Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (31 page)

Above my head, the rear passenger door opened. Trance-like, Macy locked eyes with mine. Throwing her hand over her mouth, she stuttered, “Sh-shit.”

White flakes descended like a swarm of bugs. I drifted into a dreamy corridor, pushing away from the pain that skewered my calf. Stone shouted against the frozen driver window. “Move the goddamn car. Rachael’s under the tire.”

Bridget words stuck on her tongue. “My camera strap got tangled. Is she conscious?”

“She’s fucking blinking at me,” Macy said.

My mind crackled as if an electrical storm passed through it, and I felt the searing burn until Big Blue rolled forward, releasing the knotted pressure. With opened eyes, I hovered between reality and unconsciousness. Seeing, listening, unable to speak.

Snowflakes dotted Stone’s dark hair like sprinkles on ice cream, and the frosty air had reddened circles on his cheeks. He threw his coat on me and gripped my hand. “Call 911! We need to get her to the hospital.”

“If we call an ambulance,” Bridget said, “the police’ll show up, and we’ll all get busted. Let’s get her to the campus infirmary. It’s closer.”

A car door slammed. “Macy. Macy,” Bridget yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

RACING IN AN AMBULANCE with a roaring siren through one-way streets may seem thrilling, but speaking from experience, it’s overrated.

A buff medic with tanned skin, high cheekbones and thinning straw-streaked hair took my blood pressure. She wore orange lipstick, and in a German accent asked my name, age and address, before she severed my jeans with a swift splice. My paramedic had to be The Terminator’s sister. When I told her I was a student, she asked for my parents’ phone number.

Tears welled in my eye. “My mom’s out of the universe and my dad has a girlfriend.”

She nodded sympathetically.

At the hospital, she pulled the rolling stretcher out of the ambulance and wheeled me across the surgeon’s medical loading dock. Stone trotted behind, and I asked, “How did you get here so quickly?”

He rubbed his hands together and checked his shoelaces. “I rode in the front seat.”

I signed some paperwork, got x-rayed, and swallowed two oversized Codeine pills. Behind an encircling curtain, I lay on a mattress the same thickness as the one in my dorm, only this one had a remote control. Stone fidgeted with the buttons. “How about here? Or here?”

A beige blanket, all foam and no cotton, covered me. My feet had defrosted, and my plum-preserve colored calf with a torn muscle, rested in a Velcro contraption. Nurse Terminator said it would heal, and a doctor confirmed that’d I’d be released when the paperwork was completed. For eighteen years, the most injured I’d been was a skinned knee from falling off my bike. I’d only had the flu a handful of times and never had an injury that landed me in a doctor’s office let along a hospital, until now. Having been stupid-lucky, I said a heavenward thank you and promised to be more careful after I kicked Bridget’s ass.

Lester, the macaw’s mangled body hung by one foot from Stone’s shoulder. His feathers had been considerably thinned. I could relate to the stuffed bird’s state of disarray. “Stone, you don’t need to stay. This is above and beyond customer service.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Squeezing his hand, I asked, “Your mother didn’t really name you Stone R, did she?”

His eyes twinkled. “The Holiday Inn issues every employee a name badge. My last name is Rogers. Someone screwed up, and I never said anything. Kind of wish my mother had named me Stone R. The name gets me attention, interesting confessions, and way better tips.”

Stone barely knew me, but watched over me as though I were on an endangered list. If there were more Stone R’s around, the world would be a nicer place.

I’d drifted into a fitful sleep and awoke when Macy and Katie Lee arrived. Katie Lee held a bag of clean clothes and a box of donuts. Behind them, Bridget cradled a bouquet of flowers. “Rach, how are you doing?”

“How do you think!? Were you trying to kill me, or are you a really horrible driver?”

Bridget’s voice crackled. “You think I drove over you on purpose?”

Macy sat on the foot of the hospital bed and rested a hand on my ankle. “It was an accident.”

“Accident?” I said, in a squeaky pitch.

A silence lapsed, and Stone whispered, “Awkward.”

Katie Lee wrapped her arm around Bridget. “Come on, Rach. You don’t seriously believe that Bridget would purposely hurt you.”

Rage dripped into my veins like spoiled molasses--thick and crystallized. I couldn’t look at Bridget’s sorrowful mask. I focused on the depth of greens, blues and red in Lester’s feathers. Between clenched teeth, I seethed, “Get her out of my sight.”

