MAUREEN
This is my new life, walking arm in arm with Clay Bishop to a house party at the beach. It’s one of those houses with a mile-long driveway, and as we approach we’re greeted by a giant metal sculpture, hideous but probably as expensive as a car. Its long sticks of metal protrude upward like fingers, and I have this weirdly satisfying image of drunk kids falling out of the second-story window and impaling themselves on it.
“I’m glad you’re here. With me,” Clay says, brushing back my hair from my shoulder to kiss it. He’s been extra sweet these past few weeks, after having apologized for the way he’d acted at the restaurant, whipping out all the fancy things he’d learned in his psychology class about his “repressed resentment” of his father. I’d wanted to tell him he can’t even begin to know what real problems are, but that would’ve meant telling him the Sad Story, and I’m not ready to let Clay peek behind that curtain.
It’s a perfect summer night and we’re heading up this crazy perfect lawn with tropical-looking flowers and plants, and the thumping bass of the music seems to match my heartbeat. When we get inside, the party is already in full mode, people in clusters along the walls, talking and holding beers in red Solo cups, laughing.
“How are we going to find Tammy?” I ask Clay, but he’s already pushing through like he’s been to this house millions of times and who knows, maybe he has. I follow him through a living room, snake around into a smaller den-like area in the back, where a bunch of people are playing with expensive-looking sailboat replicas, their beer bottles leaving sweat rings of condensation on the wood end tables. Clay leads me through double doors to a deck out back where I immediately spot Mabel, her sometimes-boyfriend, Ted, Barron and a few others. Tammy’s there, too, off to the side, talking close with a shorter boy wearing one of those glow bracelets around his wrist.
Clay heads over to Barron and his other toady friends, but I hang back behind him. Barron isn’t exactly happy that I dumped him for Clay. They all nod at each other, and even though I know Clay doesn’t really like them—even though he’s mocked them several times to me—there he is, completing the circle, all of them with their expensive watches, Coppertone tans and turned-up collars. But just as I’m growing resentful, he turns, winks and gestures for me. I reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m going to say hi to Tammy, be right back,” I say, and he whispers hot in my ear, slow, suggestive.
“Don’t be too long.”
And just like that the world’s righted itself again for a moment.
I come up behind Tammy and tweak her side. She jumps, then hugs me, drips a little of her drink down my back. “You made it,” she says, then pulls me over to the boy. “This is my friend Luke.”
He’s smiling at me, but it’s not real real, and he keeps glancing at Tammy in a way that makes me think I’ve interrupted his moves. I make a note to yell at her later for not noticing he’s into her.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to them. “I’m going to find a bathroom.”
I push back inside, wandering through the house. I follow a winding staircase up, where the music grows fainter and the air cooler. The bathroom door is closed, and when I knock someone inside yells, “Busy!” I step across the hall into an expansive bedroom with a fireplace. Above the bed is a painting of a naked lady lying under a tree, her curves exaggerated, hair tumbling behind her.
On the mantel opposite, I spot a small mermaid statue. She’s sitting on a ceramic rock pedestal, waving at me with a delicate hand. I pick her up. Her wavy blond hair feels like corn silk, her scales glittery, painted metallic. I have a secret for you, baby, my mom used to whisper to me, back when things were okay. When she still tucked me in. I’m not really your mom. Your real mom is a mermaid, she’d say, knowing I’d dream about it that night, the soft coolness of deep water, the castles under the sea.
I set the statue carefully in my purse and zip it shut.
Downstairs in the kitchen, there’s a huge spread of food worthy of a wedding—a cheese plate, piles of fruit, crackers, fancy cured meats. It looks so untouched, and for a moment I imagine it’s mine, all of it. The mermaid queen in her castle. I select several pieces of cheese and some meat, taking a handful with me.
I continue to wander through the house, but the other two bathrooms I find are also occupied. As a last resort I try the basement. The music’s originating from here, and I feel like I’ve entered one of those dance clubs that start going at midnight. Now I know where Luke got his glow bracelet from, because everyone down here is wearing them, dark silhouetted bodies wrapped in rings of neon pink, yellow, orange, dancing under black lights. I slide around them, toward a back room that looks lit by a normal light, which I hope is a bathroom. But it’s a utility room with a sink and a beer keg. On the other side of the room, three boys sit at a card table and a bunch of people circle them. They get quiet, then shout, then get quiet again. I peer over a girl’s shoulder and see they are tossing dice. There’s a pile of money on the table that seems dangerous to just leave out in the open.
The girl in front throws some money in the ring and then centers herself, putting the two dice in the cup. She tosses it, and her boyfriend groans.
“Lost again. That’s it, Bernadette.”
One of the guys sitting down catches my gaze. “Wanna play?”
I shake my head.
“Come on. You’re feeling lucky, aren’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Follow your destiny.”
