Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (25 page)

I stood on tiptoes peering from behind Hugh’s shoulder. “Your room is trashed.”

Her drawers and closets had been hastily emptied, and I couldn’t see any linoleum. Clothes and bedding lay strewn across the room. Two twin mattresses spilled from their frames. When I noticed the slits in them, I wished I hadn’t made the insensitive comment about her messy room.

Forgetting to turn on his word-filter device, Hugh said, “It looks like someone hurt themselves jackin’ ---. Ouch, Macy.”

Macy hadn’t smacked him quickly enough.

Bridget gasped. “Oh God, I’m going to be sick if that’s what’s on my walls.”

Wondering whose boyfriend she fooled around with now, I asked, “Did your roommate do this?”

“She wouldn’t,” Bridget said. “We were friends. Besides, she left for break before I did.”

Katie Lee pushed buttons on Bridget’s phone. “I’m calling campus security.”

It must have been a slow night because Tuke Walson arrived minutes after Katie Lee hung up. Ironed creases ran down the center of his pants, and a white undershirt applied pressure to the buttons that held his shirt together.

“Any idea who could’ve done this?”

“No sir,” Bridget said.

“Did you lock up before break?” 

“Of course she did,” Katie Lee said.

Asking questions, taking Polaroid’s and jotting notes, Tuke poked around the room. He stopped in front of the electric heater and pulled a sweatshirt off an open container of calcium-fortified milk. “Leave an open container of milk near a heat source and you got yourself a carton of nasty.” He crinkled his face and put the sweatshirt back. “That there is one cooked quart.” It took him fifteen minutes to tell Bridget, “I’m finished. Someone from the janitorial staff will contact you.”

Exasperated and looking at the disarray, Bridget didn’t know if anything had been stolen. He sympathized with her and said, “If there’s anything missing, you can file a report.”

“Is this going around?” Katie Lee asked. “Has there been a rash of milk-bomb break-in’s?”

“No, ma’am. This is the first I’ve encountered. College kids never cease to amaze me. Exploding toilets, now that buggers things into a real mess. My guess is that you know who did this. An ex-boyfriend?”

Pulling a pen from his pocket protector, he scraped the goo on the wall.

Hugh lifted his nose from under his shirt to say, “You’re a brave man.”

“That there’s condiment,” Tuke said.

“Is that what you call it?” Hugh asked.

He shrugged. “It’s all-American. Everyone puts ketchup and mayo on popcorn shrimp and hush puppies.” He placed a business card on Bridget’s dresser. “Ladies, be sure and lock your doors. And call me if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

Macy liberally sanitized the seventh floor hallway with an entire can of Lysol. Katie Lee borrowed fans, and I disposed of the foul milk in the outside dumpster. When I returned, Hugh had refilled the mattress stuffing and placed them back in their frames. He motioned Katie Lee and Bridget outside the door, and I heard him offer his protective services to accompany them to the basement washing machines.

“I’m totally freaked out,” Bridget said. She asked Katie Lee, “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” 

Without asking me, Katie Lee said, “Of course.”

Hugh huddled with the two, wrapping them in his arms. “If y’all feel you need extra protection…”

“Hugh,” Katie Lee said, “forget it. You’re not sleeping in our room.”

“I was going to say, I have a Smith and Wesson snubnose you can borrow. It’s compact. Help ya sleep soundly.”

Hugh was crazy to loan Bridget a firearm. She’d probably get freaked out with dorm noises and accidently shoot someone on their way to the hall bathroom.

Breaking from his arm hold, Katie Lee slapped his back. “You’re a true southerner.”

Looking right, then left, he said, “Who, me?”

“That’s so illegal,” Bridget said. “You realize you could get expelled.”

“Let’s just say I like to feel protected.”

“Where do you keep it?” Bridget whispered.

“That’s not welcome in our room,” I shouted.

Hugh lowered his voice and said something else to Bridget. I moved toward the door to protest the gun thing. Hugh distracted me when he said, “Hey, I know some guys who are throwing a party off campus tomorrow night. Y’all wanna come?”

“Definitely,” Katie Lee said as she left with Bridget to throw in a load of laundry.

