Burning the Map (14 page)

“I have to use the bathroom,” I say, and without waiting for Billy to answer, I bend down, place my hand on the bar and jump off.

I really don't need this,
I think, as I push through the packs of groping couples. I'm flattered, of course. Unreasonably, fabulously, over-the-top flattered, but I haven't even sorted out Francesco and John. I don't need another one to worry
about. Not to mention the fact that Lindsey has been after Billy, and our unspoken code of girlfriend ethics dictates that I stay away from any man that she or Kat are dating, were dating, are pursuing or are even thinking about pursuing. I don't need to give her another reason to hate me. I decide to lose Billy when I leave the bathroom.

Just as I reach the loo, I hear someone call out, “Casey!”

I turn around and see Billy a foot or two behind me. “I'll wait for you,” he says. “I'll wait right outside.”

 

I'd hoped to sort out my thoughts in the bathroom, but I've forgotten that the facilities at Sweet Irish Dreams, like many of the bars on the island, are coed. It's nearly impossible to banish thoughts of men from my mind while I jockey for mirror time with a long-haired Italian stud who's eight inches taller than I am. It's unbelievable how these guys have eyes only for themselves as they're staring in the glass, but the minute they step outside the confines of the W.C., they give you unveiled glances as they size you up for potential post-bar activities.

I apply lipstick in what I imagine is a sexy pout, trying to maneuver my head toward the bottom corner of the mirror so that the Italian stud has adequate room to finger-comb his hair, which happens to look much healthier and glossier than mine. I put on a little powder next, relieved that Billy hasn't followed me in here. I wanted to have a crazy, riotous time tonight without anything to complicate it. I wanted to drink until I forgot about my parents, and dance the thoughts of John away.

But Billy is standing outside the W.C. when I exit.

“Here you go,” he says, looking altogether too cute as he hands me another vodka tonic.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the drink. I sip it and search the
room, trying not to meet his 7-Up-bottle-green eyes. “Should we go find the gang?”

“I'm a bit tired of group activities,” Billy says. “Care to try the deck for some fresh air?”

“I really should find the girls,” I say, continuing to sip my drink, then stirring it with a pair of tiny straws. I don't add that the girls already gave me the barroom equivalent of the cold shoulder tonight, and they won't be missing me anytime soon.

“Well,” I hear Billy say. “I don't know where Lindsey is, but I'd say that Kat has her hands full.”

He points to the bar on the other side of the room, where a small crowd has gathered. The focal point of attention is Kat and the Oreo Brothers, who are still dancing erotically, running their hands over each other like something out of a bad hip-hop video. I debate whether to pull her off the bar by her ankles. I look around for Sin, to see if she's noticing this, too. Maybe she'll want me to take charge, like in the old days, to save Kat from herself. But Sin is in another corner of the bar, still locked in an apparently heated discourse with Biff. It strikes me that we're here in Greece together, yet we're on opposite sides of the room, the opposite sides of so many places these days.

“Look, Billy,” I say, turning back to him. “I don't want to be presumptuous, but I have a boyfriend at home.” He doesn't respond so I keep talking. “Lindsey is my girlfriend, and she has a thing for you, which means that nothing can happen with us.”

A fat, ugly pause hovers between us, and I begin to feel a flush creeping up my neck and into my face. Maybe I've misread him. Maybe he didn't
fancy
me, after all, and now I've embarrassed us both.

“Well, that's quite a shame,” Billy says then. “Quite a shame.”

I exhale a massive breath of relief that I'm not as big of an ass as I'd feared.

“But I just want to spend a bit of time with you,” he says. “Maybe just talk, aye?”

I glance back at Kat. The crowd has grown, and she shows no signs of stopping.

“I guess I could use some air,” I say to Billy, and I turn toward the deck.

T
he small deck is cluttered with plastic tables and people engaged in either serious conversation or serious tongue wrestling. I glance at Billy, wondering which group he wants us to join.

I'm about to make an excuse and head back inside when he takes my hand and steers me toward a table that's opening up at the end of the deck, overlooking the street. Feeling his large, warm hand around mine, I can't do anything but follow him.

“Ah, this is good,” Billy says, sinking into a chair. “It feels good to get some air, doesn't it?”

