The Wonder Bread Summer (23 page)

Chapter 18

F
rank was driving and Allie was looking out the window. She was wearing the Candie’s again as Frank did not believe that people should ever go barefoot. Just as they approached the end of Beth’s street, Allie remembered her battered, once-white rabbit foot.

“Dad,” Allie said, “we have to go back to Beth’s. I left my lucky rabbit foot on Beth’s keychain.”

“You are twenty years old,” Frank said. “You can go one night without your rabbit foot.” Frank turned the wheel hand over hand as he had shown Allie earlier.

“I know it’s stupid, and I know it probably doesn’t really bring me luck. But I haven’t gone a night without it since the day Wai Po gave it to me.”

“Don’t bother me with this nonsense.” Frank’s brow lowered over his eyes like an awning. In his repertoire of expressions, this was the one that usually preceded anger.

“Dad, please,” Allie said. “I’ve always thought of it as a way to have Wai Po with me. I mean, Mom’s been gone forever and you’re always at work.”

Frank pulled over. His face looked dark and shadowy. Each time a car drove by, a sheet of light passed over his eyes like a mask.

“Listen up,” Frank said, his voice as steely as a gun. “I’ll go back, but you have to promise me there will be no more of this
poor me
business ever again. Yes, your mother left, yes, I spend most of my time at work. But we’re alive, you’re healthy, and you’re going to cash Marc’s and Jonas’s checks and pay your tuition tomorrow morning. If you don’t mess up like this again, there’ll be a great big future waiting for you when you’re done with school.”

“Okay,” Allie said. “No more poor me.”

Frank pulled the car out from the curb, slowly turned around, and drove back to Beth’s apartment building. He parked in the private driveway next door. Allie and Frank watched out the window as an acne-stricken, skinny man hooked up Mike’s truck to a towing wench.

“Oops,” Allie said, and she laughed.

“You know, I should get those tools out of that toolbox before he drags that thing away,” Frank said.

“You want Mike’s tools?” Allie asked.

“Tools are expensive,” Frank said. “And if I don’t take them out of there now, you can pretty much guarantee someone in the tow yard will take them before they ever track down that slimy no-goodnik surfer.”

Frank clicked on the hazards. He and Allie both got out of the car.

“Don’t leave your purse,” Frank said.

“But you’re right here and you can lock the car,” Allie said.

“Anyone can break a window,” Frank said. “Take the darn purse.”

Allie reached into the car, got the purse, and strapped it across her body.

“Hurry back,” Frank said, as he walked toward the tow truck, the keys to Mike’s truck in his hands.

Just as Allie reached Beth’s door, she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

Allie turned and there was Jonas, smiling.

“Did you forget something?” Allie asked.

“Sure as hell did.” Jonas yanked Allie toward himself, his elbow wrapped around her neck, one hand over her mouth. Allie kicked her legs up and around but couldn’t land them against anything that made noise.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Jonas whispered. “You think I don’t know the difference between pure coke, which is what you drove away from here with, and small-time-corner-dealer-shit that’s half-laxatives?” Jonas was spitting, hissing. Allie expected burning oil to flicker out of his pores.

Jonas dragged Allie backward down the hallway. He pulled her past the stairway that led to the front of the building where Frank was. Allie thrashed her legs under Jonas’s grip. She was terrified. But even more than that, she was infuriated. Allie had survived so much the past four days that to lose it all now seemed simply wrong. With one giant surge, Allie put every bit of her might into pushing Jonas off herself.

A
nd then Allie came to. She was in Jonas’s tiny, teardrop-shaped, red convertible, zooming across the Bay Bridge. The cold wind was whipping Allie’s hair into a wiry frenzy.

“You’re alive!” Jonas said, and he laughed.

Allie touched her neck. It felt as if barbed wire had been run down her throat, then swirled against her tendons. “Did you knock me out?” She felt nauseous, dazed, boneless. There was no energy left for fear.

“You knocked yourself out against the crook of my arm. Time for you to take responsibility for your actions, girl!”

“Where are we going?” It hurt to talk. Allie could feel each individual vocal cord.

