What It Was Like (33 page)

“What a moron,” I said, picking up my cards. That's when I realized that both girls were looking at me.

“Don't look at me,” I said. “I'm no suicide king! And I bet a Ked.”

I slipped my sneaker off my other foot and flipped it onto the pile.

“Wait!” said Nanci, fixing her hand.

“No ‘wait'!” countered Rachel. “Bet your boot, or fold your cards.”

Nanci paused and looked down at her cards, considering.

“My boot should be worth
two
raises,” she said, taking off her other Dingo boot and placing it on the table. Rachel and I had to move our whiskey sour glasses back from the ever-growing pile.

“OK . . .” Rachel intoned, focusing intently on her hand. “I'll see your very smelly boot” – she slipped her other little black shoe off and put it on the table –”and raise you a ped.”

Like an idiot, I said, “What's a ped?” But when she showed me what it was, I realized that my mother wore them, too, for under her little shoes.

“That's not much of a piece of clothing,” I said, looking at the little fleshy socklet now on top of the pile, looking like the shed skin of some reptile.

“Just you wait, sweet thing,” said Rachel to me in a slightly lower voice that was exciting. Of course, I had seen her undergarments before and knew exactly what she meant.

“You know,” I said. “I think we need you to make another pitcher of that, that, whatdayacallit, that –”

Then Rachel and I both realized that it was – “
BUG JUICE!!
”

We laughed and laughed, thrown instantly into The Zone by a Mooncliff memory. In fact, the whiskey sour mixture was almost the exact same color as the orange version of bug juice.

I glanced over to Nanci to see how she was taking this, seeing us having a little “couple's” moment, but I couldn't read her face. She wasn't smiling, the way she had when she saw us together a long time ago in front of Lord & Taylor, but she wasn't hostile. She was just . . . neutral. Distant.

“It's just a Mooncliff thing,” I said.

“So I guessed,” said Nanci, abruptly turning to Rachel. “So, Rachel, do you think he's ready? Should we tell him
our
surprise now?”

“Hey, maybe!” said Rachel.

Nanci shifted her body to one side and got up off the couch with a big side-roll, saying, “And while you make more of the ‘bug juice'” – she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers – “you can tell him who else is coming tonight.”

That perked my ears right up.

“Who else is coming?” I asked, suddenly concerned. Someone else wasn't in the deal.

Rachel was walking to the bar with her back to me, carrying the almost empty glass pitcher, and didn't answer me.

“So who else is coming??” I repeated.

Following Rachel across the hard, polished floor, Nanci slid a little on her one-sock-on, one-sock-off feet as she picked up her big, fringed purse from the barstool where she left it on her way out of the room. Plus, she might have been a little tipsy from the whiskey in the sour.

“Don't say anything too clever,” Nanci said, “I wouldn't want you to waste your gems.” Drinking brought back her lisp too.

Finally, I had had enough.

“OK, you two. Stop teasing me right now!” I insisted. “Who else is coming tonight?”

Rachel said nothing, but Nanci quite simply announced, “Eric.”

≁

What can I say? I was stunned.

“I don't get it,” I must have mumbled.

“You will,” said Nanci cheerily and left the room.

I looked over at Rachel, who was standing at the bar, refusing to meet my eyes, as I heard Nanci trudge up the stairs.

“What is this?” I asked.

“What?” said Rachel, pouring liquor from a bottle into the glass pitcher.

“Don't say ‘what' so innocently!” I said, raising my voice.

That stopped her.

“You've used this Eric thing to tease me ever since we met,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” she said, pretending to be innocent.

“I know you've seen him,” I said, walking toward her. “I'm not stupid. You're very pretty! Guys are after you. You get bored. I understand that.”

“What are you saying?” she said, putting down the bottle on the bar.

“It's why I have a problem trusting you one hundred percent,” I said.

“What do you mean, you have a problem?” Rachel repeated, her face open with surprise and disappointment.

“You broke up with me once,” I said. My thoughts were rolling now, and I was unable to stop. “So there's this shadow over everything –”

“What shadow? You don't know what I've had to live through –” she interrupted.

“Always this ‘Eric' hanging in the wings –”

“Would you stop talking about Eric!” she shouted, slamming her fists on the bar. “There is no Eric! ‘Eric' is a joke, an old joke. There
was
an Eric, but he moved away from here. In the sixth grade!”

“Wait a second: What do you mean?” I said, flat-out stunned by what she was saying.

“Oh, sure, I loved Eric – in sixth grade! Nanci did too. Every girl in the school did! He was gorgeous. He looked like Ricky Nelson. But he moved to New Jersey. We cried for a week. But that was a long time ago.”

“But what about all the letters you got at Mooncliff from Eric?”

“Oh, please!” said Rachel, bringing her hands together briefly in prayer. “Sometimes Nanci used to sign her letters to me ‘Love, Eric' –
as a joke
! The girls in my bunk read the letter and thought there was this guy named Eric who loved me. So I just let them think it.”