“Mmm,” I agree, not trusting my voice. I sit down and make like I'm interested in the street scene below us. Not much of a scene, really—just two stumbling kids trying to shove gyros in their mouths but having most of it land on their shirtfronts.

“Actually, you seemed like you could have used some air all day,” Billy says.

“What?” I give him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Billy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “It's just that ever since you phoned home this afternoon, you've been…” He makes a face like he can't find the words. “A bit wound up,” he says at last.

“Wound up? I'm not wound up. I'm relaxed. I'm having a great time.”

Billy nods. I notice him watching my hands. I look down and see that I'm fiddling with the clasp of my watch. I make myself stop, but I'm uncomfortable with the stillness of my body because it allows my mind to start churning again. I take a few sips of my drink and play with the straws, stabbing the lemon in my drink repeatedly. Billy watches me for another moment before placing his hand over mine, very slowly, very gently, in the manner of a cop who eases cautiously toward the crazy criminal and says, “Just give me the gun.”

I don't pull my hand away immediately, like I know I should. When I raise my head, the concern in his eyes and all the alcohol in my system push a teariness to the surface. Embarrassed, I yank my hand from his and begin batting at my eyes, feeling like a complete fool.

“I'm sorry,” I say, looking upward at the stars. I read in
Glamour
that you can stop yourself from crying if you stare straight up. It has yet to work for me, but I always give it a shot just in case.

“Don't be daft,” Billy says. “Tell me what's making you sad.”

“Nothing.” I gulp the remainder of my drink and try to signal a passing waitress for another. She must be related to the French wench, because she ignores me completely. When I turn back to Billy, he's sitting patiently with an empathetic smile on his face.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'll be okay,” I say. “If I can just get another drink.” I'm fighting the urge to spill the saga in my head about my
parents and John and my so-called law career, but who could care about this crap but me?

“Tell you what,” Billy says. “I'll consider getting you another drink as long as you tell me what's got you so low.” He looks at me matter-of-factly, and I wonder if he's pitying me. Or maybe this is one of those esoteric seduction tricks they teach guys in Ireland.

“That's very sweet, but you don't need to hear my problems.”

“Please yourself then, but I'll make you a deal. I'll share my drink with you, and you tell me what's going on. Then I'll treat you to a drink if you still want one, yeah?”

I exhale, glad my tears are gone for the moment. “Fine,” I say, giving what I hope is a casual wave. “It's no big thing. My parents are getting a divorce, but who cares, right? Lots of people get divorced. So that's it. I'm ready for that drink.” I crane my neck to look for the waitress.

Billy pushes his glass toward me. “I'm sorry,” he says. “That's tough. I've been through it.”

“You have?” I perk up. Jesus, what a shit I am. I'm actually happy that his parents are divorced, as if this could make him understand me more.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “My mum and da split when I was seven.”

“Oh, that must have been awful. I'm an adult, and I should be adult about this, but you were just a kid.”

“Well, it wasn't fun. People don't split up much where I'm from, but as you said, I was a kid, and kids bounce back. I never knew what it was like to grow up with a whole family, so I never missed it. You're going to have a harder time, I'd guess, because you've had a real family.”

I stare with dull eyes at the tabletop. I hadn't even thought of it like that. I mean, I hadn't thought about the whole family not being together for birthdays or the holidays or whatever. I always took that for granted. I think of the Christmas
china my parents have collected over the years, white with a delicate forest-green tree painted in the center.

“When did you find out?” Billy says.

“Today. That's what the phone call was about. I called my mom, and she said it's over.”

“Well, that smarts, doesn't it?” Billy pulls his mouth down, making a miserable face that still manages to be funny.

I laugh, and it feels good.

“I'm not even really sure what happened,” I say. “I don't even know the one main reason why they're divorcing.”

“Maybe they don't, either.”

I think about this for a second. He could be right. I open my mouth and start talking about it, and before I know it, I've spoken for at least five minutes. It's a relief to get some of this out of my head, and amazingly, Billy doesn't look as if he wants to run.

“Did they fight a lot?” Billy asks.

“No. Never. I think maybe that's part of the problem.”

“Maybe,” he says. “My parents did nothing but yell, and that didn't work, either, did it? You have to at least talk to each other.”

