Clouds In My Coffee (8 page)

“That’s fucking ridiculous. See how he operates?” he says with a look of disgust. “Don’t worry about it. Once he graduates next spring, he’ll be outta here. You ought to quit that cheerleading shit, anyway.”

“And let them all think he’s won? Don’t think so.”

He shakes his head. “Well then tolerate it until next year when he’s gone, your choice.”

“You’ll be gone, too,” I point out sadly.

“Yeah, but I won’t be gone from your life, will I?”

“God, I hope not. Who would I get to change my tires then?”

He gives me a smirk, rolling his eyes. Once finished, he follows me home. He comes over to the car, saying he’s gonna take my tire and check it for the leak. I simply nod.

He looks at me funny. “What’s wrong?” he asks me. “What happened?”

“Someone also pulled the 8-track player out of my car,” I tell him. “I didn’t notice until we were on our way home.”

“Fuck him,” Erik growls. “That fucked-up son-of-a-bitch!”

“He did give it to me for my birthday,” I reply.

“It’s still theft,” he snaps. “Don’t you lock your car?”

“I thought I did. Don’t yell at me, Erik, please. I feel bad enough. It had the tape you gave me in it. I was listening to it this morning. So he took that with it. I don’t care about the player; I just want my Carly Simon tape.”

“Oh baby,” he says, pulling me against his suede jacket that he looks so damn good in, fringe and all. “I can get you another one for Christmas, how’s that?”

“I don’t have anything to play it on,” I reply. “And no, I don’t want you buying me another tape player. He’d probably just rip that one out, too.”

He pulls back from me, still holding my hands. “Let’s forget about the jerk for now, okay? I don’t want you freaking out over this shit.”

I nod. He kisses me. I feel better.

Later that night, I pull my diary out. I’ve been vigilant about recording stuff almost on a daily basis now, if only a paragraph or two.

December 11, 1973

Dear Diary,

I’m pretty sure Marshall messed with my car today. Tire was flat and tape deck was pulled out of it. The one he gave me as a birthday present. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but the Carly Simon Secrets tape that Erik gave me for my birthday was in it when Marshall yanked it out. I told Mom about it. She doesn’t seem concerned. Spending time with Erik this weekend. At least Mom doesn’t bitch about that anymore.

It’s Saturday night, Mom’s late night to work. Erik and I hang out for a while with the rest of his band members and their girlfriends. It’s actually nice to be around people that talk to me and include me in the conversation.

Once they start passing around the sopers, I ask Erik if we can leave. I’ve got no problem with smoking up now and then, but I’m not about to get all downed out and act stupid. I know Erik does it occasionally, and he knows how I feel about it, so the agreement we have is that he doesn’t do it around me.

I wish he didn’t do it at all, but he doesn’t answer to me as he has so plainly pointed out on occasion. Mostly when I’m in his shit about it.

We go back to my house, sharing a joint along the way.

Once there, I’m feeling pretty mellow, so I get the courage to ask him about Angie. “Erik,” I start softly, “I want to know something, and please don’t get pissed.”

“Oh God,” he moans, taking his hands from my back where he’d been rubbing it. “What?”

“You sound pissed already,” I reply.

“I’m not,” he insists, “Just ask me already.”

“How many times...did you and Angie...get down?”

“Jesus Christ, I
knew
it was going to be something about that.”

“I can’t help it,” I reply, “It bugs me and I need to know.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because, if we’re back together, we shouldn’t have secrets, right?”

“Do I ask you about personal shit that happened with Marshall?”

“No,” I answer, “But, that’s because I already told you we didn’t have sex.”

“Hell, I don’t know,” he replies, standing up and looking out the front window. “Maybe seven or eight times.”

“Seven or eight?” I practically shriek. “At your place?”

“A couple of times, I guess.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of whorish?” I ask.

“She likes dick. What can I say?”

“Oooh, you!”

“Hey! You’re the one that wanted to know. Can we drop it now?”

I’m not at all ready to drop it. My curiosity has been piqued. “Did you use...uh rubbers?”

“Of course I did.”

Nice.

“She must’ve given it up pretty easy.”

“Look, Cece, we were high the first time, okay? I mean, she was kind of luded out to be honest. She’s got a prescription for Quaaludes and she offered me one. So I took it. I’m not gonna lie, but I don’t eat those things the way she does. In fact, I don’t think I’ll do them anymore. Period. I saw what they did to her.”

“What do you mean? Is she hooked or something?”

“She was. She’s in rehab now. So, hopefully she’ll kick the habit.”

I wondered why I hadn’t seen her at school. “Rehab? Where?”

“Some place around Denver. She’ll be back before Christmas.”

“Are you still in touch with her?” I ask, narrowing my eyes a bit.

“I only know this because her mom called me right before Thanksgiving to let me know. She wondered what had happened between us. I was honest. I told her Angie was constantly wrecked and I couldn’t deal with it anymore—which is the truth, by the way.”

“So, you essentially narked her out?”

“I didn’t tell her mom anything she hadn’t already figured out. I guess the doctor prescribed those for her after all that shit went down with Marshall. But, her parents never knew what happened; they thought she was fucked up over the break-up. I mean, I wasn’t about to tell her anything different. Not my place.”

I shook my head. I understood. “Actually, that was kind of brave of you to tell her that, I mean, hearing it from another teenager might’ve been what she needed to understand the urgency of it. God, I
do
feel bad now for her.”

