He’s so perfect! I hope Cam and I work out. We could have so much fun double dating with you and Michael.”

              Chrissie blotted her lips with a square of paper towel. “We’ll have fun double-dating, but Michael won’t be with us again.”

              Bitsy stopped fluffing her bottle-blond hair. “You’re breaking up with him?” she gasped.

              “He’s cute,” Chrissie began, carefully arranging the fall of her hair about her shoulders, “but he’s pretty much served his purpose.”

              Lab rat—not cute—entered Bitsy’s mind when she thought of Michael’s close set eyes, bloodless complexion, and fiery hair.

              Chrissie took inventory of her image. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tropical tan maintained at the Twin Lakes Country Club spa and refreshed with annual visits to Palm Beach and Cape Cod. Slim hips wrapped in a denim miniskirt, small but perky bust covered by a T-shirt—a Calvin Klein classic, naturally. In spite of her appearance, she wasn’t the dumb blonde Michael believed her to be.

              “Michael has secrets he thinks I don’t know,” Chrissie said through a smug smile. “He calls me his ‘Barbie doll.’ We’ve been together for four months and he doesn’t know anything about how I feel or what I like. He dictates everything we do. He even tries to pick out what I wear on our dates. It was kind of nice, in the beginning. I thought he was genuinely interested in me. He isn’t. I’m just an accessory, a prop in the image he wants to create for himself.”

              “There has to be something good about him.” Bitsy struggled to think of what that something could be. “He loves you,” she finally offered. “That has to count for something.”

              “He loves that my father is on the Membership Committee at Twin Lakes. He loves where I live, what I drive, and how I look. We had the biggest fight because I wouldn’t let him drive my car tonight. I don’t think Mike likes me at all, not really. He has a way of making me feel like I’m not good enough for him even though he’s the one who chased after me. He acts like he’s doing me a favor by going out with me.”

              “Well, everybody knows he’s kind of snobby.” Bitsy started for the door and Chrissie followed. “And mean. And insensitive.” She hastily added, “No offense.”

              “None taken,” Chrissie said. “Michael is a hollow snob. His family has money now, but my parents say it doesn’t change the fact that trash is trash, no matter where you find it. My father says that once Michael comes into his family’s cash, he’ll lose every penny, and the Littlefields will be just as poor as they were before they crawled out of the Ozark hills.”

              “I thought your parents like Michael.” Bitsy scanned the lobby for their dates. “They gave him that really nice pen for Christmas. Your mom danced with him at the Gateway Pioneers holiday party.” She giggled. “Michael waltzes like Frankenstein!”

              “My parents can’t stand him. They think he’s pretentious and uncouth. They never like any of my boyfriends. That’s why I started dating Michael—after him, any other boy will look awesome. My folks pretend to like Michael because they think I’ll dump him if they like him. They won’t complain about anyone I date, once I get rid of Mike. Any boy will look like an angel compared to Mike.”

              “Don’t junk him until I’ve had a chance with Cam, okay?” Bitsy requested.

              Michael caught sight of them from the opposite end of the concessions lobby. “Hey, babe!” he shouted, inviting everyone to notice that the stunning blond was with him. “Over here!”

              Chrissie muttered under her breath. She responded to Michael’s call with a taut smile and bypassing him to link her arm through Camden’s. She walked into the theater with him. Michael and Bitsy trailed behind them, Michael gritting his teeth, Bitsy’s arms fussily crossed over her chest.

              Chrissie pushed Camden into an aisle seat in the center of the theater. She plopped down on Camden’s left and reached past Michael to pull Bitsy into the empty seat beside her. All through the previews, Michael pestered Bitsy to trade seats with him. Chrissie’s fingernails digging into her forearm kept Bitsy exactly where she was. Once the movie started, every knifing, shot, kick, and bloody punch saw Chrissie squealing and burying her face in Camden’s shoulder. She settled in her own seat and concentrated on the movie only after Michael angrily climbed over them and stormed out of the theater.

***

              Camden walked Bitsy to her door while Michael and Chrissie argued in the car. “Did you have fun tonight?” Bitsy asked hopefully. “I mean, except when Michael pitched a hissy at you and Chrissie after the movie?”

              “Sure.” Camden shrugged indifferently.

              “Me, too,” Bitsy said too eagerly, twisting the belt loops of her jeans with her thumbs.

              “I apologize for being so out of it,” Camden said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

              “No, you were great, really,” Bitsy insisted. “Tonight was great. I wish I could have sat next to you in the movie, but, you know. Whatever. Chrissie’s my very best friend in the whole world, but she’s…you know.”
Bitch,
she thought.

              Camden glanced at Michael’s car. The Audi rocked on its axles from the force of the conflict within it. “I should break that up before someone gets killed,” he said. “Do all their dates end like this?”

