Divine Vices (9 page)

Ian
had already left for the day, so despite my objections to let Gwen drive me
home, I had no other choice come the end of the school day. We headed out to
the parking lot, seeing a silver Lamborghini being admired by onlookers in a
space a few down from ours.

“Care
to guess who the luxury wheels belong to?” said Gwen, seeing me roll my eyes.
“You can’t deny the boy has got it goin’ on.”

“Oh,
please,” I remarked. “Anybody who needs to showboat in a vehicle like that is
clearly trying to compensate for something.”

“Like
what, looks? He makes the next best looking guy in school look like a gargoyle
in comparison.”

“You
know better than to fall victim to New Haven’s Casanova.”

“Who
said anything about falling? I’m talking about a little recreational exercise,”
she said with a devilish grin.

“Gwen!”
I exclaimed, giving a hard elbow to her arm.

“What?
I wouldn’t mind going for a ride in that,” she said, eyeballing the
Lamborghini, “and he wouldn’t even have to turn on the ignition.”

I
turned bright red with embarrassment as I looked around, hoping no one could
hear her. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’m
young. I should be allowed to have a few questionable moments of indiscretion.”

“It’s
a pornographer’s car,” I concluded, taking her by the arm and guiding her away
toward the Saturn.

“Is
that supposed to be a compliment?” said a voice from behind, a heavy smirk
obviously riding this person’s mouth.

My
cheeks burned even redder as my mind landed recognition with the tone. I turned
to meet Jack, his back resting against the driver’s side door of the Lambo.
Trying to calm the nerves swirling in my stomach, along with the humiliation of
being heard, I took a deep breath before replying.

“A
vehicle like that is made for one purpose and one only. No one cares what’s in
the engine. It’s all just for show.”

“You’d
be surprised what’s revving in here,” he said, stroking the body. “Take a look
under the hood. I can guarantee you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what you
find.” He then gave me a little wink.

“And
what would you be without an innuendo?”

“Let
me give you a ride,” Jack replied. “And you can find out.”

“That
car and you really are perfect for one another, because we both know that
neither one of you has any substance beneath all the flash.”

“Well,
it’s a shame you feel that way. I hope to give you better clarification in the
future.”

“Trust
me, you’ve provided enough information for me to make a proper assessment of
you.”

Jack’s
smile widened. “Aren’t you just the little spitfire? It’s rare to find someone
impervious to my natural charm,” he said, sauntering toward me.

“I’m
not sure if it’s your ego that’s been stroked too much, or if it’s something
else, but I’m pretty sure I’ve just done you a favor.”

“Ouch,
rush me to the burn unit,” he replied playfully.

“Can’t.
But you can go right ahead. Hopefully, your injuries will keep you from our
session today.”

“No,
I wouldn’t miss that for the world. Speaking of which, why don’t we get started
earlier? I’ll give you a ride to your place, since we’re both heading over
there.”

“Sorry,
I don’t take rides from strange men,” I said, going over to the Saturn and
climbing in the passenger seat. “See you at four.”

Tires
squealed as Gwen floored it, leaving Jack as a shrinking figure in the rearview
mirror.

“I
don’t get why you’re giving him such a hard time,” said Gwen, screeching to a
stop at a school crosswalk as kids flocked out into the street.

“Because
he’s an ass.”

“He
apologized.”

“No,
he didn’t, and he shouldn’t have said it in the first place.”

“But
he’s hot,” said Gwen whiningly.

“You
know how shallow that sounds?”

“But
he’s hot. And not like give-him-a-second-look hot. Like
government-experiment-to-create-the-perfect-specimen-gone-horribly-perfect
HOT!”

“Don’t
care.”

“You
honestly think he’s doing this tutoring thing just to annoy you?” Gwen snapped.
“The man’s got better things to do than waste it learning about past
participles and conjunctions. With a face like that, no one else cares about what’s
actually going on in his head. His GPA is about as worthless as a roundabout in
the road. There’s no fudging point. He likes you.”

“The
feeling’s not mutual.”

“You’re
a terrible liar. I saw the way your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when he
came into the gymnasium yesterday. You knew damn well that a boy like that was
gonna come with a bit of attitude.”

