Becca Read online

  “What is it with you?”

  After a brief silence, she countered with, “When’s the last time we kissed?”

  “Huh? Well, last week.”

  “All last week we saw each other what, five times? And we kissed only once.”

  “So?”

  “Once… See, Greg, that’s where I’m worried.”

  “You’re worried we don’t kiss?”

  “I’m worried that we don’t seem to want to kiss.”

  Greg’s arm snaked across her shoulders and he pulled her against him. She slid easily on the vinyl of the big front seat of the Chrysler. “Becky.”

  “My father,” she said flatly.

  “My father and mother call me that.”

  “That’s your name.”

  “I prefer Becca. I’ve told you that a million times.”

  “You have?”

  “Never mind, Greg.” She looked into his eyes. His mouth formed that wonderful smile she loved. Her head rested against his muscular arm and she waited; her lips slightly agape, for him to do what she wanted, but did not expect.

  His mouth came crashing down on hers. Awkward and forceful, his kiss lacked emotion and sincerity. She crushed her lips against his with equal force; her tongue went out, exploring his mouth. She turned slightly so that her breast brushed against his fingertips, inviting his touch. Her one hand fell to his thigh, her fingertips brushing the front of his pants. He did not respond to either her invitation or her aggression.

  He pulled out of the kiss and smiled, as he brushed some hair from her eyes. “There. Now we’ve kissed.”

  “Wow, thanks,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere. She wanted nothing more than to get out of that car.

  Josh was right. She and Greg did not make a good couple. She was not his type. He was definitely not hers. Their relationship was a sham. She was not happy, and Greg probably was not because he seemed to be merely going along with this arrangement because his father expected him to. Keeping up this façade would be difficult at best.

  “So, are we straight now?” Greg asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Something tells me we’re not.”

  “We are.” She began rubbing the sore spot on her leg.

  She looked at her house. No lights shined on the first floor, but her father sat in his chair in the dark, his pipe filling the room with the pleasant aroma of Sir Walter Raleigh Aromatic.

  “What’s wrong?” Greg’s fingers turned her face to him.

  “Nothing. My leg hurts.”

  “What did you do to your leg?”

  “Nothing. It just hurts.”

  Greg’s hand found her thigh. “Where?”

  “Here,” she said and guided his fingers to a spot on the outside of her thigh that had been annoying her for the last month, but which flared up tonight—probably because all the dancing she’d done.

  Greg’s firm fingers kneaded her thigh. He touched the spot and she winced. “Sorry.”

  “No, that’s okay. It feels better when you do that.”

  His fingers continued their ministrations. He took no opportunity to move away from the spot. “So,” he said after a couple of minutes, “feel better?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She didn’t feel better; the dull ache persisted. She had had muscle strains from cheerleading, but this was different. The pain radiated from her thigh to her ankle and into her hip and pelvis.

  Greg kissed her gently. She accepted his lips and parted hers again but he was finished.

  “What’s wrong?” Greg asked.

  “I’d better get inside,” she said.

  “Sure,” Greg said and got out and opened her door. He walked her up to the porch. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Greg stepped away from her, “We’re okay, aren’t we?”

  “Sure, Greg.” That was a lie. They had never really been okay.

  He reached out to her and she went into his arms mechanically and allowed him to kiss her with his mock passion before bidding her good night and getting into his car.

  She went inside.

  II

  “Hello, Becky,” her father’s voice floated to her on the aroma of Sir Walter Raleigh.

  “Hi,” she said cautiously and stopped at the foot of the stairs.

  “Enjoy your date?” Bill left his chair and walked into the hall.

  “Yes.”

  “Greg really likes you, you know.” His breath smelled of alcohol.

  “I know.”

  “Arthur tells me Greg can’t stop talking about you.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Becca knew her father was leading up to something.

  “Do you like him a lot, Becky?”

  “Yes. Dad, I’m to my room.” She started up the stairs.

  “Do you use protection?”

  The question stunned her. “What?” She turned to face him.

  Bill tapped the stem of his pipe gently against his teeth. “I asked if you used protection.”

  She felt a flush come over her face. She was angry and humiliated. “We…we don’t do anything.”

  “You don’t do anything?”

  “No.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

  “I just want to make sure that there won’t be any…accidents.”

  “Accidents? Dad, we’re not doing anything.”

  “Okay, Becky, I know you don’t want to talk about what you and Greg do, but apparently he doesn’t mind.”

  “What has he been saying?”

  “Greg has told Arthur that you and he are really serious and that—well that you two have been together. Do you know what I mean by that? By being together?”

  She nodded. Her anger stole her words.

  “He’s lying?” Bill asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would he lie about something like that?”

  “I don’t know. Ask him.”

  “Becky, really…I understand.” He paused. “Greg’s not doing as well in college as he should be, and when Arthur learned of what’s been going on he asked me to…well, Becky, he asked me to tell you to…cool it.”

