Two Feet Off The Ground Page 10

  I was too numb to fight. So, I let my best friend puff away. Tiny plumes of smoke billowed out the side of her mouth.

  “This whole sex thing with Tania won’t change anything with any of us, right?” she asked me.

  “How can it not, though. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be able to go on a double date now. That’d be a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

  Aziza reclined back a bit, and then inhaled a long drag. “We’ll work it out like we always do.”

  By her second cigarette, it actually smelled good to me. I didn’t even mind when her smoke billowed in front of my face. In fact, I breathed it in deeply when it did.

  “I have to pee,” she said, standing up and leaving the newly lit cigarette on the edge of the table.

  I swallowed more beer. The smoke floated by my face, calling out to me like a plate of home-baked cookies fresh from the oven. The last time I smoked was right before I got pregnant with Owen, which was also the last time I’d been this drunk, too. Fuck it. I picked up the cigarette and took a good long drag. I closed my eyes and savored its light-headed effect.

  When Aziza returned, she caught me inhaling another drag and laughed. “Alcohol. It always brings out the smokers in us.”

  I took yet another drag and ended up smoking the entire cigarette as I relaxed and listened to my friend drone on about her new fling. In thinking it through, I had nothing to be concerned about. If Paula really wanted Tania still, then Aziza wouldn’t have had the chance to spend hours devouring her.

  * *

  “Make sure you pack enough underwear to last the weekend,” I yelled out to Owen the next day. I tucked my blow dryer in between my bathrobe and windbreaker. Washington D.C. had experienced their worst drought in years, and figured, now that I was packing up to visit, the weatherman pointed to a string of storm clouds on the television screen.

  “Are they going to have a pool there?” Owen ducked his head in my room.

  I had studied their website the night before, investigating every nook and cranny of the deluxe room I reserved, the lounge, and the pool. “Yes. I already told you to make sure you pack your swimsuit.” The boy never listened to me anymore.

  “I’m so glad you’re coming.” He hugged me.

  I savored his grip. Soon, he’d be too old to show such emotion.

  He let go and tossed himself on my bed. “Do you think Coach is really going to move to California?”

  “Did she tell you she’s moving?”

  “It’s just a rumor. Someone overheard her talking to some lady about it at practice the other week.”

  My stomach dropped. “Who knows, sweetie. Just try to enjoy her while she’s here.”

  He twirled one of my ponytail elastics in his fingers. “I don’t want her to move. She’s the best coach ever. And she’s cool to hang out with. What about you? Isn’t she your girlfriend now?”

  A surge went through my body. My girlfriend. I loved the sound of that.

  “What would make you ask that?” It wasn’t like we showed affection in front of him.

  “I’m twelve. I know what it means when you lock yourselves in her cabana.”

  I panicked. Could there’ve been a crack in the cabana and maybe the poor kid saw his mother making out with his coach? “We were looking for beer.”

  “Mom has a girlfriend! Mom has a girlfriend,” Owen chanted, jumping on my bed.

  I blushed and tossed a pillow at him.

  “I love Coach, Mom. I think you make the best couple!”

  “We’re not a couple, so don’t go spreading rumors about it.” I picked up my now packed suitcase and dropping it on the floor. The hinges were practically popping off. I couldn’t help overstuffing it. What if it didn’t rain? Mid-Atlantic was just as unpredictable as New England. I’d need a whole different a wardrobe for sunny weather.

  “I think coach really likes you.”

  Correction. Coach really liked the parts of the woman I had presented to her. She knew only the façade – the trendy clothes, the manicured nails, the perfect makeup, the feigned confidence, the thin veneer that camouflaged the terrified, reticent girl beneath, all keeping me safe and hidden. The scared child in me would repel Paula like two same magnetic ends.

  “Let’s just get you packed.”

  We walked into Owen’s room and I tossed a few shorts, socks, and t-shirts in a smaller suitcase. I reached across his bed to pick up his bathing suit from his headboard bookcase, which he haphazardly hung over the top of the football Tom Brady had given to him at the Patriots’ summer camp the year before. Next to his blue swim trunks sat a framed picture of him, Paula and Chuck in front of the plane.

