Strip Me Bare (25 page)

There’s an uncomfortable silence at first,
and I know this isn’t easy for Ryan. He finally clears his throat
and says, “Hey mom.”

“Hey son,” she responds uneasily.

“This is Alana,” he says, and she does a once
over on me; she doesn’t seem impressed.

I step forward and put my hand out over the
counter, “Mrs. Pierce, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

She shakes my hand lightly; as if she’s
afraid she’ll muddy me or something.

“You too, honey,” she replies, and it sounds
like she has an accent. Brooklyn maybe?

Ryan sits down and I follow suit.

“Coffee?” she asks, as she flips over the
white cups sitting in front of us.

“Yes, please.”

She pours two cups and slides over some cream
and sugar to me. “Just black,” I say politely before I pass them
over to Ryan.

Is it hot in here or is it just me?
I
pull on the collar of my sweater.

I tuck some hair behind my ear before I take
a sip, and Ryan’s mom stops short when she sees one of my mother’s
earrings sticking out of my earlobe.

“Those are very beautiful,” she says coolly,
stealing a glance at Ryan.

“Thank you, they were my mother’s,” I say
graciously, but I suddenly feel uncomfortable.

Ryan and his mother exchange some small talk
as I quietly sip my coffee, feeling very much like and
outsider.

“Have you seen Sean lately?” Mrs. Pierce asks
him.

“Yes, last week,” Ryan answers annoyed.

She gives him some kind of secret look and
Ryan gives her one in return. I try to interpret the facial
expressions; but I’m not versed in Ryan’s family well enough to
understand what they’re implying.

“He’s here,” she says, “in the bathroom.”

Ryan just shrugs, “Okay.”

A few moments later someone slaps Ryan on the
back.

“Yo, bro,” Sean says derisively.

We all look at him for a beat and then Ryan
stands up slowly, menacingly.

Sean glances down at me, “Hey Alana.”

Ryan steps immediately in front of me, “Don’t
even look at her.”

“Geez, defensive much?”

I put my hand on Ryan’s arm. “It’s okay,” but
he isn’t having it. He’s still pissed about what happened at
Culture.

“You look like shit, brother,” Ryan says
close to Sean’s face. I sneak a glimpse of Ryan’s mom and feel the
hostility build as she watches them closely.

“I caught a bug,” Sean retorts.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these
days?”

“I may look like shit but I can still kick
your ass.”

“Really, because the last time I saw you I
smashed your face into the floor.”

“Boys,” Mrs. Pierce reprimands, “if you’re
gonna fight take it outside.”

I feel like I just caught a sneak peek into
Ryan and Sean’s childhood.

I study the three of them standing together,
taking in their mannerisms and features. It’s obvious where Sean
and Ryan get their looks from. They have their mother’s straight
nose and wide eyes, perfectly proportionate lips and even the same
hair color. You can tell through her worn features and tired eyes
that she was stunning once.

Ryan hesitates to move so Sean punches his
arm, “C’mon don’t act like a bitch.”

“The only bitch around here is you.”

I can’t see Ryan’s face, but I can see
Sean’s; he’s trying not to smile. Smug bastard. Ryan’s right
though, he doesn’t look good. His face is pale and thin, and there
are dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m not going to tell you again, hash it out
outside,” Mrs. Pierce orders.

“Fine,” Ryan bites, never taking his eyes off
Sean. I’m getting an educational introduction to the dynamic of
Ryan’s family.

“We’ll be right back.” Ryan kisses me
chastely on the cheek then heads towards the door.

“Don’t kill each other,” Ryan’s mother
drawls.

I see Sean and Ryan talking animatedly
through the front window, they’re both exactly the same height and
even have an identical profile, except Ryan’s hair is fluffed up,
while Sean’s is covered by a hat.

“So, Alana,” Mrs. Pierce says my name, but
pronounces it Alaner.

“Ryan tells me you’re a lawyer.”

