Divine Vices (10 page)

“Why’s
that?”

“Because
my mom and I had nothing in common. We didn’t even look alike. She was a tall,
blonde, blue-eyed, statuesque beauty, who was also a cutthroat business
executive and former cheerleader with a voguish, high fashion sense of style.
And my sister was like her twin, just on a twenty-two-year delay.”

“And
personalities?”

“Well,
let’s see. Both dated the star athletes in high school, loved girly movies and
pop music, and were reverent in their belief of retail therapy.”

“Yet
your mom married a jeans and a t-shirt ’70s throwback?” Jack chuckled. “So was
it like an opposites-attract situation?”

“The
hell if I know,” I said. “My sister and I were convinced for years growing up
that they were secretly spies or something, and that their marriage was really
just a cover story.”

“And
that wasn’t the case?”

“Nah,
we eventually realized that they were too boring,” I cracked.

“They
at least get along?”

“Yeah,
they always did,” I said, “even after they announced their separation. It’s
just that they never really seemed to be, you know, over the moon about one
another.”

“Ah,
I see. The common case of the bedfellow.”

I
laughed. “Bedfellow?”

“Hey,
it’s an expression,” he assured, beaming a brilliant white smile.

“I
don’t doubt you. The phrase just seems to have a bit of dust on it is all,” I
said amusingly. “Sounds rather colonial. Very proper.”

“So
you’re a romantic I take it?”

I
shook my head.

“And
yet you feel that a couple should always be ‘over the moon about one another’?”

“There’s
a difference between someone who believes in showing affection verses being a
complete romantic. I don’t need some Shakespearian declaration of love. I just
need to know that the person I love feels the same way,” I clarified. “Now, my
sister, she was a diehard romantic. She romanticized the idea of an extremely
tumultuous relationship. The more turbulence, the more epic the love.”

“You
don’t believe that? I would imagine putting a relationship through the meat
grinder of life and seeing it successfully making it out the other side could
only prove the strength of the bond you have.”

“Tumultuous
love is only for the young,” I said. “Eventually, we all grow older, and then
what? I don’t want to still be fighting to hold onto the person I love decades
down the road. A certain level of emotional stability is required for an aged
romance.”

Jack
leaned back in his seat, looking me over in a scrutinizing, yet gratifying
manner. “My, my. What a rare creature you are.”

“Meaning?”

“Very
few people articulate themselves as you just have. You have a certain prudence
about you.”

“I
can assure you, I’m not nearly as uncommon as you’d think.”

“I
wouldn’t be sure to jump the gun on that if I were you,” he said.

“Maybe
if you spent more time diverging from bimbos like Stacy, you could see for
yourself that we females are not all as predictable as you might think.”

“Well,
isn’t this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?” mocked Jack.

“I
beg your pardon?”

“Trust
me, I’m not arguing about Stacy. I’m talking about you being able to call her
out like that and think that you can walk away scot-free, while at the same
time penalizing me for the very same crime.”

“As
you just said yourself, arguing that Stacy’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,
not to mention her being pure evil, is about as productive as hoping for something
vaguely resembling reality in
reality
television. There’s no argument to
be had. When you make false assumptions about people you’ve just met, and then
have the balls to say them out loud, you’re crossing the line. You didn’t know
anything about me, but you know what Stacy’s like.”

“I
think ‘pure evil’ is being a little harsh. I’ve seen worse,” said Jack.

“She
pushed Heather Tillie off her crutches when they were on the stairwell
yesterday!” I proclaimed.

“Yeah,
I was actually there for that,” he laughed.

“It’s
not funny!”

“No,
just seeing someone that pitiless is. It’s one thing when you discover people
being cunningly cruel, and it’s another thing entirely when they’re down right
obvious about it. It scares people into giving her respect, so I suppose she’s
achieved what she set out to accomplish. Power.”

“And
as William Pitt would have said, ‘Unlimited power corrupts the possessor.’”

“What
if the possessor was already corrupt?” he quipped.

“Then
their true nature will always be revealed in due course.”

“Any
chance at redemption?”

