Chapter 20
I turn to see a familiar shadow standing at the top of the stairs.
“I see you found the Jacobson’s atrium.”
Ben Brown’s voice echoes from the stairwell. He must be ready to tell me off for what went down downstairs.
“Yeah, I did,” I say, turning to face Ben gingerly. I know he’s a ticking time bomb ready to blast me with shrapnel and radioactive dust now that we’re alone together.
“Why are you up here and not down there watching my relationship crumble?” He scoffs and walks over to the apothecary wall a few feet from where I stand.
“I didn’t want to see your relationship crumble,” I say. And I mean it. I wanted to get to the bottom of why he wasn’t speaking with me though.
“No, but you thought you’d torture me by hinting blackmail all week and then have my sister do the dirty work for you. Why’d you leave? The drama wasn’t good enough for you?” The mysterious sneer underneath his dark tone matches the mystery of the night sky above the atrium’s glass ceiling.
“I left because I felt like I was in danger,” I say as if I’m about to let a frightened laugh Heimlich out of me.
“Well, you did plan this,” he says, clearly unsure of what to think of me. He’s angry but he’s glazing everything over with a sneer as if he knows it’s punishment enough.
“There were too many people in that room. I couldn’t have done what Diana did. And I couldn’t have gotten as much out of Corky as she did. It seems like Diana was going to do it regardless.”
“Seriously, Atta?” He folds his arms over in amused annoyance. “All the interfering, investigating, and bumping into me at school every day and now involving my sister to crash my relationship. What’s with the newfound obsession? Don’t tell me it’s because you’re actually jealous of Bennette.”
I’m instantly taken aback. So much so that I knock the astronomy book over with a frantic swipe. What obsession?
He was my best friend. I was in no way obsessed with him. My ongoing childhood infatuation with him may still be a flame that ceases to be blown out, but calling it an obsession is a bit much. I’d given up on him long ago. I suppose I’d been a bit more aggressive seeking him out under these circumstances, when alternate reality called for it and he didn’t have any recollection of our history. So to him perhaps it looked like I was acting out of jealousy.
“Obsessed? You think pretty highly of yourself to make that kind of claim,” I say collecting the astronomy book from the floor.
“Are you not? Since when have you made it your business to care who I date and what I do when I date?” he says as he pulls open the nearest apothecary drawer.
“Never,” I say, feeling unqualified to have this conversation.
“Don’t tell me you think that because I went to a concert with Corky that gave everyone, including you, an open door to claim me while I’m still dating Bennette.”
“Wow, your head is so inflated I’m afraid you might float through the glass.” I motion a finger to the atrium above. Ben just chuckles.
“You think you know my motive but I promise you, you don’t,” I continue.
“Try me.” His eyes are daring. “You like me and you’re too afraid to admit it, unless you have a better explanation for your weird behavior all week,” he says, baiting me.
Unwilling to get into time travel, I opt for a partial truth. “Like I’ve said a million times before, I'm just trying to understand why you would choose the concert with Corky and not tell Bennette. It’s not like you to be so uncaring, and yes, I’ve always liked you Ben. I hardly see how this is the first time you’ve noticed, but that’s not why I cornered you.” It was the first time I’d admitted it like that, and it felt good to express the truth to him. Even if I couldn’t share the full truth, some truth felt comfortable. Like our normal friendship, we’d share almost everything with each other.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says looking as if he might pat my head like he would a younger sibling who’s done a good deed. Not exactly the response I’d hoped for, but it’s what I’d come to expect. “Then I guess you deserve to hear why I did it, again. Since you seem to have forgotten our phone conversation last month when you hopped on the line and interrupted the connection.” He squats down against the wall of small apothecary drawers and begins digging through a side of drawers I haven’t touched yet and pulls out a random cassette tape.
“Ahh,” he sighs. “This makes everything better.” He holds the tape out as if to show me its importance. His hold on it feels familiar, like the way I stroke my crossword when crap hits the fan.