NOTE TO SELF

Macy is the glue in a crisis. She walked two blocks to call an ambulance. I owe her.

Not speaking to Bridget, obviously.

Stone R. One rare bird.

The only silver lining of my leg having been a speed bump--Physical Therapy with Clay.

29

R
omance,
F
lowers,
A
nd
F
raud

Katie
Lee’s phone warmed my ear. Travis had called to catch up. He said he’d been to the Ackland Museum in Chapel Hill for a new exhibition on local sculptors. I’d vented for an hour and kept coming back to the same question. “Why? What was Bridget’s motive?”

Travis offered perspective. “Do you know how much she drank? Or maybe she is a really bad driver? Have you looked in her wallet? Does she even have a valid license?”

“That’s completely outrageous, but plausible.”

“Are you speaking to her?”

“In Tarzan phrases.”

“Has she apologized?”

“Daily, in her sickly-sweet, deep-fried southern drivel.”

“Hey now.”

“Sorry, I’m bitter. I have to wear this contraption on my leg and use crutches. After that, I’ll have physical therapy through the spring.”

“That sucks. Any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

I scoffed. “You’re talking to the girl with a bum arm and a Velcro’d leg. If I had romantic plans, I’d hate to think what could happen. This holiday is a wash. What about you?”

“Sorry, nothing for you to chew on.”

“I should go and study or something.”

“Me too,” Travis said. “Be careful around Bridget and take care of your limbs.”

I hung up and analyzed the men of my Freshman year. There was Travis, who had professed he was gay while we were in bed. Mitch, whom I had one blurred, two-minute make-out session-- technically illegal since he’s sixteen. Then there was Clay Sorenson, who apparently didn’t recognize me as anything more than accident prone.

At least The Grogan Girls aligned on the upcoming hallmark holiday. Katie Lee wasn’t speaking to Nash, Macy continued to ice Hugh and Bridget--I didn’t give a shit if romance did or didn’t orbit her planetary dome. Valentines had absolutely no appeal. It’s true. Misery does love company and having Katie Lee and Macy without relationships made coping with the wretched day bearable.

I called for a van to take me to class. Slinging my book satchel diagonally across my chest, I locked my door and hobbled toward the lobby to wait. When I exited the elevator, my chin paid a visit to my neck. Nash held a bouquet of assorted red, pink and white carnations. “Damn girl. What the hell happened to you?”

“Nash?”

He nodded to his left. “You remember Billy Ray.”

Nash’s sidekick held a flat package wrapped in brown shipping paper. He shuffled his feet and constantly twitched his shoulders. Before I could protest, he wrapped an arm around me and kissed my cheek as though I was dessert. I lost my balance on my crutches, and he steadied me without letting go of the package he held. Dressed in an untucked white oxford with missing sleeves, Billy Ray polished the look with a pink bow tie. His thighs were fire hydrant thick and he wore his pink chinos, fitted. It was a country boys twist on preppy, that had gone down Easter-candy-vomit alley. Normally I’m all about the shoes, but his were something even Elvis wouldn’t have approved of. “Hey there, Raz,” Billy Ray stuttered.

I nodded and asked Nash, “Come to woo Katie Lee?”

Nash adjusted the flowers. “Good guess?”

“You know me. Always observant.”

“So how’d ya jack your arm and leg?” Billy Ray asked.

I squinted at the streaked bands of light that glinted past the front glass doors, hoping my van had arrived. It hadn’t. Sighing, I told Billy Ray, “Fell out a loft, and got run over by a car.”

“God damn, Razzle,” Billy Ray chuckled, “you are an original.”

In daylight, I estimated Billy Ray to be nearer to thirty than I’d remembered. He darted his eyes all around the lobby, but rested them on me. When he licked his cracked lips, I decided to wait for the van at the curb. “I’d love to stick around and shoot the shit, but I have a lecture to get to. I’m not sure when Katie Lee will be back from class.”

“Don’t worry,” Nash said. “We buzzed Bridget. She’s coming down.”

AFTER CLASS, I’D MADE a pitstop at the library and inhaled old paper smell for two hours. I decided I’d given Katie Lee enough time to deal with her surprise visitors. I hoped Nash and Billy Ray had left town by now. Billy Ray’s prowl for anything female, specifically me, gave me shivers. I never wanted to see him again.

