Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (12 page)

“I’m opening it.”

She hung on. “It’s not yours to open.”

In a tug of war, I yanked then released. Katie Lee toppled to the floor and clunked her desk leg.

Macy appeared in the doorway. Not sure how much she’d seen, I didn’t care. Katie Lee wasn’t bleeding and even if she was, I wouldn’t have noticed. I was obsessed with the case that lay equidistant between us.

I dove on top of it and applied pressure, squeezing until the lock clicked. Katie Lee sat on the floor and shot me a look of pissed off defeat. Macy looked intrigued. She didn’t interfere or pick sides, but stood behind my shoulder, amused.

Turning the heavy case to face me, I slid the zipper around the track. Macy pitched a shrill whistle. Bridget joined the gawking audience and yelled, “Holy shit.”

Seeing all the twenties neatly stacked and bound by rubber bands, I smacked my forehead. “Katie Lee, this is a problem.”

NOTE TO SELF

Apple Bite. One third mandarin wine cooler and two thirds apple juice brewed through a coffee maker. Can crumble cinnamon stick in the filter. Warning, more than two mugs will put you to sleep when studying.

Studying in the dorm is not an option as long as Macy’s subwoofer is in operation.

Katie Lee is hiding a stash of cash--accessory to a crime?

11

D
irty
G
reen

Autumn
air from Big Blue’s open window fanned my face. Katie Lee fumbled with the radio dial as she drove down the I-40 East. “Y’all, Franklin Street is completely crazy on Halloween. Chapel Hill is one of the best party places in the state.”

Katie Lee had invited Bridget, Macy and me to spend the ghoulish holiday at UNC-Chapel Hill. Not wanting to stay on campus alone, I accepted her peace offering invite. Maybe getting away was what I needed to forget about the insane amount of cash stashed in our room, and about the fantasy guy that sat thirty rows above me every Friday in Psych lecture. We hadn’t exchanged actual words. Sneaking glances when I arrived and left was as brave as I’d been. I didn’t know his name, what dorm he lived in, or if he was single. My crush was like with one I had with The Hardy Boys TV series as a kid, only ten times worse. Two months at university and I hadn’t fooled around. This weekend, I counted on my luck changing.

Claiming susceptibility to carsickness, Bridget rode in the front. She pulled her blonde hair back in a flawless ponytail, except for one strand of hair wrapped around the rubber band. Tall and curvy, her makeup made her eyes sultry and her lips, plump and rosy. Her jaw was tightly aligned, like a puzzle, and when she smiled, I found myself self-consciously stretching my tongue over my crooked eyetooth.

Lately, Katie Lee mostly hung out in Bridget’s room. I didn’t take it personally. I liked Bridget. Besides, one more person to distract her from Nash would keep us all out of trouble.

“Katie Lee, did you remember to lock our door?”

“I remembered.”

Macy blew a bubble and pinched it between her teeth. “If anyone breaks into your room, it’d be as good as hitting the lotto.”

“I’m hoping that stash was from a Monopoly marathon.”

“Sorry Rach,” Bridget said, “there weren’t any candy bar- sized pink or yellow bills in that suitcase.”

Katie Lee turned up the radio. “Y’all, can we talk about something else?”

For high school graduation, Mom had given me gold-rimmed Ray Ban sunglasses. The lenses were algae colored and oversized. Everything about them spoke vintage-cool. My mother told me, she’d worn them at the Ohio State fair the day she met Dad. Despite my father’s fear of heights, the two had soared in a hot air balloon. I hadn’t heard from my mom since she’d flown the coop with a bunch of wanna-be-psychics to find her inner tarot card. Regardless, I still treasured the glasses. From under them, I surveyed the moving sky. They dulled the brightness and softened the edges of the landscape. Maybe if I’d worn them when I opened the suitcase, the contents wouldn’t have seemed so illegal.

Macy whispered from across the back seat, “Did you or Katie Lee touch any of the money?”

“I didn’t. I’m not sure about Katie Lee. Why?”

Macy lowered her voice. “Fingerprints.”