I suppose solving puzzles was a comforting distraction—board games, puzzles, solving cases with game theory. Who needed a therapist when scribbling letters in tiny boxes made me feel better—at least that’s how I saw it. My world made sense when I became the investigator, as if I could solve my own internal pain by solving someone else’s puzzle.
“I know the feeling,” I assure him. I guess we’re both going to ignore the fact that I confessed my feelings for him.
“Corky offered me a ride to the concert when she found out we’d both bought tickets to Genesis. I went with her and didn’t tell Bennette but I didn’t mean anything else by it.”
“You didn’t think to tell Bennette you planned to go to the concert with her best friend or at least offer an invite to her?” I say. He didn’t think this through very well it seems.
“Before the concert, Corky bought the new Genesis album. She wanted to show me in her car after basketball practice because we’re both obsessed with Genesis. Bennette flipped out on both of us before I could even get out of the car to greet her,” he says shuffling through the wall drawers. “I wasn’t going to miss the concert and neither was Corky. Bennette would never approve of us going together so we thought it would be best to just keep it from her.”
“So you chose a band over your girlfriend,” I say, chuckling like he’s some stupid teen making amateur choices.
“Bennette’s just upset because Corky and I like the same music. It’s not like we’d ever end up together.”
“Or it could be that you lied to her,” I say in a mocking tone once again.
“I guess. It doesn't matter now anyway,” he says, holding three tapes fanned out in his long fingers. I take it that he and Bennette are no longer an item.
“But who invites her best friend’s boyfriend to a concert and hides it? Are you sure Corky doesn’t have an ulterior motive?” I ask.
“Says the woman who also tried to use a cassette tape to break up my relationship.” He’s now mocking me. I’ll be considering him the fifth Golden Girl if he keeps up the sassiness.
“I shouldn’t have grabbed your Genesis tape in the first place and shouldn’t have had Diana confront you with it, but do you really care so little for Bennette? You act like you aren’t even phased about her breaking up with you.” His look turns a bit more menacing, as if I had exposed his true feelings that he’d rather keep hidden.
“I’ve had all week to prepare for the loss.” He nods at me. “I knew this would happen the moment you broke your word and got involved.” He lowers into a seated position with his knees up and feet flat against the hardwood floor. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says as if his goal is to move on entirely.
He becomes lost in thought and I find the silence deafening. It’s our first successful conversation since I was sucked into this weird world and I don’t want it to end here.
“So music?” I say, shattering his moment of solitude.
“I grab a tape from the Jacobson family collection every time I’m here.” He reaches into his front pockets and pulls out an ocean blue tape with five men at a bar on the plastic cover. The Sports album from Huey Lewis and The News. He opens the drawer that the first tape came from and replaces Huey Lewis in its spot.
“And you called me a thief!” I say, fabricating surprise.
“Tyler knows. His dad OK’d me to sample anything I like here.”
“And you like…” I pause reading the title of the tape in his hand. “Aerosmith.”
“Yes. This is their newest album Classics Live . I’ve got four of their nine albums.” He hands me the tape this time to look at. The only song I’m familiar with is “Dream On”, but I can’t help but think of “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)”—to me that song encompasses Aerosmith.
“I’ve always wondered what the story is behind some of these song titles,” I say, deeply zoned into the words on the plastic casing. “Like here ‘Lord of the Thighs’ and ‘Three Mile Smile.’” A lighthearted laugh splashes out from my mouth. Ben furrows his brows at my song picks and then appears casually delighted.
“You’ve always wondered things like that? What do you think the story behind it is?” His smugness keeps emerging within the brief moments he seems to forget his deep-seated breakup sorrows.
“Well in ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady,’ I always imagined a jazzercise instructor with long lion-like hair pulled back in a yellow headband and matching leotard, who looks like a sexy stewardess from the back but then when he turns around it’s really Tarzan but with a Guy Fieri goatee.” I describe the song just as I envision it every single time I hear the chorus.
