Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer) (41 page)

“I don’t get this. Why are you suddenly on my side?”

“I’ve always been on your side,” her mother said wearily. “Whatever you may think about me. I was—I am—afraid of the Merricks. Afraid for me, true, but also for you.” She smiled crookedly. “I’m sorry if that isn’t pure enough for you. I know a perfect mother would never think of herself at all, but I’m not a perfect mother. I had to think of what this could do to my career. And I also had to think about what all this could mean for you. Wanting to hurt people, even those who hurt you, is a bad thing.”

“How else can you keep them from hurting someone else?” Diana demanded.

Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just that when I saw my only daughter about to get into a fight, I wanted to stop it. But now it’s too late. It’s already begun, so now you have no choice but to try your best to win.”

Diana hesitated. “I…Adam. You remember when he came to see me? I promised him I wouldn’t give the tape to the media.”

“Look, it’s your choice, Diana,” her mother said. She smiled ruefully. “This is a bad time for me to suddenly realize that you’re an adult, but this is an adult choice. The tape will hurt them very badly.”

Diana considered this for a moment. The image that came to mind was of the pills she had, again and again, counted out into her hand. The pills she had planned to take to end her life.

“I want to hurt them,” she said at last.

So in any case, Jennifer, now you can see why I haven’t posted a video lately. Like I said, this whole summer vacation keeps going off in one unusual direction after another. I thought I’d be down here all summer and have nothing to tell you except how my tan was doing. It’s good, by the way. I have achieved major, definite tan lines.

But, see, I figured that would be all I’d have to tell you about. That, and maybe I’d meet a guy or something. Instead, I keep meeting additional guys, which brings me to the one thing I haven’t told you yet. Guess who is down here on Crab Claw Key? If I gave you a week to guess, you’d never get it right.

Sean Valletti. Yes,
the
Sean Valletti. He’s down here with his uncle, who has this huge boat. But the amazing thing is that he asked me out.

Yes, Sean Valletti asked me out, and he even kissed me.

I will pause for a moment while you pick yourself back up off the floor, since I bet you fainted.

He wants me to go to this big festival of a dead pirate called the Bacchanal. They say it’s like Mardi Gras, kind of. Anyway, Sean actually asked me to go to it with him.

Not that I’m going, of course. I mean, I am totally and completely in love with Seth. Really.

The only reason I didn’t tell Sean no right away is because…well, he
is
Sean Valletti, right? Liz Block and Annie Bashears and that Elise girl, all those supposedly popular girls, all those cheerleader creatures, would totally have to
die
if I showed up back in Bloomington with Sean. Summer Smith and Sean Valletti? No one would even believe it if they didn’t see it.

It would be like, “Hah, so there!” Like I was magically transported from the level of “Oh, she’s not bad, but she’s kind of into getting good grades” to “Whoa, she’s going with Sean Valletti.”

Actually, though, I’m not sure I like Sean that much. He’s cute, but that’s about all he is. So even if we broke up after we got back to Bloomington, it would be okay.

Seth is a whole different story, Jen. I mean, Seth makes me sick. No, wait, that came out wrong. What I meant was, sometimes I’m lying in bed at night and I can’t go right to sleep and I start thinking about Seth…and I just really wish he were there. I mean, in this powerful way. Like if I think about him ever breaking up with me, I get a sick feeling.

That’s what I meant by making me sick. I feel that way right now, talking to you about it, even thinking about it. Kind of like really bad cramps combined with running too much in gym.

Marquez…I’ve told you how Marquez isn’t exactly subtle…anyway, she keeps reminding me about the end of summer, when I have to go home. What am I supposed to do then? Seth and I are going to be at the airport, right where we met and where he first kissed me, and I’m going to get on one plane, and he’s going to get on another, and it’s going to be the worst day of my life.

See? I’m starting to get all weepy just thinking about it.

