Chain Letter (25 page)

A
t the time the second wave of chain letters began, Tony Hunt and Alison Parker were
trying to decide whether to make love or never speak to each other again. The situation
was filled with contradictions. They were alone in Alison’s house. Her parents were
not going to be home for several hours. Neither of them was a virgin. In fact, they
were each responsible for their mutual lack of virginity. They had been true to each
other the few months they had been dating. They were both healthy, and in a sense
they were both willing. But neither of them was happy. That was the main contradiction.

Alison thought the problem was Tony’s fault, and although Tony was normally not one
to place blame, he thought it was Alison’s fault. It was she, after all, who had decided
to go to college three thousand miles away instead of thirty. The situation
had arisen only the previous week when Alison had received a rather surprisingly late
invitation to attend NYU to study drama. That was New York University in New York
City, on the other side of the country from UCLA, where Alison had been planning to
go. Alison had already called the airlines. It took a modern jet five hours to get
to New York. For Tony that was an awful long way to have his girl fly. He was going
to miss her—boy, was he going to.

But Tony was not unreasonable. He could understand that it was a wonderful opportunity
for Alison. She had initially applied to NYU and been turned down because the competition
to get in their highly rated drama department was unbelievable. He knew there would
be great teachers in New York, and she would learn great things. Yet he also knew
that UCLA had an excellent drama department, and that when all things were factored
in and set down in two lists—one of pros and one of cons—the fact that he was in Los
Angeles, and not in New York, should have been a major factor. And that was why he
was upset. Because Alison was acting as if she couldn’t understand why he was upset.
She was acting as if she didn’t care.

He hoped she was acting. He really did love her, more than he liked to admit to himself.

At present Alison was pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room,
wearing a towel on her head and a towel around her midsection and nothing else. She
often paced when she was angry. Lately she had been wearing out
the carpet. He was still fully dressed, but if they hadn’t started fighting, he would
have been in bed with her by now. That was another thing that bugged him. She was
mad that he hadn’t
at least
waited until they had had sex to bring up her relocation venture. Damn, he thought,
wasn’t that uncool of him. He didn’t have one of those push-button physiologies they
wrote about in
Cosmopolitan.
He couldn’t be intimate when his mind was going ten thousand miles an hour. He wasn’t
a space shuttle, for godsake. But turmoil was no obstacle to her.

“We can talk all we want while I’m away,” Alison said. “There are things called phones.
People all over the world use them to stay close to the ones they love.”

Tony grunted. “I’ve heard about them. You have to pay for minutes.”

“We don’t have to talk that much,” Alison said.

“You mean, we don’t have to stay that close?”

Alison finally sat on the couch beside him and angrily crossed her legs. The towel
on her head was white. The other was pink. It went well with her very tan legs. She
glared at him.

“I don’t understand why you’re trying to make me feel guilty,” she said.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Don’t just say all right. Answer me. Why are you doing this to me?”

Tony threw up his hands in frustration. “What am I doing to you? You’re doing it to
me. You’re leaving me. I’m not leaving you. You have it backward.”

Alison put on her patient face, which at the moment was a mask of poorly concealed
exasperation. But he couldn’t help enjoying her expression, maybe because it belonged
to her. Her beauty was unusual, her features at odds with one another, but in a way
that somehow brought them together into a whole that was greater than its parts. Her
big eyes and her wide mouth were classics. The rest of her, though—her button nose
and thick eyebrows—was supposed to be out of style. That was what
Cosmopolitan
would say. But Alison always had style. She had enough for the next sixty years,
in his opinion.

And now her style will have a New York flavor.

Her only physical flaw was her left arm. It was badly scarred from her battle with
Neil.

“We wouldn’t be three thousand miles apart if you had accepted that football scholarship
to Boston,” Alison said with exaggerated patience. “That was your choice, not mine.
Boston would have been just up the road. I refuse to accept full responsibility for
this separation.”

