Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Read online

  Even though I’ve been physically suffocated, spending time with my best friend has been a breath of fresh air. She’s been my only real friend amongst a town of fake people since I was a kid. Right now, I’m smiling genuinely for the first time in over a week. Even though I’m hiding feelings of terror over almost being kidnapped in the alley of a biker bar, the smile itself is real. Instead, I’m choosing to watch the show Yuli is currently putting on by flirting with the barista at our favorite coffee house.

  The best part about Yuli’s flirting is that it sounds a lot like yelling and harassing with a side of embarrassment, and not a damn thing like actual flirting.

  I unscrew my flask and dump the entire contents into my coffee. Since I don’t have a car anymore, I can’t drive, and therefore, I no longer have a need to be sober.

  Ever.

  “Tell me, why is this cafe racist?” Yuli barks. “I mean, I expect shit like this from the chicken place down the street and the home store on the next block, but I don’t expect a side of racism with my latte from here.”

  “Ummm…excuse me, ma’am?” The barista asks, nervously adjusting his dark green visor.

  “You heard me,” Yuli raises her voice. “What does this cup say?” She points to the name the barista wrote on her cup and the flustered young man leans in, squinting to read it.

  “Yo-yo-yo-landa.”

  “Exactly. Yolanda. But you see, my name is spelled with a U and two A’s. This shit right here is racist as fuck. Not all Blaxicans spell our names the same. Tell me something.” She leans over the counter. “You a racist, Stephen?”

  The barista looks terrified while I know Yuli is enjoying the torment as always. Her bright brown eyes are hyper-focused on her victim like a cheetah about to pounce. Her wild, chin-length, curly brown hair bounces with her movements as she gestures from the cup to the barista, pointing her accusing finger from one to the other.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I just…I didn’t think. My aunt’s name is Yolanda, and that’s how she spells it.” The poor kid couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Cute, tall, and lanky. He’s practically shaking.

  “Ma’am?” Yuli rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started on ma’am.”

  The barista’s face reddens, then pales as all the blood rushes from his face. I try not to laugh because that would be cruel, but it’s not the first time I’ve seen Yuli do this to someone, and I know it won’t be the last.

  “Listen, white boy.” She points to his chest and leans her ample breasts over the counter. Stephen catches himself looking, then his eyes go wide and snap back to her face. “You’re cute as hell, so I’m gonna give you a pass on this one.” She raises her finger and wags it slowly. “But don’t let this shit happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean…Yulaanda with a U and two A’s.” The young man replies with a small smile. “And of course, your coffee is on the house.”

  “Damn right, it is,” Yuli says. She picks up a sharpie from the pen cup by the register and plucks an empty cup from the stack next to it. She scribbles something on the cup and hands it to him. “That’s the correct way to spell my name. Just so you remember for next time.” Then, she winks. “And that…” she points to the cup and lowers her voice from accusing to downright seductive. “…is my correct phone number. Hit me up, and maybe, we can figure out all of the other ways I can make you tremble.”

  She winks, then turns around, missing his shoulders falling and his deep exhale. She grins as she plops down across from me at the table by the window and lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. She turns and stares at the barista who now has his back turned to us while working the espresso machine. He glimpses over his shoulder, and she smiles and gives him a flirty wave. His entire face reddens again as he returns the smile and goes back to serving the long line of impatient customers.

  “Was that really necessary?” I ask her. “Your name is honestly spelled pretty funky. I don’t think he’s a racist.”

  “Oh, I know that. My mama either had a sense of humor or was illiterate AF when she named me. Don’t know. Don’t care. Never met the woman.” She bites her bottom lip. “And do I think he hates black people? Nope, because when I get back in town in a year I am going to make that man fall in love with me. And to answer your question, was that little show of mine necessary?” She glances at his back once more and takes a sip of her free coffee. “Nope. But was it worth it to see that fine piece of freckled red-headed ass all hot and flustered?” She shutters and looks back at me with a wicked smirk. “Abso-fucking-lutley.”