Francine emerged from the room across from Bridget’s. She’d put a relaxer on her hair and warmed the gelatinous conditioner under a Saran Wrap, shower cap that was secured with a gigantic rubber band. Lingering in Bridget’s doorway, she said, “Hugh, I need someone about your height to help me hang a shelf in my room.”

“That’s what all the woman say.”

“Are you daft?” Francine asked. “If I needed somethin’ personal taken care of, I wouldn’t be dressed like this.”

Francine dragged Hugh down the hall. Macy shut Bridget’s door.

“Are you crazy?” I asked. “It still stinks in here.”

Bridget’s phone rang. We both looked at it and on the third ring Macy picked it up. She told the person on the other line that Bridget wasn’t around and asked is she could take a message. When she hung up, she wore a look I’d seen before. It was the, this is fucked up look.

“Who was that.”

Macy scrunched her nose. The accent was thick. I think he said, Billy Ray.”

“You’re kidding? Why would he call her?”

Macy shrugged. Maybe I misunderstood.

“This vandalism thing is weird.”

She stuck her head out the window. When she brought it back in she asked, “Who could get in here over break and do this to her room?”

“I don’t know,” I said, wondering
who else Bridget had slept with and what she’d done to piss that person off
. Something needled at me. Why did Bridget continue to hover in a deceitful friendship with Katie Lee? Why not spill what she’d done or cut ties with Katie Lee? My mind went into overdrive. It could only be one of two reasons, a cheater-high, having gotten away with naughty sex or Katie Lee had something that Bridget wanted.

NOTE TO SELF

Buy a jingle-bell, scratch-off lotto ticket at the quickie mart.

Vandalism on the seventh floor. Completely disturbing.

Bridget is sleeping on our floor for night number two. I didn’t agree to a loft so our room could accommodate three.

26

B
etter
T
han
A
B
undt
C
ake

Standing
around in long registration lines, inside a stuffy sweat-infested gymnasium lowered my blood sugar and put me into a vegetative state. I needed to snap out of my funk if I was going to enjoy the party at the yellow house tonight. Fresh air and searching for Clay seemed like a good plan.

Rushing through the late afternoon chill, I dodged the spit of rain. I’d been gone all day and hoped that Bridget’s mattress had been dragged out of our room and back into hers. For safety purposes, I’d slept with a curling iron under my pillow and still had a dull crimp in my neck. Clay wasn’t in the gymnasium or the empty cafeteria. North Carolina College campus covered two-hundred-twenty acres and I became disillusioned with finding him.

Last semester, he’d asked to copy my notes, once. He hadn’t asked for my phone number, or what dorm I lived in. Sensibilities pointed to the exit sign out of fantasyland, but reality village could be dull, and I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

On a final detour through the halls of Moore dorm, I stopped to see Hugh. “Hey Rach,” he said, giving me a hug. Pulling darts out of the target that hung on his door, he handed them to me.

“How was your ho, ho, ho?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I take it your dad is still seeing Trudy.”

I snarled my face as an answer. Standing behind a piece of duct tape Hugh had adhered to the linoleum I launched my darts and wondered why I’d come for a visit, cause it wasn’t to talk about my father’s girlfriend.

“God damn, you throw like a marksman. Did you hear from your Mom over break?”

I hit two bulls’ eyes. “Are you trying to distract me with unpleasant conversation?”

“Rach, your family doesn’t come close to my family’s wackadoo. I just figure that stuff is, you know, better when it’s out.”

Releasing a sigh, I settled on his desk chair. “Mom sent a package postmarked from Sedona and called, once.”

Throwing a horrible round, he asked, “What was it?”

“Tarot cards and celestial earrings.”

“Do you think she’s really psychic? Cause if she is, maybe she can tell me when I’ll beat her daughter in a game of darts. Are you thirsty?”

“Parched. I need to grab a jacket from Grogan.”

“We can collect the girls and head to the yellow house.”

A brisk wind kicked up leaves, and I tucked my hands deep into my jeans pocket. Hugh and I didn’t pass anybody on our walk to Grogan. Things on campus were quiet. Too quiet. So I asked, “Are you ever going to make a move on Macy, or is she too much throttle?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on. It’s obvious.”

Hugh stared at a squirrel that raced past us. “Rachael, men don’t discuss men moves. It’s against code.”

