Girl With a Past (2 page)

The others, the hang-arounders, needed to
get a life. They used our place as their Berkeley base. All were
graduates, and either trust fund babies or wannabes who managed to
kill every day fucking around, tripping to the beach, hanging out
in the Haight, going to Janis Joplin & Big Brother & the
Holding Company concerts in Golden Gate Park or the Grateful Dead
at the Fillmore.

Some days I was envious of their freedom.
But once I started painting, I forgot everything but the music and
the flow of my brush.

Two of the hang-arounders, preppie looking
Jamie and surfer Ron, lounged on the front porch swing smoking a
joint.

Jamie had actually attended prep school and
was one of the trust fund beneficiaries.

Preppie wannabe Ron imitated Jamie’s
mannerisms, dress, and accent, but his rugged face and his engaging
smile charmed both men and women. Jamie’s relaxed manner was
equally appealing. Both lit up with curiosity when we came up the
front walk and climbed the stairs of the entry porch.

“Yo, Lex,” Ron said, “Who’s your
friend?”

Shit. I’d planned to say good-bye and close
the door in his face if I had to, but these two guys were going to
make it awkward. To make matters worse, another of their group, Tom
pulled into the driveway and climbed out of his jeep. Tom, who had
actually grown up in the city, affected a cowboy look with boots
and a fringed leather vest.

“Can I see your paintings?” Derek asked.

“Ah, shit man, you gotta see her work. It’s
far-out.” Ron jumped up from the porch swing, opened the door,
grinned in answer to the scowl I shot his direction, and invited
Derek into
my
house before I could think of how to get out
of this one.

One of my recent canvasses, a colorful
abstract landscape hung above the fireplace in the living room. I
followed the four guys into the entry hall and groaned as I watched
Ron point out the painting.

“Wow. Cool.” Derek directed a nod of
appreciation to me.

“I really gotta get some stuff done. Thanks
again.” I ducked down the hall toward my room as I heard the men
introducing themselves. Jeff was exiting his room.

“Hi,” I said to him. “If you see Carol,
please tell her I need to talk to her.”

Jeff nodded his strawberry blonde head.
“Sure.”

In my room, I dumped my bag on my bed,
grabbed a new brush from my desk and headed out to the garden shack
I had converted to my studio.

Through open green house windows, I could
hear Derek, Tom. Ron, Jamie, and my housemate Jeff in the living
room, yukking it up and talking in those low, guttural voices that
told me they were passing a joint. Any minute now they’d start
discussing the relative merits of Acapulco Gold versus whatever
they were smoking.

I loved those guys, but that dope story was
getting old.

I closed the rusted, metal-framed windows,
slid a Beatles record out of the album cover and set it on the
turntable. “
In Penny Lane there is a barber––”
The sweet
sounds took the edge off my tension.

Carol cracked the door enough to poke her
dark head in. “Jeff said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I went to the library after I saw you on
campus.” I motioned for her to come in. “Know what the symptoms of
arsenic poisoning are?”

She shrugged, pulled her long black hair
back from her pale face. Seeing how white her face was made my
heart ache with concern for my best girlfriend. Carol did her best
to hide her soft heart and anxious nature, but I saw through her
tough shell.

“Vomiting,” I said, “diarrhea, abdominal
cramps.”

“You’re still on that subject!” She walked
out; the crooked hinges thwarted her attempt at a door slam.

* * *

Two male voices sounded as though they were
on the brick patio right outside my studio and they weren’t
discussing dope.

“You asshole, why did you bring that girl to
the ranch? A complete stranger, for god’s sake?” I recognized
Jamie’s voice coming through the cracks in the wall. “How could you
violate our agreement like that?

“Hold on, you didn’t mind her bein’ there
when she had your dick in her mouth.”

I didn’t want to hear about their sexual
adventures, I turned up the volume. “
Penny Lane is in my ears
and in . . ."

“You didn’t mind havin’ her then.” That had
to be Tom’s voice raised in anger. I remembered how Tom’s brown
eyes flashed sparks when he was pissed off. Tom was another member
of the clique of four who lived on a ranch in Marin County; the
ranch that Jamie’s family owned.