He comes back over to where I am, pulling me up from the sofa and wrapping his arms around me. He hugs me tightly, his hand brushes my hair back and he fingers through it. “I love you, Cece. Why won’t you let me show you?”

I glance up at him; his eyes are warm with love. There’s nothing more that I want at the moment than to do just that. “My mom’s going to be home soon, Erik. There’s no time,” I reply, putting my head against his chest.

“Then sneak out later, please? Come to me. There’s no one there until my dad gets in at seven.”

I nod my head against him. “Okay,” I sigh. “As soon as I’m sure Mom’s asleep, okay?”

“I’ll be there,” he replies softly, kissing me ever so gently.

December 16, 1973

Dear Diary,

Tonight is the night. Erik and I are so very close these days. It feels right to me and I’m both excited and nervous. God, what if I don’t know what to do? What if it hurts worse than what I’ve been told? I want this to be perfect. I’ll let you know what happens. Wish me luck!

December 17, 1973

Dear Diary,

Oh my god, I did IT. And, as nervous as I was, Erik made me feel totally relaxed and comfortable. It probably helped that we smoked a doobie beforehand. It was nothing like I imagined it would be. I mean, yeah, it hurt like hell the first time, but Erik took his time and then the second time we did it, I really enjoyed it. Erik wanted to do a third round right before dawn, but he was out of rubbers. Thank God Mom didn’t catch me. Erik and I are going to the mall today to start our Christmas shopping. He told me the only thing he wants from me is a big box of condoms! Ha! Ha! But in all honesty, I love him so much!!

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m over at Erik’s helping him and his dad get their fake tree decorated.

Nothing like waiting until the last minute. Mom and I decorated our tree the Sunday afternoon after Erik had deflowered me during the early morning hours.

I feel a blush coming on from thinking about it. Just a week ago but, damn, we definitely had been making up for it. I’ve been determined to get past the eight-count.

Erik’s got my number on that one. “Trying to outdo Angie, are you?”

“Maybe,” I had replied, giving him a wicked grin.

“Babe, you surpassed her after that very first time.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, Erik. That’s deep.”

“That tree definitely looks better than last year,” Erik’s dad comments, interrupting my thoughts. “I guess it needed a lady’s touch. Great job!”

“Thanks, Mr. Laughlin,” I reply, giving him a smile. He’s genuinely a mellow dude. I can see where Erik gets it.

“Call me Brett,” he instructs. “No formalities needed here, Cece.”

“Thanks...Brett,” I reply, noticing Erik rolling his eyes.

“Well I’ve got to shove off to do my shift. Working Christmas Eve is a bummer,” he says, grabbing his jacket and lunch pail. “You two behave and, if you can’t, then for Chrissake, be careful.”

My blush returns.

“Way to go, Dad,” Erik replies, shaking his head. “Later.”

After he leaves, Erik switches on his stereo and tunes it in to one of the local radio stations that plays the top forty countdown songs of the week. He knows I enjoy those tunes, unlike him who is totally about hard rock only.

I glance over at him and smile.

“Yeah, I figure I can earn some points by letting you listen to your bubblegum shit.”

“Hey, they play rock songs too,” I argue, “As long as they hit the charts.”

“Yeah, but no B-side singles,” he laments, “Some of those are better tunes, you know?”

The station is doing call-in dedications for Christmas Eve. I remember doing those the first year Erik and I had started going steady.

“Yes, I would like to dedicate Precious and Few by Climax to my boyfriend, Erik from Cece.”

It had been a rush hearing my voice come on over the radio dedicating that song to him and knowing that he didn’t even listen to the damn station. I chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking back to when I used to call in and dedicate those
bubblegum
songs to you,” I reply, hanging some silver icicles on the tree branches.

“Yeah, like last week?” he teases, grabbing a beer from his fridge.

“No,”
I reply sounding offended. “Keep it up and I will though.”

He uncapped his beer, taking a swig. “When do you want to open our presents?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not until tomorrow. I’m a stickler for tradition.”

“Bummer.”

Just then a dedication comes on the radio. I stop what I’m doing recognizing the voice.

His voice.

Hearing it gives me chills. The creepy kind of chills, not the good kind.

“Uh...yeah, I’d like to dedicate ‘Don’t Say You Don’t Remember’ by Beverly Bremers to my special girl. I’m so sad she’s...gone.”

I freeze where I’m standing, listening as the first chords of this bubble-rock song from a year or two before start playing.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks.

“That’s him. That’s
Marshall
.”

“Where?” he asks looking around, clueless.

“On the
radio
just now,” I explain. “He’s the one that just called in that dedication. That was his voice, I’m sure of it.”

“Ahh,” he says, shaking his head. “So, are you his...
special girl
?” he teases.

“It’s not funny, Erik. It’s
creepy
.”

“Hey, you ought to feel sorry the dude doesn’t have anything better to do on Christmas Eve than this,” he replies, coming back over to help me finish up. “Look, don’t worry about it, Cece. He’s not done anything lately, right?”

I nod.

“You’re right. Maybe he wasn’t even dedicating it to me,” I reply, looking up at Erik. “I mean, come on, that song is pretty heavy about love. We were never close to that.”

“Yeah, he’s probably moved on to another chick or else he’s just an idiot that can’t let go. You know, he used to bug Angie with this shit too.”

“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, please. Let’s not go there, okay? He’s out of our lives and she’s out of our lives, so let’s just focus on
us.
”