Becca Read online

  “I think he’ll take them first,” Bert nodded at the other car. There was no movement in the other car, but the rolled up windows were steamed.

  “Maybe he already did.”

  When Becca said that the crickets stopped, and the parking area became deathly quiet, except for the hatchet man. “Oh God,” she said, shivering involuntarily. “Creepy, huh.”

  “Yes.”

  She let go of his arm and turned up the volume of the radio slightly so it muffled the hatchet man. She kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the driver’s seat. She smiled at him, checked herself in the mirror, and then turned off the light. “So, Josh,” she said, “here we are.”

  “Yes, we are here,” Bert said.

  Becca giggled. “You sound nervous.”

  “Nervous? No. Scared? Yes. That hatchet man is getting to me.”

  “I hadn’t planned this, you know.”

  “This? Sitting here in the car listening to the hatchet man?”

  She giggled but said nothing for a few moments. “I just want you to know that.”

  They both jumped when the engine of the other car started and its headlights came on. They laughed and watched the car drive away.

  “Well,” Bert said, “at least we know the hatchet man didn’t get them.”

  A short silence ensued.

  “Have you ever gone parking before?” Becca asked after a few moments.

  He felt embarrassed in having to say no. “Sure.”

  “With whom?”

  “I don’t remember her name.”

  “Wow, she couldn’t have been special.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “So it was a complete waste of time.”

  He sighed. “I’ve never done this.”

  “I know. I don’t see you as a lover’s lane kind of guy. I’ve never done this before, either. Hard to believe, huh.”

  “Well, no. I mean, why would someone want to sit in a car on the side of the road with you is beyond me.”

  “You are.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “You can leave.”

  “I don’t know where the hell I am.”

  “Josh, you—” She paused and changed course. “I enjoyed this evening.”

  “So did I.”

  “Do you want to do this again?”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, geeze, don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

  “Sorry. I’d like that. Really, I’d like that.”

  “You don’t mind that we just sit here?”

  “Why would I mind?”

  She shrugged. “I mean—you don’t have any hopes do you?”

  “Of what?”

  She giggled. “You are something else, Bertram Leslie Martin Junior. It amazes me that you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “It amazes me sometimes.”

  “Seriously now, why not?”

  “Seriously now—I told you.”

  “Oh,” she detected a slight trace of anger to his answer so she let the matter drop. “Anyway, I…didn’t bring you here to do anything, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think we covered this subject on the way here.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound disappointed that I’m not disappointed.”

  “No, I’m not—well maybe a little.”

  “Okay, then let’s say I am greatly disappointed.”

  She laughed. “Wow, that’s convincing.”

  She straightened her legs out, and winced because her right thigh felt as though someone had punched her there and left the fist behind. She ignored it. “I’m glad Greg and I have our agreement.”

  “Your agreement—oh about you seeing other guys.”

  “Yes. But not guys. Guy.”

  “The one who meets your two stringent qualifications.”

  “Yes.”

  “The one you’re going to put the move on.”

  “Yes.”

  “The one you’re not sure will want you to put a move on him.”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens if he rejects you?”

  “Josh, look at me, how can he resist? So…now it’s your turn Mr. Martin. What would you do if I tried to take advantage of you?”

  “Ah, see, it’s different for a guy. We wouldn’t care.”

  “Who’s we? What about you?” She poked him with her finger.

  “I don’t think you would.”

  “Not an answer, buckaroo.”

  “No.”

  “Really? No?” She giggled. “The reason being?”

  “The same one you gave me. I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Touché. Well this was certainly a waste of time.”

  “You mean—”

  “Let’s talk about something else.” She rubbed her leg and stared at him in the dark. He looked out of the windshield. He seemed relaxed, not at all phased by her suggestive words. She thought at that moment that she wanted him very badly. And that thought made her uncomfortable.

  “So how long have you and Greg been going together?” he asked suddenly.

  “Fourteen months I think it is. But we’ve known each other a lot longer.”

  “And you just now found out he was queer?”

  “Gay.”

  “It took you fourteen months to find out he was happy?”

  “Josh, please.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I suspected. But—it didn’t matter.”

  “So why does it matter now?”

  “Gee you don’t listen. Let me review it with you: we both want the same thing. We both want boyfriends. Don’t you laugh. I want a real relationship. Don’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? You’re not sure? You want me to stop my search for you?”

  “I don’t see why not. You sure haven’t found anybody yet. It seems like a waste of time.”

  She voiced a frustrated grunt. “I’ve got to say that sometimes I think you’ve got cement up here instead of bone.” She tapped his head lightly. She laughed and her hand ruffled his thick curly hair. Her fingers lingered a moment to twirl his hair between them. “Love your hair.”

  “Really?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Yes. No one’s ever said that—well, except for my mom.” He relished Becca’s touch. He was aware of her gaze. Her perfume enveloped him. He was becoming aroused.