I felt sickish and again questioned Katie Lee’s judgment. She’d convinced herself, and worked hard to convince me, that the little favor she was doing for Nash was no biggie. Like hiding a suitcase full of a gazillion dollars happened every now and then. Katie Lee was book smart, and boyfriend challenged. I wondered how long she was going to continue to involve herself in something that was sure to spiral into the ground.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Bridget asked.

“Meredith McGee. Rachael met her at Billy Ray’s.”

“I met so many people at Billy Ray’s,” I said, “I’m not sure I remember her.”

“She remembers seeing you shag with Billy Ray.”

I cringed at the memory.

Glancing at me, Macy cracked a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Katie Lee merged into the slow lane and followed the sign to Hwy 54 West/Chapel Hill. “We’ll pre-party at McIver Hall, head to State Street, then over to fraternity row for the battle of the bands.”

Bridget flipped the visor down. “Do you need me to look at a map?”

“I had four years of family visits when my sister went here. I know my way around.”

Navigating past one-way streets lined with ivy-clad buildings, Katie Lee parallel parked in a metered spot off Franklin. It was a tight spot; she maneuvered the Olds carefully, barely tapping the bumper on the car in front, twice. Across the street, a restaurant with a red neon sign read, “Hector’s. Always Open.”

I asked Katie Lee, “Is Meredith cool with all of us sleeping in their dorm?”

“Of course.”

SLIDING INTO A RED, plastic-booth, Macy contorted her neck at an unnatural angle to stare at a waiter dressed in chaps, a western shirt and a cowboy hat. “I’d like to saddle him.”

Katie Lee tipped her head. “Y’all look at that GI Joe behind the counter.”

Her comment surprised me, and I wondered if she was examining her relationship. “Since you have Nash, I didn’t think you looked at butts.”

“The opinions I provide are from the goodness of my heart, to help steer you away from any assholes.”

Bridget giggled, “Around her, there’s sure to be plenty of butts to fall in love with.”

“Fuck falling in love. I just want sex with someone hot.”

“Macy,” Bridget teased.

I kept quiet not admitting that I wanted sex too, but with the romance part.

“Order me a sweet tea,” Katie Lee said, before she left to cash dollars for the coin meter.

Bridget tilted forward and asked, “Everything patched up between you two?”

“We’re not in agreement about Nash, but we’re speaking.”

“There had to be ten thousand dollars in there,” Macy said.

Bridget toyed with her straw. “If that much money was stashed in my room, I’d do some serious shopping.”

“That loot is funny money obtained from somewhere or something illegal. It won’t buy anything but headaches.” I looked at Katie Lee and said, “I want it gone.”

“Is it drug money?” Bridget asked.

“What else could it be?” Macy asked.

I pulled out a pack of Rolaids. “That’s my guess.”

“Has she confronted him?” Bridget asked.

With all the time she and Katie Lee spent together, I thought she’d have more insight than I did.
“She called him. He said he didn’t know what was inside. He’s keeping it safe for someone.”

Macy corrected me. “You mean Katie Lee’s keeping it safe for someone.”

I popped two antacids, then a third.

Macy examined the wrapper. “Since when do you take Rolaids?”

“Since I met Katie Lee.”

The cowboy waiter dropped off four ice waters. Bridget waited for him to leave our table before she asked, “When is Nash coming to get it?”

“I don’t know the exact plan, just that she promised she’d move the green out of our room.”

“Like where?” Macy asked.

“I don’t care. I just want it gone.”

Katie Lee took off her denim jacket and slid into the booth next to Bridget. “Bring on the goons and goblins y’all. I can’t think of a better place, or better Halloween company to be with this holiday.”

NOTE TO SELF

Spending Halloween on a campus of eighteen-thousand students. That can’t be bad.

Can you become addicted to Rolaids?

12

S
couts
H
onor

McIver
Hall’s architecture dripped old southern. The three-story, Brunswick red brick exterior sprawled across a freshly mowed lawn. Formal white columns that held up a portico provided a sense of syrupy, Gone With the Wind romantic sensation over me. Before we left Greensboro, I borrowed half a dozen condoms from Macy in case any malfunctioned. Tonight, I was getting D-virginized.

