Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (32 page)

Katie Lee filled a ceramic vase with fresh water and arranged her carnations on the dresser. I verified what I already knew. “So you’re back together?”

“He drove all the way up here and took me to lunch. I gave him a chance to explain.”

“Did Billy Ray help him with his story?”

“It wasn’t like that. Billy Ray ran an errand. Dropped us off while he took care of business.”

“What kind of errand?”

“He had a painting to deliver.”

“Like the one he gave me?”

Katie Lee shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“What happened to Nash for five days?”

“Sometimes he can be absentminded. He went to Winston-Salem to play a gig. Intended to come back the next day. Last minute, Billy Ray asked him to make a couple of deliveries. He drove to Asheville, then down to Charlotte before heading back to school. With the winter storm and all, it took him an extra three days.”

“What kind of deliveries and why didn’t he call you?”

“He didn’t ask what needed transporting, just couriered some packages. Every delivery he makes, Billy Ray knocks five-hundred off his new truck.”

“Five-hundred! Katie Lee, what’s he delivering? Drugs, puppies, body parts?”

“Nothing like that. Nash says the parcels are light. The size of clothing gift boxes, wrapped in shopping bag paper. Billy Ray told him he doesn’t need to know the specifics and Nash doesn’t ask.”

“Katie Lee!”

“I know. I told him to stop, but he doesn’t see any harm.”

“Why didn’t he call you?”

“Left without his address book, and forgot our number.”

“And you believe him?”

“Why would he lie?”

“For the record, I have a bad feeling about Billy Ray and these deliveries.”

“Rach,” Katie Lee said, “you’re just freaked cause Billy Ray is sweet on you.”

Our phone rang, and Katie Lee answered it. “Alright. We’ll be over. Get your coat and ID. We’ll swing by Bridget’s on the way to the cafeteria.”

I’d never speak to or eat with Bridget alone, but in a group, I could mostly ignore her. Macy came with us, and on the other side of the elevators, Katie Lee knocked on her door.

None of us could miss the chunky vase filled with at least two dozen pink roses.
Nash—a two-timing, lying prick giving Bridget roses and Katie Lee carnations.
I broke my rule of icing her, and asked, “Who are the flowers from?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“How can you not know?” Macy asked.

“The note is signed, Secret Admirer.”

“Do you have any idea who it might be?” Katie Lee asked.

“None,” she said, holding back glee.

I uncrossed my arms and clenched my fists together behind my back. “I hate to put a damper on your floral euphoria, but aren’t you concerned that the roses are from the same person who used condiments to decorate your room over break? You may want to dial Tuke.”

Bridget reached for her jacket that hung on the back of her door. “That’s overreacting. The vandalism was a random incident. I’m starved.”

In the elevator, Katie Lee told Bridget, “Those roses are as beautiful as Rachael’s. And so many of them. Someone is into you.”

Macy and I stood at the back of the elevator, behind Katie Lee and Bridget. Macy’s elbow nailed my side. Bobbing her head at Bridget, she mouthed, “Who?”

I bit my lip and shrugged my good shoulder. I didn’t know what I knew anymore.

NOTE TO SELF

Katie Lee and Nash are back together—no comment.

Billy Ray. Is there no losing that man!

MARCH 1987

30

T
he
B
ig
E
asy

My
shoulder had healed. I’d retired the sling and could carry a light satchel with one or two books. It felt pre-Jack Daniel’s, except in stormy weather. When clouds thickened, and the air grew damp, it turned into a barometer. Instead of rising mercury, my joint ached.

I’d avoided the infirmary and hadn’t seen Clay since my freak leg mishap. If he spotted me with the Velcro contraption and the sling, he’d think I was an accident-prone train wreck. Sex would have to wait until the dodgy leg healed. After dinner, I pushed Macy’s beanbag against her closet door. Stretching out across her floor, I strapped a two-pound weight to my ankle and began a set of strengthening exercises. I didn’t have firm spring break plans, but when I did I wasn’t going to pack crutches.

“The last place I want to be over break is Canton, but I’m broke, and if I ask my dad for a loan he’ll insist I restore something to earn money. I’ll be stuck working in his shop.”