I should have just stayed home for the summer. I would have been miserable, but not
that
miserable. Not to be all psychological or anything, but maybe that’s why I haven’t told Sean to go away. I mean, maybe part of me
wants
to keep Seth at arm’s length. It’s just so totally superficial with Sean it’s almost a relief…. I don’t know. It’s stupid. Because in the end I’m in love with Seth, and summer’s almost over, and I am going to be totally destroyed.

Still, the thing I keep thinking is, how can I really be sure what’s going to happen in the future? I mean, did I think I was suddenly going to run into Jonathan? A guy who might be my own brother reappears from nowhere. That’s practically a miracle. So who knows, right? Who knows what could happen by the end of summer? Maybe it will be something I haven’t even thought about.

Toward the end of the shift, when the orders from the waitresses had slowed to a trickle and the cleaning up of the kitchen had begun, J.T. picked a CD and slipped it into the CD player the cooks kept on top of a reach-in refrigerator.

He cranked the volume to seven and hit Play. Offspring doing “Bad Habit.” It was one of the kitchen staff’s standards. They favored seriously hard-edged rock at the end of a tough night. The worse the night, the wilder the music.

Skeet, one of the other cooks, heard the opening bars and gave J.T. a wink. “It wasn’t
that
bad a night,” she said.

“Oh, Skeet, you think every night is a Melissa Etheridge night,” J.T. teased. He waltzed over, took Skeet by the waist, and drew her into a completely incongruous dance, as if they were keeping time to a different piece of music. “First time you’ve danced with a guy, Skeet?”

“No, only I prefer guys with some idea of rhythm,” Skeet said.

J.T. released her, laughing. “Come on, Tom,” he said, inviting the fry cook to dance. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, when pigs fly,” Tom said.

“No one wants to dance,” J.T. complained. Then he spotted Lianne coming through the swinging doors. “Lianne! Dance with me.” He snapped his fingers. “I got dancin’ feet.”

“Dance to this?” Lianne said, turning up her nose.

“Skeet! Stick in Rihanna,” J.T. ordered. Seconds later Rihanna came on. But still Lianne refused.

“J.T., we’re at work,” she said. She gave him a peck on the cheek and went back to the dining room just as Marquez passed through the door.

J.T. retreated a bit, stepping back behind the line and pretending to go back to work. Marquez started to do side work, dipping tartar sauce into little plastic cups, but J.T. knew her too well to think she could ignore the music. Within seconds he could see the effect—a motion beginning with her head, swaying just slightly at first, translated down her neck to her shoulders, her bottom, her legs, topped off by a little twirl with the tartar sauce spoon still in her hand.

J.T. smiled ruefully. The future Harvard girl. The future corporate lawyer.

There wasn’t anything wrong in dancing with his former girlfriend, was there? After all, a moment earlier he’d been dancing with Skeet. He’d even asked Tom, although the fry cook was unlikely to be seen as a threat by Lianne. No, he should stick to his work.

Marquez was now dancing far more than she was filling cups of tartar sauce.

J.T. whipped off his apron. Screw it. He had dancin’ feet. What was he supposed to do?

He took the spoon from Marquez and set it down.

“Crank it, Skeet,” he said.

By the time Lianne reappeared in the kitchen, Marquez was up on the stainless steel counter, hands in the air over her head, hips thrusting, hair loose and flying, doing death-defying moves. J.T. was dancing more sedately below her, choosing to keep his feet on the ground.

“Is this really—” Lianne began, but the music drowned her out.

She caught J.T.’s eye. He gave her a wan grin and tried to draw her into the moment. But Lianne just looked angry and hurt.

Skeet, sensing the mood, turned the music down. Marquez opened her eyes, annoyed. “What are you—Oh,” she said, spotting Lianne. She hopped down from the counter, flushed and perspiring. “Why, Lianne. Thank goodness you got here in time. We were all in danger of having fun.”

“Well, that’s so
you
, isn’t it?” Lianne said. “Always there for the fun, and out the door anytime things get serious.”

“Oh, shut up, Lianne,” Marquez said dismissively.

“Hey, that’s not called for, Marquez,” J.T. said, quietly but firmly.

