1980: You Shook Me All Night Long (Love in the 80s #1)

1
980
: You Shook Me All Night Long

Copyright © 2015 by Casey L. Bond. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

C
over Design by Regina Wamba of
Mae I Design
and Photography

Edited by Crystal Rae Bryant of
Plot Ninja

Book design by
Indie Formatting Services

Published in the United States of America by WaWa Productions

T
o every girl
who’s ever tried to be someone she isn’t, only to find out exactly who she is.

T
he jingling
of keys in the door lock woke me. I’d been in a tiny, bland interrogation room for hours, only to wake up looking into the harsh, squinty eyes of my worst enemy, Hammond. Officer Asshole himself. Normally, I had the utmost respect for officers of the law, but Hammond was like a cracked-up terrier, hell bent on bringing blood from the mailman’s ankle. I was that mailman. Or ankle. Whatever.

I sat up straight and stared him down.
Don’t let him see you sweat. Poker face time.

His upper lip twitched, the caterpillar-thick, black mustache wiggling menacingly. “So, Tina, how are you holding up?” He sat a half-empty white mug, the inside ringed with shades of coffee-colored stains from multiple refills. What did it tell me? Hammond was too lazy to rinse his cup in between. Eww. Gag me with a spoon. I suppressed a shudder.

When he had arrested me, he said it was my right to remain silent, so I exercised that right, much to his chagrin. I crossed my arms over my chest, leaned against the seatback and gave him my best I’m-made-of-steel face.

“You’ve had quite an interesting night.”

Keep fishing, Officer Dickwad.

He smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes. “Your boyfriend’s in the room next door, squealing like the little pig he is. He’s saying you masterminded the whole thing. Says you wanted a pretty car. After all, you’re a very pretty girl.”

Not taking the bait, Skeezer.
There was no way Luke was telling him anything about me. There wasn’t much he could say. He really didn’t know me at all. We’d met in jail—in a holding cell, anyway. The weight of that fact settled on my shoulders like the little devil had overthrown the angel and was riding my neck like a horse. Giddy-up! I almost felt the kick to my throat.

In that moment, I decided I hated devils. I hated Firebirds and automobiles in general. I hated hot brothers named Luke and sexy grease-monkey hands that were made of absolute magic. I hated men. And I hated Officer Hammond, caterpillar staches, and stained mugs.

My dad was going to kill me.

I had a test on Monday! I was going to flunk, fail out of USC and be a nobody just like my mom. A restless, fidgety woman who itched with the need to be free of her burdens until she left them behind, left me and Dad behind. She never even looked back.

There was no air. My chest tightened uncomfortably, like my ribs were in between one of those soda can crushers Dad had in the garage at home. I sucked in some hair but my lungs were jerks and they expelled it before it could be absorbed, before it could calm me. My head began to feel tingly and an angry whirlwind of black dots swirled through my peripheral vision. I was going to hyperventilate. My eyes darted around looking for a way out. I would not run. Not like her. Maybe I could escape, go somewhere far away where no one knew me and start all over again! It’s not like I had roots here. The southeast looked interesting. I could do this.

“NO!” I yelled, banging my fist against the table. Hammond’s coffee sloshed over the cup puddling beneath it. “I will not be like her!”

His eyes widened as he fumbled for his handkerchief, dabbing at the brown liquid until it was absorbed. “Okay, you don’t want to be like her, huh? Well, you cooperate with us and we’ll help you. We’ll help you not be like her. How about that?” No. I wouldn’t be like Mom. Mom was a leaver. I was a stayer. I was staying put and seeing this entire crazy mess through. I straightened my shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Hammond pulled a small spiral notebook from his back pocket, a pencil tucked in the coil. A small machine on the edge of the table whirred to life as he hit the red record button. “How about you tell me everything that happened to you yesterday, starting with when you woke up?”

“When I woke up? That’s not really relevant.”

He knocked his coffee mug over onto its side. “I decide what’s relevant. Now talk!” I watched him dab at the enormous pool of spilled coffee as I simultaneously spilled my guts. My decision was final. I wouldn’t be like my mother. I would face any obstacle or problem and work through it. I wouldn’t run and I wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not ever. Dad needed me within driving distance. I needed to stick to my plan, get this entire mess behind me and get focused again. Come Monday, this would just be a funny story to tell my friends. Er, I needed to make friends Monday. Then I could tell them.

“I woke up at seven o’clock yesterday morning.”

“Where were you?” he barked.

“My dorm room.”

“Were you alone?”

I shook my head, gripping the wooden arm rests. “No, my roommate Georgia was there. I ate breakfast and then went to class.”

The door opened and an old woman in a pencil skirt and silk blouse with the most severe bun of silver hair I’d ever seen stepped in wearing a scowl that wrinkled the skin around her lips. Definitely a smoker. “Doughnut?” she asked Hammond.

“Please,” he answered in a polite tone he’d never used in my presence.

She sat a small paper plate with a frosted doughnut in front of him. The stench of stale smoke emanated from her clothing and hair. But I was hungry.

“Can I have one?” I asked, my stomach growling loudly.

The woman shut me down. “
These
are for hard-working law enforcement officers, not criminals.” She slammed the door behind her. That was harsh
.

I huffed and crossed my arms watching Hammond inhale the doughnut.

“What’d you hab fow bweakfwast yestewday?” he asked, rolling the pastry in his mouth, slapping it around.

“Wheaties.”

He laughed, a piece of doughnut spittle flying onto the table between us. “Wheafies? Thaf’s healthfy.”

I stared at that chunk of half-chewed mouthful. “Yep.”

It was going to be a long Saturday.

