I CAN’T BELIEVE I hit her. I mean really. I hit her. Vicks. In the face. Pow! It was like I was in a comic book. Pow to the jaw! Stars flying!
Okay, fine, there were no flying stars.
But it felt good. Both getting the anger out—and knowing how much my forgiveness mattered. How much I mattered.
Anyway, it’s hard to be angry at her for hitting on Marco when I know how upset she was about breaking up with Brady. It’s hard to see people as bad when you understand their reasons, I guess.
And maybe friends, even real friends, make mistakes.
Vicks and I are lying on our stomachs on the king-size bed watching HBO on volume ten to drown out the hum of the pounding rain, when there are three loud knocks on the door of the suite.
“Excellent,” Vicks says, hitting mute on the remote control. “Hope they sent up steak sauce.”
I slip off the bed, pad over to the door, and ask, “Who is it?” I look through the peephole, expecting our waiter, Eli. Or if not Eli, someone dressed like a pirate.
It’s not Eli. It’s Jesse. And her face is red, her eyes are slit, and she is scowling.
Uh-oh. I quickly open the door.
She pushes past me with three soft drinks between her hands and a bag of chips balanced on top of them. “Thanks a lot,” she mutters and then dumps the food on the coffee table in the living room.
“For what?” I ask.
“For what?” she mimics. She drops into one of the red velvet chairs. “For taking off! What happened to you guys? Where did you go? I went to get snacks and I come back and you’re gone!”
Vicks turns off the bedroom TV and relocates to where the food is. She claims the couch and rips open the bag of chips. “We left you a note,” she says and then pops one in her mouth. “Why did you get barbecue? Didn’t they have salt and vinegar?”
“Didn’t you see the note?” I squeak. I point to the side table where it’s sitting in the exact same place I left it.
Jesse’s arms are now crossed in front of her chest. “How could I have seen it from outside the door?”
“Why didn’t you come inside?” I ask.
“Because I don’t have a room key!”
Oh.
“I was standing out there knocking, like an idiot,” she says, her voice getting higher and higher with every sentence, “and no one was answering. So then I thought you couldn’t hear me so I knocked louder and then I thought maybe you went out for a few minutes. So I sat by the door. And waited. And then I went downstairs to ask for an extra key, but they wouldn’t give me one. So I called upstairs and left you a message—”
I spot the flashing red light on the phone.
“—where I told you I would be waiting in the gift shop so come and get me. Which you didn’t. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Thanks for ditching me.”
“We’re so, so sorry,” I say quickly, walking to her side. “We didn’t mean to ditch you. Vicks wanted a steak—”
“You went for food? When I was getting food?”
“We’re sorry, we’re sorry, can you just relax?” Vicks asks.
That was probably not the best thing to say, because Jesse picks up a Coke and throws it at her, narrowly missing her head. The can lands with a thud on the carpet.
Whoa. I think someone may need a little trip to my therapist, Dr. Kaplan.
“Are you crazy?” Vicks shrieks.
The three of us stare at one another—me and Vicks at Jesse, and Jesse at Vicks. It’s some sort of showdown.
“I punched Vicks in the face,” I say.
Jesse turns and looks at me blankly, apparently unable to understand what I have just said.
“It’s true,” Vicks says, putting her hand to her jaw. “She did. I told her to. Do you want to punch me too? Or did you just want to lob the Diet Sprite at me now?”
Jesse has the grace to look embarrassed.
“Your loss,” says Vicks. “One-time-only offer.”
“Vicks wanted me to express my anger,” I explain.
Jesse gets up out of her chair. “Maybe…maybe I need to express my anger too.”
Vicks puts up her barbecue-stained hand. “Too late. Offer expired.”
“Fine, I’ll just stay mad at you,” Jesse says. She sits back down. “Cheater,” she mutters.
“Well, guess what?” Vicks says. “I no longer have a boyfriend to cheat on. I broke up with Brady.”
Shock registers on her face. “You did? When?”
“Last night.”
“Why?” Jesse blinks repeatedly.