The seventh floor buzzed with girls getting ready for make-out sessions disguised as dinner dates. Every open door I passed had something floral resting inside, mine included. A hedge of fragrant carnations hogged Katie Lee’s desktop. I didn’t need to see the card. The assorted flowers weren’t in the garbage can. I huffed a baby tiger growl. She’d made up with Nash, and Bridget’s standing had most likely been elevated to cloudlike since she’d let him into the dorm.

I spread a mixture of tuna and mayo onto a slice of bread and topped it with soft American cheese. Setting the timer on the toaster oven for four minutes gave me a sinister joy. My snack permeated the air, overpowering the delicate floral scent. After my first cheesy bite, a dozen long stem, pink roses glided into my room, hiding Macy’s face. Her bright red nails clutched a glass vase. “Ah Jesus. Not you too?”

Macy placed the behemoth arrangement on my dresser and clucked her tongue two times. “Lookie what I found with your name on it.”

“You’re kidding?”

Like a fox chasing a rabbit, Francine followed the flower trail into my room. She sniffed a rose and stepped back. “Whoo-wee, whoever sent those must have dropped nearly a hundred dollars.” She anchored her fists onto her hips. “And look at that crystal vase. Waterford?” Francine stiffened her neck, turned her head toward me and rolled a throaty, “Um-hum.”

“Where did they come from?” I asked.

“Front desk,” Macy said. “I brought them up for you.”

“Is there a card?” Francine asked. “It’d be a shame if someone didn’t take credit for those.”

“Who would send me flowers? This has to be a mistake.”

Macy reached for the vase. “Finder-keepers.”

Francine slapped her arm and plucked a card out of the center.

When I saw the handmade envelope, my head pounded, and I had to sit.

“Have you been flirting with someone over at the infirmary?” Francine asked.

“Maybe they’re from Kentucky Travis,” Macy said.

I hadn’t told anyone Travis’s secret and didn’t intend to. These definitely weren’t from him.

The envelope had been fashioned out of a gum-candy wrapper. The word Razzle centered on the front. When Macy saw it, she put her hand over her mouth. “Billy Ray.”

The envelope was too bulky to hold a note. I pulled out a hand painted miniature landscape no bigger than my palm. Under a glass and a pencil thin wood frame, a handful of people, the size of paperclips, drank from plastic cups and clapped hands as they encircled a dancing girl. I turned on my desk lamp and pulled a magnifying glass out of my drawer. The brunette in the center of the portrait held a lit cigarette and reached for her partner’s hand. “I think this is me.”

Francine stood behind my shoulder. “Everything’s so small.” 

“Is there a note?” Macy asked.

I flipped the painting over and opened a folded note, taped to the back. “Hope you’re back on both feet soon. Looking forward to our next shag. Billy Ray.”

Flopping onto Katie Lee’s bed, I buried my head under her pillow.

“That boy sure must like you,” Francine said.

Katie Lee stepped into our room. “What boy?”

“Billy Ray sent Razzle flowers and a painting,” Macy said.

“Did he?” Bridget asked from our doorway.

“Oh my Lord. I just left him and Nash in the parking lot. He didn’t say anything about it.”

I held out the miniature portrait and showed Katie Lee. “I had no idea he could paint real art.” She tilted the painting, “Maybe he bought a kit for this.”

“They don’t make miniature paint by numbers. He used special brushes with a couple of bristles. Miniature artists paint under a magnifying glass. The man is a creep, but a talented one.”

“Maybe you can sell it,” Bridget said.

“I’d burn it before I sold it.”

“Wait til Patsy hears,” Katie Lee said.

“Tell her to spread a rumor. I’ve become a lesbian, and my girlfriend is a professional body builder.”

“Yeah, right,” Macy said.

It would be a long time before shag innuendos stopped. The only redeeming feature of Billy Ray was the two hundred miles that separated us. 

THE DORM EVACUATED AROUND DINNERTIME. Francine had a date with Roger and Macy had retreated into her room. I wasn’t speaking to Bridget, and I didn’t ask about her plans. I didn’t want anything to do with her and kept my distance whenever possible. Unfortunately, Katie Lee and Macy stayed friends with her royal annoyance. It maddened me that they didn’t see the rotting compost beneath her sweet exterior.