“Unlikely.
Even if one has fallen from grace, it is still a true rarity for those who have
sat at the throne to find humility by looking upon a commoner as their equal.”

“I
have the distinct feeling we’re not talking about Stacy anymore, are we?”
addressed Jack.

“You
tell me.”

When
my dad came into the kitchen to grab some tools from the drawer, a silence
swept through the downstairs, giving Jack the break of not having to answer.

“Would
you like me to begin reading?” I said, picking up
Jane Eyre
.

“Better
you than me,” replied Jack. “I wouldn’t want to keep you here all night.”

“I’m
not trying this on,” I declared.

There
I was, standing in the dressing room of Bella Deboure’s Boutique with a pink
satin gown hanging in front of me on the door’s hook. Either Gwen was purposely
torturing me, or she was affected by the same desire as my mother that insisted
I take fashion advice from Barbie.

“Stop
being stubborn,” she said.

“At
least get me a reasonable color.”

I
could hear Gwen rummaging through the racks just outside the door. “How about
blue?”

“What
shade?”

“Powder.”

“Pass.”

“Navy?”

“Fine.”

She
knocked on the door, and we exchanged gowns. I took a closer look at the new
dress and realized that Gwen had chosen a different style, one with a much
higher slit and more revealing bust line. Despite my apprehension, I figured it
was worth a shot.

“So,
are you going to tell me?” called out Gwen.

“About?”

“About
what you think of the menu in the cafeteria,” she cracked. “What do you think?
About the tutoring session. How bad was it?”

“It
wasn’t terrible,” I replied.

“Ah,”
said Gwen, rather pleased.

“Relax.
I said, ‘it wasn’t terrible,’ not ‘start sending out the wedding invitations.’”

“Well,
spill. What was it like playing teacher?”

“Playing
teacher?”

“Yeah,
you know. Did you spank him with a ruler for being a very, very bad boy?” she
teased. “Did you make him stay after class to bang your erasers?”

“Okay!
Get your mind out of the gutter before I get sick,” I warned.

I
emerged from the dressing room with dread all over my face. Gwen took her
attention off the white holster gown in her hands and exclaimed in exaltation.

“Damn,
Foster!” she said playfully as she circled around me for the whole three
hundred and sixty degree image. “I think we’ve found a winner!”

I
looked over at Ian, who was across the shop trying on various sorts of
gentlemen’s dress hats. He tossed on a fedora, and our eyes caught one
another’s when he glanced in the mirror.

“What
do you think?” I asked hesitantly.

I
could see a crooked smile form as he turned and made his way toward the
dressing rooms, his eyes giving me a full examination. Ian dropped down on the
couch in front of us, and his smile only grew.

“You
look beautiful,” he said.

Gwen’s
eyes practically bulged at his approval. “There you have it!” she said. “Now,
before doubt starts to sink in, go change and pay for it.”

I
couldn’t help but notice a certain, indistinguishable expression on Ian’s face.

“What
aren’t you saying?” I queried.

He
finally let out a chuckle.

“I
knew it. What? Is it the color?”

Gwen
immediately deflated. “Don’t pay attention to him,” she pleaded.

“Hey,
you dragged him here. I want his opinion,” I said. “Now, Callaghan, spill.”

“It’s
not that it’s a bad dress, because it is very flattering. It’s just not you.”

“Oh,
please, if you had your way, you’d have her looking like Morticia Addams.”

“You
say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ian chuckled.

“I’d
be inclined to laugh along if I actually thought you were kidding,” Gwen
snapped back.

“At
least it’s a look she’d be more comfortable wearing,” he rebutted. “It’s clear
that
you
dressed her.”

“See,
I told you,” I said, turning to Gwen. “Why can’t I at least get a black gown?”

She
gave me one of her famous eye rolls. “In what Cinderella story do you hear of
her attending the ball in black? Never! You know why? Because it’s morbid.”

“All
the guys are gonna be wearing black tuxes,” I countered.

