13
13
UNFUNNY FARM
A week went by and my “love bites” faded. But not my anger. After huffing around the apartment like a steam engine cleaning, while the love-of-my-life sallied out the door to “the farm,” I knew I would go stir-crazy if I didn’t get out.
How dare he dictate to me what I can and cannot do to earn a living! I’d had enough of being told what to do to fill nine lives! I dropped a kiss on Mr. Whiskers and headed over to the big house, deciding to take Ruthie up on her offer to borrow her car.
Fine . He didn’t want me going door to door offering up my cleaning services or my assistance to a very nice old lady . . . then I’d darned well tutor, like him. I mean , I’m smart too. Right? Not Pete smart, but at least half as much. Guess I should charge half of what he did then. I would feel downright sinful charging those prices to help someone write their English paper anyway. And I already had a casserole of sins cooking without adding more to the pot.
Pete took the laptop, but The Henrys said I could borrow their computer anytime. I bet I could borrow their printer too, print out some tutoring ads for English, Spanish, and Russian. Math was out, but I could maybe throw some Biology into the mix now. Big maybe.
Ruthie was more than willing to lend me her computer and car, even hovering nearby to make helpful suggestions of where I could place the fliers, since she’d worked in the admissions office for several years. I’d thought of the library, but she informed me I would need a student ID or a visitor’s pass for admittance. That shook me up. Made me feel like the dinosaur. I’d never been to a university before, or any library except for the school and public libraries in Clovis.
I frowned, tapping a pencil anxiously on my cheek while I thought of more options. I mean, I guess I could simply hand them out to milling students? When I mentioned this idea out loud, Ruthie tactfully suggested I place them on the various bulletin boards located along the Quad and Old Union. Oh gah! Even Ruthie thought I was out of it.
We spent an industrious morning printing the straightforward, marginally professional ads and drinking lemonade. Then cut the phone numbers on the bottom into vertical strips for easy tearing. In the end, I had no choice but to list Ty Jennings’ cell as the contact number. I wanted to do it all on my own, but I had no contact number, as I had no phone. Again. Anyhow, I didn’t think Pete would be too mad by the two or three calls I hoped I’d get to get the ball rolling.
So I took my stack of fliers and a borrowed stapler, my printed Google map, and the well wishes of my best girlfriend Ruthie, and headed out the door, feeling an instant lift in my mood. Just the act of being proactive made me feel buoyant. I carefully backed the Buick out of the driveway and onto the street without hitting the curb. I exhaled and waved at Ruthie wildly. Then grandma-ed my way down the tree-lined streets, listening to some R it was the same one I wore on my face when he performed that little move on me. The one I’d worn on my face just this morning as he made love to me. Love to me.
I reevaluated, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I observed him whisper something in her ear that caused her to laugh and her face to pinken. After which, he squeezed her to his chest, while my heart squeezed in mine. After the little hug-break, they began walking towards me, the sun shining radiantly upon them as they strolled, arm-in-arm.
Yellow hair had moved on warily because her new acquaintance was frothing at the mouth now. The knot of sick revulsion in my gut was hardening into something dangerous. Another pretty sorority girl type sauntered by him before doing the requisite double-take. As if the scenario couldn’t get any worse, his dark eyes turned to evaluate her departing figure before returning his attention back to Brunette-Number-Two.
Could it be the love of my life was nothing more than a womanizer? Ranger had once commented at a Thai restaurant, where I didn’t recognize the food, that variety was the spice of life. And I later reasoned it was also a motto he applied to his sex life. But it appeared Pete Davenport had a definite type. Did I just fit the profile? But why would he go to all that trouble to try and rescue me, not once, not twice, but three times? A good guy lothario?
I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing with my eyes, because it didn’t match up with what was in my heart.
They strolled along chatting it up and giving each other the eyes, but if Pete glanced my way now, he would see Brunette-Number-One lurking on the sidewalk. I was easy to spot—a frothing, dark-faced statue with smoke coming out of her ears was likely hard to miss amongst the cheerful bustle of this sunny day.
And then he did.
Freezing instantly, all traces of humor and smile wiped clean off his face. The same assortment of emotions that flitted across my face mere seconds before flitted across his: disbelief, belief, anger . . . awful resignation.
Brunette-Number-Two peered up at him quizzically. He immediately withdrew his arm from around her shoulder, as if that would make a difference now.
Actually, it did.