I nod, thinking of John and me having one of our many quiet evenings on his couch. We've grown more and more silent as we've become more comfortable with each other. If it keeps up like this, I'll forget the sound of his voice. I can see us in sixty years, gray and wrinkled, still on that couch or bumping into each other with our walkers. Maybe I'll be deaf by then and I won't mind the silence.

Billy and I, however, keep talking. He tells me about his job working for a footwear designer, and I nearly swoon. A man who understands the importance of shoes! I tell him about my own job, which I'm dreading like the plague. I even tell him about John, and it's both weird and comforting to speak of him here, thousands of miles away. I decide that Billy and I could be great friends if only he moved to Chicago
and stopped being so goddamned cute. I try to ignore how adorable he is when he makes funny faces to illustrate a point. I try not to be flattered when he puts his hand over mine for a second or gives me a sultry smile.

When our conversation lulls for the first time, I notice that a lock of dark curly hair has fallen over one of his bottle-green eyes, and those eyes, I realize, are staring at my lips. I wonder briefly if the Bronze Coin lipstick I'd applied in the bathroom has survived the vodka tonic. Then the thought is gone, and Billy's face is moving closer, closer to mine. I find myself leaning in toward him slightly, our faces now only a fraction apart. Billy's eyes close as his lips press into mine. Slight pressure and then more, his tongue pushing my mouth open. I get a swell of desire right before it all screeches to a crashing halt.

“You bitch!” I hear.

I jerk my head away from Billy's in time to see Sin storm away. Kat stands there for a moment, a beseeching look on her face, before she follows her.

“C
hrist!” I say, hanging my head in my hands.

“Shall I go after them?” Billy asks, his hand on my shoulder.

“No, no. Just stay here, please.” I plow my way through the mass of revelers, craning my neck to look for Lindsey and Kat. What have I done?

Some schmuck walks into my path. “Want to dance?” he slurs, his eyes on my chest.

I stiff-arm him, and he crumples to the ground. I ignore the irritated looks of patrons whose drinks he's spilled and push on.

As I near the door, I see Lindsey moving outside at a quick pace, with Kat in pursuit.

I call their names as I race down the stairs after them.

I push open the door and burst onto the street, nearly colliding with them. Sin stands with her feet wide, hands planted on her hips, shaking her head in disgust. Kat's arms are crossed, and she's looking around as if someone can save her from this situation.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Lindsey says. “There are a million guys on this fucking island, and you have to go after mine!”

“How is he yours?” I ask, trying to sound incredulous and failing.

“You know what I mean, Casey!”

“I know. I'm sorry. I didn't even mean for it to happen.”

“I don't want to hear it,” Lindsey snaps, and marches away.

I start to go after her, but Kat, who's been standing quietly and biting her lip, puts a hand on my arm. “Just let her go, Case.”

“I swear,” I say to Kat. “We were just talking. That's it. He'd kissed me for the first time when you guys walked in, and I barely had time to respond. Nothing else would have happened.”

Kat doesn't look as pissed as Lindsey, but she doesn't look pleased, either. “I believe you, hon. Just give me an hour to cool her down, all right?”

I nod, not knowing what else to do. Even though Sin has been a bitch to me lately, I shouldn't have allowed this to happen. I'm terrified that it will sound the death knell on our friendship.

“I'll be there in exactly an hour,” I say.

Kat nods and turns away.

 

I trudge back up the stairs of Sweet Irish Dreams, my mind splintered into a number of screaming headlines: Girl Kills Friendship by Kissing Pal's Scam! Respected Couple Divorces After 27 Years! International Sex Scandal—Boyfriend Says He Knew Nothing Of Overseas Trysts! The overload in my head has rendered me stone-cold sober. I can't even get drunk without fucking it up.

Billy leans against the door frame at the top of the stairs. His eyebrows shoot up as soon as he sees me. “Everything all right, then?”

“No. Everything is definitely not okay. Lindsey is furious. She won't even talk to me.”

“But why? Does it have anything to do with me?” he says.

“Of course it does. It has everything to do with you,” I say, my voice low, resigned. “Well, not everything.” I shake my head. How can I explain?

