Boy Toy (21 page)

"Do you know what we're doing, Josh?"

I wasn't sure of the name for it, exactly. I knew about making out and stuff like that, but it seemed like we weren't in that ballpark anymore. We weren't quite in the majors, but we sure weren't in Little League, either.

"Look," she said, "we're making each other feel good. Like when you play with your friends. When you play baseball, you feel good, right?"

"Yeah."

"This is like that." It wasn't
anything
like that, but I got her point. "But it's just for us, OK? This is for grownups, and you're so grown up that it's OK, but not for anyone else, do you understand?"

I understood.

At recess the next day, I once again employed some seemingly random discussion to tease out of Zik what had happened to me the previous afternoon. So now I had a name to go with the feeling and the act.

That afternoon, the last time we'd be together before Christmas break, lit by the usual candles, I received my second one, which was even better than the first because I was prepared to enjoy it. Eve once again withdrew into the bedroom while I lay about in a stupor of flickering recollection and pleasure aftershocks.

She wasn't in the bedroom as long as usual, but when she came out, she wasn't wearing her outfit from school. She was wearing a robe, but it wasn't a thick, heavy, shapeless thing like my mom wore. It was red and black, light and filmy, shiny, and it clung to her like it couldn't bear not to touch her. In that moment, I empathized.

In the soft light of the Christmas tree, she looked completely smooth and flawless, as if the robe were a part of her body and she was actually standing before me naked. My eyes couldn't decide where to look, so they tried to go everywhere at once.

She struck a pose, cocking one hip, her arms out, hands palm up like a model. "You like?"

I could only nod.

"I can tell," she said, nodding toward my exposed lap. Her eyes glinted with mischief and something else.

She sat down next to me. I hadn't even had time to zip up my pants. She put her arms around me and we went hurtling into an unprecedented second make-out session. My mind spun and bounced and ricocheted against invisible walls of pleasure. The robe was slippery and smooth under my hands. Touching her back, I realized that I couldn't feel a bra strap.

She pulled back after a moment and dropped one shoulder, causing the robe to slip down. I stared at her shoulder, smooth and naked in the candlelight. I flickered

—lotion on Mom's leg—

and forced myself back to the present. On the side where she had bared her shoulder, her robe was still slipping down, until she was exposed on that side from her throat to midbelly, a perfect triangle of naked flesh that included one breast. I stared. I'd seen Zik's magazines, of course, and I'd seen the Happy Trio and I'd seen R-rated movies at Zik's house, but I'd never in my life been within arm's reach like this.

For some reason, I thought of the Playmate and the numbers that Zik told me meant so much. What was Eve's number?

"And this?" she asked in a husky voice. "Do you like this?"

There was only one answer, but I had no voice with which to give it. "Come here," she said, putting her arms around me again, her hands at my neck, pulling me toward her, pulling my head down, pulling my mouth to her.

She shuddered and caught her breath. I thought I'd done something wrong and tried to pull away, but she held me tight and I continued, going on instinct. I smelled something.

"Strawberries..." I mumbled.

"My body wash," she whispered, and pulled me closer, shuddering again as I worked my mouth and tongue, shuddering, gasping, groaning quietly, almost whimpering. Then one hand left my head and migrated to my lap, where I was ready.

"You'll remember me, won't you?" she whispered, her voice desperate and ragged. "You'll remember me over break, right?"

I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think. My mouth was full, my brain was full. I moaned and she moaned and that was good.

Christmas break was tougher than I thought it would be.

The first weekend was fine—it was like any other weekend. But as Monday morning crawled toward Monday afternoon, it hit me that I wouldn't be seeing Eve today or
any
day until after New Year's.

I would have called Eve, but Mom was home all day and would be home all week, LEC being closed for winter break.

I suppose I should have been happy; there were presents under the tree and I knew that cards stuffed with checks, cash, and gift certificates would be arriving from relatives all week. But instead, I felt sick to my stomach. It was as if I'd drunk something that had turned solid and expanded once it hit my stomach. Something that moved. Something that wanted out.

For Christmas Eve, my mom always makes my favorite: baked ham, green beans, corn bread, and cranberries. But I sat at the table, toyed with my food, and then begged off, claiming my stomach hurt.

And it did.

I lay awake for a long, long time. Long enough to have heard Santa Claus, if he existed. I eventually fell asleep wondering what Eve had done on Christmas Eve.

***

The day after Christmas, Rachel showed up at my door with Michelle in tow. She wanted to play catch. Michelle just wanted to know if Zik was visiting me. I got Mom to drive the three of us to his house.

We walked up to a construction site near Zik's house, where new houses were being built. One lot had been cleared down to the dirt, so Rachel and I set up and started hurling fastballs at each other. Zik and Michelle disappeared into the half-complete shell of a nearby house.

"What d'ya think they're doing?" Rachel asked, in a tone that told me she knew
exactly
what they were doing.

I knew, too. Zik didn't know how to keep his mouth shut around me. When he'd told me he'd gotten to first base with Michelle over the summer, I'd been sort of jealous. Now, though ... Now I felt the way parents must feel when their kids walk for the first time. Yeah, it's an accomplishment, but, really—big deal, right?

"Playing smoochie-face," I said sarcastically.

"That's just a single," she said. "They're on second base. Didn't you know?"

"On second? Really?" I didn't know that, in fact. I hadn't been hanging out with Zik as much because I was spending so much time with Eve. But Rachel couldn't know that.