“I’m in law school.”

“You must be really smart.”

“I study a lot,” I say humbly.

She glances out the window attentively and
then leans on the counter, “Let me ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“What’s a nice girl like you doing with a boy
like Ryan?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“What’s wrong with Ryan?”

“Nothing, except for the fact he’s a boy with
no future who takes his clothes off for a living.”

“That’s a highly negative opinion to have
about your son.”

“It’s not an opinion, it's reality,” she
stares past me bleakly and I know she’s looking at the two of
them.

“I’m not the one who put him in a position to
have no future,” I dispute.

She glares at me coldly.

Okay, that was a low blow.

“Maybe not, but what do you think you’re
going to do? Save him?”

“Ryan doesn’t need saving,” I assert.

She grunts and looks past me again, this time
despairingly, like those two boys are her only lifeline and without
them she’d disappear.

“Ryan needs so much more than you will ever
know.”

“Then please enlighten me.” I glance back and
catch Sean pulling Ryan into a hug.

“He wants to marry you,” she says
bluntly.

“Yes, I know,” I turn and look at her.

“And what’s going to happen when he asks and
you say no?”

“Who says I’m going to say no?”

“Sweetheart,” she says condescendingly, “the
pauper doesn’t end up with the princess, he ends up on his
ass.”

Which is exactly what Sean told me at
Culture, and I realize the prejudice against me runs much deeper
than I could have ever imagined. It stings; especially because I
would never do anything to hurt Ryan, but neither Sean nor Mrs.
Pierce seem willing to believe that.

“Look,” I say harshly, “it doesn’t matter to
me where Ryan comes from, it only matters where he’s going.”

Which is straight to Las Vegas to be a
headlining act. Oy!

“I hope he doesn’t make you eat those words,”
she says ominously, then plasters on a fake smile as Ryan sits down
next to me.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Ryan sighs, “Yeah, as much as it can be.”

“Where’s Sean?” Mrs. Pierce asks
concerned.

“He borrowed my car. To go to the
clinic.”

Ryan’s mother shoots me a cautionary look,
then pulls out two menus from under the counter and drops them down
in front of us. “Hungry?” she huffs.

“Starved,” Ryan picks up the menu and starts
flipping through it.

But eating is the last thing I want to do,
because I suddenly feel a current of dread pulling me under.

Sean returns an hour later, right as Ryan and
I finish our lunch. He looks crappier than before, his eyes are
bloodshot and he stinks like - if I had to guess - weed. What the
hell do they give him at that clinic?

Ryan grabs his keys and stands up. “Thanks
for lunch ma.”

I guess we’re leaving.

“Thanks for coming, Ryan,” she says and
there’s so much sadness in her voice. She walks around the counter
to him, puts her hands on his shoulders and stares into his eyes.
The eyes that look exactly like hers. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Ryan says restlessly, then
gives her a quick hug.

“It was really nice to meet you,” I say
respectfully, aware she thinks I’m anything but.

“You too, honey,” her smile is almost
sincere.
Almost.
It’s exhausting trying to convince Ryan’s
family I’m not out to hurt him, and so unfamiliar to feel their
prejudice towards me because I grew up with money.

Ryan takes my hand and we start walking for
the door. “Bye, Alana,” Sean says warmly.

“By Sean,” I turn and respond kindly, wanting
him to know we’re okay.

Man, he really does look like hell
though.

We walk down the front steps of the diner; I
think it dropped ten degrees since we came in. Ryan opens the
passenger side door for me and when I slip inside, I’m immediately
struck with a foul smell.

“It stinks like shit in here,” I say with my
hand over my nose and mouth, as Ryan slides into the driver
seat.

“Fucking Sean,” he seethes, “smoking trees in
my car.”

“Trees?”

“Yeah, you know. Weed, herb, marijuana,” he
says pissed off.

