Skin and Bones (16 page)

Bones peered into the dark cavern of the trunk. Beside a greasy toolbox was a case of Cheese Doodles. Lard’s stash, cheaper by the dozen. And randomly weird stuff like a Snoopy umbrella, Coleman stove, industrial flashlight, cracked cookie jar.

Lard pressed himself against the steering wheel, letting Bones twist back in. Seconds later the Doodle sputtered, sputtered some more, coughed oily smoke, and rumbled to life.

Five minutes later they were driving on a wide boulevard with the windows down, passing the same strip malls and tacky restaurants as on their field trip. Lard drove with two fingers on the wheel. He pushed a CD into the player and punched the button to a different track.

Mick Jagger’s raspy voice crackled through the speakers. “Brown Sugar.” It was cranked so loud the hula girl on the dashboard lost her lei. Lard found a roach in his ashtray and siphoned it for all it was worth. Alice fumbled a cigarette from her case and lit it, incapable of embarking on any adventure without nicotine between her slim fingers.

Lard drove and smoked.

Alice sang and smoked.

They were sailing down the San Diego Freeway, the skyline of downtown loomed twenty miles to the east. The Getty Museum rose on a weedy bluff above them to the right. The sights faded behind them as they veered onto the Santa Monica Freeway, inhaling cigarette smoke and salt-infused air.

Bones had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in the real world, driving on the four-lane freeway with cars all around.
No way we’ll get away with this!
he thought.
Dr. Chu is going to eat us alive.

Alice rummaged through the glove compartment, retrieving a package of condoms. “Afternoon Delight?
Ribbed
?”

Lard fought to grab his latex treasure. Alice won, as usual. Then, suddenly, he glanced around like he’d lost something equally important. “Crap! We forgot Teresa!”

Bones couldn’t believe it either.

Lard looked doomed. “Man, oh, man.”

Bones knew she probably wouldn’t have come. Though he knew that wasn’t the point. “She probably wouldn’t have come,” he said anyway.

Lard slammed his brakes at the bottom of an off-ramp—barely making a stop sign—inflicting whiplash times three. “We should’ve asked her,” he said, strangling the steering wheel. “
I
should’ve asked her.”

Alice ignored him, back in the glove compartment. She unearthed a wilted paperback. “
How to Shit in the Woods: An Environmentally Sound Approach to a Lost Art
?”

“For your edification,” Lard said, “it’s sold more than a million copies.”

“If a man farts in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, does he have to say
excuse me
?” she asked.

“Mine comes out in a vacuum-sealed baggy,” Lard responded.

She smiled at him. “And I suppose it doesn’t stink.”

“You’re getting my drift,” he shot back.

They busted up in a way of togetherness that made Bones feel left out.

Bones wished he smoked.

Alice unbuckled her seatbelt, turned around to face him, and rested her chin on the seat. Bones wanted to lean forward and set his chin on the seat next to her. She smiled at him, her eyes stars in heaven. Bright and intensely vivid. He felt her words before she said them. “Don’t ever forget this moment, promise?”

“You’re going to break my heart, aren’t you?” he asked.

She smiled at him again; he believed her smile.

Lard barely made the next corner, honking at a seagull dragging a half-eaten hamburger in its beak. Bones was beginning to wonder if Lard had found his license in a box of Cracker Jacks.

Alice sounded like a navigation system amped on espresso. “Turn right at the gas station! Left at the liquor store! No, the other liquor store!”

Lard swerved into a lot and parked in front a hotel that looked more like the mansions Bones had seen on Playboy TV. He imagined businessmen in their rooms mixing cocktails and doing kinky things while watching Pay-Per-View.

Bones unfolded himself from the backseat, grateful to have survived Lard’s driving and daring to hope Alice had reserved them a room. Maybe even a suite. Lard must’ve been thinking the same thing because he said, “Isn’t three a crowd?”

Alice smiled and lit another cigarette, leading them purposefully down a stone walkway that bypassed the lobby and wrapped around a heart-shaped swimming pool. Two women sat on the steps, half immersed in water. They laughed beneath floppy hats. Another building rose on the far side of the pool. Pink flowers vined up the walls. Birds sang. Bees buzzed.

Alice stopped in front a building with a pair of etched glass doors.
Guests Only
.