“But why?” I asked, my mind spinning back to those first mentions of Eric. “Just for fun?”

“What?” she shot back. “You didn't lie to the Doggies? You didn't mess with their heads? They looked at my personal letters! Do you think I owed them the truth about anything?”

My mind started reliving all the comments and hints about Eric – what exactly she had said, and what other people had said. I couldn't have concocted the entire thing.

“Really, baby,” said Rachel earnestly. “‘Eric' has been a joke between Nanci and me for years! He was like a character we made up! The ideal boyfriend! When we were little, we used to have sleepovers and take turns pretending to be Eric. At camp, I would sign
my
letters to
her
‘Love, Eric!' It wasn't anyone
real
!”

“Then why did Nanci say that you were seeing Eric?” I asked.

“Because she
was
.”

We both turned around and saw Nanci standing there, all in boys' clothing. A white shirt and striped tie, dark pants, and a dark sports jacket. She even had her short dark hair combed over and slicked down, like a little boy's haircut.

“Ta-daa!” said Nanci with a delighted smirk across her face, making a clumsy little bow forward from her waist. She looked like an enormous little boy. I saw that she had dropped her big purse in the corner. Little boys don't carry big purses.

Both Rachel and I looked at her, stunned.

“Are you out of your mind?” said Rachel.

“What?” replied Nanci, turning around in place, showing off her clothes. “You don't like my Eric outfit?”

“Why did you tell him I was seeing someone named Eric?” said Rachel directly, walking straight toward Nanci.

“It was just a joke!” protested Nanci. “Just to keep him on his toes and in love with you. ‘Boys are toys!' Don't you remember? There was nothing wrong with him thinking there was a rival out there. Not if it made him love you even more.”

“But it wasn't true!” said Rachel. “Why would you do that? That's disgusting! You were our friend.”

“I'm not the one who broke up with him, Rachel,” said Nanci. “That was all your doing.”

By now, I admit my mind was spinning; I didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. Angry at Nanci for lying, but grateful that there was no Eric. And I couldn't believe I'd heard “boys are toys” again, this time out of Nanci's mouth.

Rachel was half in tears. “But all the help you gave us, all the phone calls you made –”

Finally, I spoke. “Yeah, all those phone calls.”

“I was just helping you two stay close!” said Nanci, backing up. “I did everything for you. I drove you places. I gave him your messages.”

“But why would you make things up?” demanded Rachel. “You know what I was having to deal with, with Hell-eanor!”

I could see that Nanci/Eric was sweating, on the defensive.

“But I was
helping
you!” Nanci said. “You see he's your lapdog, just like you wanted.”

“Helping? How?” shot back Rachel. “How were you helping? By planting doubt in his mind?”

“Listen,” I got between them. “Hold on for a second!”

“I don't know why you're so upset, Rachel. You
love
Eric!” Nanci reasoned. “When we were little and had sleepovers, we used to take turns being Eric.”

“Maybe that's what you really love!” Rachel shouted back. “Being Eric! You loved getting under the covers with me! You probably miss those days.”

“No,” said Nanci back. “Maybe it's
you
who needs real
girl
love, not me!”

For an instant, I thought that Rachel was going to hit Nanci or something, and I wanted to stop anything like that from happening.

“Wait!” I said, making space between the two of them. “Nanci. I don't understand why you said what you said –”

“I told you what I thought –” she sputtered.

“That is completely ridiculous –” Rachel cut her off.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Can we just
stop
for a second?”

My loud voice made them both step back a little.

“I don't know exactly what happened, exactly what went on –” I continued in a rational manner, but Rachel interrupted me.

“Nanci, how
could
you – ?” Rachel fumed.

I put my hand on Rachel's forearm and held it firmly.

“Can we just hold on?” I said, slower and louder.

The girls paused, breathing heavily.

“Maybe now isn't the time we should relive the past,” I said, suppressing my own zillion questions for moment. “Let's just take a second –”

“And play more poker!” snapped Rachel. “
Strip
poker.”

Her eyes flashed with the dare.

“Come on, ‘Eric,'” she taunted Nanci. “Let's play for real. Now! This'll be fun. You'll get what you deserve. But you better start playing better, or he's going to see your naked body. I don't know if he's ready for that.”

I could see that Rachel's comment really hurt Nanci, the way she flinched, the tears that momentarily filled her eyes. But Nanci was not going to admit that she was hurt.

“OK, Rachel,” said Nanci. “Let's play.”

She sat back down at the coffee table and shuffled the cards, breathing a little heavily.

With all the tension in the air, I didn't know if that was the best thing to do, but we all sat back down at the coffee table. And we all took long drinks from our whiskey sour glasses. I dealt from the deck that Nanci had freshly shuffled.

“Draw,” I said. “Deuces wild.”

“What about suicide kings?” asked Nanci as she picked up her cards as I dealt them.