D
ad sniffed the air
, wrinkling his nose. “I smell the smog.” He cranked the handle, rolling his window up, sealing out the non-existent fumes. “They say it’s toxic.” Dad continued to inhale deeply, only pausing to remind me of more of the dangers of L.A. “Did you hear me, Tina? There are criminals on the streets here.” He pointed his fingers at the passers-by. “You still have the mace I got ya?”

I didn’t see anyone who looked threatening, but rolled my window up, protecting him from the noxious smog and non-existent gang-related activity.

“Tina?”

“Yeah. It’s in my bag.”

Pressing my face against the hot glass of the passenger window, I peeked up at the tops of the tall palms. Los Angeles was exactly like I’d imagined it: hot, sunny and so much better than Portland. The blue sky, always hidden at home, was clear and bright.

“Almost there,” Dad said, the brakes of our station wagon squealing in protest like I wanted to. He leaned forward to peek around his visor, squinting from the sun’s rays and giving the evil eye to everyone who passed us by. I sank lower in my seat, but couldn’t help but people watch for a different reason.

Tanned, toned bodies in shorts and tank tops strode here and there. Women in short dresses carrying shopping bags and tiny dogs walked down the sidewalks. Skateboarders carved paths between the hustle and bustle. Dad muttered to himself, “Damn kids.”

The buildings were pristine. The architecture said they weren’t new, but they were certainly well-maintained. Even the hedges were manicured. Appearances were everything here.

I pushed the visor down and checked my hair. It was a hot mess. Oh no! Where was my emergency bag? My arm bent at an awkward angle, I finally found it behind my seat. All this needed was a little teasing and some hairspray. Within seconds my head was surrounded in a sticky fog.

Dad coughed dramatically, swatting the air in front of him. “Not in the damn car, Tina!”

“I have to! I can’t go in looking like this.”

He muttered curses under his breath. For weeks he’d been grumbling. I’d become immune. He’d complained the whole trip down the coast, comb-over flopping wildly in the gusts from the window. Dad needed hairspray worse than I did. His plaid suit was from 1970, brown and tan checks and lines. Even his horn-rimmed glasses were from another decade, possibly older than the leisure suit.

University of Oregon is a nice school. It’s a perfect location to get an education. But you didn’t want to stay at home. Oh, no. Kiss the in-state tuition goodbye. And California? I can’t believe you’d choose USC. LA is located directly on top of the San Andreas Fault. There will be earthquakes. Do you know what to do if an earthquake....

I’d tuned him out. My scholarship paid for everything, so he could stuff it. Thank goodness I brought my Walkman. Listening to Pat Benetar was better than listening to Patrick Bartram any day of the week.

Twenty minutes, plenty of bang-teasing and a zillion red lights later, and Dad steered our clunker into the USC parking lot. Cardinal and gold were emblazoned everywhere: on flags, t-shirts, ball caps. Unable to contain the excitement, I gave myself a once-over and bounced in my seat. Dad rolled his eyes.

Waiting for a car to pull forward, I could see students crossing the lawns carrying boxes and bags. One group of guys threw Frisbee back and forth. Everyone smiled, laughed and looked happy. I sighed in relief. Things hadn’t been happy at home since Mom left.

A football landed on the hood with a loud thump. Dad sighed and laid his head against the rest. “You sure you want this?”

There was something pleading in his dark chocolate eyes. He’d given me the same color. But I couldn’t stay at home anymore. I needed this, to venture out and find myself somewhere in this big world. I was going to make a splash, and it was going to be here at USC.

“I’m sure. But, I’m not running, Dad. I’ll always stay close.” I’ll never be like Mom.

My life fit into six boxes and a duffle bag. That was it. I met Dad at the back hatch, stepping back as it raised. He pulled at his waistband, hoisting his pants higher. “Let’s do this.”

I smiled. “Totally!”

“Oh, Lord. You’ll end up like one of those Valley girls. You already have the hairspray attack down pat. Forget the mace. Use your Aqua Net.”

I nudged him, grabbing the first box. The cardboard sank to the ground. What was in this, a load of bricks? The marker scratched on the side read “books.” I blew upwards, fluttering my bangs and smiled. No one said my life wasn’t heavy.

I lifted the box again as Dad grabbed another and braced it against his paunchy stomach with one hand, closing the hatch with the other. “Can’t be too careful around here. You hear me, Tina? Always lock your doors.”

“I don’t even have a car.”

“Your room, then. Lock your room.” We started up the sidewalk that led to Parker Dormitory. It was an all-girl dorm and the only one Dad approved of. “Hernia,” he grunted.

It was going to be a long six boxes.

Dad shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Hands in his pockets, he looked over the tiny room. “It’s smaller than a prison cell, you know.”

“I know,” I said, staring at the four white walls with a smile. Two beds, barely big enough for a child, were squished into the tiny space. One desk was positioned under the window and the other at the foot of the second bed. “I’m the first here, so I guess I get dibs.”

“Dibs,” he grumbled on a huff.

Loud laughter and whoops came from the hallway as he stared down the offenders. “Hey, old man!” A tan guy with longer blonde hair than mine wrapped an arm around Dad’s shoulders and squeezed. “Is this your daughter?”

“Yes,” Dad shifted, trying to free himself.

“Does she want to ride the shuttle
cock
with me?” he snickered, releasing my now-glowing-red-pissed father, and took off whooping down the hallway.

“Dad, the shuttle cock is an on-campus bus system.”

Dad pursed his lips tight and pulled at his jacket. He refused to take it off despite the eighty-degree temperature. “That was not what he was implying, Tina.”

“Yeah.” I turned to the window, trying to stifle the laughter that bubbled up. When I had my poker face back on, I turned to him with a smile. “You’d better get going. You have a long drive and traffic will be a mess soon.”