“My motherfucking big-brother’s house.”

“Why?”

“Because the stupid-ass-do-good-cocksucking piece-of-shit-fuck got me into this bullshit. I wanted my men to handle things the way they should be handled. But no, Lionel jumps in and thinks he can make peace between you, me, and Frank. And what the fuck did that get me?!” Jonas looked at Allie.

“What?” Allie asked, because that’s what it seemed he was pausing for.

“A fucking bread bag full of laxatives!” Jonas thumped his fist in the center of the steering wheel.

“I thought that was the real coke,” Allie said. “I swear.” Her purse was still strapped across her shoulder. Allie shifted it in her lap, looked down, and remembered the gun.

The exit for Yerba Buena, a tiny island that connected the two sides of the Bay Bridge, was approaching. Without putting any more thought into it, Allie stuck her hand into her purse and pulled out the gun. She pushed it into the side of Jonas’s round head. The wind blew Allie’s curls into her eyes, she could barely see, but she could feel Jonas’s flesh pressing into the tip of the pistol.

“The fuck!” Jonas said. “Put that thing down!”

“Pull onto the island or I shoot,” Allie said. It was a left exit and they already were in the left lane.

Jonas put on his blinker and pulled onto the island. “You know you’re in a convertible and people can see you with that gun? Or are you suffering brain damage from when I knocked you out?!” Jonas laughed, but it was restrained.

“I thought you said I knocked myself out,” Allie said. “Drive to the top.”

The island was woodsy and wild with thick towering trees and giant, craggy boulders. There was a Coast Guard station somewhere, but Allie had never seen it the few times she’d gone to Yerba Buena with friends. As far as she knew, she could fire the gun and no one would hear. If she actually had the nerve to fire the gun. Allie put her left hand under her right upper arm to steady her aim. Reality was rushing up her body and she could feel a shake coming on.

“Park over there,” Allie said. They had reached the hilly peak of the island. Black water filled the view with the glittery outline of San Francisco in the distance.

Jonas parked.

“Give me the keys,” Allie said.

“Give it up, Allie,” Jonas said, but he didn’t turn his head. “You know you’re too afraid to shoot that thing.”

The funny thing was, Allie
was
too afraid to shoot it. But because Jonas didn’t turn his head, didn’t laugh or mock her, Allie knew that he wasn’t certain of this fact. And this small amount of faith that Jonas had in Allie’s badass abilities gave her the courage it took to maintain the gun against Jonas’s head.

“Hand me the keys, open the door, and get out slowly,” Allie said. “I’m coming out right beside you.”

Jonas put the keys in Allie’s left hand; she shoved them down her front pocket without moving her eyes from the point on his head where the gun rested. Carefully, she climbed over the driver’s seat and got out of the car beside Jonas. The wind was whipping around as much as when they were driving in the convertible. Hair was in Allie’s mouth, eyes, nose.

“Stand against that rock and face me,” Allie said.

Jonas walked to a massive rock wall, turned, and faced Allie. “Can we stop this bullshit? You put down the gun and I won’t kick your fucking ass for giving me that shitty-ass laxative-cut shit.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t the real stuff,” Allie said. “Now show me your tits.”

“What?” Jonas laughed, just a little.

“Show me your tits.” Allie steadied her arm again and peered down the nose of the gun.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“JONAS!” Allie yelled, and she could feel everything pouring out of her: shame, fear, fury. “TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT AND SHOW ME YOUR TITS!” Her throat throbbed from the force, but it was a good throb, like a heartbeat that was keeping her alive.

Jonas unbuttoned his dress shirt and took it off. He lifted up his undershirt and took that off, too. He looked at Allie, smiling. “Wanna see my dick now?”

“Yup,” Allie said. “Take off your pants, your shoes, everything.”

“It’s cold out here with this wind,” Jonas said, “so the size thing isn’t going to be happening.”

“Take it all off,” Allie said, nudging the gun in a sideways motion.

Jonas lifted his feet, one at a time, and removed his burgundy dress shoes. He took off his slacks and folded them on top of the shoes. He removed his underpants and held them in his hands in front of his crotch. All that remained were his burgundy dress socks.