  I chuckle. “I’d hate to see you in an actual argument.” I take a sip of my vodka-coffee.

  She shrugs. “It’s pretty much the same. Except, I don’t get all tingly after. I save most of my fighting for sex.”

  Our eyes meet over the rim of our drinks, and I can’t help but laugh at my friend.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me tomorrow. It’s going to be boring around here without you,” I say.

  “No doubt. But you’ll have the Stepfords.” I cringe. The Stepfords are the wives and girlfriends that run the social circles on this side of the causeway. Their leader? None other than Lori.

  Yuli peers back over to the barista and meets his eye. She blows him a kiss. His face turns purple as he sheepishly grins then looks across the counter to the next customer in line. “I sure will miss this place. Maybe, I’ll come back here before I leave for the airport in the morning and suck him off behind the counter while he’s serving customers.”

  “It’s so selfish of you to leave me.”

  “Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell me about Jared?”

  I shrug. I’m not surprised she found out without me telling her. This town is gossip central.

  “Because you don’t need more things to worry about when you’re leaving, and I’ll be fine. He left me. Not a big deal.”

  She doesn’t believe me. I know she doesn’t. “Jared was always a dickhead. I’m not surprised he got some sense in his head and left you to discover all the worthier men you could be allowing the pleasure of penetrating you. Any clue where he is?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. No one else seems to know either.”

  “You’re better off without him,” she says. “But tell me one little thing... what really happened to your car?”

  “I told you. It broke down.” I take a big gulp of my drink, and I don’t know if my throat burns from the heat of the coffee or the copious amounts of vodka I poured in it. I change the subject. “And I’m not hanging out with the Stepfords,” I say, changing the subject. “I’ll have to make new friends.”

  Lying to your best friend? You seem to be reaching a new low with every word that leaves your mouth.

  Yuli smiles. “As long as these new friends treat you well and are easily disposable when I come back.”

  “Deal,” I agree, and we clink our cups together.

  “Besides, you’re not really supposed to like your friends anyway,” she retorts.

  “That’s not true. I like you,” I argue.

  She shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Her face turns serious. She reaches across the table and sets her hand on mine. “I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “I know,” I say, trying not to cry for the thousandth time today. “I’ll be fine.”

  “And one more thing, you never told me why I had to come pick you up on the other side of the Causeway last week. I know your car broke down, but why were you there in the first place?”

  I take another sip to buy me time and come up with an answer.

  You mean more lies.

  “I was at a pawn shop, looking for my mother’s raven pendant. They had something similar on their online store, so I wanted to go in person and check it out. It wasn’t even close. Then, my car broke down, and I had it towed to the mechanic where it will probably be for the next thousand years. Thank god for Uber.”

  Liar, you can’t affo
rd Uber either. Your credit cards have all been shut off.

  “You’ll find your necklace one day, and maybe, when you do, you’ll find him, too,” Yuli adds with a wink.

  Yuli is the only person I ever told about that night. Even Jared never knew I survived a fall from the causeway or met someone that same night. Or that I’ve spent more time thinking about the boy from the bridge during my time with Jared than I did about him.

  “Before I forget, can you check my mail for me while I’m gone?” Yuli asks.

  “At your apartment?” Hope sparks within me at the idea that Yuli decided not to give up her lease after all. That way when I’m tossed out on my ass I’ll have a place to crash.

  She waves her hand dismissively. “No, the movers came this morning and took everything to storage, including the bed in the guest bedroom so unfortunately, as much as I loved having you, I only have my mattress on the floor so camp Lenny-Yuli has officially come to an end. I rented a PO box for my mail.”

  Damn. It was a longshot but still, damn.

  Yuli tosses a small set of keys onto the table. She wags her eyebrows. “It’s box 6969.”

  “Of course, it is.” I take the keys and shove them into my purse. “I’ll check it every week.”