  “Greg’s lying.” Her voice sounded heavy and tired.

  “So you’re telling me you and Greg have done nothing? Well, okay, even if that’s true, Arthur feels that Greg is losing his focus.”

  “Losing his focus? Because of me?”

  “I’m only passing on what Arthur said.” He paused. “Frankly, he’s concerned…considering what’s happened before.”

  Becca fought tears. “Why does it matter now?”

  “He doesn’t want the same thing to happen.”

  “What ‘thing’ is that, Dad? Oh, I know…but trust me, he has nothing to worry about. His son hasn’t touched me. Now you go ask Arthur to ask his son why he hasn’t touched me. Tell him to ask Greg why he lied to him.”

  Bill adjusted his glasses, “I’m not sure who to believe, but if you and Greg are having sex, then you need to restrain yourself.”

  “Restrain myself? If we were doing it, why don’t you tell Greg to restrain himself? Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m sure Arthur’s had a similar talk with Greg. Arthur’s wanted Greg to date someone else, but he’s let Greg make his own decisions and…well we’re friends and he’s been reluctant to suggest Greg not see you because of that friendship. But now he’s concerned.”

  “So why wasn’t this a concern before? He knew about…” She nodded slowly. “I know he and Sheila didn’t like me because of my past, but they went along with this arrangement because you wanted Greg to date me to keep me straight—right? And Greg was happy so they kept quiet. Then when Greg tells them this story they realize the mistake they made in allowing their son to date a slut.”

  “Becky!”

  “What’s wrong, Dad? You’ve used that word before when I was with—” her sob stopped the rest of her words.

 
; “Somebody’s not telling the truth here.”

  “You think it’s me.”

  “Quite frankly, yes. Why would he lie, Becky? Tell me why would he lie?”

  “I’m not his type!” She spun away from her father and ran out the door. He shouted at her as she ran down the walk and jumped into her car.

  III

  She pulled into the gas station, didn’t stop at the pumps, and parked next to the building. Bert took his feet off the desk and went outside. The girl got out, slammed the door, and flicked her hair out of her eyes.

  “Hello,” Bert said.

  “Hello.” She was not smiling, and Bert thought she looked angry or sad. “I want to use your phone if that’s okay.”

  “It’s okay, but, alas, I don’t have a phone.”

  “You don’t have a phone? Why don’t you have a phone?”

  “It’s getting replaced. It broke.”

  “How do you break a phone?”

  “Don’t have a clue. It just stopped working. No dial tone.”

  “Ever think of paying the bill?”

  “Hardy har har. We’ll have a phone tomorrow.”

  “So what good are you to me?”

  “Obviously I’m no good at all.”

  “Totally useless.”

  “Yes. I should be ashamed of myself.”

  “Oh, shut up, will you?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Seriously.”

  Bert remained silent as the girl looked around. “There’s a phone booth there,” she said, nodding at the restaurant next door. “And now I’m going to ask you if you have a dime and you’re probably going to tell me that you don’t have any change.”

  Bert said nothing.

  “Hey, you,” the girl poked him with her finger, “Answer my question. I asked you if you had a dime.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  She sighed in frustration. “Stop this, okay. Just stop this.”

  Her irritation was genuine and Bert reached into his pocket and pulled out a dime. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” she took the coin and walked over to the phone booth.

  Bert checked the time. Eleven o’clock, time for him to close. He took the clipboard and went out to the pumps to record the meters. While there, he could not help but overhear the girl in a heated exchange with someone on the telephone. He finished reading the pumps, turned them off, and started carrying the oilcans into the storage room. He came out to see her standing beside her car. She was rubbing her leg.

  “You’re closing?” the girl asked.

  “You’re very observant.”

  She smirked. “You know, I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”

  “Not in the mood for what?”

  “This. What we do.”

  “What do we do?”

  “This…I don’t know why we talk this way.

  “We always talk this way.” When she didn’t respond, Bert asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ah, it’s nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh, so you’re calling me a liar too? I’m sorry, Josh. I’m having a bad night.”

  Bert turned off the station’s lights.

  “So, what now?” the girl asked, standing in the doorway.

  “Well, this is where I walk out of the office, lock the door, and go home.”

  She looked around. “Where’s your car?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “How do you go home?”

  “I walk.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because it’s easier than running since there’s a rather long hill—”

  “Here we go again.” She sighed. “I meant why don’t you have a car?”

  “I don’t need one.”

  “Really? Now it’s my turn to say I don’t believe you. You said you go to the movies.”

  “I do. I walk.”

  “And if you don’t go to the movies?”

  “I don’t do anything else.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Mr. I Don’t Do Anything. You should go out. It might help your disposition.”

  “My disposition? What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s lousy.”