Something, maybe a body, slammed against the
thin exterior wall of my makeshift studio. “ . . .
Penny
Lane––"
I turned the music down. What the hell was going on out
there?

“Get over it. Question now is how the hell
do we get rid of her?” Tom lowered his voice, but continued with a
hiss, “Found a guy who’ll help us with our problem.”

What
were
they talking about?

“What exactly do you mean?” Jamie’s voice
lacked his usual insouciant charm.

The tension level out there was far from the
usual for these guys. They were normally laid back, joking and
teasing.

“Met this guy at the Monk. He’s nuts, but
hell, if he gets caught he’ll get the blame,” Tom said. "I
tol––"

“Hey, guys. What’s going down?” I smelled
tobacco smoke and, because he was the only one of the guys who
regularly smoked tobacco, even before I heard his voice, I knew my
housemate Dave must be out there too.

“A-ah, not much.” The anger in Tom’s voice
had disappeared. Whatever they were talking about, they didn’t want
to share it with Dave. That didn’t surprise me. Dave had never been
an accepted member of the clique, but had he been listening to
them?

Maybe I didn’t want to know what they were
up to. I pulled the windows of the studio shut tighter, cranked up
the volume, “
beneath the blue suburban skies . . .”
and set
to work determined to get the shade of blue right.

* * *

The layer of blue paint I had added to my
canvas would have to set up before I continued so I headed into the
house just before sunset.

“Lex, that Derek’s an okay guy,” Jeff called
out from the living room as I headed down the hall. I turned around
to where the gang had congregated on the sofas in front of the
fireplace.

“Definitely, he is cool,” Jamie said.

I considered giving them some shit about
inviting him in without even considering how I felt about it. But,
what the hell, they wouldn’t get it. And I’d just end up feeling
stupid trying to explain.

“Don’t you like’im?” Jeff asked. “Isn’t he
cute?”

“Cute?” Carol said. “Hell, he’s a stone cold
fox!”

“I don’t have time for that shit.” Why can’t
they leave me be?

“Lex, don’t get all uptight, remember the
conversation we had about you sleeping with more than one guy in
your life?” she said, “Sweetie, you don’t need to be lonely, let
someone in.”

“Carol, not now.” Un-be-liev-able! She had
brought this up in front of all the guys who would no doubt use it
to tease me mercilessly. I glared at Carol, but she didn’t take the
hint. She meant well, she cared, but she needed to learn to censor
herself. But then, censorship was not her forte.

“He seems like the perfect opportunity,” she
continued.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Goddamnit
Carol.”

“He’s coming over tonight,” Jeff said.

“What? You invited him back?” I shook my
head. “You guys are too fucking much.” I headed to my room, grabbed
a robe, and walked into the bathroom slamming the door behind
me.

Twenty minutes later, I had washed my hair,
put on clean jeans, a tunic top with a low-slung hip belt, boots,
and two quick swipes of mascara. No bra of course. I wondered what
time he was coming over, but no way was I going to ask.

A chorus of wolf whistles accompanied my
return to the living room.

“Yo man, I think Lex noticed that Derek’s a
fox,” Ron cracked as he and Jamie headed to the entry hall. “Ciao,”
they called as they closed the front door.

I ignored the comment, grabbed the joint out
of Jamie’s hand and took a hit while I stood admired the sun
setting behind the Golden Gate. The grass mellowed me out and my
end of the term worries about paintings and papers disappeared. I
deserved a break.

The sunset’s rainbow of colors reflected in
the dark blue water of the bay, the entire composition framed by
the deep green redwood trees outside the window. I’d give years off
my life to capture the magic of those colors on canvas.

Jeff handed me a glass of dark red wine.

“No law books tonight?” I asked.

“Taking a night off. I really do dig Derek.
He seems OK.” He smiled. “I met someone too. I think you’ll like
her.”

Jeff and I had schemed together not to get
too emotionally attached to anyone until we finished school. Unlike
our rich friends who had no need to work to survive, we both
wrested all we could out of the opportunity to learn. But now, all
I wanted was to graduate and get on with life.

I sipped the wine, discovered it wasn’t the
usual Red Mountain rotgut, held the glass toward Jeff and raised a
questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah, she brought that Cabernet over.
Pretty good, huh?” Jeff winked.

