The Cake House (19 page)

I dug my fingernails into the flesh of my palms. He kept his eyes on his fingers as he played but then lifted his gaze to meet mine. Even separated by the length of the room, by the many bodies of strangers, I felt naked in front of him. With the twang of his last chord, I noticed that Tina was no longer pouring devotion up at Alex but had turned to see where he was looking.

The crowd applauded, wanting more, but Alex returned the guitar to its bandannaed owner. Before I could get close, Tina grabbed his hand and led him from the room.

I followed, weaving through the party. They slipped farther into the smoky labyrinth of the house, through the kitchen to the backyard.

The wooden deck behind the house opened up to a pool that was encircled by a string of paper lanterns creating an oasis of light, conversation, and music thumping from a sound system perched on one of the tables. Around it sat a pirate talking to a devil who held his forked tail over his arm like an accessory. A black-nosed, fuzzy-eared kitty cat
danced with the same alien who had poured my cup of beer, his antennae bobbing in a mismatched rhythm. Beyond that circle of light lay the promise of lush, damp darkness. Alex and Tina glided through the chaos unnoticed except by me, disappearing off the edge and tipping into the unknown.

She took him farther into the garden, where the light could not penetrate. It felt like a betrayal. The garden had been ours, mine and Alex’s. I stood on the edge of the deck, wanting to follow, not wanting to follow. I wasn’t certain what I wanted. Their shapes moved farther into the darkness, until all I could see was Tina’s gold headband with Alex’s blond head bobbing beside her.

I turned away and collided with Tina’s friend in the cheerleader costume as she stumbled down the stairs that led to the kitchen. Both of our beers sloshed everywhere, splashing my shoes and her chest. Through her damp top, I could see the outline of her breasts.

“How drunk are you?” she asked, laughing, clutching my hand to keep her balance. She’d chewed off her lipstick and had clumpy mascara on her lashes.

“I’m Joey,” she said. “I’m the queen of this party. I’m the best fucking lay. I’m … I’m—”

She trailed off, glassy-eyed and vacant. Then, with urgency, she asked, “Have you seen Tina? I need to find that girl. I need to talk to her.”

“No,” I said, not knowing why I lied.

But she plunged ahead. “Are they fucking?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper, her beery breath washing over me before she covered her mouth and scrunched her eyes as if the answer to that question was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard.

“Stupid girl,” she said then, pinching my hand, which
was still held in hers, and I didn’t know if she meant Tina or me. “Stupid fucking girl.” Then she stumbled the rest of the way down, clutching the cup of beer in her hand.

I threaded my way back through the house. The front door banged open and a man stood silhouetted by the light from the street. His sweatshirt hung crooked, weighed down in the front pocket by something heavy. Shaggy hair, pale skin, and sticky blood dripping down the side of his face, to his neck, to the collar of his sweatshirt. My heart slammed in my chest, but the door opened wider and light fell on his drunken smile. A teenager, pulling out bottled beer from where he’d stashed it in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. It was fake blood, a fake wound. He had vampire teeth in his mouth. He moved past me, shouting a greeting to his pals, already spitting out the fake teeth and guzzling down his beer.

The ghost look-alike jumped up and down to the music, tripping and spilling his beer. He jammed his fake teeth into his mouth and pretended to bite the neck of a girl dressed as a seventies hippie. She squealed, then punched him in his shoulder, but he rocked back on his feet with a laugh, drinking more beer. Suddenly, the wind swept in through the open door, bringing with it prickling drops of rain. I backed away from the look-alike, who in full light looked nothing like my father. I needed to get away—outside, into the soft drizzle, down the steps—and I ran from the house. The rain brought a soft, diffuse glow to everything. The farther I went, the more the noise of the rainwater rushing down the street masked the pounding music of the party.

I climbed onto the hood of my mother’s car and lay down, still holding my plastic cup and what was left of my beer, wishing that I had gotten more. The front of the car
faced the house. Perhaps the entire high school was there, every person in one form of disguise or another. Even I wore a costume—part ghost’s daughter, part crazy stepsister—it was just harder to see than the others.

I imagined Tina undoing Alex’s jacket. He knew where to put his hands. Through her thin bustier he could feel the bones of her rib cage. If he squeezed too hard she might bruise. But she wanted rough. She wanted hard. She wanted those bruises. Her fingers reached beneath his T-shirt.

When I opened my eyes, two skeletons stood next to the car.

“This is perfect,” said the first skeleton, tall and skinny and just as a skeleton should be, apart from his long red hair and smeared makeup. “Can we sit with you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and the hood bent farther and buckled under his weight. “You don’t mind, do you? Come on, climb up.” He waved to the second skeleton, offering a hand.

We all fit if we sat cross-legged. I scooted to one side.

I studied the other skeleton. He had a cheaper costume, the kind you found in discount stores: a plastic tunic and plastic mask held by a thin elastic band. He lifted his mask over his head and wore it like a hat. I hid my surprise behind my cup of beer, recognizing him as the boy from the football game, the boy from Alex’s room. The boy whose picture had caught Claude’s interest. I had seen eyes like his before; they belonged to a man who lived in the apartment building next to ours. His windows had always been covered with newspaper and aluminum foil, and his apartment smelled like
gato
piss.

“I’m Aaron,” said the redheaded skeleton, offering his hand. His toothy grin stretched across his face. “And he’s Tom.”

I shook Aaron’s hand, but Tom only lifted his chin in a quick nod. I wanted to ask Tom if he remembered me, in an effort to find out what he and Alex got up to, but he turned away and I changed my mind.

“You’re Alex’s sister,” said Aaron.

“Not his sister.” I sipped from my cup. The beer tasted like recycled laundry water, but I liked the way it made me feel.