“And
with every girl in school practically tripping over themselves in his wake, I
have to ask why he’s even bothering with me?” I queried. “There are better
looking girls out there, and ones definitely more accessible.”

Gwen
suddenly slapped the back of my head following the remark.

“What
the hell?!” I cried.

“Firstly,
I’m not sure why you think you’re grotesque or something, but you’ve got it going
on. Thin, pretty, fashionable in your own sense, natural air of confidence-”

“Whoa,
whoa, whoa,” I interrupted. “Confidence? You’re kidding me, right? I’m an
introverted wallflower. Guys rarely chat me up, and fewer ask me out.”

“Because
you intimidate them.”

“Then
how come they’re flocking at your doormat? You’re ten times better looking than
I am.”

“I’m
just more approachable. You’ve got this edgy biker chick vibe about you, not to
mention incredible smarts. That’s down right terrifying to a guy, which brings
me to my second point. The very fact you’re not falling at Jack’s feet like
everyone else might be refreshing. He probably likes the sport of it.”

“Oh,
well, paint me enchanted. Nothing screams romance like a man who enjoys preying
upon his prospects.”

“And
may I remark, your outburst back there with him hardly qualifies you as a
wallflower now. It takes a strong personality to talk to someone like that.”

Gwen
pulled up alongside the curb to drop me off when we reached my house.

“You
want to meet up with us when you’re finished with lover boy?” asked Gwen.

“Yeah,
where’re you gonna be?”

“Bella
Deboure’s Boutique.”

“I
thought you were picking up Ian from work,” I said.

“What’s
your point?”

“Asides
from the cruel and unusual torture of dragging a guy to go dress shopping?”

“Hey,
I need a male perspective, and I can’t have Jeff see what I’m going to wear for
Homecoming. I want it to be a surprise. So Ian’s about as close as I can get to
a man’s opinion, not to mention he’s the only thing that’ll keep you from
running out on me.”

“Funny,”
I said. “I’ll be there probably around 6:30.”

“Love
you.” Gwen sped off down the street the moment I shut the passenger’s side
door.

I
walked up the driveway to the back of the house, seeing my dad’s legs sticking
out from underneath the Cutlass.

“How’s
she coming along?” I shouted over the radio.

“Can’t
quite figure out why she’s not turning over,” he called back, rolling himself
out.

His
face was painted with grease and oil smudges, and his hair was matted to his
forehead with sweat.

“You
hitting the books already?” he asked, surprised by my early arrival. “Thought
you’d be enjoying the weather.”

“That’s
actually what I need to talk to you about. Would it be alright if someone came
over? I’m supposed to be tutoring them for English class.”

“What
time?”

“They
should be here by four,” I said, uneasily.

My
dad glanced at the clock inside the garage and chuckled. “Good to see you’re
giving me time to make a decision.”

“I
know it’s short notice, but-”

“I’m
kidding,” he said. “So what’s he like?”

“Sorry?”

“The
guy who’s coming over.”

“I
didn’t say it was a guy.”

“You
didn’t have to. The fact you wouldn’t specify this
someone’s
gender
pretty much says it all. So?”

“He’s
a detestable ass-hat of global proportions,” I said.

“I’m
not even sure what that means, but I take it that’s not a good thing,” my dad
laughed.

“Safe
assumption,” I said, going through the side door of the house.

After
fixing my hair and changing into fresh clothes, I headed back outside to see
two denim decorated legs again jutting out from beneath the front hood.

“You
want anything to drink?” I asked, poking my head out the door.

“Soda.”

I
popped back inside and snatched a can from the refrigerator.

“Here,”
I said, holding the can out at the base of the car.

Sliding
out from under the vehicle, Jack came bouncing upright, taking the soda from my
hand.

“What
the hell are you doing here?” I asked, almost jumping back in surprise before
catching a peripheral view of the clock.

“Giving
your dad a hand,” he said, cracking the pop tab open.

“I
said ‘four.’ You’re a half hour early.”

“Hey,
try starting her up,” said Jack, seeing my dad coming out of the garage.