I scoffed. He didn’t fool me. Terminating the discussion about Macy sent my bullshit meter swinging from rabbit to bull and I wondered if tonight would be a game changer.

“Did you stay busy over break?” Hugh asked.

“Ate, drank and slept.”

“Come on. You had to have done something interesting.”

My teeth chattered against the chill that crept under my clothes. “I refurbished a Quesnel Portrait at Dad’s shop.”

“How does it look?”

“Amazing. Cleaning and glazing the piece brought out the facial shadows and deepened the colors. My dad’s going to give me 10 percent commission when it sells.”

Hugh opened Grogan’s lobby door. “You saved a masterpiece.”

“My first one.”

THE TIPS OF HUGH’S COWBOY BOOTS were silver and scraped the asphalt with each step he took. He led Katie Lee, Bridget, Macy, and me through an eclectic neighborhood of 1950s two-story, vinyl-sided homes that bordered campus. Dormant grass had turned dull, and patches of brown butted against the street. I’d endured a winter break with Dad and his new friend Trudy. Bridget now slept in our room, and as far as I could tell, she didn’t have immediate plans to move back to hers. I couldn’t tolerate living with her and had to say something.

“Almost there,” Hugh said.

“None of these houses are yellow,” Macy said. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

 “How far is this place?” Bridget asked. “My feet are killing me.”

Hugh stopped and leaned forward. His black and red check shirt tail dangled over his jeans. “Hop on,” he said, offering a piggyback, and Bridget accepted.

“Are you sure the house doesn’t have yellow trim,” Katie Lee asked. “Like that one?”

“I’m thirsty,” I said.

“Y’all settle down.” He pointed. “The yellow house is just ahead.”

“That color is fuckin’ revolting,” Macy said.

Beyond a fence with missing pickets rested the yellow house. I had to agree with Macy. The yellow I stared at wasn’t pastel as I’d imagined. The vinyl siding was golden, and the shutters, gutters, trim and front door had been painted chocolate brown. Buckled steps led us to a recessed door where I tripped over a raised floor plank. Hugh caught me by the arm before I ate wood. Tonight I’d be partying inside a collapsing sunflower.

Hugh made introductions and handed me a plastic cup. “Follow me.”

We tailed him along a hallway lined with framed Bob Marley posters.

“Cool,” Hugh said, stopping to look at the three still-shot, enlarged photographs of Bob Marley.

“No pinholes or creases. The color hasn’t faded, and they’re signed with a sharpie. That’s key. If the signature is authentic, these are keepers.”

Hugh wrapped his arm around my neck and guided me to the back porch where someone had already tapped a keg. “My art connoisseur. How much should I offer for them?”

“Wait til the end of the year. Maybe they’ll be tired of them. Start at seventy five dollars.”

The drinking started as it always did, slow and steady. Tapping a pack of Benson and Hedges on my palm, I relished kicking back without a thought of things in Ohio, looming papers, and Mom. My second cup, chilled my throat and warmed my face. The guys in the house weren’t cigarette smokers, so I ended up out back in a circle of empty plastic chairs. Southern winters were more civilized than the ones in Ohio, and I didn’t mind.

I lifted my heels onto a cracked plastic chair, wrapped my arms around my legs, trapping heat between my chest and knees. I pondered trivial things like getting a head start reading my textbooks, and whether I should’ve worn socks. The squeaky storm door slammed shut, and Bridget appeared double-fisted, with a third cup clenched between her teeth. She mumbled, “Help.”

Rescuing the two cups out of her hands, I set them down. If this was her peace offering, she could forget it. After blacking out in New Bern, I’d never drink a beer she handed me. She settled into the chair next to me, and I wished we weren’t alone. She and I rested on the perimeter of a superficial friendship. She had an agenda that I didn’t understand, whereas mine was simple. She needed to remove herself and Hugh’s gun from my room, and I decided to address the topic. “Looks like you have a single room this semester.”

Bridget drained one beer and stacked the empty cup under another. “Things seem to be working out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Katie Lee called housekeeping. Tomorrow, they’re scrubbing my walls and bringing a new mattress. A crew is painting on Sunday. You and Katie Lee have been really sweet to let me stay in your room. Is it okay if I bunk with you two more nights?”