“You're not supposed to pick up your cards until they're all dealt,” said Rachel.

“Who says?” snapped Nanci.

“Those are the rules of poker,” replied Rachel.

“Well, I go by my own rules,” said Nanci.

“Your play, Nanci,” I said. “Or Eric. Or whoever you are. How many do you want?”

“Wait a second!” she said. “Let me look.”

She studied her cards, then looked at both Rachel and me.

“Two,” she said as she tossed two cards into the middle.

I dealt her the two cards and asked Rachel, “How many?”

“Three,” said Rachel, which elicited a confident grunt from Nanci.

I gave her the three cards and said, “I'll take two too. Two, also.”

I discarded my two bad cards and looked at my hand. I kept a pair of tens and a king, and I drew another king and a three. Two pair. That could win. These girls were not very good poker players . . . thank goodness.

“Now what?” said Nanci.

“Whoever has the worst hand has to strip,” I said.

“What about betting?” asked Rachel.

Both Nanci and I yelled, “No!” Which, I guess, indicated the relative strength of our hands.

“Let's just play these out, Rache', OK?” I said.

“OK,” she said. “Whattaya got?”

It turned out that Rachel won that hand with three fours, beating my two pair and Nanci's pair of aces.

“Low hand strips!” ordered Rachel, pointing at Nanci. “Let's go!”

There was a big, cruel smile on Rachel's face as she sat back to watch Nanci take something off.

Nanci screwed a crooked smile on her face and, with that side-shake of hers, rolled up to a standing position. She stood there, in Eric clothes, looking down on us. Then she took off her sports jacket and dropped it in the middle of the table. It didn't reveal anything.

“That's a start,” said Rachel maliciously. “But soon, we'll have you buck-naked and jiggly.”

Nanci was startled by that, and so was I. I knew very well Rachel's capacity for mockery and vengeance; she had had to develop those “skills” to survive in that house. But I felt there was something new and nasty brewing here. Nanci had stepped over a line, and Rachel was going to make her pay for it.

“I have to tinkle,” said Rachel, suddenly standing up.

“‘Tinkle'?” chirped Nanci, derisively.

“I'm sorry,” said Rachel primly. “But that's what I was taught to say. Do you prefer ‘urinate'?”

I could tell from the distinct way that Rachel was trying to pronounce her words that she was getting buzzed from the whiskey sours.

She stepped away from the coffee table and walked toward the little bathroom – excuse me, the “powder room” – in the corner of the room by the bar.

“You two guys talk amongst yourselves,” sang out Rachel. “Play with your whatever, your
selves
.”

She skipped away from the table, nimble on her little feet, and disappeared behind the bar and into the “powder room.”

I instantly turned on Nanci.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing's wrong with me,” Nanci replied with frost in her voice.

“Why did you tell me she was seeing this Eric?”

“But she
wasn't
, was she?”

“But why lie to me?”

“It wasn't about
you
,” she defended herself.

“OK,” I said, forcing her to look in my face. “If it wasn't about me, then it was about Rachel. What do you have against her?”

Nanci looked down at the men's tie laying on her belly and smoothed it. The men's clothes – they must have been her father's or brother's – looked extra-baggy on her, and she knew it. Her masquerade/joke might have been backfiring on her, but she wasn't deterred: she fought back.

“I know that Rachel is beautiful,” Nanci said, with reason in her voice. “She is smart and funny and attractive and all that. She is a very . . .
magnetic
person. But she is a very troubled person, getting away with things her whole life, and, ultimately, I think she's a dangerous person.”

“You know what?” I said. “Finally . . . I think you're just plain jealous of her.”

“Me, jealous?” said Nanci with a snort. “Hah!”

“You live vicariously through her,” I went after her. “You sit all alone in your room with your drawings and your hash – and you wish you
were
Rachel!”

“That is nonsense!” said Nanci, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Then why do you spend so much time around her?” I nailed her. “Why is that? Tell me that!”

Rachel came out of the powder room, the sound of the toilet flushing behind her, so I don't think she heard anything of what Nanci and I said. At least she didn't act that way when she came back to the table.

“I should have put on more layers of clothing! That's for sure,” she said impishly, sitting down on the couch. “Who wants more whiskey sour, and who deals?”

Rachel lost the next hand, though it didn't seem to bother her as she slowly and sexily slid out of her jeans. She turned around as she inched the jeans over her hips and down her legs. Then she gently stepped out of them and kicked them aside, showing off her legs. It was months after summer, but she still seemed to have a tan, a healthy color in her skin. (To tell you the truth, I seldom saw her bare legs in this much light.) She was left wearing silky pink panties, with a little bow in the front.

“There!” she said sitting back down, her face glowing with excitement, for the game and for whatever she was planning to do to Nanci. I knew that look in Rachel's eye. Something was going to happen, but I didn't know what.

Nanci lost the next hand. She tried for a flush and missed.