“There’s
a big difference between men and women wearing black. When you see a guy in a
sleek black suit, you think James Bond. When you see a girl with black hair,
dark makeup, and a black dress, all you can think of is that she’s late for a
Marilyn Manson concert. Don’t be that girl.”

I
turned to the three-way mirror in the corner and soaked in the thought.

“This
is the time in our lives when we get to define who we are. You’re not meant to
be a wallflower, babe. Take the opportunity while you have it, before you end
up a fortysomething year old with only twenty-seven cats to turn to for
companionship, like your neighbor, Miss Gorickey.”

I
couldn’t help but laugh, at first. The longer the comment processed in my head,
the more clearly I could imagine myself with the same matted gray hair,
sack-shaped clothing, and reflected misery in her eyes.

“Hey,”
said Ian, coming up behind me. “Don’t let anyone make you conform out of fear.
You’re not a cat lady in the making, so go with your gut.”

He
tossed off the fedora on his head and placed it on mine, tilting it to one side
so that it gave me that classic mafia edge. Finally, I smiled. 

“And
don’t worry about the dress,” whispered Ian. “I’ll get you sorted.”

“Really?”

“Sheila
can lend a hand. She knows some people.”

I
was on the road for no more than a minute when a torrential downpour ignited.
Despite my windshield wipers being at full speed, I still had little
visibility. Taking the back way home wasn’t exactly the safest bet, since the
roads tended to be a bit slick, not to mention the constant hills and bends.
Unfortunately, my brakes weren’t in the best of shape either, and the last
thing I needed was for some scatterbrained soccer mom going down Main Street to
phantom brake on me. So since I didn’t want the front of my Camry to end up in
the trunk of a minivan, I turned onto Van Dorian Street and took the trek up
into the hillsides. With much luck, most of the trees overhead still had a good
amount of their leaves, providing some coverage from the pelting raindrops.

As
I took a right onto Beaumont, I drove passed a silver super car pulled up onto
the shoulder with its hood popped open. Catching a glimpse in the rearview
mirror, I saw a hale figure bent over the engine. I checked to make sure no one
else was in back of me, and I put my car in reverse.

“Need
me to call Triple-A?” I asked, rolling down my passenger side window.

The
man sighed frustratingly. “Nah, I’ve got it.”

“You
sure?”

“Yeah,”
he said, slamming the hood down. He turned and looked at me with surprise.
“Oh...”

I
smiled. “Hey, stranger.”

There
stood Jack, his black locks soaking wet and his leather jacket catching the
raindrops pouring off his shoulders. “Hey, what brings you out to this neck of
the woods?”

“Well,
I was thinking about wanting to do something that would most likely leave me
terrified, so I thought that a long, dark misadventure in the shadowy back
roads during a storm would suffice. You?”

“On
my way to pick up
my
car,” said Jack. “Unfortunately, the Lambo
apparently had second thoughts. I guess it just wasn’t ready to part from me.”

“Huh,
so it looks like you could use a hand,” I replied, all a little too merrily.

“You’re
enjoying the view I take it?”

I
couldn’t resist grinning. “Me, no. I never rejoice in the misfortunes of
another.”

“Want
one more try at that? This time, try not smiling like the Cheshire cat.” He
laughed.

“Need
a lift?”

“What
happened to your ‘don’t accept rides from strangers’ policy?”

“I’m
not the one in need of rescuing here, you are. So it’s purely your decision on
whether you get in or not. But just so we’re clear, I do have a Taser gun in
less than an arm’s length away from me, and I’ve got a quicker draw than Annie
Oakley. Given your dampened condition, it might make for an interesting test to
see how you’d react to it, but for your sake, I’d advice against foul play,” I
replied. “So, Lash LaRue, what say you?”

He
smirked. “Interesting baiting tactic. If I decline, are you going to try to lure
me in with candy next?”

“Well,
I think I’ve got an old Snickers bar that’s been sitting in my glove box since
late August if that helps, but I would think of it as less of a luring device
and more of a notion to a dare,” I laughed. “Besides, I’m about the last person
who would be interested in
luring
you. I’m simply being a humanitarian.
I can happily leave without you.”

“Okay.”

