Miss Adventure (19 page)

I put the hydrogen peroxide away and shut the medicine cabinet door. “You are such a
guy
,” I accuse, pushing past him on my way back to the kitchen.

“Lisa!” he yells, following me. “What the hell?” He laughs, like I have no reason to be upset. “I come over here to help you and you lay into me about my name and… and… what? That I’m a
guy
? I could have sworn you knew all along.”

I turn, launching into him. “You eat whatever you want!”

Jack stops in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t most grown-ups?”

“Not women,” I fume. “We can't.
We
gain weight when we eat.
You
never gain weight. I bet you’ve never counted a calorie in your life.”

Jack just looks at me like a gym teacher would who warned me not to play so rough with the boys. “With your talent for losing millions at a time,” he says, “I wouldn’t be so cavalier about betting when you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. As usual.”

I set the last two tubes of flea medicine on the kitchen counter. “Let me guess. You were stuck on top of some mountain with a herd of Yetis and you had one power bar between you to last through a blizzard and doling out the calories correctly was a matter of survival.” I blow my hair out of my eyes. “That’s
not
what I’m talking about.”

Jack picks up Dorothy from where he sleeps on one of the kitchen chairs. “What
are
you talking about?” But he says it in this soft,
coochy-coochy-coo
kind of voice as he scratches Dorothy between the ears. Jack is SUCH a sap.

“You’re making me fat.” There. I said it.

“You’re not fat.” He says this in a high-pitched falsetto, and I can tell he’s pretending to be Dorothy talking. “Have you seen Sophia?” he continues in Dorothy’s voice. “Now, she’s got a big gut.”

“I’m fatt
er
than I was when I got in shape after the hospital. Every time I’m with you, we eat. You’re my enabler.”

He shifts Dorothy to one arm and opens the fridge with the other. “I did not buy all this stuff,” he says, peering in. “In fact, I didn’t buy any of it. And I doubt elves fill your fridge at night. So…” He shuts the door and shrugs. “Time to face the awful truth, Lisa. You like to eat.”

“Shut up!”

“It’s not a sin. Some even argue that it’s necessary to sustain life.”

I reach out to take Dorothy from him, but of course the little traitor doesn’t want to budge. So I have to pry his claws out of Jack’s shirt, one by one. “You don’t get it,” I tell him. I tell Jack, not Dorothy, though I’m sure Dorothy is equally clueless.

“Yes, I do,” he counters. “To look like Tyra Banks, all you can ever eat is water and broccoli. But you want more. But then you can’t look like Tyra Banks.”

He delivers Dorothy to me. “Just decide which you’d rather be: happy or skinny.”

“Why does it have to be a choice?”

“Because that’s how life is, Lisa. It’s all about choices. Do you want to have friends, or work your ass off so you can get rich? Do you stay to close the deal, or do you go home to your kid’s birthday party? When you love your best friend’s girl, do you give up the friend or the girl? Do you rescue twelve animals, or do you lead a carefree life that allows you to go on vacation?”

“But–”

“You just have to shut out the world and decide what
you
want.”

“But the world is still out there. It’s always out there.”

“Make your own world, Lisa. Stop worrying about everyone else.”

“I
am
making my own world. But I want to show everyone. I want everyone to see that… I….”

“Stop thinking about how everyone is looking at you.”

“What about how you’re looking at me?” As soon as I hear myself say it, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. And God. The way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’ve taken everything too seriously.

“What do you mean?” His tone is deadly calm.

“Jack.” I decide to use my best rational voice. I’ve got to sound like I’m so NOT serious about him AT ALL.

“I understand what you’re saying about forgetting what others think. But what they think affects me in ways I never imagined. So just forgetting is hard. You know?”

“The best stuff usually is.”

“Shut up! You’re totally stealing that from
A League of Their Own
.”

“Lisa, I can speak for myself. I don’t have to quote some stupid movie.”

“It’s
not
a stupid movie.”

“What are you doing?” He sounds disappointed in me, as if I brought him slippers when he asked for the paper. “You want to fight about a movie? Why? So we get off topic and onto a subject where you can kick my ass? Will that make you feel better?”