"But I guess you're not up on all the latest, are you?" she said, skewering my theory as I even formed it.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. Had she seen something? Heard something?

"Zik says you've been spending all your time with Mrs. Sherman. What's up with
that?
"

"I'm just helping her with a grad school project." I tried to sound as casual as I could. We hadn't worked on that project in weeks.

Rachel laughed. "Yeah, right. Even
you're
not that smart, Josh."

"I'm like her test subject or something. She does tests and interviews me. It's boring," I threw in for good measure.

"Then why do you do it?"

The ball sailed past me. I didn't even reach for it. The time it took me to chase it down let me think of an answer that would shut her up.
What, you mean besides the sips of wine, the Xbox, and the fringe benefits?

Which made me think: What base was I on with Eve, anyway? Was Zik
really
on second with Michelle?

The base-running schematic was pretty simple:

First Base = Kissing

Second Base = Touching above the waist

Third Base = Touching below the waist

Home Run = All the way

We all knew what "all the way" meant, thanks to health class. But what base was there for Eve and me? We were past third, obviously, but hadn't hit a home run. You can't just stand there between third and the plate! You have to be stealing the base or running toward home.

Is that what we were doing? Were we headed toward home? Was Eve going to have sex with me?

No, that was impossible.

"Hey! Have you found it yet?" Rachel shouted from behind me.

I scrambled for the ball, which was lying among some scraggly weeds and broken bottles left behind by the construction crews. I hurled it back to her and changed the topic.

"What did you get for Christmas?"

"New glove. A dress. Some girly stuff. Stop avoiding the subject: What's the deal with Mrs. Sherman?"

Tough to pull the wool over Rachel's eyes! "I'm just helping her out, OK?"

Rachel held the ball, chewing over that. "Do you think she's pretty?"

I flickered. Rachel threw the ball midflicker, so when I blinked my eyes the ball was suddenly halfway to me. My heart raced as I lunged, snagging the ball.

"Good catch! Come on, Josh, answer me: Is she pretty?"

It was an impossible question. Anyone with eyes could tell that Eve was pretty, beautiful, gorgeous. If I said no, Rachel would know I was lying and be pissed at me. If I said yes, though, would she be jealous?

I threw the ball back. I settled on "She's OK."

Rachel caught the ball. "Is it because she has, you know...?" And she looked down at her own chest.

There was just no comparing Eve to Rachel. Not without hurting Rachel's feelings.

"I bet she can't pitch worth a damn!" I shouted back.

Rachel studied her chest for another moment. When she looked up, her face was split with a wide grin and she went into her wind-up.

***

Days were OK—during the day, I was usually busy. Either Michelle and Rachel would come over (sometimes with Zik, sometimes to wheedle a ride to Zik's with Mom) or Mom would have me busy helping her with chores around the house. With Mom working, our normally neat and tidy house had become something of a wreck, cluttered with outdated mail and piles of laundry that had never been folded and put away after coming out of the dryer.

But I didn't mind. It kept me busy. But each day, around 3:45, I'd feel this ache, as if something had gone wrong or missing. It didn't matter where I was or what I was doing; I would get that feeling, look up at the clock, and there it was—3:45. unfailingly. Every time.

I wondered if Eve missed me.

So one morning while Mom was in the shower, I grabbed the cordless phone and headed into my bedroom. I left the door open a crack and sat near it so that I could hear the shower when it stopped.

"Hello?" Eve sounded out of breath when she answered her cell phone.

"Hi..." I said. I realized I had nothing to say. "Josh? Is that you, Josh?"

"Yes."

"You have to speak up, honey. I can't hear you."

The water was still going in the shower, so I raised my voice. "I wanted to say Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too. I miss you, Josh."

I closed my eyes and pictured the tree-lit living room in the apartment. The Xbox. A glass of half-drunk wine on the coffee table, its brim marred by a smudge of lipstick.

"Do you miss me?" she went on.

"Yes."

"I miss you a lot, Josh. I miss the fun we had together. Do you remember?"

"Yes." Water still running.

"I really want to see you. Is your mom still home from work?"

"Yeah. She doesn't go back until I go back to school."

"Damn! How are we going to get you over here, Josh?"

"I don't know."

"Can you ask your mom to take you to the mall? I could pick you up there."

I wasn't sure about that. Mom might drop me off at the mall, but ... It seemed wrong. I didn't mind lying to Mom and Dad about what I was doing with my afternoons—at least they knew where I was and who I was with, right? But this would be a
big
lie. "I don't know," I told her. "I don't think I can lie to them about
that.
"

Her voice picked up speed and urgency, sort of like a base runner pouring it on even though he sees that the baseman has the ball already. "But, Josh, you would just be with me. And you already know that they don't mind you being with me."

"I know, but—"

Just then, the water cut off in the bathroom.

"I have to go."

"Josh! Wait! Not yet! Look, let's arrange some—"

"I really have to go." I couldn't let Mom catch me on the phone and ask who I was talking to. "Josh, promise me that you'll think about it, OK? I know you want to see me."

"I have to go!" I could hear the shower door opening. Mom would be toweling off.

"Promise me, Josh. Honey? Promise me."

"I—"

"Josh. Please. For me."

"OK. I promise." The tension started to bleed away.

Her voice went smooth. "Oh, thank you, Josh. Thank you," she said, as if I'd just saved her life. "Call me back tomorrow morning, OK?"

"I have to go. I really do!" I heard the bathroom door open. I risked peeking out my door, down the hall. Mom came out of the bathroom in her robe.