  Becca cleared her throat. The tension in the car was like a wall between them. Neither moved; neither gave in to whatever they may have been feeling.

  “Josh,” Becca said, “look at me.”

  She let her hand rest on his head and then it slid to the back of his neck. The creamy softness of her fingertips sent a chill along his spine.

  The light came on as Becca used her hand to turn his head toward her. She folded her hands demurely in her lap now. “What do you think of me? Or I should say do you think of me?”

  Bert smiled. “I do think about you.”

  Becca’s eyes gleamed. Leaning toward him, she said, “You are—”

  She did not finish. Headlights burst upon them, blinding them. The car coming down the track seemed to hesitate before proceeding. It stopped where the other car had been.

  “Oh, crap,” Becca said, as she turned off the light and slipped on her shoes.

  “What’s wrong?” Bert asked.

  “That’s my girlfriend, Barb.” Becca started the car as the light came on in the other car and the passenger door opened.

  Bert recognized the girl he had seen with Becca at the theater. She stood at the car door, watching Becca’s car.

  “Crap,” Becca said when the girl started walking toward them.

  “Becca?” Barb’s voice floated to them. The driver of her car got out, lit a cigarette, and watched them over the car’s roof. “Becca!” Barb bent over to look in the driver’s window. “Who are you with? That’s not Greg.”

>   “Hi, Barb,” Becca said flatly, like a child caught doing something wrong.

  Barb peered into the car, trying to see in the darkness who sat beside her friend. “You’re going to get it,” Barb said, “once Greg finds out. Turn the light on. I want to see who it is.”

  “Does it matter?” Becca said.

  “Yeah, let me see who he is.”

  “Barb, we’re going to leave.”

  Barb jogged around to the passenger side of the car and leaned into the window. “Oh my God. Him! Oh, you are in such trouble.”

  “Barb, cut it out.”

  “What were you guys doing here?”

  “Talking, that’s all.”

  “Sure you were. Oh, Becca, Greg’s gonna kill you.”

  “Only if he finds out.”

  “What’s your name?” Barb asked Bert.

  He was about to answer when Becca put the car in gear. “We’re leaving, Barb.”

  “Wait a minute, I won’t say anything. Chuck won’t either.”

  “We’re going, Barb.”

  “Becca, no, don’t let us run you off.”

  “Good night, Barb.” Becca eased the car forward.

  Barb stood back, staring at her with her hands on her hips.

  Becca gained the main road before speaking. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I can’t imagine what’s going to happen now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When my father finds out.”

  “Now you know why I don’t date. Fathers—black, white, yellow, red it doesn’t matter—they don’t want their daughters around me.”

  “Stop it, Josh.”

  “It’s true. You’re going to be in trouble with your father because of me.”

  “No, I won’t. I mean, yes, I’ll be in trouble with my father—but not just because of you.” She sighed. “I know some people can’t accept this—they couldn’t before. And I didn’t care before and I don’t care now.”

  “Before?”

  She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her. “Never mind. I’m not going to talk about that.”

  VIII

  They drove to Bert’s house where the light in the living room shone. Bert knew his mother awaited his return and a report of how his first date went.

  “Your mother is waiting up for you again,” Becca said.

  “Yeah. Let’s not stop right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t feel like going through her third degree.”

  “Oh, you get that too? My father interrogates me all the time.”

  “It’s not interrogation so much as she’s just—well, she can be a pain in the ass some times.”

  “All parents can be.”

  “My mom worries about me. She thinks I’m miserable because I don’t do anything and don’t have any friends here.”

  “You said you didn’t date. But you didn’t tell me you don’t have friends. So let’s fix that. Let’s call this a date and I’m definitely your friend now.”

  “Gee, that was easy. Uh…we can’t sit at this stop sign forever. Make a right.”

  Becca did and at the next stop sign she saw a large field that spread out in front of school at the upper end of the next street. She parked against the curb opposite the field, where houses lined the street; windows looked out at them.

  Becca said, “Wow, a nice big field to run around in. This must’ve been great to play on.”

  “I never had something like this as a kid.”

  “You didn’t grow up here?”

  “Nope. I lived in East Liberty.”

  “Ah, a city boy. So why did you move here?”

  “I was getting into trouble.”

  “Ah, a bad city boy.”

  “Well, not horribly bad—but my mom thought we should leave.”

  “So, are you still bad?”

  “No.”

  “Then she made the right decision.” She opened her door.

  “Where’re you going?” Bert asked.

  “Let’s go sit on the field. It looks so nice.”

  On a porch a few houses down from where they had parked, two people, illuminated by a porch light, sat listening smoking cigarettes.

  They walked nearly to the center of the wide expanse of field. The smell of freshly cut grass floated in the air. Becca started rubbing her leg. “Let’s sit.” She suddenly sat down on the grass, kicked off her shoes, and crossed her legs at her ankles. “My leg hurts, I can’t stand. Join me?” She patted the ground next to her.