“I'm sorry,” Billy says, but there's a faint grin at the corner of his mouth.

“What are you smiling at?” I ask, exasperated.

He shrugs. “It's just that I think you're fantastic.”

That stops me cold. I don't know why he would say that. I've done nothing but bitch and moan and call for the barkeep all night. Still, this makes me forget about Lindsey for a brief second.

“Thanks,” I say. Then another thought dawns. “You're all smiles because you've got two women fighting over you.” I poke him in the ribs.

“Little ol' me?” he says, his voice full of false modesty.

“You're loving this, aren't you?”

“I've had worse nights.”

“Well, I'm glad someone's having fun.” I try to put on my most annoyed tone, but he looks like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Shall I take you home so you can duke it out some more?”

“There won't be any catfights, if that's what you're looking for.”

“Damn.” He snaps his fingers.

“I can't go back just yet, anyway. I told them I'd wait an hour.”

“Then we'll take the long way down the beach.”

I consider this for a moment. I certainly don't want to stay here at the bar. There's no more fun to be had. I could slip and slide down the hill to the Sunset on my own, but then
I'd be right behind Kat and Sin, and I need to give Sin some time to calm down.

“We're just walking,” I say to Billy. “Nothing else.”

“Right,” he says, with an emphatic nod of his head. “Nothing else. Got it.”

Billy and I walk past the bars clanging with music and bodies, past the late-night souvlaki stands, to where the road dips over the side of the island. Instead of taking it down and to the left, the direct route toward the Sunset, we follow a worn, dirt path through vacant lots and a couple of campsites. The temperature has mercifully dropped from the blazing hundreds of the day into the still-warm eighties. For some reason, though, I'm chilly with a scary premonitory-type feeling. I hope I'm not becoming psychic, because it seems to me that my friendship with Kat and Sin, the one I've cherished most in the world, might have been dealt a near fatal blow.

Billy slips his hand in mine, and this time I hold it like I would a close friend's, taking some comfort from it. He stops and turns to face me when we reach the top of the hill that leads down to the beach. The moon is huge and orange and nearly full over the water, the soft lapping of the waves just barely audible.

He raises his eyebrows again and gives me a smile as if to say, “Come on. It's all right,” and I can see he wants to kiss me again. While I should be annoyed, I actually stand a little taller, deciding that I love Greece for the men who come here. I haven't gotten this much male attention since one night years ago when my skirt got trapped in my underwear, and I walked around for thirty minutes showing my black panties to the crowd.

I shake my head. “It's just bad timing,” I tell him. “I'm not getting along with my friends right now, or at least not like we used to, and now I go and kiss you. Or you kissed me.
Or whatever. The point is that I couldn't take it if I had to lose them. You know? It's just…it's just not going to happen.”

He sighs. “Look at the water then,” he says, turning me around to face the beach a couple hundred feet below us. “If you won't let me put my hands in your knickers, we can at least enjoy the scenery.”

I laugh as he wraps his arms around me. His chin rests on top of my head, and I suddenly wish I could crystallize this man, this minute, the almost full moon reflecting off the sea. I could take it out later and look at it from all the different angles, without fretting that my closest friends in the world are through with me.

Eventually, we walk down the hill, skidding a little on the dusty path until we reach the beach. The sand is silvery under the moonlight, naked and cool without all the naked people lounging on it. A wisp of a breeze puffs off the water. It's so calm here compared to the bar. Billy pulls me down with a gentle tug until we sink into the sand about five feet away from the rolling waves. He sits behind me, his knees around me, in exactly the same way Francesco did that night in the Colosseum, but it's different now. Francesco had been all lust and fluid movements, and while there's no doubt that I'm severely attracted to Billy, it's more comfortable with him.

“Tell me about Ireland,” I say, wanting to hear about him, about anyone other than myself for a change.

“What do you want to know?”

“My family is originally from Cork,” I say. “Tell me about that.”

“Ah, well that explains it,” Billy says, giving me a squeeze. “All the brightest ladies are from Cork.”

I smile. I can't help it. “Do you like Ireland?”

“It's like any other place, I suppose. It's got loads of problems, but it's home.”