I set Dorothy on the kitchen table, lean over him, and use my thumbs to part his fur. I wait until Jack squeezes the medicine onto the cat’s neck.

“You’re an asshole.”

Jack empties the tube, then pushes Dorothy’s fur back together. “Good boy,” he says, kissing him on the head just before I release him. I release Dorothy, not Jack.

Jack turns to me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m an asshole for–”

“Don’t you dare call me out for wanting to talk about things I’m smart about. Not when you’ve spent your life specifically avoiding things you suck at.”

Jack occupies himself wrapping the empty tube of flea medicine in tin foil. Apparently, this keeps Mr. I-Can-Snowboard-Down-Everest-While-Checking-Emails-on-My-Blackberry so busy that he can neither look at me nor respond to me.

“So you see,” I say nonchalantly, “I’m not the only one who likes to focus on the things I’m good at.”

Jack tosses the foil-wrapped tube in the garbage.

“Jayne’s the last one? He’s sleeping in the living room window.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “I’ve made a valid point so now the conversation’s over?” I try to catch his eye as he concentrates on poking open the next tube of flea medicine.

He meets my stare. “If I’m such a jerk, why do you care what I think of you?”

A direct question. I don’t want to answer it, but I asked for it. And I am supposed to be getting braver. “I want you to respect me, Jack.”

Silence.

“You’ve taught me a lot,” I continue, “and, since you’re my coach, in a lot of ways–”

He looks away. I’ve lost him with my bullshit.

I take a deep breath. “I want you to respect me because I respect you.”

He comes back to meet my eyes.

“I want it to be mutual between us,” I say. “I like you and, well, I think you’re a cool guy. And I want you to like me back. That way, we’d be friends.”

He blinks a few times. “You want to be friends with me?”

“Yeah,” I say, never quite having thought of it this way before. But I can work with it. “Like Holmes and Watson, you know? Holmes is obviously better at a lot of stuff, but Watson brings his own dynamic. Or Poirot and Hastings, more like. Poirot often uses, and definitely appreciates, how Hastings can be an idiot about a lot of things.”

Jack’s eyebrows move closer together, making me think he’s considering what I’ve said.

“No,” he says.

“What?” I squawk. “’No?’ ‘No’ what?”

“No, I don’t want to be friends.”

“B-but,” I sputter. “Why not?”

“Because we fuck.”

Just like that, he turns everything inside out. I mean, he just
says
it, right here, in my kitchen. While we’re medicating cats! He makes it like it’s real or something. But it can’t be.

My scalp gets really cold, making me feel like I’m in the wrong place. “Well, yeah,” I say, my ever-present rhetorical skills to the rescue. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“That’s what women always say.”

“How would you know?” I zing back. “You’ve surveyed all women, have you? I must have been absent that day because I don’t remember getting the questionnaire.”

“Lisa, just like you and your TiVo, I know how to avoid a trap.”

“Then why did you tell me about Luz and her parents? Why tell me if you don’t consider me someone with friend-potential?”

He looks around, huffs out a puff of air. “I told you because I wanted to tell someone. Not so much because I needed someone to listen. Make sense?”

I try to swallow. “So far.”

“You’re someone I know, but you’re not…well, you’re not someone in my life. I needed to tell someone who wouldn’t know too much about me and try to analyze the whole thing. After fifteen years, I just wanted to exorcise the ghosts. That’s all. And here you are, and as it turns out, I know a lot of bizarre things about you. So you were safe. To tell.”

“Like a secret box to put stuff in then bury.”

“Kind of.”

I stare at him. He’s telling me right to my face that he’s using me like he’d use an old shoebox. He’s saying it as if it’s okay to do that.

He doesn’t say anything else. Nothing to make anything any better.

It’s clear that he doesn’t care about me. Not as a person.

Certainly not in a boy-girl way. Not even, apparently, in a mammal-to-mammal way.

And it’s not something dramatic I can rail at him about. He just doesn’t care.

“Uh, thanks for answering me,” I finally say. A few weeks ago, I charged into his house demanding honesty. And he just gave me honesty. In spades.

He honestly doesn’t care.

But I honestly do.

