MAUREEN
Turns out Barron is useful for something. He and his friends know where all the good parties are. After I get off my shift at the carnival, I meet up with them. Sometimes the parties are in smaller beach houses with tiki glasses and coolers, old smelly rentals filled with college boys who eat cereal right out of the box. Or in fancy houses with long winding driveways and sculptures of nude women flanking the porch, one nervous boy or bunny wandering around encouraging people not to break things or fall off balconies. I swipe free food and drinks and occasionally a few dollars when no one’s looking. The best parties are right on the beach, the spontaneous ones, where someone starts a bonfire and beer appears and it’s that magic again.
Like tonight. No one knows what time it is. The ocean is a beast. She roars and complains, and the salty air makes my hair all fancy. I let it loose, drape it over my shoulders and arms and lean forward. Flick my imaginary tail. I’m a mermaid, just like my mom used to call me. My little mermaid, she’d say, brushing my hair until it shined, clasping in little plastic shell barrettes to hold it off my face. Back when things were good.
I stare into the bonfire’s flames, trying to melt my mother from my mind.
“They say if you look close enough you can see every color of the rainbow in a fire,” I say. I’m talking to the boy next to me, even though I don’t know him. He seems startled I’ve broken the silence, and I smile slightly, but I still focus on the fire.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod, twist my hair off to the side and start braiding it. “I’ve found everything but green and purple.”
We both sit for a while, searching for those colors. Instead the fire spits orange and yellow and black snap pops.
“Maybe it depends on what burns,” he says. He digs into the sand and sifts the grains through his fingers.
Barron and his friends are down at the water’s edge, a bunch of untrained puppies daring each other to do stupid things. This boy is also friends with Barron, I know, but he seems different. Gentler somehow. He’s not interested in showing off, playing games, and I find his solitude strangely intriguing.
The fire warms my bare shoulders and my nose. I bury my feet under the sand and ripple my toes out.
“I’m Clay. Clay Bishop,” he says. He’s got long blond hair that he keeps tucking uselessly behind his ears, and from the way his legs are folded in front of him I can tell he’s pretty tall.
A girl plops down next to me, kicking sand up on my skirt, but I don’t say anything. I talked to her briefly before, when I was getting a beer from the cooler. She’d asked where I got my bracelet.
“You’re wanted down at the water,” she tells me now, slightly out of breath like she’d run all that way just to deliver the message.
“I’d go if you could tell me they even remember my name.”
She widens her eyes at me. She’s pretty—red hair and freckles all across her nose that I bet she hates to pieces but which make her seem dewy and sweet. She’s wearing a ruffled off-the-shoulder crop top that completes the farm girl look, but the lines under her eyes betray her. She’s not so innocent either. “They didn’t say your name.”
“Carnival girl?” I shrug to show it doesn’t really bother me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
“They can be such jerks. Don’t even listen to them.” She picks up a piece of driftwood and tosses it in the fire. “My friend Mabel has a mad crush on one of them, so I always get dragged down here. Right, Clay?” She sticks a toe out and nudges his thigh, but he just makes a noncommittal grunt. She’s got a thing for him. I can see it in the way she kind of leans toward him, but if Clay knows anything at all about it, he’s good at pretending otherwise.
“How do you two know each other?” I ask.
The girl laughs and tucks her leg under her. “You get to know all the Yacht Squats after a while.”
“Yacht Squats?”
“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “It’s a term we use...sorry, for all the folks who live down here in the summer. You know, the ones with houses and yachts.” She glances at Clay, tugs at her hair.
“Ouch,” I say.
Clay looks up. “I don’t own a yacht.”
She swats at him. “Oh please. Don’t act all wounded. You call us Townies.” To me, she adds, “Clay and I used to work together at Stony’s, over on the pier.” She gestures behind her, toward the ocean. “One summer. Until he got it out of his system.”
Clay raises his eyes teasingly. “I was trying to save up for my yacht, until my dad went and ruined it and bought me an airplane instead.” The girl loses it in a flurry of giggles. “No,” Clay continues, “what Tammy means to say is that I had crew.”
“Oh god, crew,” she says. “Like you’re already in the Ivy League.” She shoves him playfully, then thrusts her hand toward me. “Like he said, I’m Tammy.”
“Maureen,” I say, shaking her hand. “And as you may have figured out, I work at the carnival. Ten cents for your chance to take home a five-foot frog and see if he’s your prince.”
Tammy laughs, but Clay scrunches his face in disgust.
“Oh god, Yacht Boy, don’t tell me you’re one of those.” I kick sand at him. “It’s an honest living, you snob.”
“Not that.” He frowns and brushes the sand off his legs. “I just hate carnivals. I hate the rides. They make me sick.”