  Bert took a seat beside her. The grass was cool. They were facing the houses that lined street opposite the field. The porch light on the one house had gone out. Bert figured the people were watching them.

  “Aren’t you afraid of grass stains?” Bert asked.

  “A gentleman would lay his jacket down for me to sit on.”

  “I’m not wearing one.”

  “Your shirt then.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you that well to sit around half-naked with you.”

  “Ah, that’s okay anyway. I can explain grass stains on my butt. It’s the stain on the back of my dress I’d have to worry about.”

  Bert laughed.

  “You have a nice laugh,” Becca said.

  “Thank you. You should hear me guffaw.”

  They sat in silence, enjoying the feel of the grass and the aroma of a late summer evening.

  “This is very nice, Josh. Thank you.” She leaned against him, and waited for his arm to encircle her, but it didn’t. She sighed heavily. “I like you, Josh.”

  “I like you too”

  “Ahem,” she said.

  “Ahem? Doesn’t that mean something—like you’re trying to get my attention or something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh…well, you have it.”

  She expressed herself with another frustrated grunt as her fingers squeezed his chin.

  “And that was for…?” he asked.

  “Apparently nothing.”

  “I’ve never talked to someone the way I talk to you,” Bert said after a short pause.

  “Your mother says you don’t talk at all.”

  “No. I don’t. But you seem to have the magic touch.”

  “Well, it’s because maybe I can’t joke with Greg. He’s got like a zero sense of humor. You on the other hand are great.”

  “It’s fun talking to you.”

  “Fun? Yeah.” Becca nodded. “Fun.”

  A few seconds of silence.

  “Are you, Josh?” Becca asked suddenly.

  “Am I what?”

  “Miserable.”

  “No.”

  “You’re something.”

  “Something, but not miserable.”

  “What then?”

  “I’m not happy I guess.”

  “Not happy? I can’t believe that. You’re always joking around.”

  “With you.”

  “So with other people you don’t joke around?”

  “I don’t hang around with anybody.”

  “So you’re unhappy alone?”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Why are you unhappy?”

  “Nothing’s changed here. Where I lived I didn’t get along with most the kids in my neighborhood because their parents thought I was some kind of freak.”

  “Oh get out of here.”

  “You think I’m exaggerating? You’re a beautiful girl, Becca. My God, people look at you and want to stare because you are so attractive. Imagine what it’s like to have people stare at you because they don’t like the way you look.”

  “How could they not like how you look? You’re gorgeous.”

  “Wow. Gorgeous—never been called that before.”

  “And, buckaroo, don’t let your head get too big. I had to say something after you called me beautiful and attractive.”

  “So I’m not gorgeous?”

  “Not even close.” S
he jabbed his arm with her fist.

  He grabbed his arm as if in great pain and laughed. Then he sighed. “Tonight, people looked at us wondered why were we together.”

  “Who cares?”

  “They you with a guy who’s got some nigger in him and they were surprised and curious—maybe even disgusted.”

  “Disgusted? I don’t think so. They were curious because they know Greg is my boyfriend. If I’m not with him, I’m either with Barb or with Gail. And your father was black.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your father a nigger?”

  “What?” Her words stunned him.

  “No,” Becca said, “he wasn’t. You’re half black—not that other word.”

  “You’re being kind. I’ve heard the other word. That’s why I haven’t bothered with girls. Not only do parents not want their daughters to date me, it was hard for me make friends with other guys. It’s like I have some kind of disease or something.”

  “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “Black girls thought I was too white, white girls thought I was too black.”

  “You were too dark for some, to light for others. You stopped trying. You gave up. You figured being part nigger—as you say—you were never going to find anybody. You didn’t care. Wow. What a waste. You missed out on a lot. I can’t believe there’s nobody for you. But even if there is somebody for you, you won’t find her, Josh. Not with your attitude.

  “You’ve got to drop the oh-woe-is-me attitude. You gotta give up on the nobody-likes-me-because-my-mother-is-white-and-my-father-was-black crap. You’re thinking you’re half-and-half. In the middle—don’t know which way to go, black or white. You stopped being you.”

  “Hey, you sound serious.”

  “I am serious, Bertram.”

  “Don’t be, I don’t like that.”

  “Then stop sounding so—I don’t know, so sorry for yourself. You are who you are, not what you are. You’re not black and you’re not white. You’re both. But most important, you’re you.”

  “Holy crap, Becca you sound like my mom.”

  “She’s a smart woman, then. You feel lonely ‘cause you don’t know who you are. And that’s because you’ve never tried to be you.”

  “Doctor Becca has spoken.”

  “Pretty good, huh?”

  “I feel like I should pay you for this session.”

  She tapped his shoulder with her finger now, emphasizing her words, “If you would just stop being so conscious of your outside and think about your inside, you’ll go places.”

  “Where? What places?”