  “And I suppose you go out a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, going out hasn’t seemed to help you.”

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “Absolutely. And yet, you keep coming back.”

  “I’ll stop.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “Would you? Seriously…would you?”

  Bert saw the look in her eye. She was serious. “Well…I wouldn’t want you to get a reputation.”

  “I already have a shitty reputation, buckaroo.” She shrugged. “I don’t care, really. Besides, we’re not a couple.”

  “We’re nothing. Now you and what’s his name, Greg? You’re something.”

  At the mention of her boyfriend’s name, the girl’s face went cold for a moment, but she recovered and rejoined the banter. “I thought you said he and I weren’t a couple.”

  “I said you didn’t make a good couple.”

  “So why are we something? You said we were something.”

  “Well, what I meant was, at least you and Greg have something.”

  “Versus you and I have nothing.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

  “We’re nothing.” She looked at him through some hair that had fallen across her eyes. She brushed it aside.

  Bert watched a car slow down on the boulevard as if to turn into the station. He waved it on. There was a Sunoco down the road—a station the girl would have had to pass on her way here. She could have stopped there and used a phone. He was glad that she did not.

  “Well, look, I’d love to stand here and chat with you, but I have to be going,” Bert said.

  “Oh, yeah, like you have so much to do…people to see, et cetera. Okay, go. Good bye.” She got into her car, smiled sadly, backed away from the building, pulled to the exit, and stopped. She leaned across and opened the passenger door.

  “Get in,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” Bert said, “I’m only fifteen minutes away from my house.”

  “I want some coffee. Do you want some?”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Cut it out. So you’re not going to get in my car?”

  “Can I trust you?”

  She nodded. “No. Not at all. Get in please.”

  Bert got into the car and closed the door. The girl’s perfume suddenly engulfed him.

  She put the car in gear, pulled out onto the boulevard, and said nothing for a minute. “I feel like talking to someone, Josh. I hope you don’t mind…and then I’ll take you home.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m weird, but I…just feel like I want to talk to you and not some complete stranger.” She watched him look out the passenger window.

  “Like we really know each other,” Bert remarked.

  “You’re not a complete stranger,” the girl said, “and I enjoy talking to you. That was flattery, you can smile.”

  Bert smiled and glanced at her. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  “Wow, please don’t sound too excited there.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to that.”

  “To what?”

  “Flattery.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Was that flattery?”

  “Yes I suppose it was. You’ve never had a girl flirt with you?”

  “No flattery, no flirtery”

  She smiled. “Now that’s also hard to believe. I mean…I would think a lot of girls would have flirted with you. I mean, I can see why.”

  “Isn’t that flirting, right there with what you said?”

  “That’s not flirting, that’s a compliment. This is flirting: so, uh, Josh, do you want to come up to my place and see my etchings? That’s flirting.�
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  He smiled. “You have etchings?”

  She giggled. “I don’t even know what they are. So…answer the question.”

  “What question? Oh, about going to your place to see your etchings?”

  “No—sheesh—about a lot of girls flirting with you.”

  “I didn’t know that was a question.”

  “Oops, you’re right. Forget about it.”

  They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, each staring out of the windshield as if neither wanted to look at the other.

  “What about Alexander?” the girl asked suddenly.

  “The Great? A ruthless barbarian.”

  “Huh?”

  “Alexander the Great was a military genius but a ruthless barbarian.”

  “Holy cow, Josh. I wanted to know what you thought of the name. Does it have character?”

  “Yes it does. I like that name. Alexander.”

  “I like that name, too. May I call you Alexander?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  They crossed over the Allegheny River and turning right at the light on the other side of the bridge.

  “Where’re we going?” Bert asked.

  “You nervous? I’m not kidnapping you, don’t worry.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you did. You’d never get a ransom.”

  “Aw crap, then this was a goddamned waste of time.” She giggled and started rubbing her thigh, then stopped because she knew it was drawing attention to her. “I might as well drop you off right here and be done with you.”

  They pulled into the Eat ‘n’ Park restaurant parking lot. “Okay, after the coffee you’re free to go,” the girl said.

  “I appreciate that. So, is the coffee better here than at the restaurant next to the gas station?”

  She did not answer him and they walked to the entrance, where Bert reached around her to open the door.

  “Booth or counter, honey?” a waitress asked the girl as they walked inside.

  “Booth,” she said, nodding at one in a corner.

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute,” the woman said to Bert.

  “Oh, he’s with me,” the girl said.

  The woman seemed unsure and then turned her back and walked them to a booth where she handed them both a menu.

  The girl ordered coffee and Bert asked for a Coke. Then they sat in silence for a few moments. Bert drummed his fingers on the table and then looked at them. They were dirty, and it was then that he became self-conscious of the smell of gasoline. He looked around and saw some diners avert their eyes.