“He won’t even go on the Ferris wheel, can you believe it?” Tammy says. “The best ride there is.”
I have to agree with her there. There’s nothing like the very top of the Ferris wheel, that moment just before descending, when you can see everything and nothing at all. Feet dangling below you, the world in all directions. Outside the turning twisting machinery of the wheel, you could be flying.
“I’ll try not to hold it against you,” I say. “In fact, I know how you can make it up to me. My stomach’s growling. Let’s go get pizza.”
“Oh,” Tammy says. “I can’t leave Mabel. She’s down there by the water. She wants to go roller-skating, I think.”
I stand up, stretching.
“You could come with us,” she says. “Skating, I mean.”
“Nah, not my bag. But that’s cool. Clay will take me for pizza. Won’t you, Clay?”
When Clay stands up, too, Tammy’s face falls. Her eyes flick from us to the water.
“Oh, well, I guess it’ll be fine if we come right back...” I can tell she’s torn, but I also know her decision has already been made. She just wants to feel less bad about it.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I could eat a horse.”
We’ve all had too much to drink, but Tammy and Clay are way more gone than I am. Tammy’s giggling into her fist, swaying into me. I feel like she’s going to pull me down, and then we’d all be for shit. But it’s funny, to see her so messed up. To not care. We both surround Clay and start singing a Bee Gees song, screaming it at the top of our lungs. Someone on a dark balcony above us starts catcalling. We wave into the blackness.
“You’re going to get us arrested,” Clay says, which gets us both giggling again. He’s still carrying the pizza.
“Clay, you’re the best. Seriously,” I say.
“You just met me. You have no idea.”
“No, I totally know these things.”
“She totally knows,” Tammy agrees. “Can we just sit down here and eat that?”
“You’re a genius,” I say, and before Clay can protest we’re both on the curb in the parking lot of a hotel, grabbing at the box.
Tammy scoots over so he can sit next to her, but he chooses the other side of me, close enough that our legs are touching. I can feel Tammy’s eyes on us and I shift away from him, even though I like his warm weight, and busy myself with selecting a slice.
“God that smells good,” I say, and take a large, gooey bite. It is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I lick my fingers and lean back, staring up into the night sky. Even with the parking lot’s glaring lights, I can see so many stars.
Tammy needs to find her friend, so we go back to the beach, where it’s clear the party has died. The fire’s still raging, but only a handful of people are sitting around it. Some might even be passed out. Mabel is nowhere to be found, and Barron and his dopey friends are gone, too.
“Looks like it’s time to go home,” Clay says. He’s got his arm around me, and he’s still sipping out of the bottle of brandy he bought at the liquor store.
“Shit, she’s gonna be pissed.” Tammy paces the beach.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I say, tired and longing for my bed.
“I have to get home now. I need to make sure Mabel’s there.”
“You guys go,” I say. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
“No, we’ll walk you back first,” Clay says. “It’s on the way.”
We walk back mostly in silence. Clay’s in the middle, holding hands with both of us, but he keeps sending me these sideways grins like we’re in a 1950s diner sharing a milkshake. Tammy keeps tugging us ahead, clearly in a hurry to get home to Mabel. Or to get me away from Clay. I’m not sure which.
We stop at the gates of the fairgrounds, and I’m embarrassed at the thought of the two of them seeing where I live. “Well, bye,” I say. “It’s been fun.”
“We’ll see you soon, yeah?” Tammy’s wide eyes are now slitted, sleepy. She kisses me on the cheek. I’m taken aback by the sweet gesture.
“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I say.
“You okay?” Clay asks. His forehead is creased with concern and he’s looking at me like the dads at the carnival look at their kids who just tip over the top of the You Must Be This Tall to Ride measurement stick to ride the Whipper.
“I’m fine, Pops.” I poke him in the side. “Go home. Sleep it off.”
I watch them disappear, and once they’ve slipped into the shadows, I turn and walk the perimeter of the fence. In the back are the trailers.
Jacqueline isn’t home. Sometimes when she knows I’ll be gone she hangs out in Trina’s trailer, playing board games and smoking clove cigarettes. I flick on the light. Our room is a mess. Both beds unmade, clothes strewn everywhere. An empty box of pizza from the other night smells like grease, and I make a note to dump it in the big trash bin outside tomorrow morning. Oh, if someone like Clay could only see this now. The Yacht Squat.
I fish out my favorite T-shirt—a faded gray V-neck with a yellow moon man face that says Blame It On the Moon—and pull off my tank top. As I turn to put it in my drawer, I see a face peering in the window. His head dips down quickly. I throw on my T-shirt and whip outside after him.
