Pretend You Love Me (9 page)

“Like it?” He snapped the strap on his thong. “I bought these
on eBay. One for each day of the week. Want to see where it says ‘Sunday’?”

I ignored him as I spread out my towel. The metal walkaround was already generating visible heat waves. I pulled my undershirt
over my head. All I had to wear were my sports bra and boxers, since my swimming suit was way too small. I’d bulked up a little
over the summer—okay, a lot. But it wasn’t worth buying a new suit. I hadn’t been to the town pool for two years, and might
never go again. Dad and I had installed the pump and filtration system, and it was just another reminder.

“I thought you’d invite Xanadu,” Jamie said. He offered me the baby oil.

I pulled sunblock out of my pack instead. “Why would I do that?” I asked, squeezing a blob of cream into my hand and smearing
my abs.

“Oh, I don’t know. You want to eat her?”

I just looked at him.

He grinned. “It’s so obvious, the way you look at her and go into heat.”

“Shut up.” Was it? Had she noticed? What if she had? I rubbed sunblock over my left shin. “You’d know about dogs in heat.”

“Yes, I would.” He panted.

“You don’t know squat.” I retrieved my shades from my pack and slipped them on. “Turn up the radio. I like this song.”

“Ooh, yeah, me too.”

Jamie sang and I hummed along to Faith Hill’s
Breathe
. I closed my eyes, picturing Xanadu in my mind. I wondered what she was doing at this very moment. Running naked through
the corn. I chuckled to myself. It’s wheat. I should’ve invited her today. I could’ve spent the next three hours in rapt fascination
as she swabbed her entire body with sunblock. Maybe I could’ve helped with those hard-to-reach spots.

But she wasn’t into tanning.

The song ended and the news came on. Jamie switched off the radio. “She is a babe.” He rolled onto his side and propped himself
up on an elbow. “What do you know about her?”

All I need to. “She’s staying out at the Davenports’. Faye and Leland are her great-aunt and uncle.”

“Boring. Tell me something private and personal that she swore you to secrecy never to reveal.”

In his dreams. I recapped my sunblock and set the bottle beside me on the towel. Withdrawing an eight-pack of Capri Suns from
my pack, I peeled the outer cellophane wrapper and handed a box to Jamie.

“Word of advice, Mike,” he said, sticking his straw through the foil on top. “Give it up. Unless you know something I don’t,
she’s straight. You saw her with Bailey. She was all over him like maggots on meat. We shouldn’t hold that against her. She
was obviously BTW.” He sipped noisily.

BTW—born that way. What did he mean, all over him?

I lay back and beckoned the sun. Heat me, give me life. Jamie was exaggerating.

A finger poked my arm and I flinched. “She’ll only break your heart,” Jamie said.

I twisted his finger, or tried to. It was slimy. “What are you, the voice of experience?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He sighed. He resettled on his chaise and pulled his sunglasses down from atop his head.

He was referring to Beau. Last year and most of this one, that was all he talked about. Beau, Beau, Beau. I wanna blow Beau.
Problem was, besides Beau being straight as a rail, he was too polite. Beau’d never tell Jamie to fuck off, like most of the
guys had. “You know,” I said, “maybe if you didn’t act so queer, you’d have a chance with Beau.”

Jamie burst into laughter.

What? Was he laughing at me? That pissed me off. “Look, if you’re going to give advice, you should be able to take it.”

“Mike, Mike, Mike.” Jamie shook his head. Sliding his shades back over his spiky bleached hair, he said, “Beau was never a
possibility. I knew that. You didn’t think I was serious about him, did you?” He batted his eyelashes at me. “Oh my God.”
Jamie cupped a hand over his mouth. “You did.”

Jerk. I’d been so sympathetic too. So concerned when he moped around after school, crying about how he was never going to
meet anyone, how he was doomed to become an old maid. An old fag is more like it.

“It’s a game,” Jamie said. “I play it all the time. Jamie’s fantasy dream date. Really, Mike. I thought you knew that.”

“It didn’t look like a game.” How can you manufacture tears?

“Okay, I admit, there was an element of hope.”

I knew it.