“Because it wasn’t working. I don’t want to be that girl.”
“What girl? The girl with the great boyfriend?”
“No, the girl who chases a guy when he couldn’t care less and makes an ass of herself.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Are you—”
A double knock from outside interrupts her.
“Room service!” a man calls.
I jump to open the door, and a guy in red pants, knee-high boots, and a black pirate hat tilted rakishly on his head rolls a white linen–covered table into the living room. On it are three silver place settings with matching coverings. The scent of red meat makes my mouth water.
He wheels the food in. “Just leave the tray outside and someone will pick it up.”
I sign for it and add a 25 percent tip.
“Thank you.” I close the door behind him.
“What did you get?” Jesse asks.
“Three steaks. One for each of us.”
“Oh. That was—”
The lights go out. Along with the sound of the TV and the hiss of the air conditioner.
I scream.
“It’s just a power failure,” Vicks tells me. “Because of the rain.”
The room is black. I look at the red numbers on the clock to get my bearings—it must be backed up by batteries—and then slowly make out my surroundings. There’s the couch, with Vicks on it. The wheeled-in table. The door to the bedroom. Light slithers through the openings in the drapes.
“Maybe it’s a sign from God,” Jesse says.
“Do you really think that?” I wonder. I fold myself into the seat next to her.
“Do I really believe it’s a sign?” Jesse asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Do you believe the lights going out was a sign from God?”
“Maybe. He might be trying to tell us something.” She pauses, then adds, “You believe in God, right? I mean, Jewish people do believe in God.” Uncertainty flickers across her face. “Right?”
I almost laugh, but I stop myself. “Yes, Jewish people believe in God, I just—I don’t know what I believe.” I consider. “I don’t not believe in God. I don’t know. It’s just that…a lot of bad things happen in the world for there to be a God, no?”
Like hurricanes so bad they flood people’s trailers.
Jesse shakes her head. “God has a plan for us. I know He does. But we could be on the wrong path without even knowing it, which is why sometimes bad stuff happens.”
Wow. She’s really sure of things. I hug my knees. “I don’t know if I believe in a grand plan,” I say tentatively.
“Then what do you believe?” she asks.
“Um. Maybe in free will? I mean, if I hadn’t gotten drunk, then I wouldn’t have made an ass of myself and I might still be on speaking terms with Marco.” I make a face. “My bad. Not God’s.”
Vicks laughs. “Well said.” She opens the drapes to let in what little light there is with the storm. “Now, can we eat?”
“Yes!” Jesse exclaims.
I wonder if this means they’ve called a truce. A Vicks-broke-up-with-her-boyfriend-and-we-have-no-power truce.
I remove the silver coverings and pass along the plates of food and cutlery. The knives are miniature cutlasses, which is hilarious. Vicks brandishes hers and says, “Arrrr!”
But I’m still thinking about God. I wish I believed in signs from God. I wish I believed in God the way Jesse believes in God. Although Jesse’s idea of God sounds kind of…harsh. Still, life would be a lot less scary if I believed there was someone looking out for me.
I spread my napkin onto my lap, and Jesse does the same.
“Will someone pass me a Coke?” she asks.
“Go find the one you threw at me,” Vicks says.
“Careful,” I say. “I know someone who opened a Perrier bottle that had been shaken and it exploded and pierced her eye.”
Jesse winces. “Ouch. A friend?”
“A friend of my housekeeper’s.” I feel dumb as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“You have a housekeeper?” Jesse asks. She uses her cutlass to cut into her steak, then brings a bite to her lips.
“Yes.” Now she’ll probably start again with her all-rich-people-are-going-to-hell speech. “She lives with us,” I add, just to get it all out there.
She chews, swallows, and then says, “Lucky.”
“Does she cook?” Vicks asks, her mouth full.
“Yes. She’s good.”
“Not as good as me though, I bet. At least not with a waffle iron.” Vicks makes a show of getting off the sofa and reaching to retrieve the can Jesse threw. “Look: aluminum. Should be safe. But I’ll open it over the sink.”