Paying
no mind to this stranger’s interference, my dad climbed inside the Cutlass and
revved the engine, rejoicing as it turned over with a wondrous purr.

“Thanks,
man,” said my dad, heading over and shaking Jack’s hand. “Good to see someone
knows what they’re doing here.”

“Hey,
it’s no problem. It was just the solenoids. I had the same problem with my car
a little while back.”

“The
Lambo?” I said disbelievingly, looking down at the ostentatious sports car
parked at the end of the driveway.

“Nah,
that’s not mine,” Jack corrected.

“Oh,
grand theft auto. How charming,” I cracked.

“It’s
my uncle’s. He owns a car dealership over in Arlington, and was kind enough to
lend me a vehicle while mine was giving me grief.”

“What
do you drive?” asked my dad.

“’67
Impala.”

Here
we go...

“Beautiful,”
said my dad, nodding in adoration. “Nice to see a man your age driving a real
car, instead of those eco-friendly boxcar disasters everyone’s got now.”

“Hey,
you can’t go wrong with the style, smooth ride, and durability of a classic,”
replied Jack, tapping the hood of the Cutlass appreciatively.

“My
point exactly.”

I
was going to be sick.

“Cassie,
here, is a big fan of the classics as well. I’ve been taking her to car shows
since she was little. Couldn’t get enough of them after she saw her first ’72
Chevelle.”

“Huh,
you don’t say?” said Jack. “Can’t say I’m too surprised. She doesn’t exactly
strike me as your typical Prius-driving, tree-hugging environmentalist who
worries all too much about what kind of emissions pollute the air. But it’s
hard to tell, since most people these days have been conforming.”

“And
you’re not?” I asked irreverently. “I figured you liked conformity.”

Jack
gave me a sideways glare, along with a competitive grin. “Well, I may not be
driving a car that runs on donut grease, but I do my best to not dump too much
industrialized toxic chemicals into waterways,” he replied. “And I make sure to
not throw out too many six-pack soda rings in the general vicinity of dolphins’
migrational paths.”

“Smartass.”

“Cassandra,”
my dad warned. He never really minded an occasional slip of the mouth on my
part when we were in private, but in the presence of company, he found it to be
unladylike. Hence, he only ever called me by my full name when I was in trouble
of some sort.

“Sorry,”
I said, directing it more to my dad than Jack.

“Nah,
it’s okay. If that’s the worst thing I’m called today, then I consider myself
fortunate,” said Jack amusingly. “Why don’t we get cracking on our lesson, and
leave your dad in peace?”

“Sure,”
I said, motioning him toward the house.

“It
was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” Jack said, shaking my dad’s hand again.

“You,
too.”

I
went into the kitchen and pulled my books out of my satchel, laying them
systematically across the table. About to take a seat, I looked around to see
no one else was there. “Jack?”

“I’m
right here,” he called out.

I
headed over to the side door to see him still standing outside in the entryway.
“Everything okay?”

He
nodded. “Just waiting for a proper invitation to come inside.”

“Okay,
Dracula,” I said jeeringly. “You may enter the premises.”

“It’s
called being gentlemanly,” he said, taking a long stride through the doorway.
“Nice digs.”

“Thanks,
it was my grandmother’s, before she passed away,” I said, parking a seat at the
head of the kitchen table.

“Is
it just you and your dad here?” he asked, taking notice to the rest of the
downstairs.

“What
makes you say that?”

He
shrugged. “House just seems to lack a certain... feminine touch.”

“Thanks.”

“Nah,
I just mean a
wifely
touch. You know, little knickknacks, flowery décor,
and whatnot. Men generally model their homes in accordance to their lifestyle.
Efficiency. They don’t typically concern themselves with things like matching
the hand and dish towels at the sink, or getting a basket to put their keys and
spare coins into,” he said, pointing at the chunk of change that had piled on
the counter beside three separate sets of keys. “Not to mention that there’s
man cave pictures out in plain sight.”

I
looked around at the displays in question, like my father’s framed original
Woodstock placard and the Allman Brothers Band: Live at Fillmore East poster.
He was right. The house did have a certain ‘man cave’ feel, but that’s what I
loved about it.