“They offered me that scholarship seven months ago,” Tony said dryly. “Nobody was
going to New York seven
months ago. Nobody was even going together then.”

Alison tapped his leg as if she had just received a brilliant idea. “I bet they still
want you! Why don’t you give them a call? We can call them right now.” She stood.
“I’ll get their number.”

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “The football team is probably practicing as we
speak. I can’t just call them and tell them I want to be their next starting quarterback.”
He let go of her arm. “Besides, I told you, I don’t want to play anymore.”

She was impatient. “Why not? You’re a gifted athlete. How many people are born with
an arm like yours? Your talent can open up whole worlds for you. God gave you your
abilities to use, not to run away from.”

Now she was cutting low. She knew why he didn’t want to play football anymore. In
the middle of his fabulous senior season, he’d hurt his back. At first it had seemed
like no big deal. In fact, he’d even gone out for track and done well. But backs were
funny, his doctor told him. You could injure them and not feel the full impact of
the injury for several months. Shortly after graduation and Neil’s death, he started
to wake up in the middle of the night in pain. It was mainly in his lower back, but
if he turned the wrong way in bed or bent over too far during the day, the pain would
shoot into his legs like burning needles slipped into his nerves. He was presently
seeing a chiropractor three times a week, and that was helping. The chiropractor thought
he’d heal up just fine, as long as he avoided being crunched by two-hundred-and-fifty-pound
linemen. But Alison thought chiropractors were quacks, and she often hinted that his
injury might be psychosomatic. Yeah, right, he thought sarcastically, it was all in
his head. Somebody should tell his back that.

But sometimes Tony wondered if his pain was indirectly related to Neil’s death. He
often thought about Neil when he lay awake at night. Supposedly time healed grief,
but if that was true, time was taking its sweet time. He missed Neil as much as he
had the day Neil died.

But sometimes he felt as if Neil were still right there, beside him. Like a hovering
angel. He would turn suddenly and expect to catch Neil’s sweet sad smile. Of course
he never did. It was all just wishful thinking.

“It seems to me,” Tony said softly, “that we’ve talked for hours about why I don’t
want to play anymore. I’m sure you remember. It has something to do with my back.”

“How do you know your back just doesn’t need a little exercise?” Alison asked.

“Having your vertebrae pulverized by oncoming helmets does not constitute exercise.”

Alison shook herself and almost lost one of her towels. “Why is it we can’t talk without
you getting sarcastic? You never used to be this way.”

“I guess this is just the way I am.” Tony was suddenly tired of the argument “What
do you want to do? If you want to go to New York—go. I won’t stop you.”

“But you will make me feel guilty about it. You don’t mind doing that.”

Tony shrugged. “I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“Why?”

Tony looked right at her. A wet curl of her long dark hair hung over her right cheek,
near her eye. He reached out and brushed it away, and for a moment he touched her
soft skin and a thousand gentle memories flooded his mind. But he didn’t let his touch
linger because the memories only made him sad.

“Because I’m going to miss you,” he told her. “I’m going to miss you more than I can
stand.”

She softened slightly. “I’m going to miss you, too, Tony. You know that.”

He continued to stare at her. She was so beautiful. She would be just as beautiful
in New York. The guys there would surely agree.

“You’ll meet someone else,” he said.

She was offended. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s reality. You’re young. You’re pretty. I’ll be on the other side of the country.”
He nodded. “It’ll happen—sooner than you think.”

She stood, mad. “You don’t put much stock in my loyalty, do you? What do you think
I am, a slut? I can’t believe you just said what you did. You have some nerve.”

Tony wondered if he had said too much. The problem was—he had just spoken his mind
honestly. All during high
school girls had pursued him. He had no false modesty about his good looks. He was
a blond, blue-eyed, all-American boy, built like a stud. Alison had chased after him
at first, too, but now that she was suddenly leaving, it was he who was attached.
The experience was new to him, and he hated it. The thought of her dating other guys
plagued him like a virus, and he couldn’t be free of it. If he imagined her kissing
another guy, he would actually become sick to his stomach.