He’s walking back toward his trailer, carrying a Super 8 camera under one arm. “Desmond,” I yell, and he spins around, stares at me with dead eyes. “Were you just watching me?”
“Of course not.” He’s wearing a Tasmanian Devil T-shirt, red and faded, the devil’s face scrunched up under his belt buckle. “Just making the rounds.”
“I saw you in the window.” I point at his camera. “Were you filming me?”
“Not worth the film,” he says, smirking, and all the lines in his dry, scarred face crinkle up like worn leather. “Maybe you should keep your curtains closed. People might get the impression you want them to look.”
He spits a squirt of tobacco juice. His eyes flick over my breasts, and it makes my back prickle. I consider kicking him in the crotch. There was a girl I knew back in Maryland who taught me some self-defense stuff. I remember her jaw set and hard as she demonstrated. Grab it as hard as you can and twist it. No hesitation. You’ve only got one chance.
“Go back to bed, little girl,” he says. Maybe it’s the drinks I had, or the way Desmond’s looking at me, like I’m small, like I’m nothing, but I want this fight. To punch back at him.
“You owe me money,” I say, sticking my chin up.
“What money?”
“Last week’s. You didn’t pay in full.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
“You mean you think I can’t prove it, right?” I walk up to him, stare him down. His eyes drop down and he spits again. This close, I can tell he’s been drinking. The smell of shitty stale beer. “Is that what you’re saying? How do you think Clyde would feel about this? What if Clyde found out you go around sticking your neck in all our trailer windows at night? Filming the girls getting dressed. What do you think he’d say about that?” My heart’s slamming against my chest but I stand my ground, waiting.
“You think you’re special, don’t you?”
“I want my money.”
Desmond’s eyes narrow and he grabs my arm. I try to pull away and he jerks me close. I can see the tobacco juice gurgling between his teeth and it makes me gag. “I paid you what you’re worth.”
“Excuuuse me! Hello? Is the fair still open?”
We both jump, turn. Desmond drops my arm, and I back away from him. Clay is standing nearby with Tammy, swaying like he is extra special drunk. He keeps his eyes on Desmond. “The fair? I want to ride on the roller coaster.” Clay makes this gesture with his hands, up and down imaginary hills. Tammy dissolves into nervous giggles and falls to her knees. How they got inside the gates is a mystery, but I am relieved to see them.
“Who the hell are you?” Desmond advances toward them and then stops, looking back at me and then again at them like he’s worried we’re going to pounce on him from both sides. “You kids need to get your drunk asses out of here.”
“They’re my friends,” I say. “And they’ll call the cops if you don’t leave me the hell alone.”
“I have no interest in you, you little bitch,” he says. “I have no time for this bullshit.” He turns and walks off toward his trailer.
“I want my money,” I call at the back of his head. “You goddamn pervert.”
We watch him until he slams the door behind him, and it’s not until then that I realize I’m holding my breath.
Clay is concerned. “Who is that guy?”
“My boss.”
“Did he hurt you?”
My arm still stings from his grasp, but I shake my head.
“Shit. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I can handle him.”
“We knew something was wrong and Clay said we needed to follow you to make sure you were okay.” Tammy says this with confidence. “Clay found a part of the fence back there that’s broken, so we were able to climb through.”
“Good job, Sherlock Holmes,” I say.
“But we were right,” Tammy says.
I can’t look at Clay, but I feel his eyes on me.
“That guy’s bad news. You need to quit,” Clay says.
“It’s my job.”
“Get another one.”
“Oh yeah. I’ll just polish up my résumé and send it around to a few law firms tomorrow.” I glare at him. “Doesn’t work like that, Clay. Different world.”
“It’s not that different.”
I think about telling him about those times I’d come home from school to find my mom and her friend Gwen passed out on the couch or so high they were chasing imaginary paper airplanes around the room. “Miles different. Whole planet different. Trust me. You don’t need to save me. I’m fine.”
“Well, you can’t stay here tonight at least. I’d be crazy worried,” Tammy says. “I have a sleeping bag. You can crash in my room. I insist.”
Tammy shouldn’t be asking strangers back to her place. We could rob her, piss all over her carpet. It’s been known to happen. But she links her arm through mine, like we’re best friends. Like we’re going to skip all the way back to her place and exchange Care Bears.
The famous Mabel sits up on the couch and glares at Tammy as we walk into the apartment. Mabel is the kind of bunny that thinks she’s really hot, but she’d actually be a lot hotter if she laid off the orange makeup and thick mascara.
“Where were you?” she huffs at Tammy, all wounded eyes and pouty lips, crossing her arms at her chest. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m sorry.” Tammy sits down on the couch next to her and attempts to give her a hug. “I thought we were going to be right back. I didn’t realize—”
Mabel cuts her off and looks at me. “Who are you?”