  “Are you sure that you’re going to be okay, Len?” Her eyes are filled with nothing but love and concern, making me uneasy about lying to the one person who has always been there for me since my parents died.

  “It’s a breakup, not a breakdown. I’ll be fine. I swear it. I have a lead on a new job and another interview tomorrow,” I lie. “I’ll be great. I swear.”

  She claps her hands together, rubbing her palms up and down. “What do you say we hit the town tonight? One last girls’ night for an entire year.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and in the corner of my eye, I glimpse muscles and tattoos walking by the window. I turn my head, but there’s no-one there.

  Great, now I’m seeing things.

  “Len?” she asks. I snap my head back to hers. “Girls’ night?”

  “Uh yeah, maybe?” Is the most solid answer I can come up with.

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” she says triumphantly. “Oh, before I forget, I’ll give you the mailing address of the camp before I leave. Because if I’m able to accept mail there, I’m going to need you to send me care packages with things like shampoo, conditioner, lotion, magazines, weed...”

  We both laugh. My smile hiding all my untold truths.

  “Done,” I agree.

  She points to me. “And the second I get back, you better believe that I’m coming straight over to you.”

  “You better.” Although, I’m not sure where she’ll be coming to see me.

  Do park benches have addresses?

  Chapter Eleven

  LENNY

  Of all of the places there are to sit in this monstrous house, I find myself on the floor in the foyer with my back to the stairs. Spread out before me is every picture Jared and I have ever taken together, plus a few albums from my life prior to my parents’ deaths. I’m torturing myself. I know this, but I can’t stop either. Torture isn’t something you come back from. It’s meant to keep you suffering to the end, and apparently, that’s my plan for the evening. Eternal emotional suffering. At least, until the vodka knocks me out.

  “Perversity is the human thirst for self-torture,” I mutter. The Edgar Allan Poe quote makes me think of my mother. I lift an old album and flip open the page to a picture of me and my mom and my dad during a trip to Disney World my freshman year of high school.

  All three of us are sporting huge cheesy grins while at the camera. “Hi,” I say, tracing my fingers over my parents. I miss them, but I realize that I miss more than them. I look to the younger version of myself.

  I miss me, too. The girl I used to be. The one who isn’t holding a half empty bottle of vodka while wondering if there’s enough spare change lying around this house to buy another when this one runs out.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance over at the screen.

  YULI: There’s a party tonight! Let’s go! Last night out!!!!!!

  I sigh and look around the floor at the scattered pictures from my past and land on a picture of my parents holding up a set of keys, standing in front of the first house they ever sold. I know it’s Yuli’s last night, but I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to party. I type out the text but before I hit send she sends me another one.

  YULI: BTW you can’t say no. I leave tomorrow, and I need to get my drunk on with my favorite person. Oh yeah, if my amazing presence doesn’t motivate you, maybe, free booze will?

  Shit. I can’t bail on her. I erase my earlier message and send a different one.

  ME: Not in the mood to party, but I want to see you. Come over. Bring tacos.

  I lift the almost empty bottle of vodka to my lips.

  ME: And vodka.

  The second I hit send, the house goes completely dark. I stand up from the floor and step over the sea of scrapbooks and photo albums to hit the light switch.

  Nothing.

  I pull the curtain aside and look out the window. There’s a Florida Power and Light truck in the driveway. I walk outside and approach the man in uniform, who is attaching something to my electric meter. It’s a lock. “What’s going on?” I ask.

  He turns around, startled. He points his flashlight in my face and I hold my hands up to block the blinding light until he redirects it to the ground.

  “Sorry, about that, ma’am, and I’m sorry about the late hour, but it’s the end of my shift, and I usually don’t do many disconnects out here on this side of the bridge, so I saved it for last. Don’t worry though. They’ll send me right back out when the bill gets paid.”

  Shit!