“Have
it your way,” I said, letting my foot off the brake.

Jack
grabbed the passenger door and walked alongside the vehicle as it started
rolling away. “I meant that I would appreciate the ride, but you already knew
that.”

“Yep,
I just wanted to hear you actually say that out loud,” I replied, pulling out a
couple of spare towels I had lodged under the seats.

I
draped one over the passenger side and tossed him the other through the window.
Jack pulled off his jacket and shook out the excess water before lobbing the
Lambo’s key onto the driver’s seat of the super car. Wiping off his hair and
arms as best he could, he climbed into my car and rolled up the window.

“That’s
how you’re gonna leave the Lambo?” I asked, disbelievingly.

“As
I said before, it’s not mine,” he replied.

When
he realized I wasn’t going to drive until I was satisfied, he deflated upon
explanation. “Look, the reason I’m not driving my car is because it was damaged
beyond restoration. My uncle owns a repair shop that works with his dealership.
And before I moved here, I brought my car in for him to do some basic
maintenance on my Impala, which was in pristine condition prior to the
drop-off. Then after a day or so went by, and I hadn’t heard a word about the
car, I headed over to the shop to find my baby in the back with the entire
front-end smashed in, along with a fractured windshield.

“Pretending
that it wasn’t my car, I asked one of the mechanics there what had happened.
Turns out, it fell off the lift and my uncle was going to cover up the incident
before I noticed. As any vehicle owner knows, a car never runs the same after
an accident. And since I had practically rebuilt the Impala in its entirety
preceding the event, I was... let’s say, not happy. As consequence, my uncle
was forced into buying me a new car, which I was just on my way now to go pick
up, and he gave me the Lambo as a temporary.”

“Still
doesn’t give you justification for ditching his car,” I said.

“It
does when the car he gives me is in such desperate need of some serious work.
You should see the engine. Looks like Chernobyl in there. My uncle knowingly
handed me a deathtrap. He’s lucky I’m not going to go pay him a visit.”

“Sounds
like your uncle would get along swimmingly with all of my extended family,” I
muttered.

“As
far as I’m concerned, he can go fish that thing out of the Atlantic.”

“It’s
not the car’s fault,” I said, batting my eyelashes sympathetically.

Jack
got back out and grabbed the Lambo’s keys off the front seat before shutting
the driver’s door. The super car chirped as he hit the lock button on the
remote. “Satisfied?”

I
nodded, and he climbed back into my car just as I stepped on the accelerator.

Cautiously
driving down the fog riddled streets, I tried my best to not hydroplane on the
sharp, winding turns. It took a few minutes before either of us decided to say
something.

“So-”

“Why-”

We
both spoke at the very same instant, and immediately stopped the moment we
heard the other.

“You
go first,” I said.

“I
was simply going to ask where you were from?” he laughed. “You said you moved
here not too long ago, so I was just curious.”

“The
Big Apple,” I said.

“Really?
A city girl, huh? Makes sense.”

“Do
I even want to bother trying to understand that remark?”

I
could see him smile out of my peripheral.

“You’re
just a little rough for these parts is all,” he said. “Look at you, clad in a
studded leather jacket and matching heels, a revamped rock t-shirt, and killer
ripped jeans. It hardly helps you blend in with the rest of the cardigan
sporting divas of Maine’s coast.”

“And
what about you? You’re still clearly from the general area, yet your look
faithlessly says otherwise.”

“I
can pull it off though, because the rest of me is so credible to the locale,”
he chuckled. “The whole
former-quarterback, All-American jock
thing is
practically a staple in this culture.”

“Former
jock? That explains it.”

“I’m
a beacon of normalcy in a very convoluted world.”

“Yes,
because as we both know, that solidifies everything you say and do to be the
absolute truth.”

“Well,
that wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

“Hey,
I’m into mysteries as much as the next Sherlockian, but I’d like to think that
the people I surround myself with don’t require me to decipher them.”

“Alright,
how about I break out of character long enough to clue you in on a little known
fact?”

“Why
do I already feel uneasy?”