“But Mike,” he reached over and touched me again, “I have a rule with straights—and so should you. Look, but do not touch.”

I plucked his greasy fingers off my forearm. “Play by your own rules.”

“You still won’t admit it, will you?”

I acknowledged I was gay, okay? I just wasn’t like him.

“Anyway,” he stretched his arms over his head and wriggled his skinny butt down into his chaise. “Beau was yesterday’s cock
tease. I’m in love with Shane now.”

Shane. Jamie’s imaginary boyfriend. This guy he’d supposedly met in an online chat room. Jamie’d been bringing up his name
for the last month or so, but I’d tuned him out. Next month it’d be someone different.

“He called me last night. From Mississippi.”

“Who?”

Jamie turned his head. “Hello? Shane?”

I whipped around and frowned at him. “You’re kidding. You mean, like, on the phone?”

“No, from a hog-calling contest. ‘Hoo eee, Jam-eee.’ Yes, on the phone. From work.” Jamie crossed his arms over his chest
and sighed. “He’s everything I ever dreamed of. And more.”

“What did he say?”

“None of your business,” Jamie sniped. “It was a very private, very intimate conversation. Maybe if you ask me nice…”

This bothered me. Sitting up, I took off my shades and swung around to face Jamie. “You shouldn’t have given him your phone
number. That scares me.”

“Yeah, it scares me too,” Jamie admitted. “I’ve never had anyone actually be interested in me. I have to wonder why.”

That wasn’t the problem. Jamie was attractive. He was a good guy. Anyone would be lucky to have him for a boyfriend. Although,
I couldn’t imagine Jamie having a boyfriend. “You’re not planning on meeting him, are you?”

Jamie dropped his jaw. “Well, duh. Of course I am.”

“Jamie, you can’t!” My voice rose an octave. “Come on. You’ve heard the horror stories about meeting people on the Internet.
All the perverts and child molesters. Get real.”

“What choice do I have? It’s not like we live in San Francisco. You want me to go to Wichita and hang out in the gay bars?”

“No,” I said. God, no.

“Then tell me, where are we going to meet people?”

Here, I thought. They’ll come here. She’s here.

Jamie’s head lolled back on the chaise and he closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be the oldest living virgin on Earth. Aside
from you.”

I sneered, which he missed because he was totally out of touch with reality.

“He’s calling me again tonight.”

“Jamie—”

His voice softened as he added, “I like him, Mike. I really do. We have a lot of the same interests: music, movies, porn stars.”

I blew out an irritated breath and put my shades back on. The water tank behind us was reflecting heat like a solar panel.
My skin sizzled. I needed to move. Take action. I scrambled to my feet. At the railing, I leaned over to catch a breeze and
asked Jamie, “How old is he? Where’s he from? What’s his family do?”

“You sound like Geneviève. ‘James, sweetie, who is this Shane person? Where is he from, honey? How big is his dick?’” He imitated
his mother perfectly, except for the last part.

“Well?” I said, turning and extending my arms along the crossbar. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Okay, Katie Couric. He’s from Alabama, and he’s got the sexiest southern drawl to prove it. He works in a gas station, but
that’s just temp. He wants to become a filmmaker. He’s twenty-two—”

“Twenty-two!” My voice bounced off the water tank. “He’s too old for you.”

“No, Mother Superior, he is not. That’s only five years’ difference. Geneviève and Hakeem are twelve years apart and it works
for them. They’re celebrating their twentieth anniversary this year.” Geneviève and Hakeem. Jamie’s parents.

Jamie scrunched up, hugging his knees. “He lives in a small town where there’s not much action. None, he says. He’s lonely,
Mike. Like me. I’m so fucking lonely.” Jamie’s eyes bore into mine. “And so are you.”

I hustled to gather up my gear and shove it in my pack. My towel, sunscreen. “You’re a horndog,” I told him.

“And you’re not?”

I shouldered my pack and headed for the gate.

“You’re leaving already? It’s barely noon.”

Let him wallow in self pity. My life was fine, perfect. So what if I didn’t have a girlfriend? That was about to change.

