Little Miss Red Page 11

  He started to scoot closer. “Uh huh.”

  “Would you get in trouble?” I whispered.

  He leaned in even closer. “Yup.”

  I knew some people would accuse me of being too much of a romantic, but years from now, when my daughter asked me where I was when her father kissed me for the first time, I didn’t want to have to say it was in a Buick with fast-food restaurants all around. I wanted to wait until we were in a nicer setting. Plus, there was the whole on-hold-with-Michael and Universe-not-yet-approving situation.

  “Hey look!” I said nervously. “There’s a Denny’s! Want to stop for lunch?”

  He shrugged, and shifted back into his seat. “Okay.”

  My only other experience at Denny’s had been gross, but with Jack, I saw the plastic booths and bad overhead lighting with entirely different eyes. When Devon was on vacation she usually had lunch on private yachts or cute little cafés overlooking the valleys of France, but Denny’s was romantic in its own way. Well, it would have been if we hadn’t been seated behind a family with six-year-old twin boys who thought it was hysterical to throw onion rings at someone’s head. In this case, my head.

  “Ow,” I winced as another one caught me in the back of the neck. The crispy ones could really scrape your skin.

  “I think it means they like you,” Jack said as he crammed half a pancake into his mouth. “Like when a boy pulls your hair.” He leaned over and pushed my bangs out of my eyes with his sticky hands. “I bet lots of boys used to pull your hair on the playground.”

  I practically melted into the sticky plastic booth. I’m sorry, but Michael had never said romantic things like that to me. His idea of romantic was, “No, those jeans don’t make your butt look fat.”

  A person would have to be a nun or a peace corps volunteer in Africa to not be affected by Jack. The connection I felt with him as we sat there eating our food—tuna melt for me, Grand Slam with extra sausage for him—was beyond powerful. We just had so much in common: both of our mothers were born in June, we both liked The Simpsons, we both liked creamy peanut butter rather than crunchy. I gazed at him while he ate half of my sandwich, and I felt understood in a way that I never had before. It was like I didn’t have to explain myself to him—it was like he had climbed inside my brain and just…got me.

  After we had finished, the waitress put the check on the table.

  “Thanks”—Jack grinned and leaned in to read her name tag—“Kimber,” he said. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed to me that he was leaning in way too close, but maybe he was nearsighted.

  She rolled her eyes and walked away.

  “So should we go?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said, standing up and stretching. As he did, his black T-shirt rode up (even though it looked identical to yesterday’s, I knew it was different because there wasn’t a pizza stain on it), and I could see his belly. Instead of being the smooth, rock-hard six-pack that Lulu described Dante as having, Jack’s was a little…squishier. With a couple of moles. That was okay, though. I actually didn’t want to be with a guy who was too perfect. It would be like being with a Ken doll. Moles made a person a lot more interesting. “Let’s go get ourselves into some trouble,” he said as he started to walk toward the door.

  “Wait. What about—”

  He stopped and turned. “What about what?”

  I pointed to the table. “—the check?”

  He smacked his forehead. “Darn it! I forgot to stop at the ATM again!”

  I wasn’t one of those girls who expected a guy to pay all the time, but this was getting a little annoying. “Didn’t I see a credit card in your wallet, though, when we were at the Admirals Club?” I asked. “We could, you know, split it.”

  “Yeah, but I hate to use a card unless it’s a real emergency. I don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but credit card debt is a huge problem in our country at the moment. Think you can cover it, Red? I’ll pay you back as soon as we hit a bank.” He gave me one of his smiles. “I promise.”

  I reached for my emergency envelope of cash. I didn’t think that lunch at Denny’s was an emergency, either, but what choice did I have? It wasn’t like I was a dine-’n’-ditch girl. “Okay,” I sighed. At this rate I’d be lucky if I had enough money left to buy any sunblock.

  He reached for my hand. “Thanks, Red. Now let’s go get into some trouble.”

  I didn’t know if I was going to get in trouble with Jack, but if I hung out with him much longer, I was in danger of going broke.

