“Why’d he even mention that?”
“What? Being a gymnast? He said gross stuff about it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“Just tell me.”
“He said you were totally horny, and you did a split on his cock. Something like that.”
Joan let out a guttural scream between her clenched teeth. “That’s a total lie. He’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, what did I tell you. I knew he was lying, though. Don’t worry.”
“Did you tell him you knew me?” Joan said.
“I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know exactly. I figured he’d be weird about it.”
Joan, trying to relax, had tipped back and was floating again. The sky was a hard, cloudless blue.
“It’s good you didn’t tell him we know one another.”
“Okay,” Richard said.
“I mean, no one knows we know each other,” she said. “Maybe we should keep it that way. We could be secret friends, and no one would know about it except for us.”
“Sure,” Richard said.
A wave lifted them, and they slid down its back side. “You probably think I’m just saying that because I don’t want people at school to know we became friends or something,” Joan said. “I hope you don’t think that.”
“Oh,” Richard said. “I didn’t really think that, at all. But it would be cool to be secret friends and have no one else know.”
“Okay,” Joan said. “And now that we are friends, I need to tell you that I’m getting out of the water because I’m too cold.”
“You should go ahead,” he said. “I’m going to swim a little bit longer.”
Before leaving him, Joan said, “I hate your fucking cousin.”
“Yeah, me too. Join the club.”
She took a few strokes toward shore then rode up and over a crashing wave that deposited her hard onto her hip in the shallow water. It hurt a little but she was a gymnast and used to being hurt.
She walked back alone to her towel, tired from all the swimming and from the relentless sun. She toweled off again and lay down on her stomach, closing her eyes, and imagining what she’d do to Duane if she got the chance.
That night, during cocktail hour, Joan got herself a Shirley Temple from the bar, and wandered the lobby. There was live music again, a man on a piano this time, and a woman singing jazzy songs. She saw Richard’s aunt and uncle, taking up a sofa that could have easily fit four people. She hadn’t seen Richard since earlier that morning on the beach. And she hadn’t seen Duane.
By the front desk there was a little gift shop area, with paperbacks and magazines, and snacks and soft drinks. The girl who Joan had talked with the night before was behind the desk, tipped back on a high chair, flipping through a magazine. She looked really young, too young to have a job, Joan thought, and remembered what Richard had said about Duane wanting to fuck her. She had dyed blond hair and a kind of pudgy face, with a heavy lower lip. She wore a lot of makeup around her eyes. Joan wandered over and said hi.
“What can I help you with?” the girl said, sitting up abruptly.
“Just saying hi, actually,” Joan said. “What’s it like to work here?”
“Oh,” the girl said, putting the magazine down on the desk. “It’s actually a pretty great job. Last summer I worked as a hostess over at the Kennewick Lodge, and my feet hurt all the time, but here it’s really busy on Saturdays because that’s when most people check in or check out, but the rest of the time I just sit here and answer questions or sell people Pringles. It’s totally easy, and the guy who runs this place is actually pretty nice. You’re staying here, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Joan. You had a job last year, too? How old are you?”
“I’m seventeen, but I know that I look fifteen. I’m Jessica. Where are you from?”
Joan told her, and it turned out that Jessica knew someone who went to Dartford-Middleham High School, but Joan didn’t know the kid she knew. They talked for a while about that, then Joan asked her about other teenagers at the resort.
“You’re basically it, right now,” Jessica said. “Well, almost it. It’s kind of a resort that’s for old people, I think, because there are, like, constant buffets. I don’t think it’s too exciting for someone our age. The beach is nice.”
“Yeah, the beach is nice,” Joan said.
Jessica’s eyes suddenly looked alarmed. “Hey,” she whispered. “Don’t look, but have you met some guy named Duane who’s around your age? He’s been here for two weeks.”
“Duane, I don’t think so,” Joan found herself saying, her back stiffening at the thought that Duane was now in the lobby.
“Okay, you can look now, over your right shoulder. He’s the jock-looking guy with the skinny kid. I don’t know anything about his brother, or whoever that is, but stay away from Duane. He’s kind of a creep.”
“Oh,” Joan said. And she was about to ask Jessica what had happened, but a woman with a child clinging to her leg was looking for something in the ice-cream freezer and Jessica went to help her.
Joan looked over at Richard and Duane, but only for a moment because Duane was looking toward her, his jaw moving rapidly like he was chewing gum. She went to the paperback rack and spun it, wondering why she hadn’t told Jessica about her run-in with Duane. And then she thought: it’s a good thing I didn’t tell her. Because, and she was just beginning to admit this to herself, she actually thought that Richard might be serious about killing Duane. And if he was really going to do it, she had made a decision that she would help him. The thought of it was terrifying, but also made her feel like she was levitating off the floor.
“Sweetheart, you okay?” It was her mom, appearing out of nowhere, and Joan realized her mom had been standing there talking at her for a while.
“Oh, sorry, I’m in a daze.”
“You’re sun-dazed is what you are. We’re going in to dinner now. You coming?”
“God, yes. I’m starving.”
Chapter 7
Kimball
“I didn’t mean to be so pushy, but if we’re the only two people at the bar then we might as well sit close enough to one another and have a conversation.”
I’d moved to within one chair of Pam in the yellow light of the cocktail lounge.
“How’s your Tuesday going?” I said.
The bartender was placing a pale, peach-colored drink in a lowball glass in front of her. It was garnished with a generous sprig of mint that she pushed down into her glass. After taking a sip she said, “Well, I’m alone at a bar at just after quitting time, so I guess it was that kind of day.”
I ordered a Tsingtao beer and Pam said, “I thought you’d be here for the cocktails. Do you know who this guy is?”
I must have looked confused because she said, “This is Pete Liu. He was named a rising star in . . . what magazine was it, Pete?”
The bartender uncapped my beer and was pouring it into a glass. “It was Saveur, and it wasn’t ‘rising star,’ it was ‘one to watch.’”