Not Looking For Love: Episode 1 (5 page)

"Gran actually says 'marry', but it's close enough, " I say and toast her, taking another long swallow of my drink. I wish Scott would disappear back into the bushes and out of my sight.

Being with Kate is easy, carefree. I've known her all my life, and I can say wicked and crass things like that around her because she knows I don't mean them. I've never treated anyone like they were just the help, and I wish my Gran didn't either. And I'd never date a married guy because it's wrong.

 
I wave my empty glass at the waiter but opt for a Long Island Ice Tea, which is what I thought I'd gotten before. That's more my type of drink. Sex on the Beach clearly is not.

Kate is still sniggering. "Of course, you will notice that your grandmother doesn't say old money can't fuck the help. That's been done since colonial times and before."

I laugh loudly at her joke. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

I move aside the black straw and take a gulp of my drink as soon as I get it.
 

Kate wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at me, looking into the bushes. "No, Gail. You're a 'dater' through and through. You can't just fuck a guy."

What she doesn't mention is that I've never dated anyone for more than a few months, so I'm not much of a 'dater' either.
 

"Just because I haven't done it yet, doesn't mean I can't," I counter and slap my shades over my eyes. As if. I can't even just fuck a guy if I throw myself at him, hot and willing.
 

"I'm not going back to school this semester," I blurt out, wanting to change the subject.
 

"Are you sure?" Kate asks. "How'd your parents take that?"

"Dad doesn't like it, and I haven't told my mom yet. But what else can I do?"

She reaches over and strokes my arm. "It's the only thing you can do."

Kate's been on an extended leave of absence since the second semester of her freshman year. She's probably never going back. The way she sees it, there's no point wasting your youth with your nose stuck in a book. I don't agree, and I don't really miss the wild partying; that's her life. We've grown apart in the three years since I left for college, but I don't dwell on it now.
 

"Why don't you give Brandon a go?" she asks me seriously. "He's crazy about you, you know. And there's something to say about that."

"Eww, I'm not having this conversation with you. Brandon's your brother!"

Kate laughs again. "Which is why I know how much he wants you."

"No. Brandon's not my type," I say and finish off my drink. The world is fuzzy now, but I'm not sick yet, so I order another. I really shouldn't drink so much.

"Suit yourself, it was just a suggestion," Kate says and leans back, closing her eyes.
 

Scott walks by and disappears in the hedge near the fence that separates my house from Kate's. He keeps his eyes averted, but whatever it was that pulled me toward him on that broken pier last night is still tugging at me. I want to follow.
 

Kate's phone buzzes to life, her latest boyfriend's perfectly chiseled face dominating the screen. She reaches for it and answers.

"What? Right now?" she asks, but it's not really a question. She hangs up and grins at me.

"Mark's meeting was cancelled, and he got us a hotel room," she says. "I really should go. See you later?"

I shrug. "Sure, no problem. Go have fun."

"You should too," she says and squeezes my hand. "You should go have some fun. Men are easy; you just have to show them what you want."

 
I nod and finish off my drink. When I look up, she's already walking across the lawn, her flowery robe billowing out behind her.
 

I set my glass down and stand up. The lawn does a three-sixty around me, and I stumble a little. The waiter moves to steady me, but I chase him away. I'm fine to walk home, or to the bushes Scott disappeared into. I'm drunk enough to think it's a good idea. A great idea actually.
 

He's bending over, digging something out of the ground right by the fence. I run my fingers across his upper back and into his hair. It's just long enough for me grab it.

"What the fuck?" he yells and pulls his head away so I'm left clutching air and the few hairs his movement yanked out. It must've hurt.
 

He's towering over me now, breathing hard. His musky smell is stronger today, but so is the enticing cologne he's wearing. His chest is heaving. The garden, the hedge, the whole world disappears in that same vortex I felt last night in the wind. Nothing can touch us now. It's only the two of us. I lean forward and rest my head in the space between his neck and shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. Leaning back, I slide out my tongue and trace it along his neck.