It made it worse. The catalyst to propel my anger from furious to fury. The stapler left my hand, but I never recalled sending it. It hurtled through the air like the missile it was intended to be. I had a good arm, I really did. That little hunk of metal flew fast and furious, and would’ve hit its target, but of course, that gosh-danged elite cadet ducked in time. The borrowed stapler continued hurdling through blank space, only to smash and go skidding across the sidewalk, where it was jumped over by a couple of spry Stanford guys.
About a busload of Cardinals stopped to gawk at me with shocked interest. Pete’s mouth popped open stunned, before some kind of frantic eye-code transmitted at me. But I wasn’t picking up the signals. I was picking up my feet instead. I turned to flee while heads whipped around to stare as I blew past, dodging bikes and backpacked backs back across campus the same way I’d come. But with, like, everything in reverse—welling hope giving way to hopeless despair.
I was chewing up sidewalk, but Pete was right behind me, not trying to catch up, or else he would have. I guessed he didn’t want to make any more of a spectacle than he had to. Not attracting negative attention would be a necessity in this ghost business, not to mention bad for his monkey business.
I slowed to a jog because I wanted to time the crosswalk just right, so he wouldn’t have a chance to catch up to me while I was waiting for the light to change. Dagnabbit! The light just turned green, and traffic started flowing. So I hooked it right down the sidewalk and saw, in my peripheral vision, Pete shortcut through the grass to cut me off. Then I did something incredibly impulsive—a get-even move if I’d ever seen one. I leap-frogged my way through the oncoming traffic, causing screeching brakes to halt fenders mere inches from my knees, hipbones, and ribcage. Pete’s frantic calls and curses were all but lost in the shotgun blasts of horns aimed at my retreating back.
I have no memory of scrambling back into the Buick. All I know is I was able to lock the doors, jam the key into the ignition, and start it up with trembling fingers, when I had to hit my own brakes before I smashed into the guy who just obliterated my faith in the universe.
Lord have mercy! The look on Pete’s face—murderous. He slammed his hand down on the hood, making my jack-hammering heart stop dead in my chest.
“ Jesus Christ , Kate! You could’ve been killed!” This was guttered and punctuated by another hood slam.
We stared each other down through the windshield. I saw a vein was popping out on his forehead. He was breathing flames through his nostrils. His face dark and very nearly burning. Eyes black as coals. My stomach dropped to the flooring board.
How dare he be pissed at me when I was pissed at him? He was in the wrong. I was in the right!
While I revved the engine threateningly, Pete drew his lips into a hard line. Actually, he was all hard lines, a weapon pointed straight at me. He halted me, palm up like a traffic cop, to come stalk around to my door. I didn’t have to obey him! I didn’t have to obey anyone! I lurched forward, almost rolling over his foot, I’m sure. He retaliated by banging on the window and hollering in my ear. Honest to God, I couldn’t talk; my heart jumped to my throat.
I resolutely refused to look at his face—the face of a player. He splatted his palm against the glass, making me flinch as if I’d been slapped.
“Kate, roll down the window, or I swear to God, I’m gonna bust through!”
A small gathering of onlookers stood watching our little scene play out. I noticed one worried girl leave, presumably to go find help. I hated to tell her: There was no help for me. I lurched the car forward a little farther out of the space. A huge amount of expletives left his throat. He backed up to the front fender, blocking my path. He stared me down with those lying eyes.
“I can explain everything, Kate,” he said in a tight, controlled voice. “Just roll down the goddamned window!”
I shook my head and watched as Pete blurred before my eyes. I hadn’t realized that at some point during this exchange my eyes had begun watering. Dang it! I dashed at my tears angrily, hating to show weakness in front of him. I was even madder, if possible.
“ Please , Kate.” He was using his velvet voice now. “It’s not what it looked like. I swear to God.”
I peeked at him beneath my wet lashes.
His eyes smoldered at me. “Do you honestly think I would cheat on you?”
I shook my head to clear it, a few tears spilling over. I leaned my head on the steering wheel, half in, half out of the space. I couldn’t see to drive now anyway. Pete backtracked to my window.
“Kate . . . look at me, so you can see the truth.”
I couldn’t face him so faced out the front windshield . . . and spied a security cop headed our way. Shoot! I had to get out of here.
“Kate, please!” He began walking with the car as I slowly pulled out. “Don’t do this!”
I waved him off as I took off, lurching forward again—all the way out—paying enough attention not to hit the pedestrians gawking at me. Then I took off.
“Go home, Kate!” he hollered after me.
The last thing I saw was Pete in the rearview mirror, flinging his hands to the top of his head as he watched me flee the scene.
Home? Where’s that?