“I have no idea what you’re saying right now.” Ben smiles. He looks charmed and confused all at the same time. “What’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady?’”
I realize I must have a date issue since this Ben knows his music and has four out of nine albums. Is that crazy song not out yet?
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, hoping that gets me out of an explanation for my nonsensical description. At least it was nonsensical for someone who isn’t familiar with the unreleased song and Guy Fieri. Those came later.
“Do you do this often—wonder why people name their songs the way they do?” he asks, observing me as if I’m a foreign object—a new Atta. It’s possible he’s mistaking me for a music lover, when really it’s just a matter of my constant, unmanageable curiosity.
The drawer next to him is jammed with more tapes. I pull a handful out thinking this will be a good way to waste some time with my best friend. I sit down beside him and he doesn’t flinch or seem to mind my close proximity.
“Aw, here we go. ‘You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly,’” I say, flipping the cassette tape over to show him the Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty album cover.
“She’s dissing her ex-husband. There’s no other possible explanation for that name title,” he says and we both snicker.
He shoots me a half smile and uses a kneeling maneuver to pull out another handful of tapes from the wall, before scattering them on the floor in front of me. We shuffle through until—Little Richard. He holds the tape close to my face pointing to a song.
I read the song title out loud, “‘Cats Iron Arm.’ Not a metaphor. He must be singing about a prosthetic bionic arm attachment for his fuzzy friend.”
Ben shakes his head. “Are you sure it’s not ‘Cast Iron Arm?’” he says, trying to suppress a smile.
I look down at the cassette and realize it is in fact cast and not cat. I look over at him and laugh. He lets a crooked smile escape. We’ve actually managed to entertain each other up here despite the contention we were both feeling just a half an hour ago.
“Oh oh, this one’s a good one! Johnny Cash,” I say excitedly. “‘I’ve Been Flushed From The Bathroom Of Your Heart.’” A flash of a smile hits his face.
“You made that up,” he objects.
“No, it’s right here.” I hold the tape up close to him so he can read the small text.
“That’s one way to write a breakup song. Comparing the relationship to the shitter.” His words leave his mouth with pleasure.
He clicks open a gray tape.
“Joe Walsh. You have to listen to ‘Inner Tube - Theme from Boat Weirdos.’ It’s all instrumental but such a good track. You should take that one home and give it a listen. Trust me, it’s beautiful,” he says and it’s at this point I feel I’ve done it. I’ve crossed the barrier that was put in front of me since entering this alternate universe. Ben and I. I think we are friends again.
“Okay. I will.” I take the tape he’s handed to me.
“Does it hurt?” He points to the bruise on my forehead that I was unable to cover with Diana’s shimmery makeup.
“Only if I press on it,” I say. He leans in a little toward me, a devilish gaze in his eyes. “No, you can’t touch it!” I form an arm barricade around my face so he’s unable to press a finger to my forehead.
“Hey, Ben,” I begin, confident he won’t try to touch my bruise. He’s too buried in cassette tapes to move close enough to me.
“Yeah?” He looks up from the hill of tapes lounging against his strong thighs.
“I really wasn’t trying to get between you and Bennette.” His face remains neutral at my confession.
“Then what were you planning to do?” His mouth finally pulls up into a smirk.
“Not that. I missed talking to you and…” I look up toward the atrium to see if the stars look as vulnerable up in the vast island universe as I feel right now.
“You two are up here?” Diana says from the top step. Her footsteps are much softer than Ben’s. That or she crept up on tiptoe to surprise us. It worked since we both feel our dark, remote, and somewhat cozy environment fade away. From the look on Diana’s face, she’s been looking for us for a while now and she’s ready to leave.
“You both go ahead without me. I’ve got a late night ahead of me,” Ben says, heading toward the locked door on the opposite side of the stairwell where the rest of the house and likely Tyler’s bedroom nest away.