I keep asking questions, and he keeps talking, describing the land, the pubs, the customs, his family, his other friends.
It feels wonderful to be sitting in a man's arms, watching the waves and talking easily—the type of moment I'd been wanting from John for so long.

After about a half hour or so, I'm starting to feel tired, and I know it's time to get back to Lindsey and face the music. I stand and tug Billy's arm, but he won't get up. He just cocks his head, giving me those eyes again.

“You're relentless,” I say, inwardly thrilled at his persistence. “I have to get back, so get off your ass.”

“But it's your ass I want to get on.”

I start giggling, knowing I should be stern—maybe act a little appalled—but I like Billy's lighthearted ways. After I finally pull him to his feet, we stroll down the beach toward the Sunset, swinging our arms. When we get to the stone stairs leading up to the hotel, Billy steps toward me and grabs me in a big hug.

“I had a lovely time with you tonight,” he says. “And I'm sorry about causing problems with Lindsey and Kat.”

“Sure you are.”

“I'm not saying that I'm not a bit proud.”

I smack him on the back, too hard, apparently, because he starts coughing.

“Honestly,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” My voice is muffled by his neck. Finally, I let go and face him.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say, but I don't really know what tomorrow will be like for Billy and me. Or for Kat and Sin and me, for that matter.

 

As I approach our hut, I see the lights blazing. Shit. I'd held out a tiny shred of hope that maybe the intensity of Sin's wrath would have exhausted her, causing her to fall into a dreamlike sleep that would last seven to ten days. I keep moving toward the hut, and I can hear voices, Sin's especially,
sounding spitting mad. The rest of the huts are dark and shuttered, with everyone either sleeping or still at the bars. Our windows are open, though, and as I get closer, I can hear them clearly.

“She's just not…” Sin is saying. “She's just not the person she used to be.”

Her words reach me like a sock in the gut. She may be right or partly right, but it isn't easy to hear.

“Oh, it's not that bad,” I hear Kat answer.

“I'm not only talking about this Billy thing. That's just the tip of the iceberg. You know it as much as I do. She's totally different. She's a shell of her former self.”

I stand frozen by the open window, holding my sandals by the straps, suddenly feeling so tired.

“She's had a rough time lately,” Kat says, trying to stick up for me again. “Cut her some slack. She just took the bar exam, and it's obvious that she's not happy with John.”

“So why doesn't she talk about it? Why aren't I hearing this from her?”

I can imagine Sin doing her famous tapping routine, one of her little legs jutted out, the foot tapping faster and faster until she practically draws smoke from the floor.

“I mean, I could understand,” Sin says, “if she just fucking told me what's going on with her. I still can't believe that she dissed us for that Franco dude.”

“Francesco,” Kat corrects, and I love her for it.

There's a pause, and I can just imagine the scorching look Sin is sending Kat. She doesn't like to be interrupted when she's on a roll.

“Whatever,” Sin continues. “She totally blew us off, then she comes to this big revelation that she's sorry, and she wants it to be like it used to be, but nothing's changed. And now this. This thing with Billy. She knew I was putting in union dues all week, but that didn't stop her for one second.”

“Sin. Be fair,” Kat says. “You don't really know what happened, and you haven't been exactly…” Kat halts, as if hunting for the right word. “Friendly,” she concludes. “Let's just talk to her.”

This is my cue to burst in like a masked avenger and plead my case, but I don't know what my case is. I don't have a great excuse for why I kissed Billy except that I was feeling alienated from Kat and Sin, and he was there to talk to, and then suddenly we were kissing. I also don't know how to defend myself against the accusations that I'm a different person than I used to be, because it's true.

I remember a conversation I had with my brother earlier this summer. We were at a party for my aunt and uncle's anniversary, sitting on a dark, grassy slope behind the house, watching the party though the windows. Danny offered me a joint, but I refused. I had to study when I got home. Danny took another hit, narrowing his eyes as he drew in his breath, then putting the joint out on the insole of his tennis shoe.

“You know why I like to get stoned?” he asked me.

“Because you're a deviant member of society who has no balls otherwise?”

He ignored me. “Because it gives me a sense of place.” He went on to describe this “sense of place” as the time when he was unconcerned about yesterday or tomorrow or even an hour ahead. When he was high, he only cared about the current moment.