“What? You’re defending little Miss Mood-killer?” Marquez demanded.

J.T. told himself just to let it go. Marquez could be volatile when embarrassed, and she had quite a mean tongue when she was mad. But by the same token, he couldn’t stand by and let her dump on Lianne.

“Marquez, look, we had some fun, let’s not start something,” J.T. said.

“I’m not starting anything,” Marquez fired back. “It’s this life-size Barbie here—”

“Come on, Marquez,” J.T. began.

Lianne put a hand on his arm. “Let her say whatever she wants,” she said, looking at Marquez with contempt. “It’s all she can do—flirt and party and be a witch. It doesn’t bother me. I feel sorry for her. She has to put on a big show for everyone to distract them from the fact that she’s a cold, selfish person with nothing inside.”

“You know nothing about me, Lianne,” Marquez said scornfully.

“I know one thing. J.T. is with
me
now because you couldn’t be bothered to be there for him.”

“I think everyone has said enough,” J.T. said.

“Everyone but you, J.T.,” Lianne said, suddenly turning on him.

He realized with a shock that there were tears in her eyes. It had never occurred to him that Lianne
could
cry. A quiver had appeared in her voice. “You haven’t said the thing you need to say, J.T. You need to tell Marquez it’s over, for good, forever. You need to give her up.”

J.T. felt stunned. The entire room was quiet. Even the dishwasher was between cycles. “Marquez knows I’m with you, Lianne,” he said.

“Yeah. That’s why I come in and find you dancing with her,” Lianne sneered. “And when you see me you get this bad-little-boy look on your face, like I’m the teacher who caught you throwing spit wads.”

“That’s not it at all,” J.T. protested.

“Then tell her it’s over, J.T., because she knows she still has a hold on you,” Lianne said sadly. “Marquez isn’t stupid. But neither am I.”

“I think it’s pretty clear, given everything,” J.T. tried again.

“I’m out of here,” Lianne said suddenly. She bit her lip. “I’ll get someone to do my side work for me. I’ll be at home, J.T. I guess you’ll either come over or you won’t.”

“Oh, I don’t even believe that,” Seth said, disgusted. “That’s pathetic. They call him out? That was out? He was so safe.” He pointed the remote control and clicked off the TV.

“We lost, right?” Summer said, playing dumb. Seth was sitting on her bed. Summer was lying back, her head in his lap.

“Only by three runs,” Seth said glumly.

“And we care deeply about this because…”

“Because Milwaukee is my team,” Seth said.

“But you live in Eau Claire, and isn’t Eau Claire actually closer to Minneapolis than Milwaukee?”

“Yes,” he agreed patiently. “But that’s in Minnesota, not Wisconsin. Besides, the Brewers are so pathetic they need every fan they can get. The Twins have plenty of fans. They don’t need me the way the Brewers do. Especially this season, because they really, truly suck.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Summer said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hmm, I don’t know. You don’t happen to know any great unemployed pitchers, do you?”

“Fine, you had your chance.” She started to get up, but Seth caught her arm and pulled her back.

He put his arms around her, drawing her close, then closer, till her lips touched his. As always, his kisses started sweet and gentle. But each new contact was more intense, more urgent, until soon she was gasping for air, feeling that she wanted to devour him, to go beyond anything their lips could accomplish, to enter his soul and make one person out of two.

She withdrew, holding him away with a hand pressed against his mouth. Her breath was shuddery, her face burning hot. Her mind was a confusion of thoughts and images—none of which her mother would have approved of.

“I wish I had a couch,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong with the bed?” Seth said in a low voice.

“It’s a
bed
, that’s what’s wrong with it,” Summer said.

“You know I’d never ask you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, even sounding sincere. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a couch or a bed. All you have to do is say no.”

She buried her face in the hollow of his neck. “I know. That’s not the problem. Saying no is the problem.”

He lifted her head and kissed her again. His hand touched her chin, her throat. He moved it down a little farther and—

“No!” Summer said, pushing him away.

