Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Dulcie
This party bus kicks all the ass.
It’s extra rewarding and twice as exciting as I thought it would be after five long days of dealing with hostile rental companies, asshole insurance agents, and possibly the worst property owners I have ever met.
It was a mass of snarly, depressing human interactions.
I tried to handle it all on my own, but unfortunately, I had to call Luca after day three and have him step in.
The owners refused to clear the tree off the property, stating that they were too far away, and since I was there at the time, it was my responsibility to get someone and then pay for it. They went so far as to tell me they were going to charge me for damaging their yard.
I wish I were kidding.
On day two, I found someone to cut up the tree and take it away to be repurposed into firewood and mulch, then the battle with the rental company and the insurance started.
After spending two full days making endless calls and getting nowhere, I had to just resign myself to the fact that if this was ever going to get taken care of, with me not being held liable for damaging property and getting charged for a brand new car, I needed Luca and his undertaker-level scary lawyer to help.
They did.
I don’t know how it was accomplished, but magic was done.
The car rental place sent a flat deck tow truck to retrieve the smushed vehicle, and I received an email basically stating that I was good to go.
About half an hour after that, I received a second email from the property owners saying they were reimbursing me for what I’d paid to stay there, apologizing for the near-death experience, and begging me not to leave a bad review on the booking website.
Stonewell is actually a pretty kickass guy.
The interior of this bus is fancier than anything I could have ever imagined. It’s like being in a moving club with wheels, which I guess puts the party in the name.
The seats are black quilted leather, and they loop around all three sides, illuminated by strip lighting that changes colors.
The windows are blacked out from the exterior but tinted from the inside, and they are also trimmed with mood lighting that matches the stuff on the floor and the crazy patterns on the roof.
It comes complete with a large TV mounted on the back, a full bar in the middle, and a killer sound system.
Luca has punk music playing, but at a manageable level. We can talk over it if we want.
Since he picked me up from the cabin fifteen minutes ago, neither of us has said anything past giving each other polite greetings. It’s not awkward, but barely.
He’s sitting on one side of the bus, and I’m on the other. We’re across from each other, just a few feet away in reality, but he might as well be in New York, and I might as well be in Ohio already for all the distance it feels like there is between us.
He’s a little bit shy, probably up in his head.
And so am I. I’m wearing the last clean thing I brought, which is a black dress with cap sleeves and lace along the bodice.
It gives badass princess, but it also passes the goth vibe check that I was supposed to be playing into.
I went lighter than normal with my makeup, but I’ve been enjoying experimenting and wasn’t ready to give up the thick winged liner, chiseled contouring, or bright red lipstick.
I never wear any makeup when I’m at home since I work in the bakery most days.
Uniforms and hairnets are an absolute must, while fake nails and anything that could fall into the food are right up there on my dad’s shitlist of prohibited items.
I’ve loved expressing myself with fashion and makeup in a way that I’ve never been able to or been brave enough to do before.
Luca is a masterpiece. I got bold yesterday when he called me to discuss our travel arrangements, and I might have jokingly told him to wear something awesome.
He didn’t disappoint. His red plaid blazer with the sleeves cut off and pinned back on, sporting rips and tears all over the place and patches sewn on, is a new level of someone, come pick me up off the floor, please.
His ripped-up black skinny jeans are adorned with chains, and they end in black riding boots.
He also slicked his hair back and put on eyeliner. He looks like a legit rockstar.
My ovaries aren’t taking it well.
Maybe the problem is they’re taking it too well and enjoying this far, far more than they should. My vagina and nipples long to get in on the action, partying it up on this bus.
Half of me wonders why I ever told Luca to dress this way, while the other half wonders why I’m wondering why I shouldn’t have.
The fact that we shouldn’t find each other attractive is up for negotiation. I think. What he said at the cottage wasn’t a hard no.
He almost kissed me.
And he put my finger in his mouth and sucked on it.
My only complaint about that whole visit was Adam’s timing. I guess.
And the fact that the tree fell over and crushed my rental like a tin can, which caused a lot of chaos.
