Adelaide Upset (3 page)

“I’m twenty-four years old and you’re the
only person that’s made me want to. Isn’t that reason enough?” I
asked, slipping off the table. “I’m still adjusting, but I’ll do
it.”

He reached down, closing
my jeans as deftly as he’d opened them. “It’s a commonly held
belief to wait for someone special the first time.”

He didn’t say anything
after that and neither did I. His voice was deep and sexy, but
without a hint of inflection, so I had no idea how to take his
comment. Was he implying that our relationship wasn’t special, that
I should wait for someone else? Of course the question I was dying
to ask, Francesca had forbidden me from uttering. She said men were
turned off by women that grilled them about their pasts, so I
suppressed the urge to ask him about
his
first time.

The fact that he was
emotionally closed off was, well, honestly, refreshing, but it
could also be annoying as hell. I was used to having the upper
hand, always knowing, for better or worse, what lurked beneath a
person’s words. But with Lucas I knew nothing, was always
uncertain. So in frustration, desperate to fill the gaping silence,
I blurted, “Don’t you want to?”

“I’m a man, it goes without saying.”

“I’m not asking if you want to have sex in
general,” I huffed. “I’m asking if you want it with me, in
particular, exclusively.”

“I’m not interested in anyone else,” he
answered bluntly.

“Okay then, that’s settled. I’ll go on birth
control and you get some condoms.”

For a second there he
looked a bit skeptical, like he thought I was all bluster, but it
must have been my imagination because the next instant it was gone.
“Alright,” he agreed, “if you’re sure.”

And I was... or would be.
I was lagging in some ways, a bit stunted emotionally and
inexperienced with the male persuasion, but none of that mattered
because my mind was made up. I was going to have sex with Lucas
Finch and nothing, not even myself, would stop me.

“Sterling’s Motel, how may I help you?”

“I met someone,” Francesca announced through
the phone. “And he’s got a trust fund.”

“Jackpot.”

“
Don’t get sarcastic. He’s
got other good qualities,” she defended. “Besides, it’s summer and
the island’s full of people, I get pick of the litter, you’ll know
he’s just that once you meet him.”

“What’s his name?” I asked for no real
reason.

“
Conner. He’s taking me to
the festival and I want you to come along.”

“
Uhh—”

Francesca plowed on, not waiting for me to
think up an excuse. “You should bring Lucas, it’s time I meet
him.”

“
No
.”

“
You’ve been seeing him
for weeks, no more putting it off. I’m meeting him,” she argued
with iron in her voice. “And besides, you’ve convinced me he’s
gay.”

“He’s not gay!”

“
Well, why else haven’t
you done it then?”

“
Because I wasn’t ready,
but I am now, or I will be soon, and I’m going to do his brains
out.”

“
Well I hope you both
enjoy that, but not before I meet him. Get your schedule
straightened out, because I expect to see you at the festival
Saturday morning.” There was a click and she was gone, the dial
tone buzzing in my ear.

“
Effing festival,” I
muttered, shoving the phone back into its cradle.

Stephen, who’d been avidly
listening to my half of the conversation, perked up. “Did Francesca
invite you? Can I come along?”

“
Sure,” I said. “Why
not?”

St. Simons was a little
island off the coast of Georgia. For some it was a vacation
destination, a bit touristy in parts, but it didn’t have that
chintzy feel so common in holiday hot-spots. It was chock-full of
retired politicians, professional golfers and the wealthy who could
afford a second summer home, not to mention Reed Wallace who owned
substantial real estate around the Golden Isles.

The Graves family had
visited once, my parents dragging their brood to the coast for some
quality time, bike rides, etc. Some aspect of that trip must have
made a mark, perhaps the giant oaks, maybe the lighthouse, the sea,
or possibly something not altogether physical, like the sleepy
stillness that sinks beneath the skin, how quiet the island can be,
even when it’s full of visitors. So when it came time to leave
home, finding myself desperate to escape without so much as a
goodbye, I crept back here.