I look out the window at the steady drizzle. Cold, wet water getting all over
everything
. I put down the hairdryer and wonder why I even bothered. Why warm up my scalp before I heartlessly expose my whole head to the nasty bite of late October rain?

Why am I still agreeing to let Jack use me like this? Sure, we had a deal. And supposedly I’m getting bravery lessons out of all this.

But that’s all talk. Meaningless words, words, words. I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for the guy. And he doesn’t give a damn about me. I should have ended the deal two weeks ago. But no. Then I wouldn’t see him anymore.

I’m so pathetic.

I take in a shaky breath. Tonight on the mountain, I am going to seduce Jack. If I have to spend the night in a damn tent, I want that guy plastered all over me until dawn. It’s not like I expect affection or anything from the encounter. But I know these testing jaunts won’t last forever. So, for as long as Jack’s in my life, I want to get as much of him as possible.

Feeling like a sex warrior, I surge to the closet and fling it open. What should I wear to seduce Jack on a dark, cold, muddy mountain?

When he called me yesterday to set this up, he told me to dress for hiking. But can I do that and get away with sexy undies? Or is my unadorned naked body enough to entice him to spend the night with me? I run to the mirror to check myself out.

Hearing an engine cough to a stop outside, I run to the window to peek past the curtain.

Jack gets out of his vegetable oil truck, and suddenly I know why so many country songs are written about men and their trucks. Jack just looks so damn hot.

I really hope he wants me as much as I want him. But would anyone write a song about
my
getting out of truck?

I hear him ring at the front door, but I’m naked and in the middle of something important. I open the window and holler around the corner for him to come in. In a few seconds, I hear his voice above the excited-to-see-their-favorite-person dog noise in the living room.

“You almost ready?” he calls.

“Hold on.”

I dash back to the mirror to mercilessly evaluate my assets.

First, my abs. Somewhat defined, but not as tight as they were before I chased Jack up the mountain. I eat way too much when I’m with him. But maybe he likes softer curves.

Next, my neck. I’ve been obsessed with how my neck looks ever since I saw
Emma
. I stretch my chin up as high as it goes.

Okay, so I’m no Gwyneth. Then again, Jack’s no Jeremy.

Next, my boobs. Damn. When I was a size fourteen, they had some definite va-va-va-voom to them. Now, they look like two small Fuji apples.

I take another look at my entire body. Trim, but not lethally so. Butt okay, bosom nothing to write home about.

Overall, I look–I look–Oh, my God.

Average.

I look
average
. That’s how the police would describe me if I were a suspect being hunted by the law. Average build, average height, brown hair, brown eyes. They probably wouldn’t even mention the greeney-blue flecks.

All this time, all this work, just to become
average
?

I can scarcely breathe. I’m going to hyperventilate. Then faint. And hit my head.

It’s not fair. Before the accident, I was at the interesting edge of the bell curve. I hefted more weight than the average L.A. chick, but I carried it off. I had it goin’ on.

How could I have forgotten that I used to rationalize my big butt and bulky thighs by consoling myself that I had the boobs to match? And I don’t care what evil Madison at
June Brides
had to say. Damn her stupid boob pads.

I was a happenin’ chick. I liked my boobs.

They weren’t exactly Weezy Jefferson boobs, but they were mine and I loved them.

And so did Keith. A LOT.

And now they’re gone, exercised into oblivion.

I hear sharp, rapid knocking at the door. “Lisa?”

It’s Jack. And I’ve got no rack!

“What’s wrong?” he shouts. “Are you okay?”

I can hear the dogs snuffling at the door, but I know they don’t give a damn about my emotional breakdown. They’re just flanking Jack. I throw myself across the bed and press my face into my pillow.

Through the door, “Lisa?”

I roll myself into my comforter like a burrito. I’m in my thirties and hopelessly average.

Do people like me ever suddenly get UN-average? The six million dollars isn’t helping. What are my chances? My whole body tenses when I feel hands on my shoulders.

“Lisa?”

Not
through the door this time.

I jerk around to face Jack, who’s leaning over me. I scurry to sitting position, but since I’m wrapped in the comforter, I inch up like a grub.

“What are you doing in here?” My anger at my averageness funnels into my voice.