  Letting a guy who’s not officially your boyfriend (because you haven’t officially broken up with your other boyfriend) push you on a swing in the playground next to Denny’s might not be considered trouble. But when he stops pushing and holds the swing still and gets thisclose and stares into your eyes and says, in an Arkansan drawl, “I hadn’t noticed how pretty your brown eyes are until now. Maybe I should call you ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ instead of ‘Cinnamon Girl’?” it feels like it could turn into trouble.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Except…they’re green.”

  He squinted. “They are?”

  I nodded.

  He squinted some more. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” I replied. He might have been color-blind, but it was the thought that counted.

  Instead of the half-smile, he leaned in closer, almost like he was about to kiss me. “Well, whatever color they are, they sure are gorgeous.”

  He was so close I could smell the onions from his lunch on his breath. Except that he hadn’t had onions. But the way he looked at me when we were thisclose I almost didn’t care.

  A playground with cars whizzing by wasn’t that much more romantic a spot than a Buick for a first kiss, but I was finding it hard to control myself. I closed my eyes, ready to be rocketed into the fourth dimension.

  “Hey, look over there!” he said. “A thrift store! I love thrift stores!”

  I opened my eyes. “You do?” I said. I had never actually been in one before. But I’d seen something on the news about how a couple’s apartment had become infested with bedbugs because of a couch they had bought at one, and that had totally grossed me out.

  “Yeah. They always have lots of cool stuff.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me off the swing. “Come on, Red—let’s go check it out.”

  “Okay,” I sighed, and followed him. I guess I had just gotten yet another sign from the universe that it still wasn’t time.

  It was amazing what people thought they could get money for: old vacuum cleaners, five-foot-tall brass statues of Native American chiefs, typewriters. Even an oil painting of the White House done on black velvet.

  “Hey, check this out,” Jack yelled, holding up a rusty sword and pretending to fence. I smiled—he looked like an action-adventure star.

  The old guy behind the counter who had been watching us like he was just waiting for us to steal something took the toothpick he was chewing out of his mouth. “You break it, you buy it,” he snapped.

  Jack glanced over at him and reluctantly put the sword back. “I’m just lookin’, dude. Sheesh.”

  “Hey, maybe we should get going,” I said nervously, afraid the guy might take one of the guns out of the case in front and shoot Jack for having an attitude. “We’re missing prime laying-out time.” Also, I still needed to pick up some sunblock.

  “Red, it’s Florida—it’s always laying-out time,” he replied as he walked over to the shoe department of the store. “Holy cow!” I heard him exclaim.

  I looked up from a bunch of Barbies that were missing various body parts. I could understand buying a doll that was missing one arm, especially if it was a good deal, but one that was missing her arms and her legs? “What is it?” I asked.

  “Close your eyes, close your eyes—I just found the perfect gift for you! When’d you say your birthday was?”

  “I didn’t, but it’s January 21st,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Oh, what the heck—it’ll just be an early
birthday gift then.”

  More talk about the future! We really were perfect for each other.

  “Are your eyes closed?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Okay, you can open them.”

  When I did, the smile of anticipation on my face melted into confusion.

  “Those are…motorcycle boots,” I said.

  He nodded. “Aren’t they awesome?”

  “Well, yeah, but they’re…used.” Not only was the black leather scuffed to the point where it didn’t even look black in some places, but on the bottom of the sole, someone had written, “I love Bruno,” inside a big heart.

  “It is a secondhand store, Red. Plus, you want ’em broken in—believe me.” He shoved them toward me. “Here, try them on.”

  “Yeah, but that means they’ve been on someone else’s feet,” I said. Sharing earbuds with my soul mate was one thing, but who knew how many athletes’ feet or plantar warts had been inside these boots?

  “We got Peds if you want ’em,” said the guy behind the counter.

  The look on Jack’s face was so hopeful I couldn’t say no. “Okay,” I shrugged.