He grabs my arms and yanks them back, pushing me against the wall. "Don't you take no for an answer?"

His mouth is just inches away from me, but he's holding me so tight I can't reach it. So I mock bite in his direction, my teeth clanking.

He pushes me harder against the fence, the sharp edges of the planks digging into my back. His leg is between my thighs, forcing them apart. It doesn't hurt enough. I want it to hurt more. I push my hips forward, rubbing up against his leg. The fabric of his pants is rough, and the motion sends a jolt of pleasure right from between my legs into my heart.

His chest presses against mine, and I can feel his nipple poking the soft flesh of my breast. I slide back and forth against his leg one more time. He pushes his leg against me this time and kisses my neck. I moan.

"This is what you want?" he whispers into my ear and pushes me harder against the fence. He's hard. I can feel it, pressing into my belly. I moan louder.
 

"Yes."

He breathes into my ear and licks it. No one's ever done that to me, and I'd say no if they asked to. But his tongue in my ear sends shivers down my spine and makes me gasp. "You want to fuck the help? Is that it?"

I can't believe he heard that. How could he? He was all the way on the other side of the garden.
 

Then he releases me, steps back, just like that, like nothing happened. "Well, you'll just have to find someone else."

I hear Kate's car rumble to life behind my back, hoping to hell she didn't just see me get rejected by the gardener.
 

"Like Bart, your boss? When's he coming to work?" I flick my finger in the direction of the driveway where his red pick-up is gleaming in the sun.

"Bart doesn't actually do much manual work nowadays. And you wouldn't like him." He smiles at me like he isn't a random stranger whose leg I was just humping a few minutes ago. Like he didn't just reject me. Again. Like he's my friend. But I just want uncomplicated sex with someone who turns me on, with no romantic anything attached.
 

"Yeah, how would you know?"

"Well, Bart's got four chins for starters, and his stomach hangs down to his knees." He shrugs. "But, I don't know, maybe you would like him."

I'm barely able to stop myself from slapping that grin off his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I blurt out instead. "I'm throwing myself at you here. What are you, gay?"

It doesn't faze him like I expected it too. "No, I'm not gay. Just not interested."

I know what my face looks like. His words feel like every single rejection I'd ever gotten from a guy since I was old enough to realize I liked them, all rolled into a giant ball and flung hard in my face. And I know that hurt is plastered across my face.
 

"Not your type then?" I say wrapping my robe tightly across my chest.

"I wouldn't say that. You're thin, with big boobs that are both the same size, long hair, perfect skin, and you're rich. You're exactly my type," he says lightly, a boyish grin on his face.

"So why don't you want me?" I say, the words coming out in more of a sob.

He sighs and runs his hand up his neck and through his hair, looking up at me with those impossible eyes, which are light green now. "It just seems like there's not much holding you together. And I don't want to unravel whatever's left."

Seriously? Who says things like that?
 

"I liked you better when you were quiet," I say.

He shrugs and picks up his hoe. "Suit yourself."

Then he turns and walks back through the hedge. I want to call him back, run after him, and keep him talking. But the alcohol is wearing off, and he's now told me three times that he's not interested. I'd have to be insane to go begging for a fourth humiliation. Which I clearly am.

CHAPTER FIVE

Back home, I slip off my robe and dive into the pool as soon as I reach it. My whole body cramps up from the shock of entering the cold water, and for a few moments, it's enough to drive all else from my mind. I stay under water. The chlorine stings my eyes, and my lungs feel a thousand pounds heavy, but I don't close my eyes, don't come up for air. I stay under water, watching the shadows fluttering across the black and white tiles all around me.

 
Could I drown myself like this? Probably. There will be no Scott to come rescue me this time.
 

A jolt passes through me, and I jerk my head up out of the water, taking a deep, desperate breath. Textbook survival instinct, just my body using up the last of the oxygen in my lungs and needing more. I don't want to die. I don't want anyone to die. In a few days, my mom's two months will be up.
 