I’ve been trying to
control the empathy ever since, exposing myself to the outside
world at intervals, attempting to deal with the unwanted flow of
emotion that so often overwhelmed my own feelings. The festival
never helped, though I continued to let Francesca drag me back
every year. It was difficult to say no to her, more so if you had a
penis. She channeled sex appeal with her sultry, dark features,
making the most of her curves with visiting playboys like Conner.
That was the reason I didn’t want her to meet Lucas. Having felt
her skepticism every time I insisted he was handsome, I knew she’d
be surprised when she saw him. But it was his reaction I was
worried about. I was nothing compared to her, just a slender
washed-out girl with lots of strawberry-blonde hair. Though in my
defense,
anyone
would seem plain standing next to Francesca. I just didn’t
want to see his face when he realized that he wasn’t dating the
pretty one. Some might think I was being overly dramatic, but don’t
forget, I feel what people feel, know their failings and foibles,
can sense their shallow shortcomings. It wouldn’t be the first time
that a man was disappointed with his partner. And if I could have
put the moment off, I would have. But as I said, Francesca always
got her way, and so, that was how I ended up in the passenger seat
of Lucas’ old Ford Bronco, on our way to the blasted
event.

One of the local churches
always held a festival during the summer months, a three day
function with rides and live music. Stephen was stoked, though I
could tell he was restraining himself in the back seat, a little
intimidated by Lucas who hadn’t bothered to say much more than a
brisk hello in greeting. Predictably, Stephen’s mother hadn’t
approved of his ‘riding off with that hoyden and her cohorts’ when
we’d stopped to pick him up, but she’d let him go, ringing her
hands from the doorway as we departed. Smith had come along too,
never one to miss an opportunity to haunt both me and Stephen at
the same time. He sat next to his son, a twist of white smoke
hovering over the bench seat. I was very unsettled by the whole
affair, sort of wishing the floorboard would swallow me up. I
reached for Luke’s hand, peeling it from the steering wheel to hold
in my lap. It was awkward, but it made me feel better and I smiled.
He smiled too, only slightly, but it was there, the corners of his
mouth turned up. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him do
that.

Maybe the festival
wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Francesca found me
straightaway as I lolled around the pretzel stand. She knew me
well, it was the first place I’d gone to after paying the entrance
fee.

“
So where is he?” she
asked, her eyes scanning the crowd.

The ‘he’ in question
happened to be standing not two yards away, waiting in line to buy
me a snack. Stephen had wandered off down the line of vendors
hoping to buy a funnel cake. It was just Francesca, me, and the
dreaded moment, not to be put off any longer. With a sigh of defeat
I pointed in Lucas’ direction.

Francesca’s mouth dropped open.

“I know right?”

He came over shortly
after, delivering a hot and salty twist of German dough. He hadn’t
noticed Francesca, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. Wanting to rip
off the band-aid I said, “Luke, this is Francesca. Francesca,
Lucas.”

He nodded briefly, his eyes barely sweeping
over her as he pulled off a piece of my pretzel to eat.

Francesca wasn’t used to
being ignored and took it as some sort of challenge. Pulling her
shoulders back, she effectively hoisted her cleavage up so the
split of her breasts were plainly visible in the silky scoop-neck
sundress. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to finally meet
Adelaide’s other friend.”

“She calls me her boyfriend,” he
answered.

“And are you?” Francesca challenged.

Uninterested in semantics,
he shrugged, as if to say:
Sure, if she
says so
.

I had been watching,
waiting, but Lucas was aloof as ever. His eyes never dipped down,
nor lingered too long on Francesca. I could have kissed him then,
but Francesca wasn’t done. She was feeling a bit miffed by his
behavior, experiencing, for the first time, an attractive man that
didn’t seem to notice her in turn.

It was lucky Conner showed
up before she could do something rash. Sidling up beside her, he
settled an arm around her waist and a kiss against her cheek.
“Parking was a nightmare,” he said, though he was smiling and it
didn’t sound like a complaint. He turned his attention outward,
toward me and Lucas, thrusting out a hand. “You must be Adelaide.
Francesca speaks as though you’re the most interesting person on
the island.”