“Did you find yourself an heiress? Does she
know even though you got into Boalt Law, the odds are slim you’ll
ever pass the bar?” It was safe teasing because Jeff was a
hardworking student with a photographic memory. He intended to make
the world a better place, one law case at a time.

“Her father is a state senator. That’s from
their winery,” Jeff said.

“Aw, going for the political connections
already, huh?”

“Lex, I really like her. And . . . I think
she likes me.” Jeff had that dreamy eyed look I’d seen on other
faces, never his.

Wow, I was about to lose my best friend. I
raised my glass. “Here’s to your new love,” I said, “When do I meet
her?”

“Soon.”

The doorbell chimed.

“Aaha.” He scrambled out of the armchair
we’d liberated from the Berkeley dump and bolted for the entry
hall, smoothing his strawberry blonde hair in place as he
walked.

But it wasn’t a girl’s voice I heard say
hello. “Welcome, Derek. Entrée!” Jeff said.

Derek’s tall slender body was backlit by the
chandelier in the entry hall as he passed through the archway into
the living room. It wasn’t until he sat down next to me that I got
the full effect of his looks. Short dark brown tendrils curled at
his neck and framed his chiseled features. No longer bloodshot, his
blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

Maybe Carol was right. Maybe this was the
opportunity to broaden my horizons. Try someone new. It had been
months since my first lover had broken my heart. My resolve to
dedicate myself to my studies with no distractions was melting in
the warmth of his smile.

“Hi!” He looked me in the eye. His smile
exposed those dimples again. I tried to ignore the sexual tension,
like the pull of tractor beams between us, but there was even more:
the recognition of a kindred spirit, a person with whom I
immediately felt comfortable.

Jeff remained at the door awaiting the
entrance of his woman who arrived right after Derek.

Flames on oak logs in the fireplace and in
candles on the mantel lit the room. On the stereo Bob Dylan rasped
“
Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed.
” A tray on the
coffee table held two bottles of Cabernet, two more wine goblets,
and a dish of pre-rolled joints. The rest of our gang made
themselves scarce.

I’d been set up.

I poured wine for Derek and Jeff’s new girl,
Lauren. Then I sat back, ignored Derek, and studied Lauren to
determine if she was good enough for my best friend. I wanted to be
sure she really liked him.

She thanked me for the wine in a soft, husky
voice.

Her brown eyes seldom left Jeff’s tan,
freckled face; she hung on his every word. Could she be for real?
Light brown hair fell around a delicately featured heart shaped
face and grazed her shoulders. She shrugged off a vintage Chanel
jacket revealing slender athletic arms visible in her sleeveless
turtleneck.

“Do you play tennis?” I asked her.

“Some,” she answered.

“She’s being modest, she’s damn good, plays
in tournaments,” Jeff said.

“Let’s see . . . ski?” I leaned forward so I
could watch her eyes.

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“Golf?”

“Definitely.”

“Bridge?”

“I do okay.”

“Sail?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hike?”

“Jeff took me on a hike last weekend. To the
top of Mount Tam. It was fab.”

So that’s where he’d disappeared. She was
doing pretty well so far. Almost too good. “Like kids?” I knew Jeff
wanted several.

Lauren smiled at Jeff. “Love them.” They’d
evidently already explored these avenues.

“What are you studying?” I asked.

“Art History.” She nodded towards my canvass
above the mantel. “I hope you don’t mind . . . when I saw that one,
I insisted that Jeff show me more of your work. Beautiful. Really
impressive.”

Failing to find a flaw, I thanked her and
sat back to discover that Derek had placed his arm on top of the
sofa behind me. I feigned being cold and went over to stand in
front of the fireplace, a ploy which failed when I realized I had
just given Derek the opportunity to check me out from head to foot,
which his eyes unabashedly did. He grinned and joined me on the
hearth.

The four of us rapped about the subject of
which there was ample supply: fucked up politics.

“Them times that’re changing, ain’t changin
fast enough,” Derek said with a Dylanesque twang.

“Anybody else think it keeps getting worse?”
Lauren asked.