  As Jack held one of the boots out and I slipped my Ped-covered foot inside, it was hard not to feel like Cinderella—especially because to my surprise, the boots were a perfect fit. Well, they would be after I put a pair of extra-thick wool socks on.

  He stood up and looked at me. “Wow, you look hot in those.”

  I clomped over to the floor-length mirror. Jack was right—between the boots and my hat, I did look hot. Who knew that in addition to being a red cowboy hat kinda girl, I was also a motorcycle boot one? Plus, if you ignored the big scratch down the side of the right boot, they looked exactly like the pair of Prada ones that the Norwegian Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright had bought Devon with some of his prize money in Dazzled by Despair.

  “Now you’ll be all set for when I take you for that ride,” he said.

  More future talk! It was like whenever he did that, I couldn’t help but throw caution to the wind and stop being so…good. I threw my arms around him. “Oh Jack—I love them!” I couldn’t believe he was so thoughtful. The only presents Michael gave me were gift certificates to places like Pinkberry and the Gap.

  “Good, I’m glad.” He turned to the guy. “How much?”

  “Twenty bucks.”

  “Twenty bucks?!” Jack hooted. “But they’re all beat up!”

  The guy shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take ten.”

  “That’s better,” he said with a nod. He started to reach for his wallet and then stopped. “You probably just take cash, huh?” he asked the guy.

  The guy pointed to the big sign on top of the counter that said, WE ACCEPT VISA, MASTERCARD, AMERICAN EXPRESS, AND DISCOVER…FOR A SMALL FEE.

  “Small fee, huh?” He turned to me. “Whaddya say, Red? You want to add this on to my tab? It’s only ten bucks. But don’t worry—I won’t forget to pay you back for them. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a gift.”

  My grin melted, and I sighed and took out the envelope.

  “Holy moly, is that what I think it is?!” Jack exclaimed, pointing into the distance.

  The guy looked up. “What? The Bozo the Clown bop bag?” he asked, motioning to one of those inflatable toys with sand on the bottom that popped right back up whenever you punched it.

  “No. Next to it,” Jack said, pointing to a motorcycle that was covered with dust. “Is that a 1974 Kawasaki 400 S 3 Mach II?”

  “Yep,” the guy replied nonchalantly, taking out one of the guns from the glass case in back of him and starting to polish it.

  Jack walked over to it and started using the bottom of his T-shirt to clean the dust off. “This is a classic,” he announced. He looked up at the guy. “Does it run?”

  “Of course it runs,” the guy snapped. “This is a legitimate business. You think I’d sell stuff that’s broken?”

  I looked over at the obviously broken vacuum cleaner and the toaster oven that was missing the door, but decided pointing that out to a guy holding a gun probably wasn’t a smart idea.

  Jack turned to me and gave me one of his crooked smiles. “Hey, Red—wanna break in those boots?”

  I looked down at them. They already were broken in. “You mean go for a ride?”

  He nodded.

  Seeing that my life had become one nonstop adventure in the last twenty-four hours, it seemed stupid to put a stop to it now. “Okay,” I shrugged.

  “Gotta leave a deposit of fifty bucks,” the guy said.

  Jack turned to me. “You got it?” He must have recognized my look. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back when we bring the bike back.”

  We’ll get it back? Even though I liked being a couple with him, I didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing that Jack was talking about my money like it was ours.

  He turned to the guy. “Where are the helmets?”

  The guy picked two up from the floor behind him and plopped them onto the counter.

  “I can’t wear my cowboy hat?” I said, disappointed. Plus, the idea of putting yet another thing on my body that was used sort of grossed me out. What if its previous owner had lice?

  “Red, that would be very irresponsible. Safety always comes first,” Jack scolded, picking up the smaller of the two helmets. “Don’t worry. When we get back to L.A., I’ll buy you your own.”

  I took it from him and plopped it on my head.

  “But I gotta say—you’re wilder than I thought you were,” he said with a wink.

  I guess I was. I was even starting to surprise myself.