“Don’t you want me to see it?” Allie asked.

“I told you, girl, it’s cold out here!” Jonas’s voice was stretched and strained.

“Grab your bundle of clothes and throw them down the hill,” Allie said, and she waved the gun to the right as if to point in the direction of the hill.

“They’re not going to land in the water. Too many damn trees and rocks on this slope for that.” Jonas bent over, picked up the bundle, and held it all against his crotch.

“Just throw them as hard as you can,” Allie said, and he did. It was too dark out to see how far they went but Allie heard his shoes clattering on the way down.

“Now what?” Jonas asked. “You finally going to do the dirty with me?” Jonas grinned in a forced way.

“Get in the street and start running.” Allie pointed with the gun toward the road they’d come up.

“Run?” Jonas asked. “Girl, I don’t run. I strut.”

“Jonas, FUCKING RUN!” Allie hollered and Jonas took off. “RUN, RUN, RUN!” she screamed until her stretched voice crackled into silence and she could no longer make out Jonas’s form on the dimly lit street.

Allie got in Jonas’s car, started up the engine, and drove in the opposite direction. She needed to come out of the island driving toward Oakland, not San Francisco. She placed the gun on her lap then cruised down the hill as rapidly as she could without crashing into any looming redwoods or jutting rocks.

Just before the exit off the island there was a culvert with a roaring flow of water. Allie stopped, shifted into neutral, pulled up the emergency brake, and got out of the car. She dangled the gun over the water, then let it drop. Allie got back in the car, released the emergency brake, shifted into first, and pressed the toe of her pointy high heel onto the gas pedal. But instead of accelerating, the convertible sputtered and lurched. Allie looked down at the circular dials in the dashboard. The car was out of gas.

Chapter 19

T
here are few places more difficult to catch a ride than in the middle of the Bay Bridge. But Allie was trying. Her thumb was out, her purse was strapped across her chest, the wind was slapping her face so hard that she could feel the pressure on her forehead lump.

A tiny silver Honda pulled over in the nook where the road from the island merged onto the bridge. If the car had been any bigger it wouldn’t have fit. Two guys were in the front seat. They each wore a baseball cap. The driver had a blond mustache.
Trouble
, Allie thought. She approached the car. The window was down.

“Where you goin’?” the guy asked. He looked to be in his twenties. A knot of muscle bulged from his upper arm.

“North Berkeley,” Allie said.

“Us, too,” he said. “I’m Mike.”

Allie looked from the driver to his friend. The friend nodded his chin upward. “I’m Mark,” he said.

“Mike and Mark?” Allie asked. “Seriously?” Allie felt like she was hallucinating again. How could it be that the only people who pulled over to give her a ride had the same names as two people who had created tremendous trouble for her?

“Get in, we’ll take you,” Mike said. Allie didn’t move. She stared from Mike to Mark and back again. She remembered Wai Po saying,
DEEP DOUBT, DEEP WISDOM; LITTLE DOUBT, LITTLE WISDOM.
Allie’s doubts were enormous. She wished there were some magic light that appeared on people’s foreheads that would tell you if they were good or not so good.

“We’re safe,” Mark said.

“I can’t tell you how bad my judgment’s been lately,” Allie said.

“Well if you were my daughter,” Mike said, “I’d tell you to stay away from two jocky-looking guys in a Honda. So, I totally understand if you don’t want to get in.”

“Yeah,” Allie said. “You look nice but I think I better stick to, I don’t know, old women with gray hair driving ’63 Cadillacs or something.”

“Totally get it,” Mike said, and he removed his baseball cap and ran his hands through his thick blond hair.

“Thanks anyway,” Allie said, and she took a step back from the window.

“Do you want us to wait here with you until you get a proper ride?” Mike asked. “Just seems like, I don’t know, not a great place to hitch.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Allie said. “Really. You guys are nice but lately everyone I think is cool turns out to be some raving lunatic who eventually wants to kill me.”

The guys laughed. “All right, well, I hope the gray-haired lady in the twenty-year-old Cadillac shows up soon,” Mike said, and he turned his attention to the road, waiting for a break in the traffic so he could pull onto the bridge.