  I picked it up. “How come I didn’t see this?”

  “I don’t know.” Owen slipped into his bathroom and grabbed his deodorant. “Chuck framed it and gave it to Coach to give to me at practice.”

  “That was nice of Chuck.”

  Owen shrugged. “I wish you could see more of the plane in the picture.”

  I looked more closely at the picture. All of them smiled like they were on set in a toothpaste commercial, arms slung around each other and looking like a happy-go-lucky, adventurous family.

  Chapter Eight

  I thumbed through my latest issue of Vogue as our bus rolled down I-95 en route to the nation’s capitol. I reread the same sentence over and over again and I still couldn’t comprehend a damn thing. I had to pee something awful. Paula warned us all before closing the bus door, if you have to pee, do it now or hold it. This was the worst thing she could’ve done. I squirmed in my seat, scrunching up my face tight. All anyone ever had to do was mention the word bathroom and I had to go. It’s a psychological thing that started a few years earlier when I stupidly drank a pot of coffee prior to walking into a three hour funeral. I had to pee so bad that day, I seriously believe I bruised my kidneys holding it in. Well, ever since, all I had to do was drink a drop of water and needed to go like I had gulped gallons.

  So, when Owen slid up behind me and whispered that he had to go, too, I jumped in to rescue him. I leaned in close to Paula and whispered, “I think we should get off at the next exit.” Her musky perfume revved up my heart.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I have to pee.”

  She looked down at her watch. “We’re making such good time. You can’t hold it?”

  I shook my head and pouted.

  She groaned. “You’re not going to do this to me, are you?”

  I ran my finger up and down her forearm. “Please. For me.”

  She breathed heavier, then turned her big brown eyes to me. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.” She stood up and braced against the seat. “Hey, Mattie,” she yelled up to the driver. “We need to make a bathroom stop.”

  Suddenly the entire bus erupted in a thunderous cheer.

  Owen leaned over the seat and whispered to me. “Wow, she must really like you.”

  I was pretty sure Paula would have driven thirty miles out of her way to find me a bathroom if necessary. At that point, I still leveraged plenty of power over her. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes at her and she caved. I planned to enjoy the honeymoon stage as long as possible.

  Soon enough she’d discover all my phobic faults and bail faster than she could free-fall out of her brother’s plane.

  * *

  The whole ride, all we did was talk about Paula’s teaching and coaching and my hair career. Turned out she had enrolled at Brown University wanting to be an astrophysicist. But, then she volunteered her first semester to be an assistant coach for a local school’s soccer team and her path forked. Yeah, well, I wanted to be a cartoonist. Instead I took funny-looking people and turned them into real life beauties. Good thing destiny intervened. I couldn’t imagine how we would have hooked up otherwise.

  Aside from a two-mile backup on the George Washington Bridge and a small detour on the Jersey Turnpike, we arrived at our hotel just shy of Paula’s eight hour goal, coming in at eight
hours, twenty-two minutes. Not bad for a Friday in the early summer. I didn’t care if it took eight days to get there. I loved sitting alongside her with our legs pinned up against each other.

  * *

  Once in the lobby of the hotel, Paula rounded up the gang of ten kids and lectured them on the weekend rules. “I have two more chaperones coming, so that makes five adults you have to listen to. Understood?”

  A series of hushed yeses buzzed out of the kids.

  Two kids. I could handle that. Of course then all the kids started laying down their claims.

  “I’m rooming with Owen.” Jake called out. “They’ve got the couch and the big screen TV.”

  “Me, too.” The other star player folded his arms over his chest.

  “Everyone can’t room with Owen and Ms. Woods,” Paula said.

  Ms. Woods? Since when did I have a gray bun sticking out the back of my head? I wouldn’t last an entire weekend being called what my friends used to call my grandma. That would make me feel about as sexy as walking around Newport in flannel pajamas. “Please, don’t call me that,” I said to the group of riled up kids. “Call me Lauren.”