Tromping through doublewide doors, Katie Lee veered past the front desk and headed left toward a staircase. Reapplying lip-gloss, Bridget followed while Macy and I trailed behind. On the second floor, Katie Lee walked into an open door. A kaleidoscope of olive-green, mustard-yellow and orange peace signs leapt from Meredith’s twin-comforter. Egg-shaped, swivel chairs on metallic silver bases perched on either side of a two-seater faux fur sofa. Macy leaned into my ear, “It looks like Brady Bunch throw-up in here.”

Katie Lee made introductions. “This is Bridget, Macy and…”

“Hey Raz,” Meredith greeted me. There was no use correcting her. Thanks to Billy Ray, the nickname stuck to me like a new freckle. Since she wasn’t privy to the “van incident,” I made a mental note to keep quiet. Tonight we’d be on foot, so I didn’t have to worry about alcohol-induced driving mishaps. 

Meredith wore pink low-rise hot pants, love beads and had a peace sign painted on her cheek. “Everyone, will be completely outrageous on State Street. What are y’all’s costumes?”

Settling into one of the egg chairs, Katie Lee gestured a three-finger salute. “Girl Scout troop three-forty-six reporting for collegiate mayhem.”

“I’m friends with some guys in Alpha Delta,” Meredith said. “The bands they’ve lined up are local.”

Bridget began separating pieces of Katie Lee’s pencil straight, shoulder-length hair. “Why don’t I French-braid your hair? It’ll add authenticity to your scout image.” Bridget suggested as she meticulously danced her fingers down the back of Katie Lee’s head. Admiring her work, she pulled a ponytail holder out of her hair and twisted it into Katie Lee’s.

“Rach,” Katie Lee said. “Have Bridget do something with yours.”

“I’m susceptible to hair-headache. A ponytail is as much confinement as I can tolerate. Meredith, is the Ackland Art Museum within walking distance? I want to see the exhibit they’re running on Paul Cezanne.”

“Is he a male entertainer?” Macy asked.

“Sort of. He was a nineteenth century abstract artist. Into cubism. One of his landscapes came through my dad’s shop a few years ago. I wanted to see what the museum has on display.”

“It’s just off Franklin. You can borrow my I.D. to get in free.”

Meredith was tall and had a head full of curls. Even though I looked nothing like her, she assured me that they never checked and I slipped her I.D. in my pocket. “Thanks, I’ll swing by before we leave.”

Macy settled next to me on the faux sofa and lit a cigarette. Her ash grew like a weed, and I held an empty beer  can under her ciggy to collect the charred tobacco remains before they landed on my lap. “Try not to set anything on fire tonight.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” Macy said. “Some lucky guy is going to need an extinguisher when I finish with him.”

WE’D WALKED ACROSS CAMPUS with guys that Meredith knew. One of them held a clear plastic funnel normally used to pour oil into the engine of a Mack truck. Gray duct tape adhered it to a long clear tube. “Anyone want a turn?” he asked.

On campus, Bridget always acted so southern: polite, pulled together, apologetic. When she stopped to snap open a beer can and volunteered to hose, I realized I’d misjudged her.

When I was a kid, my mom and I played a game in line at the grocery store. We turned people into food, imagining what they most resembled. Before we arrived, I’d pegged Bridget as orange Jello – a refreshingly sweet food that can be molded, or served with a whipped topping. You can add fruit or serve it plain, and it has the flexibility to be a salad or dessert. Seeing her gulp an entire can of beer, without choking, made me realize I’d mislabeled her. There was an unexpected tart lying under her sweetness, and I made a mental note – lime, not orange.

I declined to guzzle from the funnel. Certain customs, like drinking beer from a can, shouldn’t be broken. Besides, someone wearing a fly-fishing vest over a plaid shirt caught my eye and I needed some semblance of control so I’d remember tonight, or at least the good parts.

Travis introduced himself.
Yeah for me.
Suddenly, things looked promising for Camp Rachael. The night had just begun, and I felt an instant connection. Something from inside jolted me, and I just knew he and I would end up being more than acquaintances.

I’d never been in a mob before, but could now check it off my list. Bodies engulfed the town’s main drag and pulsed down side streets. I didn’t own a purse. Never carried one. My Girl Scout dress didn’t have pockets and Macy had given me a handful of condoms. Tonight I made an exception.  I stashed the foil wrappers, a lip-gloss, ID, and twenty bucks in a Thin Mint cookie box on string.