The moment that break came, as the silver Honda slipped into the never-ending weave of cars, Allie turned and saw Jonas, naked except for his socks, running toward her.

Allie stepped out of her Candie’s and took off barefoot into the traffic. Cars were on either side of Allie—their energy and heat pulsed against her. She could sense Jonas running behind her. The hairs on her arms knew he was there. The searing pain in her thighs, as she pumped her legs faster than she ever had in her life, also knew he was there.

Allie was choking for air when she finally turned and saw Jonas, who was only a few paces back and gaining on her. She looked ahead. The Honda was stopped in the center lane—hazard lights on, the back door open.

Allie gulped at the wind, pushed herself farther, and jumped into the backseat, pulling the door shut. “Go, go!” she said, looking out the back window. Jonas leaped for the Honda just as it jolted forward. There was a nerve-jangling squeal of brakes. Horns honked. Jonas popped up, body intact, his two hands held high like a fuck-you-finger Jack-in-the-box. Mike zoomed ahead.

“That was fucking crazy!” Mike said, laughing. After the weekend she had just had, Allie understood the laugh. It was the exhilaration of having escaped something treacherous.

Allie leaned over her knees trying to catch her breath.

“You okay?” Mark asked.

Allie nodded and took in giant, scraping, lungfuls of air.

“Was he one of the raving lunatics who wanted to kill you?” Mike asked.

Allie nodded.

“The guy was totally naked, right?” Mark asked.

“He had on dress socks,” Allie said. And then the exhilaration hit her and she started laughing, a raspy cackle that was just an exhale away from sobbing.

F
rank looked like he actually might cry. He grabbed Allie, pulled her into Beth’s apartment, and clasped her against his chest. Allie could feel his lungs pumping in and out like slowly flapping wings.

“Oh my god!” Beth said. “Your neck, like, has bruises around it?”

“Matches my lump,” Allie said.

They moved to the kitchen. Beth stood on the stove side of the counter and Allie, Frank, and Rosie sat on stools across from her. Allie relayed the story of Jonas abducting her, from beginning to end. She took particular joy in telling them that Jonas was naked except his socks, although no one else seemed intrigued by this detail.

“Let me see your feet,” Beth said, and Allie lifted one foot as high as the counter so Beth could look at the blackened, scraped bottom.

“I was too scared to feel any pain,” Allie said. “But my soles feel sort of sunburned now.”

“No more high heels,” Frank said. “From now on, only sensible shoes.”

“Oh my god, your rabbit foot?” Beth plucked the little paw from the bowl that held her keys and handed it to Allie. Allie rubbed the rabbit foot, then shoved it down her pocket. That’s when she noticed the Wonder Bread bag on the counter.

“Is that actual bread?” Allie pointed to the bag. It was fresh, new-looking. There was no smeared number on the side.

“That’s the pure stuff,” Rosie said. “I’ll return it to Jonas as soon as I find him.”

“It was in Mike’s toolbox,” Frank said.

“So what was the deal with the bag of laxatives?” Allie asked.

“I assume it was a decoy made especially for us,” Frank said.

B
eth and Allie went into the bathroom to wash Allie’s battered feet. Beth owned a pair of loafers but Allie couldn’t bring herself to wear them—they looked wrong with the acid-washed jeans and Flashdance shirts. Allie settled on a pair of flip-flops.

“Do you want to change your top?” Beth said. “I mean, like, haven’t you been wearing that for four days?”

Allie looked at herself in Beth’s full-length mirror. She liked how worn and filthy the clothes appeared. She felt like a warrior who was coming out on the winning side. “I’ll change tomorrow when I get in my room and pick up my stuff,” she said. “Do I smell?”

Beth leaned in and sniffed at Allie’s neck. “No,” she said.

“It’s the Chinese in me,” Allie said. “Dry ear wax and low body-odor.”

“You have Chinese in you?” Beth asked.

“My mom’s Chinese. I showed you pictures of her in
People
magazine, remember?”

“I thought she was an Indian,” Beth said.