Fluke (25 page)

Instead, I opted for a more Fluke-like response: I apologized yet again.
 
After receiving no response from Amanda, I turned to take a much-quicker-than-originally-planned look at the CDs.
 
As I turned around, I heard a voice say, “Fluke?”

Man, not only do I feel like an ass, someone I know witnessed me in action, I thought.

Heather stood by the cash register near the entrance to the electronic section, holding a pack of blank DVDs in her hand.
 
She smiled at me and glanced around my side at Amanda, who was still cleaning up my mess.

“Nice work,” she said, and laughed quietly, shaking her head.

“It’s the Fluke
F
actor.
 
What can I say?” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
 
“It’s beyond my control.”

It had been a while since I ran into Heather at the carnival with Sara.
 
She had seemed annoyed that night, and
I
remembered what Sara said on the beach:
She wanted to be the one to grab the cotton candy off your face.

“I thought you had disappeared off of the face of the earth,” Heather said, with a harsh-sounding chuckle.

I glanced over at a rack of batteries uncomfortably.
 
 
“Um, yeah.
 
Well, I got a new job, and I’ve been pretty busy.”

I felt the same twinge of guilt that I felt when I told her I couldn’t go to the carnival, and realized, as she raised her eyebrows, that she was seeing right through me.

“Busy.
 
You’re always busy, Fluke,” she said.
 
“You moved, too, right? Kevin made a delivery to your apartment a few weeks ago, and an old black woman answered the door.
 
That made for a few jokes back at the Palace.
 
We thought maybe you had gotten into the gigolo business.”
 
She smiled at this last remark, but I couldn’t tell whether it was in a you-are-a-real-jack-ass way, or a friendly ha-ha way.

“No, I, uh, moved.” I prayed that my name would be called over the intercom, telling me that the car was ready, even though I had only been there about ten minutes.
 
I prayed for a fire, a masked gunman, a blackout.
 
I fought the sudden impulse to just take off running.

“Where’d you move to?” she asked casually, but I could tell that she already had a pretty good guess.

“Um, over on
Batts
Lane,” I said, and decided to just tell it all.
 
“I moved in with Sara, the girl you met at the carnival.”

“Really, that’s great,” she said, looking away.
 
“You two must be getting serious.”

“We’re doing well,” was all I said.
 
I felt something brush my left arm, and I looked over just in time to see Amanda, headed toward to CD display rack, armload of CDs once more in place.
 
The old familiar awkward silence set itself up between Heather and I.

“Hey,” Heather said, her face lighting up.
 
“You want to go get a cup of coffee or something? Have some smokes, catch up a little bit?”

Christ, why?
I wondered.
 
Why do I have to keep being an asshole to Heather?

“Well…” I started, fully prepared to turn down the offer, and then stopped.

I was torn.
 
I hated to once again blow her off, after not having seen her for so long.
 
I really enjoyed her company.
 
It actually
would be nice to grab a cup of coffee with her, but I was worried that she might take it the wrong way, as something more than platonic.
 
I didn’t know how to tell her that, but it turned out I wouldn’t have to.

“Listen, I don’t mean anything by it.
 
I’d just like to shoot the shit with a friend I haven’t seen in forever,” Heather said, erasing my worries.
 
“Although, if you don’t want to, you know, because of Sara and all, I’ll understand.”

She looked at me, almost hopefully, I thought, and I said, “Sure.
 
You’ll have to drive, though.”

****

An hour later, Heather pulled her car around to the back of Wal-Mart, to the garage. Not seeing the
Volks
outside, I muttered, “Christ.”

“Still working on the car, huh?” Heather said.
 
She pulled into a parking place and turned the engine off.
 
“Want some company while you wait?”

“Sure,” I said.

We had gone to
Perc’s
, a coffee shop in a strip mall on the beach.
 
We talked over giant paper cups of cappuccino, and small talk about Perry’s and Heather’s life had given way to questions from her about my relationship with Sara.
 
She was subtle, but I knew she was more curious than the average friend.
 
Sean, for instance, wasn’t at all concerned if I thought I might get married.

“Married.
 
Wow,” was my insightful answer to that question.
 
I didn’t tell Heather that I’m not quite sure if it would be legal for me to marry Sara or not, though I was tempted.
 
I hadn’t confided in anyone the details of what the situation was with Sara and I, and I wanted to.
 
I didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of telling Heather, though.

“I haven’t really thought about marriage at all,” I told Heather.

“Jesus, Fluke, you’re living with her,” she leaned forward and looked exasperated, “and you haven’t thought about marriage?”

“Typical woman,” I said, and got a punch in the arm.

A silence fell over us again, and I occupied the moment by slowly turning my cup in circles on the table, feeling the hot liquid through the paper.
 
Soft music came from two stereo speakers mounted in the upper corners of the room, and I recognized Jewel’s voice.
 
A goateed guy in a black turtleneck sat two tables over from us reading a book of poetry by
Bukowski
; I suppressed the urge to yell to him, “Stereotype!”
 