“Maureen,” I say, giving her a cool stare back. I’m in no mood for a petty fight with this bunny after my encounter with Desmond. I feel like I can still smell him on me, and I try not to shudder.
Tammy’s rattling on. “Maureen and Clay and I went to get pizza, we were hungry, and it took longer and I couldn’t believe everyone had already cleared out when we got back.”
Mabel peels her eyes from mine, as if not interested in the battle either. “Oh rad,” she says scathingly to Tammy. “I should’ve known it had something to do with Prince Clay.”
Tammy flushes. But to her credit, she ignores Mabel’s jab. She sets her purse down and sits back. “Well, how was your night? Anything good happen?”
Her move works. Mabel drops the mean act for a moment, flinging her hair back behind her, and turns on a gushy voice. “Ted and Barron tried to throw me in the ocean.”
“No!” Tammy seems to play her game.
Mabel nods. “They did.” She giggles. “It was kind of cute, actually. I think Ted likes me, maybe, but I don’t know. Like, after that they all wanted to go roller-skating but I was like no way because by the time we all got down there it would be like last skate and I’d be done with that.”
“So you guys exchanged promise rings and he gave you his jacket and you swore on your momma’s best pie pan that you’d stay true to one another forever and ever?” I can’t help myself. I even manage to smile through Mabel’s cold stare down.
“Who the hell are you? I’ve asked several times, but not gotten a real answer.” She looks over at Tammy, who stands up, halfway between us, unsure what to do to make it all better.
“I told you—”
“No, I mean, why is she here, Tammy?”
Tammy sputters.
I save her. “I needed a place to stay for the night and Tammy said I could crash on her floor. No worries, I’ll be gone before your pretty head gets up in the morning.” I follow Tammy into her room before Mabel decides to hurl something heavy at my head.
When I wake up the next morning, a Duran Duran poster is staring down at me, judging. My brain is pulsating in my head. It’s nine o’clock. I’ve got an internal clock. It’s my magic trick. Tell me what time you want me to wake up and I’ll get it within five minutes.
Tammy’s place is not a dump, but it’s nothing glamorous either. She’s got the bigger of the two bedrooms, given her steady job at the manufacturing plant about fifteen miles from here, and pays ten dollars more a month for that privilege. Her room is decorated in various shades of neon, and there are so many clothes and shoes spilling out of her closet it looks like she’s been ransacked.
The fair opens at noon on Sundays, early bird special for the bratty kids, but I have to get back to help Clyde start his cleaning at ten.
Tammy hears me rummaging around and rolls over on her bed, props her head up with her arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep. I need to get going.”
Tammy yawns, stretches and squints down at me. “I can see about getting you a job at my work,” she says. “If you want.”
“Thanks for letting me crash. I owe you one.”
“I love your hair,” she says. “I’ve always wanted long hair, but I can never seem to grow it beyond a certain length.”
“It’s a big pain to deal with. I often think about shaving it all off.”
“No! You can’t do that. It’s so perfect. Here, wait.” She gets out of bed, goes over to her dresser and starts rummaging around the top drawer. “I got this years ago, and it never worked.” She’s wearing a T-shirt and men’s boxers and this all feels very intimate, like I’ve known her my whole life, like we are children up early after a sleepover party. I can tell Tammy’s the kind of girl that has seven best friends forever and would do anything for them. They’d gun the engine and she’d get closer to the middle of the road to make sure they had better aim when they plow over her. I’m not the type to get that close to anyone, but I admire it. And maybe sometimes envy it.
She turns around, holding a piece of fabric in her hands triumphantly. “Try this.”
“What is it?”
Tammy comes over, kneels down on the floor and fixes it on my head, looking serious. I stick my tongue out at her, but she ignores it, and I feel self-conscious. “Okay, check it out,” she says, sitting back on her heels.
I get up, my body unhappy with me. I need to pee, my bones ache, my mouth is dry. In the dim light of morning I see myself in Tammy’s mirror, her scarf cradling the top of my head like a headband, the ends of it dangling below my shoulders.
“It looks so good, doesn’t it?” Tammy says. “Take it. You should have it.”
“I’m not going to take your scarf.” I slide it off my hair. It’s silk, sort of paisley, and beautifully soft. I fold it up in my hands.
“No, please take it. It just sits in my drawer. I can’t wear it. I look like I’m ready to clean my house, but on you it’s...exotic. Bohemian.”
I laugh. “Well, that’s me, I guess. A wandering hippie.”
“No, no. Oh, I’m getting everything wrong.”
“Thank you,” I say with a rush of gratitude. “I’ll keep it forever.”
“Oh, stop making fun.” She blushes.
“No really. They’ll have to bury me in it.”