  “How about Ms. Lauren?” Paula asked me.

  I turned to her and smirked. “Is that really necessary?”

  “It’s a respect thing.”

  “Hey, Coach,” a lanky, freckle-faced kid said. “Can’t we just call her coach’s girlfriend?” He rounded his arms up to gather the laughter that fired from each kid’s mouth.

  To my horror, Paula’s face reddened. I wanted to dig myself into the dirt of the planter near the Concierge’s desk. Suddenly, I was thirteen-years-old again caught sucking face with Ricky at the school dance by all the ‘cool kids’ who whistled and clapped like I just scored them a touchdown at homecoming, and having Ricky run away like he just kissed a pile of shit.

  All eyes pinned against us like a firing squad. I narrowed my eyes at Owen. He didn’t dare look up at me. He just dribbled an invisible soccer ball between his feet. The kids’ jeers just seemed to multiply like Morning Glory weeds in a tomato garden, choking the breath right out of Paula. Her face went from a first to third degree burn in seconds, obviously pained at the thought that she would be associated as my girlfriend.

  She shot them a no-nonsense look and clenched her teeth. “Ms. Lauren and I are friends, just like Mrs. Swanson and I.” She motioned towards Billy’s grandmother, who had about 30 years and 150 pounds on me. “So, cut the horsing around and let’s get checked in.”

  A manic storm knocked at my temples as I watched Paula noncommittally gather her gym bag and haul it over her shoulder not even giving me a second glance.

  She was embarrassed of me. I felt like an idiot.

  I tried to shake this feeling off of me like a boxer would right after a blow to the head. Since when did I need a girlfriend to make me feel whole? This was her loss, not mine. Let her move to California and try to find someone better. I certainly wasn’t planning to change my life around just to please her. Girlfriends might do that, but not casual friends.

  I was a little smarter than that. I lifted the handle on my suitcase and rolled right on past my casual friend, Paula, to the head of the check-in line.

  * *

  “I would have been hurt, too,” Aziza said to me over the phone.

  I shoved my suitcase in the closet and slid the door shut. I checked myself out in the full-length mirror and decided that maybe I should’ve worn the capris instead of the shorts with those sandals. I examined my face. More freckles had popped up during the ride, and I forgot to pack my sun block. Great. I’d look just like the stargazer chart hanging in Owen’s bedroom before the weekend ended.

  “I didn’t say I was hurt. I said pissed. There’s a huge difference.”

  “Not with you, there’s not,” Aziza said.

  “Hey Mom, can we rent a video game from the TV menu?” Owen stood in bare feet in front of a screen bigger than him.

  “Put your socks on,” I said to him. “Dirty feet have touched that, too.” Disgusting. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” I said to her.

  As soon as I hung up, I pulled a bottle of disinfectant out of my bag and went to town squirting everything not upholstered. I saw too many of those investigative specials where they uncovered massive amounts of bacteria lurking on the remote control, the ice-bucket, even the room service menu. Gross.

  By the time Jake and Owen had played a round of virtual golf, I had sanitized the entire suite, down to placing my own linens on the pillows. A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door. I opened it to Paula standing in the hotel hallway, barefoot. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I tossed the bottle of Lysol into the bathroom before she could see it. She bolted into the room like a kid overloaded on sugar, bounced on her bed, and grabbed the remote from Owen. “Let me show you how this is done.”

  She swung her body in full motion and the golf ball sailed to within inches of the hole. The boys cheered and smacked her hands and they all broke into a strange chicken dance. With his hands glued to his lower back, flapping away, Owen asked Paula, “How did you do that?”

  “I’ll show you later. We’re all getting hungry. What do you say we go for a walk and find some burgers?”

  The boys straightened and ran through the door, leaving me and Paula in their dust. The door shut behind us. I grabbed my pocketbook on the desk. “Ready?”

  “Wait.” She grabbed hold of my hands and brought me in close to her. “You look beautiful.”

  I brushed away the family of butterflies that rushed my tummy. Now she wanted to get all sentimental and loving, when no one else could see. “Thanks.” I forced a smile. “We should go. We don’t need more rumors spreading.”