“It
kinda feels like living inside an old-time record studio,” Jack said, taking
notice to my dad’s collection of Fender Telecaster Custom guitars mounted in
his office just outside the family room. He sauntered back into the kitchen.
“Has a good vibe. Unpretentious. And I like the whole bar-motif.”

“Yeah,
well, that seems to be his thing. He actually owns Rockhouse Bar & Grill on
Main Street.”

“The
classic rock joint that’s under renovation?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh,
I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting it yet, but I’ve heard good things.”

“How
far have you gotten into our reading assignment?” I said, trying to refocus his
attention on anything other than the surroundings or my private life. His
peculiarly striking eye of observation was beginning to make me feel as if the
house was suddenly like my underwear drawer and he had taken a tour through it.
I felt... oddly exposed.

“I
have the basic outline down,” he said, grabbing my copy of the book and turning
it over to show me the written summary.

“You
only read the back cover?” I said, clearly stating my frustration. “Let me
guess, you were too busy with your new expanding social life to take the time
to read?”

He
looked at me with an indecipherable expression.

I
threw my pencil down. “So what is this? The whole stereotypical
bad-boy-who-doesn’t-care-about-anything bull? Because I really don’t have the
time or patience for this.”

“It’s
dyslexia, actually,” Jack replied.

A
guilt-ridden knot choked at my vocal cords as I tried to think of something
polite to say in return. When I finally mustered the courage to look him in the
eyes, I saw him staring directly into me, but his appearance was surprisingly
open.

“It’s
okay,” he said, seeing me still struggling to find words. “I suppose it’s just
easier for me to have people thinking that I’m indifferent verses that I’m in
some way stupid. Most people don’t really understand the condition, and it’s
usually viewed as a weakness. So, needless to say, I’m not one to generally
divulge said information. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let word get
around too much.”

“Sorry,”
I muttered.

To
my amazement, Jack started chuckling.

“What?”
I asked.

He
ruffled a hand through his hair rather exhaustedly. “That’s exactly why I don’t
like telling anyone about this.”

“Because
of people offering their sympathy?”

“Because
of their pity,” he clarified. “Could you do me a favor and stop staring at me
like I’m one of those abandoned puppies on an animal rescue relief commercial?”

I
let out a gentle laugh. “I’m sorry.”

His
eyes flickered warmly. “And stop apologizing.”

“Well,
aren’t we being domineering?” I teased.

“You
like that.”

I
belted him with the eraser end of my pencil.

“Hey!”
he chuckled, rubbing the spot of impact. “Looks like you enjoy being a sadist,
I see.”

I
grabbed my book and flipped it open to the beginning, letting my hair fall into
my face as I tilted my head down to hide the cherry flushes coming into my
cheeks.

Butterflies
manifested in my stomach as Jack’s fingers brushed the front locks of my hair
gently over my ear. Goose bumps barreled down my arms with the ferment that
arose from his thumb trailing down the side of my neck as it combed through the
remaining strand. Once his fingers hit my collarbone, I thought to pull away
out of the fear of him going further down, but he acted first. He returned his
hand to the top of the kitchen table, leaving my skin to tingle in the result
of his touch.

“Your
parents separated?” he asked.

“No,”
I said. “Well, yes, they were...”

“But
they’re not anymore? Then where’s your mom?”

Despite
my aversion to cover the topic, I knew Jack wasn’t going to leave his sense of
utter befuddlement at rest.

“They
were
separated, for about six months,” I said. “I lost my mom in an
accident at our home back in January, along with my older sister.”

His
face went pale with remorse. “I’m... I’m sorry to hear that.”

I
nodded.

“I
know what it’s like. I lost my dad last fall,” Jack said. “Drunk driver.”

“So
it’s just you and your mom now?”

“No,
I never really got to know her. She left us when I was four. I’m technically
living with my uncle now, but really I’m just staying at one of his many
residences. He only checks in every few weeks,” he replied.

“I’m
sorry.”

“What
was your mom like? A lot like you I suspect.”

I
actually laughed outwardly. “Hardly. We were about as polar opposite as you can
get. If it wasn’t for my dad, I would have thought I was adopted.”