“Not interesting,” Francesca corrected,
sending me a wink. “I said original.”

Conner reminded me of Reed
Wallace. Both men were moneyed, and in my experience that meant
they had polished social skills. Rich people knew how to keep up a
conversation, always ready with quick wit or a well-timed joke.
Although Lucas was something of a challenge for Conner, as he was
uninterested in being drawn out or engaged by any topic. Conner’s
appearance was another tip-off, his clothing perfectly fitted,
though a bit preppy in my opinion. His face disconcerted me though,
similar in shape and coloring to Reed’s. The same sharp, intense
lines and marble-smooth complexion, though being pale didn’t work
for men from the waist down. Conner was smart to have worn pants,
because pasty man-leg didn’t look good on anyone.

Stephen jogged up. I could feel him coming,
his youthful enthusiasm waving like an emotional flag in my
face.

“Hi, Stephen,” Francesca said with a smile.
“Adelaide didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Her recognition triggered
his lust, and flushing ever so slightly, he managed to muster up a
reply. He and Conner were both attracted to Francesca, though it
was interesting to feel the difference. Stephen adored her with
young love, not pure per se, but sincere. Conner’s feelings were
less poignant, and not the least bit hopeful, which was typically a
bad sign. Couples that were hopeful and anticipatory were often
looking ahead, planning together, with a shared existence in mind.
Conner, like most of Francesca’s men, had no such feelings. His
were transient and self-centered. Her smiles and affection only
fueled his image, making him feel... I don’t know, manly I guess.
I’d like to condemn him for this, but, unfortunately, I knew it
only to be human nature. Selfless love was something I had yet to
truly encounter.

“Did you bring a date, Stephen?” I heard
Francesca ask.

In some ways she was eons
ahead of me in experience, but in others she was completely inept.
“Come on,” I said before Stephen was forced to think of something
to say. “Let’s go see if they have that ride that makes people
puke.”

The festival was torture.
Children were out en masse, laughing, screaming, running, crying.
Their highs and lows wreaked havoc on my muscles as my body coiled
tight, the strain of emotions manifesting physically. The rides
were worse. I couldn’t even get close to a Tilt-A-Whirl, the
excitement and thrill, the occasional fear, it made me manic. It
required a concentrated effort to mask my expression at all times,
the slightest slip and I’d be smiling from ear to ear for no
apparent reason, which freaked people out. So I tended to scowl,
trying to stay in touch with my own feelings, trying to insulate
myself with them.

I noticed Lucas scowling
too, frowning forehead, lips tight. So I encouraged him to tag
along with Stephen, not wanting to hold him back. Conner had teased
me, labeling me the party pooper, though Francesca and Stephen were
used to my odd behavior and didn’t bat an eyelash as I continued to
refuse the rides and fun.

At one point, when they
had all gone off together, even Lucas, though he’d been less
inclined to leave me, Smith appeared, his airy figure taking shape
beside me. He watched Stephen get on the swinging ship, watched
Stephen’s fingers turn white as the ride lifted up, and listened to
Stephen laugh when the ride plunged down. It might have been the
most depressing moment of my life, standing there, next to a ghost,
and feeling equally isolated, living the solitude so thick that
only a dead man could understand.

I was so wrapped up in our
mutual depression that the shift of his emotions took me by
surprise. A flurry of feelings assailed me, intense and
overlapping, so fleeting I couldn’t grasp their meaning. My head
jerked in response, an involuntary desire to look where he looked.
Smith was no longer staring at his son, but down a line of booths,
the sponsor’s booths.

The local radio station
had a flashy little tent, passing out free stickers and pins. The
local grocer’s stand was a bit staid by comparison, though they
drew in women with generous coupons. And the booth just beyond that
sported a vinyl banner that read: SOUTHEASTERN LOGGING AND
SAWMILL.