  The minute we got out on the open road I understood why all those years I knew I loved riding on the back of motorcycles even though I hadn’t actually been on one before. The wind, the feeling of being so connected to nature…it was just so…freeing. Well, as freeing as it could be riding around the parking lot. The thrift store guy wouldn’t let us leave the property. And maybe my hair wasn’t actually moving because of the helmet, but still, it was an adventure. I hadn’t realized until I wrapped my hands around Jack’s waist how freedom was something I craved—just like peanut butter Twix bars dipped in butterscotch sauce when I was PMSing. I also hadn’t realized until then that Jack had what my mom called “love handles” on the sides of his waist. His black T-shirt hid them, but like the moles, they just made him more human and real. It was good to know that instead of being perfect, he was a regular human being.

  As we drove around in circles in the parking lot at five miles an hour (any time Jack tried to go faster, the engine stalled), I tilted my face up to the overcast sky and realized I felt just like Devon when Antonio, the Italian waiter (who was really a sculptor), took her for a ride on his Vespa through the streets of Rome in Exalted by Eros. Yes, we were driving by garbage cans and an old, rusted lawnmower instead of centuries-old buildings and gelato stands, but still, it was romantic.

  “Hwyadog?” Jack yelled out as we made yet another lap.

  “What?!” The high-pitched drone of the engine made it hard to hear. When Devon rode on the back of a motorcycle, the engine “purred.” With this one, it was more like it “whined.”

  “I said, hwyadog?!” he yelled, louder this time.

  “What?!” I yelled back again, even louder.

  He stopped the motorcycle, turned around and took off his helmet. Even though his hair was standing up like he had just put his finger in a light socket, it still looked good. “I said, hwyadog?”

  “What?” I said again.

  He took my helmet off. “I said, how are you doing?”

  Now that we were stopped, the whole thing wasn’t so romantic anymore. The parking lot looked…like a parking lot. And instead of the sexy samba music that seemed to be playing whenever Devon was with a guy, I had the sound of the traffic whizzing by on the highway. “Oh. I’m fine,” I replied. “Well, actually, I’m a little nauseous, to be honest. I think some of those fries at lunch weren’t cooked all the way through. Do y
ou think we could go home now?”

  He moved a piece of hair out of my eye. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

  Princess. Michael had called me that once. But only once, so it wasn’t an official nickname, but still, it reminded me again of that connection we had once had. Suddenly, I was flooded with guilt.

  “I just want you to be happy,” Jack said, touching my arm.

  “That’s sweet,” I replied, moving back a little. I had been ready to kiss him back at the playground, but now, thinking about Michael, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Hey, do you think we can stop at that Stop-N-Slurp across the street before we go back so I can get a snack?” I said nervously. “I’m feeling like my blood sugar is falling. That never happened until I got mono last year. Have you ever had mono?” I babbled.

  “Nope. Never have,” he said, getting so close I could see that he had a nose hair peeking out of his nostril.

  “You’re lucky. It’s really awful. I had to stay in bed for a month and then—”

  “Red?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you going to shut up so I can finally kiss you, or do you just wanna keep talking about stuff like mono and measles and chicken pox?”

  At the words “chicken pox,” I leaned back so far I almost fell off the bike. “Chicken pox” equaled “Michael” equaled “my boyfriend.” Another sign. The Universe really really did not want me doing this. I just wanted this whole Michael thing to get settled already so I could check the guilt and move on with my life.

  I whipped out my iPhone. I need an answer, Michael!!!!!! I typed.

  When we got back to the condo, Grandma Roz was sitting at the kitchen table polishing the candelabras again. “I’ve got a surprise for you kids,” she said.

  “What is it?” I said warily. I felt like I had had more surprises in the last four days than I had in my entire sixteen years and three months on the planet.

  “Well, first off, I thought Jack might like to taste my brisket.” She turned to him. “The women in my mah-jongg league say it’s the best they’ve ever had,” she boasted. “I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen over it all afternoon.” She patted Jack’s cheek. “Not that I mind.”