Jack steps back. “Trying to get in the truck and leave. What the hell’s going on?” He looks me up and down. “And are you naked?”

He says it like my being naked is just a bad idea on principle.

“I can be naked if I want to be naked.” Jack looks confused, but I don’t relent. “And guess what, Spider-Man?” I’m really on a roll now. “You don’t have to have rock hard abs or a supermodel butt to earn the right to be naked. Anyone can be naked if they want to be.”

“O-kay,” he says slowly. “But why are you naked
now
?”

I can hardly tell the guy that I was scoping out my assets to gauge my chances of seducing him, especially as my current situation is drastically damaging said chances. “I wanted to get back in bed,” I say, just a tad haughty. “And I never wear clothes to bed.”

“This is insane,” he says, clearly losing patience. “You’re naked more than, like, any other woman I’ve known, and it’s not even a good thing. There’s got to be some damn calamity.”

“That’s not always my fault!” I shout. “And it always happens in
my
house. I didn’t invite you here the night I was in the shower. And I sure didn’t invite you into my room.”

He pins me with a look. “Since
when
do we need invitations to barge into each other’s lives?”

He’s got a point, but I’ve still got some ire left in me. “Not the same thing, bucko. That day I chased you up the mountain I might have been a little pushy, but it’s not your mountain.”

“Speaking of,” he says, looking down again at my comforter cocoon, “are we going to do this, or what? Are you changing your mind?”

“Of course not,” I say, scooching my way toward the edge of the bed so I can stand. “Why do you think I was buried in bed?”

Jack pauses a sec, looks down. Then he meets my eyes. “You’re that scared?”

“No!”

His head jerks back. “Then what?”

“It’s just that I’m going to miss all my guys.” I look at the beastly traitors where they hunker at Jack’s feet. “We’ve never really been apart since I rescued them.”

Jack ruffles Pacquito’s ears. “Do you trust Mia to take care of them?”

“Of course.” I look down at Ginger. You’d think at least
she
could muster a show of female solidarity.

“Then what’s the problem?”

I want to whack Jack but my arms are wrapped up tight. “There is no
problem
. I’m just taking a minute to
feel
how much I’m going to miss them. Is this such an alien concept to you?”

I see a muscle in his jaw flicker. “I’ll wait outside.” He walks out with the dogs, closing the door behind them.

I stand up and toss the comforter back on the bed. Why do I want Jack, anyway? The guy has issues.

* * * * *

I lean against the tile counter and breathe. My muscles are so tense I feel like a plank of driftwood .Wet, stiff, adrift. What a weekend.

And it’s only Saturday night.

I glance toward Jack’s spic and span shower. I want to thaw out. I do. But I get reminded of how cold I am every time I move and my icy clothes touch me. I need to get myself into that shower, but I don’t want to inch my way over.

Jesus. Did I actually think I had a chance of seducing Jack tonight? I’d be lucky to bed a horny goat looking like this.

I pivot on one foot, scarcely moving a muscle. I look directly into the mirror, which is enough to crush all my ridiculous illusions.

My hair sticks to my head in dull, muddy spikes. The grime on my face makes my eyeballs look really white. I don’t even look cute in Jack’s big jacket.

Nope. I look like I pulled a bulky, misshapen grocery sack over my scrubby pin-head.

I turn away in disgust, making my rickety way to the shower. I just turn on the water when someone, I’m assuming Jack, knocks on the door.

“Come in,” I say. “I’m not naked or causing trouble.”

He walks in wearing a navy bathrobe and without looking at me, sets a pile of clothes on the counter. “Pajama pants, T-shirt, boxers, socks, and a sweatshirt. After you thaw out in the shower, these should keep you pretty warm.”

“You own pajama pants?”

He looks at me. “I’ve spent as much as four days in a row in a harness, scaling a cliff. So you better believe that when I get the chance to kick back, I’m not going to be wearing any buckles, snaps, Gore-Tex, or spandex.”

I nod with my eyes downcast, trying to look ashamed for making fun of his owning jammie pants.

“I put the other clothes in the washer, so, before you get in the shower, just throw the rest of what you’re wearing outside the door and I’ll add it to what’s already in there.”