But yeah…
The bus is way too quiet, and I can’t take it anymore.
I stand up cautiously, making sure I have some semblance of balance in the moving vehicle before I make my way to the bar in the middle. It’s got its own blue illumination. Pulling open the door at the bottom, I find it fully stocked with bottles of water and one bottle of champagne.
Is it weird that I’ve never tasted it in my life?
Probably.
I’ve tasted my dad’s former best friend before I’ve… wow. I’m cutting that off right here, right now. Hopefully to be resumed later.
That kind of negates the purpose of forcing yourself down a different line of thinking, does it not?
I sit down with the bottle right by the bar and peel off the fancy gold foil from the top. The cork looks complicated. Am I supposed to have a special device to open it, like what is used on wine?
“Here I was, preparing this speech for you about how I’m not nearly so innocent and getting ready to explain all about the debauchery that has surrounded most of the parameters of my life, especially my college years, and how I’m not made of glass, but I’m also realizing that I have no idea how to open this.
” I ease my eyes to Luca’s face. Part of me can’t believe I just blurted that out, but the other half can, since I’m nervous as hell.
“Anyway, the fact that I’ve never had champagne aside, you don’t have to worry about breaking me. ”
And… cutttttt.
I start twisting the metal loop around the cork, but it only seems to wind itself tighter, no matter the direction I go.
“This is almost worse than ‘and/or’ meat,” Luca mutters, making a slash in the air with his hand so I know how he views the and/or.
“What’s that?” I’m half afraid to ask.
“When you’re reading the ingredients on a package and it says, and/or pork or beef, or and/or pork or chicken,” he grunts.
“Oh. Like hot dogs. Don’t worry about that. They’re delicious.”
He always looks so surprised when I make him laugh.
I hear what he’s not saying. We’re on a party bus of all things, going to Ohio of all places, and with each other of all people.
He didn’t expect to laugh because while the whole situation is unbelievable and nearly inconceivable, it really shouldn’t be funny.
It’s only worthy of laughter if we can make it.
I want to make it. So badly.
There are times when the only thing you can do is laugh. It’s good medicine, even when you don’t feel like it, and probably the only time that faking it until you make it is a good argument.
“My dad isn’t… he’s not… he’s going to be excited to see you. You don’t have to expect hard feelings and hard hearts.”
He blinks, fidgeting with one of the pins holding his sleeve to the main body of his jacket. “Your parents are expressive people who aren’t afraid to speak their minds.”
If only he knew how true that was.
I guess he does know. Time changes a lot, but it doesn’t fundamentally change who people are.
“They have some notions that I’d consider antiquated, and we’ve had our disagreements about things, but who doesn’t with their parents?
” I play with the metal a little bit more, but it only seems to be twisting tighter again.
“I know that everything they’ve done, they’ve done it because they love me and want what’s best for me. ”
“What did you all disagree about? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“College. I wanted to go to culinary school. I’ve said that since I was a little girl. But my mom wanted me to go into business.”
“And you did.”
I sigh. “I did. Majored in economics.”
“Holy fuck,” he exclaims. “You’re incredibly smart.”
My laughter echoes through the bus. This bus has great acoustics. “Are you just figuring that out now?”
He studies me, fiddling with the safety pin on his jacket so hard that it pops open and flings onto the floor.
He quickly snaps it up and tries to edge it back into place.
It takes all my self-control not to get up and do it for him.
Being near him isn’t something that I can just do, though. Not when I want it as badly as I do.
“I didn’t mean—” he mumbles.
“I know. I was just kidding.” I stick my tongue out at him.
It’s dark, and the blue lights throw things off, but I swear a red flush creeps up his neck.
“I’m not that smart. I barely passed some of that crap.
” I’m twisting the metal on the champagne so hard that it’s probably going to snap off at any time.
Then how will we drink it? We could break the bottle, but I’d like my champagne sans glass.
“I got my average up with electives and doing the fun stuff like film, arts, English, creative writing, and history. I took as many of those as I could. I’m decent with computers, so that also saved me.
I enjoyed marketing too. Stats not so much, but does anyone like stats? ”