              “All the ones I’ve seen,” Bitsy grinned.
You are so cute
, she wanted to tell him as she gazed at his face in the porch light.

              Tall and gorgeous, Camden had the chest and shoulders of a pro football player. He looked so adult, compared to Michael, who usually looked like an angry baby. Camden caught a yawn in his hand, and Bitsy wondered if he was as nervous about kissing her as she was about kissing him.

             
I’d walk home but I’m too tired,
Camden thought at that moment.

             
What the hell
, Bitsy told herself. She clapped her hand to the back of his neck and jammed his mouth upon hers. His arms flailing, she wrestled him into a brief kiss.

              “Good night, Cam,” she purred after releasing him. She opened her front door and floated into the foyer. She managed to lock the door before letting out an ear-piercing shriek of joy that awakened her parents, her younger brother, and her golden retriever. Bitsy wanted to wake up the whole city. She wanted everybody to know that Camden Dougherty had kissed her!

***

              “How was it?”

              Camden knew Michael would ask. He counted himself lucky that Michael had waited until after they dropped off Chrissie and were headed home. “It was okay.”

              “Skipping a class early is okay,” Michael remarked. “Getting an extra dessert at lunch is okay. Kissing a cute blond is hot! You can’t say it was just okay.”

              “I can if it was.”

              “I wouldn’t mind getting a bit of ol’ Bitsy,” Michael mused. “Chrissie deserves it after that crap she pulled tonight.”

              “Did you two work things out?”

              “Chrissie knows who rocks her world,” Michael stated confidently.

              “Does she know about you and Veronica?”

              “Are you stupid? Do you think I am?”

              “What went on between you and Veronica?”

              “Why the sudden interest in my love life?” Michael pulled into White Fir Court, the Adler subdivision they had lived in for eighteen years. “Are you hankerin’ for a little brown sugar? No harm in that. I like to indulge myself every now and then.”

              “I was just wondering what was up between you and Veronica.”

              “I’m done with her.” Michael slowed to a stop in front of Camden’s house. “She was getting out of control, her mother was snooping around—I didn’t need the headache. So do you want to see Bitsy again? I’d be so into that, if I was you.”

              “She’s nice, but she’s not really my type. I never knew I had a type, if you want to know the truth. There have been girls I liked, but lately, every girl we grew up with seems flat compared to—”

              “Are we still on for Twin Lakes tomorrow?” Michael interrupted. “I just got a new racquet and I want to break it in.”

              Camden gave his head a little shake of frustration. “Yeah, okay.” He got out of the car. Michael started away before Camden had quite closed the door.

              Hands in pockets, Camden trotted up the driveway to the side door of the garage. Bitsy’s kiss had been just that: a plain old kiss. No fireworks, no bells, no magic carpet ride. There had been none of the emotions or sensations about which poets and playwrights sang, only the initial shock of her lips against his and the lingering taste of fruity lip gloss and diet cola.

              The kiss had inspired no craving to kiss her again. It hadn’t spurred a desire to date any of the other girls who behaved like Bitsy, flipping their hair, swaying their hips, grabbing his hands, and laughing at every little thing he uttered. Bitsy’s stolen kiss had done no more than intensified his longing to kiss Siobhan.

Chapter Three

“Oh God, he talked about it all the rest of the day. It was just tennis! I was like, ‘You lost, big deal, get over it.’  He looked at me like he wanted to kill me.”

—Ferris “Bitsy” Keeler,
St. Louis News-Chronicle

              Siobhan and Bitsy were placing orders at the juice bar when Camden and Michael entered the Twin Lakes Players Lounge. Michael, his gaze lingering on Siobhan, kept pace with Camden, who joined Chrissie and Courtney at a table. “She looks good enough to eat,” Michael murmured, eyeing Siobhan in her black tennis dress. Bitsy didn’t look half bad, either, in a yellow top and pleated tennis skirt a half size too small.

              “Hey, ladies,” Michael greeted. He took the chair beside Chrissie. He jutted his chin toward Siobhan. “What’s
she
doing here?”

              “My father nominated the Currans for membership,” Chrissie said lightly. “Siobhan and her father came by for a tour and to hit a few balls with the house pro.”

              Michael’s grin collapsed. “My parents have been rejected for membership twice even though Camden’s dad is on the Twin Lakes board of trustees and president of the membership committee. But your dad is sponsoring
them
?” Michael’s voice cracked. “He never offered to sponsor
my
folks.”

              Chrissie flashed a winning smile at Corin Lemmon, a Prescott senior who waved at her from the lower-level court in front of the lounge. “My father and Siobhan’s played football together in college. I told you Mr. Curran went to school with my father. And I really like Siobhan.”