“Now, see? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, grinning. “You say no just fine. Unfortunately.”

“It’s so easy for guys,” Summer complained. “With you it’s like an on-off switch. You go till someone stops you, but it always ends up being the girl’s decision. We’re always the ones who have to have self-control.”

“That’s not true,” Seth protested. “I have to have self-control too. I mean, I wanted to start making out with you an hour ago, but no, I knew I wanted to see the game, so I controlled myself until it was over.”

Summer smiled at him affectionately. Then she hit him over the head with a pillow.

She got up and went to her tiny kitchen. On the way she turned on her radio. “You want something to eat?” she called over her shoulder.

“What do you have?”

“Um…” She opened her refrigerator. “Milk, yogurt, and wilted lettuce.” She checked her cupboard. “Cheerios. Instant grits. Sorry—I figured that since this is technically the South, I should try grits. Ah-hah! Pop-Tarts.”

“Pop-Tarts! All right,” he said enthusiastically. He came to join her as she loaded the toaster. “Life. It just doesn’t get any better than this. You and Pop-Tarts.”

“While they last,” Summer said. Instantly she regretted it, but the thought had popped into her head and straight out through her mouth.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “We’re low on Pop-Tarts?”

“Nothing,” she said. But suddenly she felt terribly sad. Probably just the result of coming down off the intense high of making out.

But Seth wasn’t going to let it go. “Summer, what’s the matter?”

“I really…really like this. Being with you. Being here. Being here with you,” she said. Tears were filling her eyes, and that annoyed her because she was ruining a perfectly good night.

The Pop-Tarts popped up from the toaster, but before she could grab them, Seth turned her around to face him. “Summer, talk to me. Look at you, you’re crying.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, wiping at her tears. “It’s just…the end of the summer.”

“What about the end of the summer?”

“It’s going to come soon, isn’t it? Then no more—” She swept her hand around the room. “No more any of this. I’ll be in school. In Bloomington. You’ll be in school in Eau Claire. I don’t even have a car,” she said.

“What does a car—”

“In case we ever wanted to see each other, duh. Or did you not even think about that? Are you just assuming we’ll never ever be able to see each other again, because I—” She began sobbing, and her words were swallowed up.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “Why are you worrying about the end of August? We have four weeks till then.”

“So I shouldn’t worry about what will happen because it’s a long way off?” she demanded, having brought her vocal cords under some control.

“We could…I don’t know, we could die tomorrow,” he said, looking beleaguered. “I could get crushed by a meteor or something. You could get run over by a bus.”

“A meteor?”

“Jeez, Summer, I’m just saying we’ve barely gotten together, so don’t start trying to figure out the whole future.” He was compulsively running his hand through his hair and shrugging, both of which were things he did when he was confused.

It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for. He sounded almost indifferent. No, that wasn’t fair—not indifferent, just puzzled, as if the problem had never occurred to him. He looked as if he’d just been asked to define the entire nature of the universe.

Summer took the Pop-Tarts out of the toaster and handed one to him. “Careful, they’re a little hot.”

“Summer, you know I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she said in a voice choked by surging tears.

“So everything will work out.” He took a bite of his pastry.

But at that moment Summer had the clearest mental image, almost a vision—Seth kissing her one last time in the airport, with tears and promises to get together every chance they had. Slowly he would walk away. He would pause at the gate, turn, and mouth the words
I love you,
and she would mouth the same words back.

And the terrible thing would be that they would both mean them.

Marquez told herself at least a million times that she didn’t care. That the last thing she wanted was for J.T. to show up. He was with Lianne, and that was fine with her. He was trouble. Nothing but trouble and heartbreak.

He didn’t even respect her. Trying to tell her how she should live her life. Trying to tell her what she was and what she wasn’t.

Basically, he was a jerk. Basically, he could drop dead. Basically, he could disappear without a trace and she wouldn’t care, because there was absolutely no way that he could ever, conceivably, by the strangest fate she could imagine, ever, ever fit into the life she saw for herself.