He
smiled. “I knew you were standing outside the locker room doors yesterday.”

I
couldn’t tell by his tone if he was serious or not, so I rolled my eyes in his
direction to make sure, without letting him know I was interested in finding
out. “Oh, really?”

He
nodded.

“And
what service did offending me do for you?”

“It
got you to pay attention.”

As
much as I knew I needed to concentrate on the road, I looked sideways at him
again.

“I
saw that defeatist mindset of yours take over the moment Stacy introduced
herself to me. You forfeited before you even let things have a chance.”

“I’m
more than familiar with Stacy’s repertoire of tricks she uses into baiting and
hooking whatever guy she sets her sights on. And since her shallow tastes are
one of the clearest indicators as to his character, I consider any guy who
falls for her games to be damaged goods.”

“We
both know that this wasn’t about Stacy or her tainting my character. It was
only a matter of time before I slipped up in one form or another that would
give you reason to write me off,” he said, seeing my jaw tightened as I came up
short for words in defense. “You know I’m right. Not every guy who has ever
expressed interest in you has been a bad seed, but you’re so certain that
people are going to hurt you that you push them away before they even get a
chance for you to make a genuine assessment of them.”

I
began squirming in my seat, but stopped the moment I knew he caught on to my
discomfort.

“Tell
me I’m wrong.”

Nothing.
I had no words. What could I do? Drive off the cliff and crash the car into a
collection of trees? It would definitely put an end to the conversation...

“Stacy
was just an excuse, and I spotted that the second you saw her coming my way. I
knew I had to do something different, something that would make a lasting
impression on you.”

My
jaw tightened once more, but this time it was to resist the urge to smile.

“Admit
it. What I said to and about you got under your skin, had you thinking about
me.”

“It
had me wanting to knock the living daylights out of you,” I remarked.

“Even
so, it was still probably the most time you’ve ever spent thinking about a guy
who showed interest in you.”

Yeah,
I really couldn’t deny that. “Okay, I’m going to ask you something out of
complete and total seriousness.”

“Go
for it.”

“What
in the name of all that is holy honestly convinced you that I’d really be worth
all this trouble?”

Jack
laughed.

“You
said it yourself. Guys find me ‘passive’ and ‘evasive,’ so what on earth is so
enticing about that?” I said, breaking out into a wide smile. “What? There’s
nothing sexier than a frigid, boring, and inaccessible girl?”

We
both burst out laughing.

“I’m
a better judge of character than to see you that way,” he said.

“Sure...”

“You
still doubt my skills of deduction?”

I
just kept smiling, knowing it would bother him if I did not reply.

“Fine,”
he said, taking a deep breath as if he was preparing for a lengthy speech. “I
see and hear several prime examples right in front of me. You’re wearing a
classic Led Zeppelin t-shirt, listening to ‘Riders on the Storm’ by The Doors,
and you have the CD to the
Pulp Fiction
soundtrack sitting in the holder
beneath the radio. You know what that tells me?”

“That
I’ve been spending too much time with my dad?” I cracked.

“You
have good taste. I’ve never met a girl who could listen to everything from
Zeppelin’s ‘Trampled Under Foot’ to Chuck Berry’s ‘You Never Can Tell’ and
thought that she was a stick in the mud.”

“And
pray tell, how long of a shelf life would a girl like that have in regard to
the likes of you?”

He
only smiled.

“Exactly
what I thought. What was the longest relationship you’ve ever even been in? A
month? A week? A day? A night?”

“Hard
to say,” he replied wincingly.

“Wow.”

“Well,
in all admission, I have to say that it was a bit more difficult for me to
really be involved in anything serious up until now.”

“So
what? I changed everything for you? You saw me, and I saw you. Suddenly, the
room went quiet with the exception of some overplayed, lover’s lament song
playing in the background as we stared at one another longingly in slow
motion?” I laughed.

“Minus
all the hideous clichés, yes.”

I
let my foot off the gas pedal as we approached the red light of the upcoming
intersection. Suddenly, the light changed to green before we came to a
standstill, so I accelerated into the empty junction.