Macy stood in front of her dresser and turned her head around. “That’s fucking ridiculous. No one spends spring break at home. Let’s party somewhere outrageous, like Daytona Beach.”

Katie Lee rested on Macy’s bed. “Mexico or the Texas gulf are supposed to be crazy.”

“So you’re cool with a girls-only vacation. No Nash?” Macy asked.”

“Of course,” Katie Lee said, which surprised me. I thought she’d want to spend the week rekindling the flame with him.

A light sweat broke out around my hairline and at the small of my back. I gave my leg a rest. “I have two criteria, cheap and warm.” Sunshine and Kool-Aid-colored drinks garnished with umbrellas had more appeal than a Canton, Ohio, thaw. I had to avoid going home. Spending a week with Dad and Trudy had as much appeal as processing chickens at the slaughterhouse.

Dad hadn’t sold the Quesnel I’d refurbished over Christmas, so the commission wasn’t in my pocket. A reasonable excuse and some creative financing would have to surface to make a beach vacation happen.

Katie Lee lodged a Gobstopper candy into her cheeks. “If you need money, you could always donate plasma. You can get twenty dollars for an hour and a half sittin’.”

I started another set of leg lifts. “How do you know these things?”

She shrugged. “Confucius says, ideas are like assholes. Everybody has one.”

“I’ll pass on the plasma donation. If you think of anything that doesn’t involve an exchange of bodily fluid, let me know.” 

“Y’all, we need to ask Bridget what her plans are.”

I walked Macy’s garbage can over to Katie Lee. “Spit it out.”

“Why?”

“That Gobstopper is messing with your head. You know my relationship with Bridget is barely tolerable.”

Macy alphabetized her vitamin bottles. “Rach, you’re so dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic?” I scoffed. “Bridget is a bottle of bogus energy.”

Pinching the Gobstopper between her fingers, Katie Lee asked, “What are you talking about?”

“She drove over me in Big Blue. Her room got trashed over Christmas break, and she has an anonymous, mostly likely mental, Valentine admirer.”

“And?” Katie Lee asked.

I so wanted to blurt out that Bridget slept with Nash, but Patsy and I were still working through that bit of information. “And, spring break falls on St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Rachael, what the fuck are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’d like to live to eat jelly beans on Easter. Someone is stalking Bridget. Whoever it is saves their surprises for holidays. She’s not safe to be around let alone accompany us on a vacation.” 

“She didn’t try to kill you,” Katie Lee said. “And you can’t honestly believe that some nut job sent her those flowers.”

“Come on,” Macy said. “If Bridget joins us we can split the hotel room in four instead of three. Can’t you make nice for a week?”

I growled.

Katie Lee made big eyes and stared at me. “We won’t be driving. You won’t even know Bridget’s there.”

I’d notice her, but their guilt tactic chipped at my sensibilities and quieted my inner voice: the one that told me Bridget attracted more trouble than Katie Lee’s boyfriend, Nash, whom, coincidently, Bridget had slept with.

“As long as I don’t have to sit next to her on the plane or share a hotel bed.”

“You won’t,” Katie Lee said.

“And you have to promise me that Nash and Billy Ray will not crash our girls’ vacation.”

Katie Lee wore a look of shock. “Rachael, that’s ridiculous.”

“Then I’m in.”

KATIE LEE TOOK IT UPON herself to make a few phone calls. She searched for vacation deals and made destination suggestions that none of us could agree upon. Spring break was quickly approaching, and it looked as though I’d be tortured in Ohio for an entire week. Completely bummed, I hadn’t said anything to my dad about coming home. I hovered outside of reality, not wanting to confront, no chance of a tan.

When I returned from an afternoon lecture, Katie Lee popped out of our room. “Raz, get in here. I have news.”

Macy lounged on Katie Lee’s bed, and Bridget stretched across mine. “Hey Rach,” Bridget said. “Hope you don’t mind me on your bed.” I drew my thumb and motioned for her to vacate.

Bridget relocated her butt on top of Katie Lee’s desk.

“What have you done now?” I asked Katie Lee.

“I found our spring break destination.”

“Where are we going and how much will it cost?”

“We’re only two and a half weeks away,” Macy said, “which is good.”

Katie Lee lowered a blind slat with her finger and looked at Campus Drive below. She released her finger snapping the metal strip. “Bridget just got off the phone with JR.”