              “That’s news to me,” griped Michael.

              “It wouldn’t be if you ever listened when I speak to you.”

              Siobhan and Bitsy returned to the table with a round of Perriers. Bitsy’s face split in a tonsil-revealing grin. “Hi, Cam!” She plunked into the chair next to his and scooted over until there was no space between them.

              Siobhan took the seat directly opposite Camden. She looked right through him.

              Before Camden could offer a greeting, Bitsy started with, “I had a lesson with Sergei and bumped into Siobhan and Courtney on my way out.” She accentuated her words with broad, sweeping gesticulations that resulted in physical contact with Camden’s hands and knees. “Chrissie introduced us. Did you know Siobhan was living in London last year, Cam? Isn’t that so exciting?”

              Leaning toward Siobhan, Bitsy possessively clutched Camden’s forearm. He peeled her hand off. She clutched his shoulder. “Wasn’t England just so exciting?” Bitsy went on. “I was in London for two weeks last summer and I
loved
it! And here we are now, living in the same city and having the same friends. It’s such a freaky small world!”

              With her bowed lips shaped into a wicked grin, Courtney pinched her thumb and forefinger together and said, “Yours is about this freaky small, huh, Cam?”

              So Courtney knew about his Friday night with Siobhan—no surprise there. Obviously, Bitsy had blabbed about Saturday night.

              “I have Court Four reserved for another half hour,” Courtney said. “Any takers?”

              Michael pulled off the white cable knit sweater knotted over his shoulders. He grabbed his racquet. “I will. Anyone care to take the Littlefield challenge?”

              “I’ve had enough humiliation for one day,” Chrissie said. “I just lost to Siobhan.”

              Camden stared at Siobhan until she finally stabbed a look at him. “I’ll sit this one out,” he said.

              “I’ll play.” Siobhan abruptly stood. She took her racquet and marched off to Court Four.

              “This ain’t no b-ball,” Michael snickered, pushing back his chair. “This won’t take long.”

              He was right.

              Michael was the number-two seed on Prescott’s state champion boys tennis team. Siobhan defeated him 6-2, 6-1, 6-0. Hardly the gracious loser, Michael pitched his racquet across the net, narrowly missing Siobhan’s back as she exited the court. He stormed through the club, blaming the loss on everything from his racquet strings to his new court shoes to the lighting on the court.

              Camden intercepted Siobhan before she mounted the stairs leading from the courts. She stepped around him and went to the water fountain.

              He followed. “You have a blistering serve.”

              “I pretended the ball was your head,” she snapped.

              “Are you mad because of last night, with Bitsy? It’s not what you think.”

              She swallowed long gulps of icy water, then wiped her mouth with her wristband. “You don’t know what I think.”

              “She kissed
me
. I didn’t kiss her. There’s a difference.”

              She laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound.

              “She caught me by surprise.” He placed his hand flat on the wall of the narrow passageway between the rows of courts, blocking her exit route. “She just grabbed me and did it. My reflexes were slow. I didn’t get much sleep Friday night. Neither did you, remember?”

              “You don’t owe me an explanation, Camden.”

              “Apparently, I do.”

              She pursed her lips, angry at herself. “This isn’t about me or Bitsy. It’s about you. My dad is in the Players Lounge with Mr. Abernathy. Go introduce yourself. Feel free to tell him that you’re my friend. Ask him to write a college recommendation for you. Isn’t that what you wanted from me all along?” She ducked beneath his arm and stormed away.

              “I would never—Siobhan, please!” He went after her. He jumped ahead of her on the stairs. “Michael set that date up a long time ago. I didn’t want to go. I definitely didn’t invite Bitsy to kiss me.”

              “Oh, yeah?” she nearly yelled. “Why not?”

              “Because I’d rather kiss you!” he shouted.  His eyes, those mesmerizing pools of gold, jade and umber, didn’t waver from hers. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else!”

              She heard her father’s voice. Lowering her own, she said, “Maybe I want to kiss you, too! You don’t make it easy when you go around slurping on a ding-a-ling like Bitsy. What kind of name is Bitsy? My grandmother had a cat named Bitsy! That cat was dumb
and
mean, which is a terrible combination! Do you know how rare it is to find a dumb cat?”

              “It was barely a kiss,” he assured her, although his head reeled with the fact that she maybe wanted to kiss him too. That news was better than any of his college acceptance letters. “It was just a little peck. It lasted about two…no…more like a second and a half.”

              “Spare me.” She started up the stairs.

              “Why are you so jealous?”

              His words, combined with his irritating calm, stopped her cold.
i am not jealous!
resonated in her head.
If he wants to waste his kisses on the personification of clueless, that’s fine with me. Jealous!
She scoffed at the notion as she stomped up the stairs.
I don’t care who he kisses!