I'm shivering, my teeth chattering, goose bumps covering my entire body. The alcohol has worn off completely now, and I feel like the world's biggest idiot. I swim a few laps to get my blood going again, concentrating on my stroke so I don't need to think of anything else.

I've never thrown myself at a guy like that before. I'm not even that into sex. My last boyfriend described me as frigid, and as far as our sex life went, he was right. So why is sex with Scott all I think about? If he were here right now, I'd probably do the exact same thing; touch him in the exact same way, wanting more. The thought scares me, makes me feel like I'm disintegrating, caving in like cascading sand into a deep dark hole, with nothing to hold on to, nothing with which to hold on.
 

My cheeks burn, and I'm panting from the exertion of the swim. This is what I want. To know I'm still here, still alive, and not falling apart into millions of tiny pieces that will get lost, get blown away, disappear into the darkness, never get put back together right.
 

I climb out of the pool and look up toward my mom's bedroom. The translucent curtains are blowing in and out of her window. She's awake. I wish I could feel some of the anger I used to feel at her diagnosis back in the beginning. Anger at her for not getting herself checked out properly, anger at the doctors for not knowing what they're doing, at myself for not insisting she go see them earlier, for moving away, going to school, building a new life there, and not spending enough time with her. None of that matters anymore, and anger would be pointless. Mom's death is unavoidable now. There's nothing anyone can do. Nothing I can do. The anger is a distant whisper, less than a memory, swallowed by the darkness along with all that could be but never will be.

I'm at her bedroom door, and I don't remember entering the house, don't remember climbing the stairs.

"You're all wet, Gail," she chides me, but I kneel beside her bed anyway, my face buried in the palm of her hand. I can't stop the tears, not today. Today I'm not the Gail crying by my mom's bed. I'm standing off to the side, by the door, watching a messed up girl doing things that will make everything worse. But that Gail rarely visits anymore, and she has faded away now. I don't see her anymore and don't see myself. She's gone, swallowed by the sand, merged with it, unrecognizable, probably gone forever.

My mom strokes my hair and lets me cry. Her breaths are uneven, raspy, grating.
 

"Why don't you go change, and we can finish the movie?" she asks after a while. "I feel so much better today. Maybe we can even have dinner together later."

Her voice is soft and barely above a whisper, but the tone is clear and commanding. I believe her, and I obey her. Because I have to. I have no power to make choices for myself anymore.

On the screen, the ship is breaking, going down. I don't want to see what happens next and don't want to watch the pointless, unavoidable ending. Don't want to watch the dark green icy water sucking away hope and love. It reminds me too much of my own life, the abyss sucking me in, unavoidable and vast.

"Didn't Gran know someone who was on the Titanic?" I ask.

Mom nods and turns to me. "Yes, Helena Lancaster. She survived though, but her mother didn't." She smiles, a mischievous light playing in her watery, pale eyes. "Imagine Helena meeting someone on the ship, someone like this Jack. This could be her story."

I chuckle. "I'm sure Gran would have a lot to say about that. You know, her 'old money and the help' line."

I still can't believe Scott heard that. Or that it should bother him.
 

Mom rolls her eyes. "Gran will have her little fictions. But she didn't exactly follow her own advice, now did she?"

"What are you talking about?" I turn off the volume and sit up straighter.

"She never told you about Edmond?" Mom asks.
 

I shake my head. "Who was he?"

"He was the groundkeeper's son. They had a fling. She even tried to elope right before World War II broke out. Edmond died in Normandy, I think."

I'm still picturing Gran galloping on one of her horses with Edmond, her forbidden love right beside her. Moonlight spills on them as they race
 
toward a happy, loving future together. The image of him dying under machine gun fire makes my breath catch in my throat.
 

"That's so sad," I manage.

"It is. But their love affair was over by then. Her parents put a stop to it. Gran was already married to your grandfather by the time news of Edmond's death reached her." Mom coughs, spraying my hand with spittle. I reach over and massage her back. Her skin is so loose I can feel every bump of her spine, her ribs. This is sad.