“I didn’t, but I do now.” I crack the window,
letting the chilly December air flow into the car. “What did you
and Sean talk about?” I ask curiously as Ryan pulls out of the
parking lot.

“Same shit. He calls me an uptight asshole, I
call him an irresponsible prick. A few more choice words are
exchanged and then he tells me that he loves me.”

“Oh,” that catches me by surprise, “Did you
say it back?”

“Yes, Alana,” Ryan huffs. “He may be a
complete dick sometimes, but he’s still my brother and he’s a part
of me whether I like it or not.”

“Part of you? Like a twin thing?”

“Yes, like a twin thing,” he says and leaves
it at that.

As Ryan drives quietly toward the parkway, I
contemplate talking to him about how his family feels about me, if
for no other reason than to assure him that they’re wrong. I don’t
know what they tell him behind closed doors, but if it’s anything
as frank as what they say to me, I know one day that tiny seed of
doubt inside Ryan will grow into a full blown tree of distrust. And
that’s the last thing I want to happen.

“Ryan-”

“
Shit,”
he interrupts me, looking in
the rear view mirror.

I turn to see police lights flashing behind
us.

Ryan pulls over and cuts the engine. “Alana,
can you grab my registration from the glove box?” he asks as he
pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. By the time
the police officer makes it over to the car Ryan has his
documentation ready. He rolls down the window at the last second to
conserve heat and when he does, a blast of cold air rolls around
the inside of the car, kicking up the potent odor of Sean’s
trees.

The officer pauses with his head beside the
window before he asks Ryan for his license and registration. He’s
tall and slim with an athletic build and thick brown mustache.

“Do you know your tail light is out?”

“Um, no officer,” Ryan says respectfully. “I
barely drive. We live in the city.”

The policeman, whose nametag reads Officer
Vincent, just nods and for some reason my stress level suddenly
shoots through the roof. The officer takes Ryan’s identification
back to his cruiser while we sit and wait in the car. Ryan’s leg is
shaking out of control and the look in his eye is anxious. I put my
hand on his thigh. “Everything is going to be alright,” I try to
soothe him. “He’s just writing you a ticket,” but as I speak the
encouraging words, I know, deep down they aren’t true.

Officer Vincent returns a few minutes later.
His face stoic, his body stiff, “Can the two of you please step out
of the car.”

Oh shit.

As Ryan and I both step out, another cruiser
shows up. Ryan circles around the front of his Mercedes and stands
next to me on the sidewalk. “Another freakin’ half-mile and we
would have been on the Parkway,” Ryan mutters under his breath.

“Mr. Pierce, I smelt a questionable odor
coming from your car,” Officer Vincent explains.

“Yeah, so?” Ryan responds defensively.

“So, we’re going to search your car,” he
replies snidely.

“Go ahead,” Ryan shrugs, and there’s
something different about him now. He’s cold and uptight. Like his
defenses have just shifted into sixth gear.

The two cops proceed to tear the inside of
Ryan’s car apart, pulling out everything in the center console and
glove compartment. Not that there’s much in there.

“I don’t know why they’re wasting their time,
they’re not going to find anything,” Ryan says, and it sounds more
like he’s trying to convince himself. I slide my arm around his and
watch horrified as the officers carelessly manhandle the
interior.

They check under the dash and in-between the
seats, then the other officer pauses. “Got something.”

What?
I think the valves in my heart
just clogged.

“What the fuck do you mean you got
something?” Ryan steps forward aggressively and I try to pull him
back.

The short, stocky officer stands up and holds
out a little bag of white powder.
What the hell is that?

“Heroin. And it looks like enough to
distribute,” he says waving the baggie in the air.

“No fucking way!” Ryan rushes the cop, only
to be thrown face down onto the hood of his car by Officer Vincent.
I watch stunned as Ryan is cuffed, then the cop with the baggie
takes my arm. “You’ll have to come with us,” and pulls out a pair
of handcuffs of his own.