“Don’t look so guilty,” she said and snuffed her smoke, pocketing the butt. “Haven’t you ever crashed a happy hour?”

Bones and Lard traded looks. “Uh, no.”

“Just pretend you’re a guest.” She wasn’t kidding. “Come on.”

They followed her into a large room—a combination living room/den/dining room. The paneled walls gleamed in highly polished wood. Couches and chairs looked cushy enough to wade in. Books with leather binding and gilded titles lined the shelves.

People, presumably those who’d paid to stay at Ocean View Suites, milled around in business suits or shorts, tank tops, and flip-flops. Alice chose a faux suede couch by the fireplace where fake logs spit real flames. “Red wine or white?” she asked.

Lard didn’t hesitate. “Red.”

Bones tried to shrink into himself, even though he thought he fit in okay. “What if someone wants to see our room key?”

“They never have before,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll try white.”

The reasons Bones didn’t drink alcohol were obvious—wasted calories, he wasn’t much of a risk-taker, and he didn’t like losing control. He dropped onto the couch next to Lard, while Alice sauntered off toward a five-star buffet table. She didn’t just look like she belonged there; she looked like she owned the place and everyone in it.

Bones craned sideways, watching as she reached for a bottle of red wine. She poured confidently, carrying on a conversation with an older couple in matching terry cloth robes. Neither seemed to question her age or whether or not she was a paid guest.

Back at the couch, Alice squeezed between Bones and Lard. “To the best friends I’ve ever had,” she said, raising her glass.

They clinked, and because Alice and Lard took sips, Bones did too. The wine wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, sort of like diluted juice.

“You’re a-peein’,” she said wistfully.

Bones nearly choked. “
Huh
?”

“The wine,” she said. “It’s European.”

They sank lower on the couch, convulsing in laughter.

Bones took sip after sip. It tickled his brain.

Everyone in the room was in full party mode.

Eating, drinking, storytelling, backslapping.

Lard mumbled to himself. “Teresa would love this.” Then with a display of generosity he got up. “I’ll get this round.”

Alice scooted closer to Bones and tilted her head, asking him, “You know what’s worse than letting other people run your life?”

He presumed she meant parents, teachers, therapists. But he didn’t move—just shivered when she breathed on his neck, dizzy with longing and lust. She was quiet a moment, as if intense concentration was required before sharing the only secret in the universe. “Absolutely nothing,” she said.

Bones nodded, and like most guys in this situation, he tried to look both thoughtful and intelligent.

“Tell me a secret, Bones,” she said, blowing in his ear. “Something no one else knows.”

I love you.

But that wasn’t a secret.

I’m a virgin.

She probably knew that too.

He shrugged, tried to look away.

The problem with being a guy is that guys bring all of their insecurities with them wherever they go—especially into a place like this—even while sitting beside an incredibly hot anorexic girl.

He screwed up his courage to say, “I wasn’t the only one worried about you—we all were. Lard and Teresa, the others.”

She punched him in the arm hard. “Silly.”

He frowned. “I had a dream that we were in bed together—but, you know, not like that. Just holding you.” All five quarts of blood in his body pooled in his cheeks. “Corny, huh?”

Then a guy with a hotel logo on his shirt walked around the side of the couch. Bones tried not to look guilty hoping he wasn’t about to ask for a room number or ID.

“The chef is shucking oysters,” the guy said. “If you’d like to try some?”

Alice smiled up at him. “Sorry, but I’m allergic.”

“You, sir?”

Bones shook his head. “No thanks.”

The guy moved on to the next couple.

Alice scanned the room, like she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. “Let’s see if they set out anything more interesting than meatballs and cocktail wieners.”

It wasn’t just the mention of wieners on her tongue, but when Bones got up he had to make a quick adjustment to his pants. Alice smiled, enjoying his anguish, and strangely enough, he felt better knowing she knew.

He tagged along after her to a table that looked like a dinner party on E! Crystal platters and copper chaffing dishes. The plates were plain white china, like his mom’s, but with gold edges. The silverware looked like, well, silver. He agonized over a platter of raw vegetables for a shamefully long time, silently arguing with a radish about its calories.

Then, because it was free—and because Bones knew he wouldn’t have to eat it all—he took one of every vegetable just to see what his plate would look like.