I cut a piece of fat off the tip of my steak, and push it to the end of my plate.
When Vicks returns, she makes a show of handing the opened and intact Coke to Jesse. “Here you go, matey. Mini-explosion, but I contained it.”
“Thanks.”
I cut off another bit of fat.
Vicks scoots back to her spot on the couch. “Mel, are you going to eat or play with your food?”
I stare down at my plate. “Eat. I’m just getting rid of the gross parts.”
“I like the fatty part,” Jesse says, skewering into a bit of marbled meat. “Mmm.”
“Yuck,” I say.
“Try it,” she says. “It’s juicy.”
“Pretend it’s foie gras,” Vicks says.
Yuck. “I never eat foie gras. My dad loves it though.”
Jesse takes a gulp of her drink. “What’s foie gras?”
“Pieces of fat,” Vicks says, stuffing a handful of chips in her mouth. “Technically, goose liver. But basically, just really expensive pieces of fat.” We’re chewing in silence when Vicks says, “So, Mel.”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to call Marco back?”
“What? No.” I poke my fork into a slice of potato skin and hold it out. “Anyone want?”
“Sure.” Vicks reaches over and takes it. “But he does have your phone.”
Damn. Right. “Maybe we’ll stop in on the way back. You’ll wait in the car and I’ll run in and yell, ‘Hey, what’s up! Remember me? Crazy drunken girl?’”
Vicks snorts.
Jesse shakes her head. “Why do you think you got so drunk?”
“Four wine coolers have that effect,” I say.
“I realize that, thanks. What I meant is why did you let yourself get so drunk? And in the car you said that it wasn’t your first time having too much to drink. So why is that? I think you’re insecure.”
No kidding.
“Hello, do we need a lecture now?” Vicks says, rolling her eyes.
“You’re trying to bolster yourself with alcohol,” Jesse tells me.
“Why, thank you, Faith Waters,” Vicks quips.
“You’re welcome,” Jesse says.
I nod. “I know that’s what I’m doing. But, see, without booze it’s not so easy for me to just talk to people, you know?” I mean Marco, but I also mean the two of them. I watched them laugh and mess around all summer, and I remember how much I wanted to be in on the joke.
“That’s bullshit,” Vicks says. “You were flirting with Marco in the Opel. So unless you snuck some whiskey from the Wakulla Museum, you’re full of it.”
I think about what she said as we finish our meals. I was flirting with Marco in the car. I was definitely flirting with him on the grass. And I liked the girl on the grass. She was flirty, funny, confident—and pretty sober. Until she freaked out and ruined it.
When we’re done, Vicks stretches her arms over her head and says she needs a nap. I place the mostly empty plates back onto the trolley, and roll it outside. The hallway is brighter than the room because of the pink emergency lights that line the floor.
When I get back, Vicks and Jesse are both in the bedroom, lying on opposite sides of the bed, like parents in a sitcom.
I close the drapes and then crawl into the spot between them and put my head on the flattish corner of Jesse’s pillow. She moves over so I can share.
The gesture makes me so happy, tears prick the back of my eyes.
Instead of speaking, we listen to the sound of the rain crashing against the windows.
“I wonder how long it’ll last,” I say eventually. Then I start to worry. “What if we’re stuck here for days?” I ask. “Without power, without AC, with only barbecue chips to eat?”
“We’ll sacrifice Eli Weinberger,” Vicks says. “And eat him.”
“What if,” I continue, “when we finally get outside the place has been destroyed and turned into some sort of wasteland? What if—”
Vicks yawns. “What if we take a nap?”
The yawn is contagious, and soon Jesse and I are yawning big and loud and I’m feeling full and lazy. I bury my face into my half of the pillow.
At some point the power comes back on. Instead of waking up Vicks and Jesse, I quietly make my way off the bed and turn off the lights and TV. I close the drapes. When I go back to the bed, I see that Jesse has somehow rotated 180 degrees and Vicks is kind of cuddling with her feet. They look cute. And they can’t fight when they sleep.
I worm back in and close my eyes.