“Who’s JR? I asked.

Bridget purred. “A friend of mine.”

“Don’t tell me. He lives in Dallas.”

Reaching into our mini fridge for a soda, Katie Lee popped the tab top and said, “Who cares where he’s from. All that matters is that he found us a last minute package to New Orleans.”

“It’s a killer deal,” Bridget said.

“How much?”

Bridget stiffened her polo collar up. “Airfare and hotel for six days and five nights, four-hundred-eighty-six dollars each.”

I had to admit, it sounded almost doable.

“We leave on Sunday, return on Friday,” Macy said.

“My sister lives near the Raleigh airport. We can stay at her apartment the Saturday night before we leave, and the Friday night we return.”

“I’m not sure. New Orleans? What’s in New Orleans?”

“Come on, Raz,” Macy quipped. “Bourbon Street, booze, hot college guys.”

“It’s an artistic town. Jazz bands, street performers and galleries. You may even be able to finagle extra credit for art history if you write about some painting or sculpture you find.”

“That’s cheesy,” I told Bridget. “And Bourbon Street bars?” The three stared blankly at me, not tracking with my train of thought. “Last time I checked, we’re not twenty-one, and my doctored college I.D. isn’t going to get me into Bourban Street bars.”

Katie Lee pulled me to my feet, wrapped her arm around my shoulder and took me for a stroll around our room. “The beauty of this entire trip,” she said, “is that Louisiana, God love ‘em, still has a legal drinking age of eighteen.”

“We can drink legally in New Orleans?”

“Until March 21
^st
,” Macy said, “at midnight.”

“The drinking law is changing to twenty-one the last night we’re there.” Bridget said.

“This sounds like an intoxicated Cinderella fairy tale. Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive,” Bridget said.

Louisiana was not on any of my must-visit lists. “Isn’t New Orleans a swamp that’s below sea level?”

“A sunny swamp that lies on the mouth of the Mississippi so bring your suntan lotion,” Macy said.

Bridget clicked the ink on one of Katie Lee’s Tar Heel pens. “Upper seventies to lower eighties, with some humidity.”

Katie Lee released my shoulder and clapped. “The Big Easy will never be the same after it sees the likes of us.”

There were two items to sort through in order to commit to the trip. There was the small matter of figuring out how to ask my dad’s permission and come up with the money. My checking account had only three hundred dollars left from Christmas. Dad sent me a monthly allowance for incidentals. If I combined the two, I still didn’t have enough for the trip.

Katie Lee and Macy called their parents right away. For them, the trip was a done deal. Bridget said she wouldn’t have a problem getting an okay from her dad. My parental dynamic required a more tactical approach. Experience told me Dad agreeing to, and financially filling the holes, for a week’s vacation in New Orleans was--highly unlikely. There would be two reasons for him to poo-poo the trip. Reason one would fall under the dangerous umbrella. Reason two would be money.

I wanted to meet cute college guys, get a tan and drink rum a hundred and one different ways. I pushed thoughts of those details aside. “Seems we’re goin’ to New Orleans.”

LATE IN THE DAY, the sun skirted behind clouds and a bone chill enveloped the last shreds of warmth. I shut our window and pulled a sweatshirt over my head. Bridget stood in my open doorway. She held a bag of microwave popcorn and two sodas. “Spring break is going to be fabulous.”

Since she’d driven over my leg, she worked hard to win some sort of friendship badge. She set a cold can of Dr. Pepper on my desk. Since the pull tab hadn’t been opened, I accepted the peace offering and spoke before I censored. “I’m worried about coming up with the money.”

She munched a handful of popped kernels and washed them down with her soda. “Get a refund on your meal plan.”

“Can you do that?”

“The girls down the hall just did. What plan do you have?”

“What do you mean, what plan? I eat three meals a day.”

“You have the high tier. I’m pretty sure you can cut back to one or two meals a day and get a check for the balance.”

“How?”

“The Registrar’s office. You show your student I.D., and they cut you a check.”

I clicked the tab top open and slipped a straw in my Dr. Pepper. The last time I visited the Registrar’s office I paid for a new student identification that added three years to my age. “I don’t know. My I.D. has the wrong birth date. What if they notice?”