Alice licked her lips. Bones wished he could do that for her. “Too bad they don’t have something more original,” she said. “Like hearts of palm or souls of celery.”

“Peanut M&M’s,” Bones added. “Red.”

She took a saucer, spooned Dijon mustard onto it, and glanced around the table. Bones knew she was looking for a saltshaker. He passed one to her. She smiled and shook and shook until the mustard had a layer of white.

Alice didn’t really dip a celery stick into it—more like she turned it into a backhoe and shoveled in mustard. “God,” she said, slightly swaying. “I’ve so missed this.”

Lard lumbered over with a plate that looked like it had been attacked by a bear after hibernation. “I went to the kitchen to talk to the chef,” he said, sucking the life out of a green olive. “After my second helping.”

Alice grinned. “Thirds.”

“Fine, be that way.” Lard pushed his glasses up but they slid down his nose again. Bones had once seen him adjust them with a corkscrew.

“What a cool gig,” Lard said. “When he’s done here he goes home and plays with his kids while his wife fixes dinner.”

“You’d be great at a job like this,” Alice said.

They returned to the couch, joking and telling stories.

The sun coming through the high windows and the wine were mellowing them out. Alice and Bones had another glass for the road. It was quite clear that they were getting quite drunk. They quite liked it.

Lard laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Alice asked, playing with a book of hotel matches.

“I never thought I’d be such good friends with a couple of reluctant eaters.”

“And I never thought I’d have a friend named Lard,” Bones put in.

Alice agreed it deviated from the norm.

Lard sipped coffee. “Indonesian beans.”

At five fifteen they had to head back.

Cars tunneled through the fog-drift in the fading afternoon. Lard swore when they hit the freeway. Traffic was frozen on the Santa Monica East. Rush hour hadn’t been part of the itinerary. A frown played on his face. “Do we have a back-up plan?”

“Yeah,” Alice said, averting his gaze.

That could mean many things.

“Are you going to tell us?” Lard asked.

“Only if necessary.”

Bones should have been more worried about the as-yet undisclosed strategy for sneaking back into the hospital. But there wasn’t one thing he’d regret about this day—not if Dr. Chu locked him in a freezer with a hundred chicken potpies.

Alice breathed the car full of smoke while Lard changed lanes erratically and kept checking his mirrors. She put her feet on the dashboard, tucked her skirt between her knees, and started rubbing Ben Gay into her ankle. Two blocks from the hospital she motioned toward the drugstore.

The light turned red and Lard stomped on the brake. “Now?”

“Do I have to spell it out?” she said. “T-A-M-P-A-X.”

“Okay. Okay.” He pulled up to the curb and left the motor running.

Alice was in and out within five minutes.

Lard shifted into reverse and was backing out before she’d closed the car door. The 135-hp engine whined to life when they hit the street. The sky was fractures of orange sherbet and ripe watermelon as they cut through the hospital parking lot.

Alice tossed a box of Breathe Right Nasal Strips to Lard. “A present,” she said. “For everyone on the ward.”

“Gee thanks.”

She reached into the sack and pulled out a bag of M&M’s. “For you, Bones.”

“You’ve been paying attention,” he said.

Alice grinned at him, but he thought he saw sadness behind it. He opened the bag, picked out the red ones, and put them in his pocket. He left the rest on the seat.

Alice rolled up her window and cranked the heater. Then she opened a carton of chocolate Ex-Lax and set the foil-wrapped squares on top of the vent to melt. “I got a little something for myself too,” she said.

“What the hell is that?” Lard asked, eyes alert for a parking spot.

“I’m not going to use it, I swear. It’s just…insurance.”

Lard was totally pissed. “
Are you kidding me
?” he said, punching the gas.

“Just because your shit doesn’t stink doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole,” she said.

Bones slumped, stressed out all over again. It struck him that Alice probably hadn’t bought any feminine hygiene products at all. She flipped the packet over the heating vent, and plucked a dance magazine and small makeup brush from the bag.

Silence nibbled at the smoky air trapped in the car. Alice used the brush to paint pages of the magazine with the melted Ex-Lax to sneak the laxatives into the hospital. She hummed
you can’t always get what you want
. The pages were soon chocolate brown.