Great. I’d planned to nail the bejesus out of him this weekend, but instead, he’s washing my dirty undies.

“And take it slow in the shower,” he advises. “You need to thaw out, so give yourself time to do that.”

I nod again. “Thanks.”

He pulls back to leave.

“Wait,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“You’re taking a shower, too. Right?”

“Yeah, upstairs. Why?”

“Well, I mean, do you think we should both take separate showers at the same time?”

He looks at me and opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, looking curious but unsure. Like how Pacquito looks when I whistle the theme to
Sanford and Son
.

“I mean…”

Jack closes his mouth.

“I’ll wait,” I say. “I could just soak my feet or something. You can go first.”

Jack’s eyebrows inch upward. “Go first?”

“The washer’s running. Plus two showers? There won’t be enough water. Especially not enough hot water.”

He shakes his head and I could swear in my numb state he looks a little pissed off. “Lisa, your house was built in what? 1927? And the plumbing’s never really been updated. But in these modern houses built in the nineties? There’s plenty of water. Hot
and
cold.”

“Oh.”

“I can even run the dryer and the dishwasher at the same time without losing power.”

“Are you making fun of my house?”

“Yes,” he says. “Now get in the shower.”

After the door snaps shut behind him, I hold my breath, peel off the clothes, and throw them outside the bathroom door. When I step under the shower spray, I screech at the pain of thawing out. But when the scalding sensations subside, I can’t stop wailing.

How the hell could this happen? How could I have messed up so badly? It was just a creek. A creek! We were minutes away from setting up camp for the night and I had been gamely impressive all day. Jack was about to be mine for a whole night.

That damn, damn creek!

* * * * *

“It’s wider than the Mississippi.” My stomach dropped to my ankles.

“The rainwater’s made it higher than usual.” Jack stopped along the bank at a place where he found a few rocks dotting their way across. “Just remember what I told you about crossing. Keep your momentum going forward.”

I swallowed, needing Moses to part the waters for me.

“You can do this Lisa. It looks nasty right now, but it’s just a creek.”

“And Jaws was just a shark.”

Jeez! Why did I have to think of sharks when I was about to step into the water? Okay, okay. I can do this. Think of another movie. Think of another movie.
Climb every mountain/ Ford every stream/ Fol
—

“I’ll go first,” Jack said, “in case there are any trouble spots.” He chucked a finger under my chin. “Look on the bright side. You’re already pretty wet.”

I gave a shaky laugh. The roaring in my ears drowned out the roaring of the water. “You think I’m pretty?” My voice sounded very far away, and I wondered if Jack could even hear it.

He laughed. “See you on the other bank.” And just like that, he glided across the water like Eric Heiden.

“It’s all good,” he called across the crashing water. “Just remember, don’t stop to balance on each rock. Keep your momentum going forward.”

Momentum. Momentum. Momentum.

The creek looked strong. Jack said I could do it. But the creek looked so powerful. I felt sick.

“Ready?” Jack called.

Oh God. I tried to remember that I’d leapt out of a plane and rappelled off a cliff.

“Go!”

I jumped off the bank into the raging torrent. I skipped from the first rock to the second, but just as I took off for the third, I saw the rushing water swell. It was coming right at me!

I rushed toward the third rock, panic upsetting my balance.

My foot glanced off the rock as the water grabbed me by the ankles and yanked me into the torrent.

Water hit me all over. I couldn't hear or breathe. I bobbed to the top. Jack was already twenty yards away. I tried to raise an arm so he could see me. The current jerked at my pack, pulled me back under. I choked, spit, spun.

I tried to find the surface. I felt ground under me so I pushed off, trying to kick to the top. My pack was caught on something! It held me down! I tried to wrestle my arms out, but my jacket had twisted itself all around the straps. Uuuuh! I couldn't breathe!

I ripped the jacket off my shoulders, pushed to the surface.

“AAAAH!”

But the water sucked me back into its vortex, mashing my hips against rocks. The velocity of the raging water flipped me over and around. I felt a pointy rock jutting up and I grabbed on. Freezing water pelted me, pelted me, pelted me. But I didn't let go.