I fidgeted with my cell phone, checking the time, looking to see how many calls I missed, knowing I hadn’t missed any.
 
I looked back at Heather, who looked like she was going to say something, but was searching for a way to say it.

“You know you could have taken me out any time you wanted to, Fluke,” she said.

Oh, man.
 
Don’t do this.

“Um, yeah.
 
Well, Heather…” I started.

“Still could,” she said quickly, looking off in goatee boy’s direction.
 
I couldn’t tell for sure, but she seemed to get tense, anticipating my response.

I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table and said, “Heather.” She kept her eyes on goatee boy.

“Yes?”

“Look at me,” I told her.

She turned her head to face me, and I said, “Thank you.
 
It’s very flattering that you would say that.” My brain worked feverishly, building the speech as I said it.
 
The next four or five words appeared in my head as I spoke one, and I did my best at improvisation.

“I think we’re victims of bad timing.
 
If you had said this stuff to me back when we worked at Perry’s together, I would have jumped for joy.” I lit a cigarette from the pack on the table and continued.
 
“If you had said something to me before I left on that last delivery, even.
 
But, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which side of this table you’re sitting on, I met Sara that night, and I haven’t looked back.”

She looked down at the table.
 
She scraped at a spot of some dried-up substance with her light green colored nails.
 
She always had an unusual color polish on her nails, which was one of the things that had attracted me to her so long ago.
 
Some guys are ass men, some guys love big boobs, but I looked at a woman’s nails first.
 
Nails and ankles, for Christ’s sake.

“You’re a weird guy, Fluke,” Sean always said when he caught me staring at a woman’s ankles exposed from a hitched up pant leg, or walking down the beach.

“Sara and I are doing really well, like I told you inside Wal-Mart.
 
In fact, I think I’m totally in love with her.
 
Who knows where we’d be, though, if fat-ass Perry hadn’t sent Kevin home early that night? I would have probably gotten off early, and Kevin would have gone to Sara’s house.
 
I would have just be-bopped on to the Tune Hole and picked up the latest Tool CD, which I still haven’t gotten, by the way,” I laughed a little, thinking back to the night I met Sara,
and how the most important thing at the time was picking up the new Tool CD.

Heather let out a small laugh without smiling.
 
She seemed uncomfortable, and I felt bad, like I was lecturing her.

“Listen, Heather.
 
I want be your friend, but I don’t want there to be weirdness.”

She nodded her head, still looking at the table, and said, “That’s okay, Fluke.
 
You don’t have to do this.
 
I’m not some love-stricken Fluke groupie.
 
But I’ve liked you since I started working at Perry’s with you.
 
You were the funniest, most laid back guy, and our smoke breaks were what kept me going there.
 
I felt kind of lost without you there when you left, and then, when I found out you were with Sara, I kind of felt like I was losing a dear friend.

I can handle being your friend without weirdness, Fluke.
 
I’m a tough broad,” she said, laughing.
 
“But, if something goes wrong with Sara, and I know this will sound pathetic, but keep me in mind.”

I smiled a big, stupid, grin and said, “Cool.
 
A back-up girlfriend.”

We both laughed and I glanced at my clock on my phone.
 
“Hey, can you get me back to Wal-Mart? The car should be done now.”

And we sat in her Cavalier, tension gone.
 
If anything had changed, it was a slight boost in my ego, and hopefully, a little relaxation on her part.
 
We’d still be friends.

As long as Sara doesn’t mind
, I thought to myself.

“You know, I did get the new Tool CD a few weeks ago.
 
You’re welcome to borrow it, if you want,” Heather said.
 
She reached up to the CD holder strapped to her sun visor, pulling each disc out an inch or so, searching for it.

“Well, I’d like to, but I won’t be able to get it back to you for at least a week,” I told her.
 
The thought of the trip loomed over me once again; I had managed to push it away for the last hour.

“That’s okay, take your time.
 
Like most of the world, Fluke, I’ve moved into the twenty-first century—I’ve got it on my iPod, if I start having withdrawals or anything like that,” she said.

“Hey, I’ll get caught up one day.
 
Don’t mock me for being old school,” I chuckled.

“Sure thing, Mister Compact Disc.
 
Wait, why do you say a week?”

“Well, I’m off on a little road trip,” I said, purposely being sketchy.
 
I didn’t even want to get into the reason for the trip with Heather.

“Road trip? Cool.
 
Is it with your friend Sean? Where are you going?”

“No,” I answered.
 
“Sara and I have to make a run to Texas for a few days,”

“Is everything okay? Family emergency or something?”

It sounded kind of funny, because in a way, I supposed it could be a family emergency.

Jesus, I hope not.

“Sort of, Heather.
 
Sort of.” I answered.
 
“Actually, we have about 10 pounds of good stuff to deliver.
 
Strictly business.
 
Some coke, dope, heroine….you know.”
 
I laughed at my own stupidity, jokey-Fluke as always, and she did too.
 
Thankfully.