              On the tail of that thought came the truth.
I don’t care who he kisses—as long as it’s me.
She whipped around at the top of the staircase and glared at him. He leaned against the wall, smiling. He looked so perfectly divine in his tennis whites, she almost forgot to be furious with him.

              “Your fly is open,” she said.

              It wasn’t, but it pleased her when he jumped to look.

***

              Damon Curran was tall, a solid four inches taller than Camden, who was exactly six feet. Mr. Curran had a trim, elegantly muscular build maintained through tennis, basketball, and golf. He still looked like the standout college tight end he’d been, even though he had notched his last touchdown catch more than twenty years ago.

              Camden shook Mr. Curran’s hand vigorously after Siobhan’s grudging introduction in the Players Lounge. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I study your work. The way you incorporate the landscape into your designs…the history museum you designed in Lisbon, and how you incorporated a vision of the future into the structure…I…Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”

              “Thank you.” Mr. Curran smiled at Camden’s flustered expression. “It’s nice to finally have a face to go with the name I’ve heard so often over the past several weeks.”

              Siobhan’s face knotted into an expression that silently screamed,
Shut up, Daddy!
She was grateful Chrissie and Bitsy had left and Courtney was on a court with Corin.

              “Camden is an unusual name,” Mr. Curran remarked. He plucked a few green grapes from the fruit bowl centered on the table.

              “It’s a family name.” Camden grabbed a big cluster of the same grapes. “It goes back to William Camden. He was an English writer. We read him in Mrs. Dunlop’s AP Literature and Composition class last semester, right Siobhan?”

              “I can’t recall.” She impatiently tapped her foot.

              Camden turned back to Siobhan’s father. “He wrote
Brittania
, a guide to the counties of Britain, in 1586,” Camden said.

              “And it was riveting,” Siobhan remarked dully.

              “So you do remember,” Camden grinned.

              “Siobhan has mentioned that you’re interested in pursuing architecture in college,” Mr. Curran said.

              “That’s right.” Camden smiled broadly at Siobhan, thrilled that his career ambitions had been a topic of conversation in the Curran household. “I’ve done a lot of studying on my own, but I’ve never had any practical experience.”

              “Are you going away next week for spring break?” Mr. Curran asked.

              “He’s going to Aspen with Brian,” Siobhan hastily volunteered.

              “Nothing’s set in stone,” Camden corrected.

              “Would you be interested in spending the week at my offices?” asked Mr. Curran. “You would work with my other interns. You would be exposed to every aspect of what we do at Curran Developments. When’s a good time for you to come by The Janus this week to work out the details?”

              Camden could have backflipped with joy. “I have a free period before lunch tomorrow. I could be there by eleven. I don’t know how to thank you, sir.”

              “Start by not calling me ‘Sir.’” Mr. Curran took a sip of iced tea, glancing at Siobhan over the frames of his glass. He smiled, showing off the deep dimples framing his neatly trimmed moustache. “So tell me, Camden. Have you enjoyed working with my daughter?”

              Meeting Siobhan’s dark gaze straight on, Camden said, “There aren’t words to describe the experience.”

              “Good answer,” laughed Mr. Curran.

***

              The terms of Camden’s spring break internship were settled over lunch at The Rise, the posh restaurant on the thirty-ninth floor of The Janus, four floors above Curran Developments, Inc. Mr. Curran and Camden sat at Mr. Curran’s usual table, which offered a panoramic view of the St. Louis skyline featuring the stainless steel gleam of the Gateway Arch, the bone white austerity of the Old Courthouse, and the showy red of Busch Stadium.

              “Do you think you’ll join Twin Lakes?” Camden asked, picking yellow grape tomatoes out of his mesclun salad.

              “Twin Lakes is beautiful and the facilities are excellent,” Mr. Curran began, “but I taught Siobhan to play tennis on public courts. St. Louis is rife with public courts. Larson in Rock Hill has year ‘round grass courts. I don’t think we don’t need Twin Lakes.”

              “My dad said the membership committee is sending your invitation out tomorrow,” Camden told him. “Should they even bother?”

              “I haven’t made a final decision,” Mr. Curran said. “I’ll have to discuss it with Siobhan. I don’t make a move that might affect her without first speaking with her.”

              A pang of jealousy stabbed Camden’s gut. Siobhan was lucky to have a father who valued her opinion. She was lucky to have a dad who valued
her
.

              “Mr. Curran…”

              “Yes?”

              “When she talks about me,” Camden wrung his napkin under the table, “what does she say?”

              “Are you asking me to violate father-daughter confidentiality?”

              “If you don’t mind.” Camden loosened his tie to give himself more breathing room.