As I stepped onto the top rung of the ladder, I glanced back to find Jamie staring at me. Excavating my soul. I had to admit,
he knew me
better than anyone. What was it we had between us? An indefinable connection, an understanding. A shared desperation. I don’t
know. The gay thing.

He was right. I was lonely.

“Just be careful,” I said. “Please?”

Jamie nodded. “You too.”

There were five messages on the answering machine. The first was Nel, from the tavern. “Mike, call me as soon as you can.
I have a disaster here and I need your help. Let’s see, it’s twelve-forty. Call me.”

What kind of disaster? I wondered.

The second message was from Xanadu. “Oh my God, help me!” she cried. “I’m stuck in a freaking time warp in Sublette, Kansas.
Where the hell is Sublette? Isn’t that an apartment? You think Coalton’s small? Aunt Faye and Uncle Lee dragged me along on
their weekly visit to his folks, who are old as Egyptian mummies. Right now Uncle Lee and his dad are in the parlor—yes, the
parlor—comparing war injuries. God. Before that, they pulled out these shoe boxes full of old photos for me to see, like I
know who Bella and Abel Cleveland are and all their twenty-five-hundred children and grandchildren. They’re probably all dead
by now—”

Beep. The message timed out. A memory resurfaced. My grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa Szabo. Darryl and I used to go stay
at their house in Leoti for two weeks every summer. I loved how we’d dump out Grandma Szabo’s hatbox full of black-and-white
photos and pass them around. She’d tell us about the people; share the family secrets. She didn’t make up stories the way
Dad did.

Grandma Szabo. She made me a quilt for my tenth birthday. I loved that quilt; still do.

Beep.
“How rude. I’m back. Uncle Lee’s mother and Aunt Faye are
in the kitchen with the next door neighbor, Elektra. Yes, Jamie. That’s her real name. I actually laughed out loud when she
said it. Of course, I had to repeat my name three fucking times before she got it. They’re comparing recipes for their Jell-O
ambrosia. Do you know what’s in a Jell-O ambrosia, Mike? Lime Jell-O and coconut; fruit cocktail and cottage cheese. Cottage
cheese, in Jell-O. It has to look like someone blew chunks in a cake pan.”

I burst into laughter.

Beep.

Jell-O ambrosia. Wow, I hadn’t had that since… since I stopped going to church. The church ladies used to hold a potluck after
the last service. I sort of liked Jell-O ambrosia.

Beep.

“You need to set your machine for longer messages if we’re going to be best friends,” Xanadu said. My heart leaped. Were we?
Going to be best friends? “Anyway,” she exhaled loudly, “there’s this church-y social thing that I’ll no doubt be forced to
go to and be paraded around. So glad I wore my black leather S&M bustier and spiked dog collar. When Gramps saw my belly-button
ring, he about popped the blood vessels in his one good eye. Did I mention he has a patch?”

I snorted.

She blew out a long breath. “He had to show me the shrapnel scar on his abdomen too. That’s when I checked out. I’m holed
up in the downstairs bathroom now, which smells like moldy mildew. There’s a mousetrap by the sink. You don’t think that means—”
She screamed.

I laughed so hard, I about peed my pants.

“Okay, false alarm. It was only a cockroach. I’m sorry to bother you with all this, Mike. It’s just I’m going psychotic here.
Aunt Faye won’t let me call my friends at home…. My friends, right. Like I even have any. They all turned on me after… you
know. They made me feel defective. Which, I guess, I am. If, or when, you get back from wherever
you are—pitching cow pies—whatever, would you please,
please
call me? My cell number’s seven two oh…”

I rummaged through Darryl’s junk on the counter to find a pencil and paper, and missed the number.

Xanadu’s voice on the machine muffled. “I’m down here, Aunt Faye. I’ll be right up. No, I just have a touch of diarrhea.”
More distinctly, she spoke to me. “I am now going to attempt to suck my brain out through my nose with this toilet plunger.”
There was this weird sound, then the machine clicked.

I replayed the last message to retrieve her cell number. She’d rattled it off so fast, and our machine tape was scratchy,
and I had to replay it six times. When I thought I finally had it, I dialed the number, but only got a recorded out-of-service
message.