Destiny. The word slides over me, inviting, like the guy has put his arm around me, drawing me close. The boy with Bernadette nods, waves me in. “Come on, go for it.”
Bernadette agrees. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe you can take some of Mike Ryan’s money from him.” Their confidence in me pushes me forward, settles between my shoulders.
“Roll anything higher than eight and you get your money back,” says Mike Ryan, his hat on backward. “Pairs wins two-to-one.” I can’t figure out the odds quickly enough, though I suspect they aren’t very good.
Still I hear myself saying, “Okay,” and the crowd cheers, egging me on. They shuffle out of the way and I find myself at the head of the table. I fish out a dollar from my purse.
“Five’s the minimum,” Mike says when I try to hand it to him. I flush, embarrassed, but now everyone’s waiting, and I can feel their energy. It’s like being at an outdoor concert, pressing your way to the front, feeling the driving beat of the music and the vibe of the crowd and feeling alive, ready to tackle anything, so I get caught up in it, reach back in my wallet and pull out a five.
One of the other guys hands over the cup, and I close my eyes and shake it, think about all the times I played Yahtzee with my grandfather, the way the rattling dice always seemed so satisfying. I throw them. Destiny.
I hear a quick intake of breath from someone, and then I open my eyes. I’ve rolled two ones. I breathe out. From what they said, I doubled my money.
“Snake eyes,” Mike says, slapping his hand on the table. The people around me start shouting. Bernadette throws me a high five and kisses her boyfriend.
“Well, hot damn. You are lucky,” someone behind me says.
“What’s snake eyes?” I ask, but to my surprise Mike is already counting out from the pile of cash.
Bernadette squeezes my arm. “Snake eyes is ten-to-one. You’re wiping him out. It’s about time.”
Mike hands me a bunch of bills, which I gather clumsily. Bernadette and her boyfriend are bumping me with their hips in a drunken dance. I throw my head back and laugh, swept away by the giddy feeling.
But Mike’s all business. “Wanna try again?”
“No,” I shout. “No. I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”
Clay and his friends are still where I left them, at the edge of the deck. “Clay, you’ll never guess.” I open my palm to show him the money. Everyone else stops talking and stares at it. “I won, can you believe it? Snake eyes.” He’s peering down at me, his eyes a bit glassy, and I wonder if he’s been getting high while I’m gone. Is Barron acting fishy? Palming something behind his back? But I’m too excited to care. “Fifty dollars,” I say. “One roll. It was so easy.”
“Oh shit, snake eyes?” Ted asks admiringly. “I’ve never rolled that. Thought Mike Ryan rigged those dice, to be honest.”
Mabel glares at Ted and moves closer to him. But Barron nods, catching my eye, and now I can see he’s got a joint cupped in his palm. A mossy sweet smell hovers in the air. “How cute,” he says slowly, taking a hit. “Maybe you can treat the sword-swallower to dinner one night. Or I know—the tattooed man? All your carnival freaks—I mean, friends.”
Mabel cackles, and the blood rushes to my ears. I think of something Jacqueline told me, our first week in Opal Beach. Don’t let the sunshine fool you into thinking you belong here.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m drowned out by a yell from inside. There are murmurs and shouts, a tidal wave building, and then I hear it more clearly. “Cops!”
“Let’s go,” Clay says, grabbing my arm and pulling me forward.
Barron smashes his joint on the edge of the railing and flicks it into the night sky, where the embers sputter like dud fireworks.
Everyone’s rushing off the deck, pushing and shoving their way out of the house. Clay’s found Tammy, and he’s guiding us like we’re his toddlers at a busy amusement park. As we head down the deck stairs I can see the blue and red dancing off Mabel’s hair like Christmas lights.
“Jesus, Clay, chill out,” I say, shaking him off as we get down to the yard. A plastic cup falls from the balcony above, just missing us, splattering warm beer on the deck.
“You don’t understand,” he says. “They’re looking for someone to—” He stops, his face changing, and I turn and see a police officer standing there, hands on hips, his radio crackling. Clay steps in front of me and Tammy like a shield.
“Can I see some ID, son?”
“Certainly, Officer.” Clay takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slides out his license smoothly. Beside me, Tammy’s frozen.
The policeman uses his flashlight to check it. “Bishop?” he says, looking up at him. “Related to Phillip?”
“Yes, sir. He’s my father.”
The policeman taps the ID on his fingers, then hands it back to Clay. “What about you two?” he asks, nodding at Tammy and me.
“They’re with me, sir. We were just leaving.”
He nods again. I can see him thinking, wrestling with something. I realize I’m holding my breath. “Okay, get out of here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Clay says, turns, grabs my arm again and propels us out toward the bay.
“Hold up,” the officer calls. We stop. I feel my heart flutter. “Tell your dad we say thank you for his donation to the Police Support Fund.”
“Of course,” Clay says carefully. “He’ll be happy to hear it.”