  “Everything okay?” She pulled me back and hugged me.

  “Yeah. Of course.” I pulled away and headed for the door. “Are you going to go hold Mrs. Swanson after this, too?”

  She laughed. “Yup, I just bought her some lacy lingerie from the store in the lobby. Not sure it will work with her sagging double-dees, but we’ll see.”

  I didn’t laugh. In fact, I think steam burned its way through my body and straight out my ears. “I wasn’t joking.”

  She slipped her hands around the small of my back and pulled me in close. “I don’t care what they say as long as you don’t care.” Our bodies touched, electricity and heat surged. I wanted to stay mad. I wanted to distance myself. I wanted to be the one in control.

  I rocked gently back and forth with her. The whole room spun along with my heart. I closed my eyes and embraced the tender moment instead of fighting it. I could stand in her arms all night long. My brain yelled for me to back away from her to a safe distance where I wouldn’t melt into a puddle of lusty goop. But, I couldn’t resist her beating heart and faint breaths on my neck. So, what did I do? I inched my face up and kissed her, settling back on that familiar comfort of her touch.

  How could I be upset with her? How could I think Paula didn’t care for me a little more than as a friend? Do friends sneak kisses like this?

  What we had going on veered way beyond any friendship I’d ever experienced.

  Besides, labels were overrated.

  * *

  I sat next to Paula in front of a really sad and unappetizing display of desserts. First of all, who put lumpy brown icing on a cake and called it a scrumptious slice of heaven? And the person who baked up the idea to squirt a whole can of whip cream on top of a crowd of lady fingers and leave it in the eighty or so degree restaurant had to be insane. Melt away perfectly good sweetness? As I lobbed my head to the side to get a better look at the banana cream catastrophe, Paula’s mystery chaperones finally walked in – Chuck and his flame-headed fiancé.

  Chuck dropped a kiss on top of his sister’s head and flicked her hat off.

  “Chuck!” Owen squealed like he was five again. He ran towards his new, favorite buddy and Chuck wrapped him in his arms and twisted him like a pretzel. Owen yelled out un
cle, and Chuck uncoiled him and straightened his hat in one steady move.

  I smiled at his fiancé who returned the smile and forced forward to shake her hand. “Lauren, right?” Her teeth were whiter than chalk.

  “Yes, that’s right. And, I’m sorry, I never caught your name that day at the party.”

  “Amber,” she said before turning away and snuggling up to Chuck like a playful kitty.

  I wondered if Amber was born with that red hair or if her parents were just really intuitive?

  “I didn’t think you guys were ever going to show,” Paula said.

  “We had to take off on a later flight,” Chuck said.

  “What happened? Couldn’t get first class seats on the 4:10 flight?” Paula asked.

  “We took a detour to Pennsylvania first to get some of those crunchy pretzels.”

  Chuck slid in the seat next to Paula. “Figured it was on the way so why not?” He dunked a tortilla chip in the salsa and shoved it in his mouth.

  Yeah. Why not just detour to Georgia, too, and pick up some peaches? Who hopped on planes like they were local buses?

  For the next hour, the kids talked over each other, Paula debated with Chuck about whether the Patriots would win the next football season, and Mrs. Swanson and Amber discussed a recipe for apple pie. Meanwhile, I squirmed in my seat with nothing interesting to say, overstuffed on fries, and trying to appear more appealing than that dripping slice of cheesecake in the dessert case.

  * *

  By the time we had wrapped up dinner and walked from the Jefferson Memorial to the Washington Memorial, I had some real concern that my feet wouldn’t be able to carry me the few more steps from the bathroom to my bed. Jake and Owen were equally exhausted and already snoring in the time it took me to wash my face and brush my teeth.

  When the alarm buzzed in the morning, the three of us jumped like spring-loaded toys. Suddenly, being first in line for the White House Tour didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea anymore. I didn’t even like politics. Why on earth did I insist we absolutely must be number one in line to see Lincoln’s study? Because Paula wanted to? Since when did I become one of those girlfriends?