  The electric bills always went to Jared’s office, which is a moot point where they were mailed because it’s not like I could pay them if they came to me. “Wait, please. Can you just put it back on now, and I promise I’ll sort it out with your office first thing tomorrow?” I don’t exactly know how I plan on sorting it out, but at the very least, I can buy myself some more time and some more power I can’t afford.

  He shuffles backward, packing up his tools. “Sorry ma’am. I can’t afford to lose my job in this economy. I have to follow the rules. Got a family to take care of. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, you having this nice house and all, I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out quickly. In the meantime, why don’t you stay at one of the nice hotels nearby until we can get back out here.”

  Wouldn’t that be nice. My credit cards were all company cards, and they’re maxed out.

  As much as I wish this was a misunderstanding, it’s not. It’s the universe literally turning the lights out on my life.

  I nod, and offer the man a small smile, finding myself unable to argue with someone who is just doing his job to support his family. “I understand. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  He hands me a piece of paper. “I was going to attach this to the door, but since you’re here.” I take it. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

  He gets back in his truck and takes off down the road. I go back inside the house, but it’s too dark to read the paper. So, I step out onto the back lanai.

  DISCONNECT NOTICE. 90 DAYS PAST DUE.

  Ninety days! It goes on to say that the amount has to be paid in full, plus the reconnection fees in order to get the electric back on. The grand total is $3,876.24.

  “Fuuuuucccckkkk!” I scream, crumpling the paper and throwing it into the dark pool. I don’t have that kind of money.

  I don’t have any money.

  I go back inside to find the hurricane kit, which hopefully contains a working flashlight or some electric candles. The only current light in the dark space comes courtesy of my phone currently vibrating across the hall table.

  YULI: If that’s what you really want, then I’ll be there in twenty minutes. But are you sure about not going to the party? Nurse Yuli thinks a little
fun is just the prescription you need right about now.

  Fun. Ha! Fun seems like an impossible concept, but I also can’t let Yuli come here and see that the electricity has been shut off. I don’t need her worried about me before her trip. Or worse, not going at all. And I don’t want to sit in the dark by myself either.

  ME: Come pick me up in twenty minutes.

  Remembering the lights, I send one more.

  ME: I’ll wait for you by the gate.

  “I thought you said that we’re going to a party?” I ask as our Uber turns onto the main road.

  “We are,” Yuli replies, but there’s something she’s not telling me. I know this because she keeps looking out the window to avoid making eye contact with me.

  “Then, why are you dressed like that?” I point to her ripped jeans and the cropped short sleeved jean jacket she’s wearing over a low-cut white tank. She looks funky and casual while I look ready to attend The Logan’s Beach orchestra’s final performance of the season.

  She turns her attention away from the window and smiles guiltily. “Because I never mentioned what kind of party we’re going to,” she sings wickedly.

  I look out the window and notice we are on the causeway. “Yuli! Where exactly are you taking me?” I’ve had enough of that side for a while. Not that Yuli knows anything about that.

  “A party, just like I told you.”

  “And where exactly is this party?” I press.

  “Oh, you know, just a hop, skip, and a jump over the causeway. Nothing to worry about, Lenny. It’s not like you’re not going to get initiated into a biker gang. Well, at least not on your first night, you gotta earn that honor,” she teases, nudging my shoulder.

  I don’t laugh. Not because it isn’t funny—it is—but right now, I’m numb all over, including my funny bone.

  “Len, it’s just a bonfire. We always used to talk about going to parties on the other side with real people who don’t want to talk about portfolios and numbers and decorating and blah blah blaaahhhh. I wanted us to do something different on my last night. I’ll be gone for a year, and I don’t want to spend my last few hours at one of those business mixers or one of Lori’s boring-ass dinner parties or at the dull as fuck martini bar. Shit, we party like we’re fifty, and we’re only in our mid-twenties. Let’s act like it for once. Let’s live a little.” She raises one eyebrow. “Unless, you think you’re too good for the folk on this side,” she teases.