And what made it all worse was that he
was
being realistic. Long-distance romances just didn’t work, not when you were eighteen
years old. She would meet new guys in New York, and that would be the end of Tony
and Alison. In a way he was getting what he deserved. He had, after all, stolen Alison
from Neil.

But that’s not true. Neil and Alison were never a couple, except in Neil’s head.

Then again, maybe he and Alison were only a couple in his head.

“You’re not a slut,” he said and sighed. “I’m sorry I said what I did.”

She continued to stand. “You’re trying to hurt me.”

“I’m not. I said I was sorry.”

“It’s a great opportunity for me.”

“I understand that.”

“Then why can’t you be happy for me?” she asked.

“I am happy for you. I’m just more unhappy for me. And I can’t understand—Oh, never
mind.” He stood. “I should go.”

It was her turn to stop him. “No. Say what you were going to say.”

“It was nothing.”

“I want to hear it. What can’t you understand?”

Tony looked at her once more. The towel on her head had shifted to the right side
and now there was a whole handful of wet hair he could brush away. But he couldn’t
bear to touch her again. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave, and he had
to get away. It was better to end things between them now—so she wouldn’t have to
dump him later with a Dear John letter.

“I can’t understand how you can just leave me,” he said. When she began to protest,
he raised his hand. “No. Let’s not argue anymore. It’s the difference between us.
I would never leave you.”

Alison’s eyes moistened, and she clenched her hands in frustration. “I love you just
as much as you love me. How can you say that?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.” He turned away. “Have fun in New York.”

She called to him as he walked toward the door, and by now she was crying openly.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re going for good? I don’t leave for another two
weeks. You’re not even going to come back to say goodbye? Tony!”

He paused at the door, keeping his back to her. “You can do what you want,” he said.
“You have my permission.”

“I’m not going to do anything!” she cried, moving closer. “I love you. I just want
to be with you.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Then stay, Ali. Stay.”

Her face was a mess of tears. Yet she was also wearing her old friend—her pride. Alison
was a proud girl. He had recognized that about her not long after they had met. She
wanted to be an actress. No, she wanted to be a famous actress. She wanted admirers.
He’d had those once. He’d been the toast of the town when he’d led their high school
team to the city championship. But being popular had meant nothing to him. Certainly
it had not been worth the price of a bad back. That was another difference between
them. Another reason why he should break it off now. Her tearful face was suddenly
not so soft.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Then go,” he said. He opened the door. “Goodbye.”

“Tony!”

He let the door close behind him without answering her. Had he paused on the porch,
he might not have been able to leave. But he didn’t pause, and the chain of letters
had fertile ground to begin again.

T
hat same afternoon Alison Parker had a date with Brenda Paxson to go shopping for
clothes for Alison—warm things to wear in the cold East Coast fall and winter. That
morning Alison had had fun planning the stores they would visit and the money they
would spend. Alison’s mother had given her a gold credit card with the dangerous instruction
to buy what she needed. To Alison that was the next thing to heaven. Yet as Alison
drove toward Brenda’s house, she was far from a happy camper. She was dismayed by
Tony’s reaction to her leaving. She thought he was being immature about the whole
matter. He wasn’t acting at all like the guy she had fallen in love with. That Tony
had been as cool as an unlit candle and as secure as a rock. This new guy was clinging
to her like an emotional cripple. Sure, he was going to miss her.
She was going to miss him. But life was like that. People had to go their separate
ways sometimes. It didn’t mean they had to break up. God, she hoped not. She wasn’t
interested in anybody except Tony. Even when he was in one of his moods, he was still
pretty right on, and he was the only guy she had ever really cared about. She had
been dying to hold him earlier, but he had walked out on her. He could be really weird
at times.