“Not his sister,” repeated Aaron in a disbelieving tone. “But you take his picture all the time, right? I’ve seen you, sitting by yourself.”

“I don’t take just his picture,” I said, even though they were mostly of Alex. But I didn’t want to think of Alex right then, not when he was with Tina. “I like taking pictures. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “But where’s your camera?”

“I didn’t bring it.”

“Didn’t bring it?” Outraged, like it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. “What kind of photographer doesn’t bring her camera?”

I made a pretend camera, squinting one eye, made a clicking noise.

“Oh wait, I wasn’t ready. I think I blinked. Let me fix my hair. Do it again.” Aaron tossed his hair back, adjusted his position, pretended to fix his makeup, smeared to a streaky gray all over his face.

I laughed, and it felt wonderful. Wonderful to laugh, no matter how stupid it was.

“Now one with Tom,” Aaron said. “Come on, we have to look pretty.”

He pulled Tom so that he faced me as well. Aaron fluttered his eyelashes. Tom managed a slight upturn to his lips.

“Will you take our pictures for real?” asked Aaron.

“Sure.”

He took my hand, fingers hooked together in the start of a secret handshake. “Like this,” he said, bending my hand to copy his: he butted our fists, slid the palms together, fluttered the fingers, snapped the thumbs. “See, now we’re bound for life, you and I. In some cultures, we might even be married.”

I laughed again.

“Promise?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Hey, where’s your costume? You gotta have a costume.”

I spread my arms wide. “I’m wearing it. Can’t you tell what it is?”

He folded his arms. “You think you’re clever. Don’t say some bullshit like ‘I’m a sociopath or a secret agent in disguise’ or whatever. That’s lame.”

Tom glanced at me with his rusty stare. “She’s got her costume,” he said, and then looked away again.

“Don’t mind him,” said Aaron, leaning close as if to tell a secret. “He’s crotchety. He needs his medicine. Come on, Tommy. Time to dose up.”

Tom leaned back and lifted his plastic skeletal tunic so he could dig a bag and a lighter out of his front pocket. He took out a joint, cupped his hand around the lighter, lit up, and inhaled, holding his breath as he passed the joint to Aaron, who did the same thing. He then handed it to me.

“You ever smoke before?” asked Aaron.

I took the joint between my fingers, thinking of that time I had my mother’s cigarette and stood before the stove,
unable to light it. It made me think of Alex and the way he had looked when he lit the cigarette for me.

It was Tom who moved closer. “You don’t have to,” he said, pushing Aaron away.

“No, I want to.”

“I tell you what,” said Aaron, taking the joint again. “We’ll do a shotgun. I’ll blow it in your mouth. Like this.” He took a hit from the joint, waving Tom closer. It was like a kiss, with Tom’s mouth clamped wide over Aaron’s. Tom sucked, and Aaron blew, passing the smoke back and forth like a ball, a strange game of catch, until they parted. Tom held his breath, face turning the barest bit red before he let it go, misty smoke into the air. “Your turn?”

I wanted it. I wanted it with Alex, but I had only this skinny skeleton. Aaron took another long drag; then he grabbed my face between his hands.

It wasn’t kissing; it was both more and less. The sweet smoke passed into me. I inhaled as if yawning, deep as I could. Like a vampire, sucking in Aaron’s soul, taking it deep inside. Time glowed orange like the tip of the joint. My fingers tingled, my toes went numb, and I wanted to keep sucking as much of his soul as I could.

Aaron ran out of breath. He pulled away and smiled.

“Hold it,” said Tom, warm, marijuana-sweetened breath close against my ear. Aaron still held my face between his hands. I listened for Aaron’s heartbeat and also Tom’s on the other side, the three of us linked. I let the smoke go and breathed in a shock of cold air. Aaron laughed and leaned in. His lips had just touched mine again when he was yanked away.

Alex had Aaron by his skeleton costume and had dragged him down to the curb. “What are you doing to her?” he yelled.

“Nothing,” yelped Aaron, trying to get loose, but Alex punched him in the face.

Tom launched himself from the hood of the car, and all three went down onto the slick wet grass and mud. Alex grabbed Tom around the waist. They scrambled in the muck. Tom climbed on top of Alex, pushing his face down. Alex’s arms flailed; his legs kicked. Aaron tried to pull Tom off.

I jumped down from the car, uncertain what to do. As a crowd gathered, I saw Tina push her way to the front. Her Wonder Woman headband was gone.

“Do something,” I yelled at her, but the crowd was egging Alex and Tom on. Tina acted as if she didn’t hear me. I went over and grabbed her arm, intending to drag her to Alex and Tom, but she twisted out of my grasp.

“You shouldn’t get involved,” she said with an edge of accusation, and I knew she thought this was my fault. “They always fight. They won’t hurt each other.”

Alex pushed Tom off him and rolled onto his hands and knees, struggling to stand, a streak of blood across his face. Tom was bent over, panting, with Aaron beside him holding him up.

“Come on, let’s go,” Aaron said to Tom. “Let’s get out of here.” But Alex had lunged again, knocking Tom to the ground with his elbows and his weight.

Tom grunted. Aaron swore and then jumped on top of Alex.

A loud horn rippled through the air. Searchlights covered the crowd, coming from the street, from a police car.

Aaron swore again. He grabbed Tom’s arm and yanked him to his feet. They bolted, leaving Alex on the ground.

The police car door opened, its revolving lights blinding
as they shined on our faces. I squinted until I could see a uniform, brown over brown. The policeman approached and lifted my chin. He turned it from one side to the other, then fixed his flashlight on Alex. Then the light moved on to the rest of the crowd, which was beginning to disperse.

“Deputy Mike,” I said, breathing his name.

Deputy Mike seemed displaced from the scene, like a cutout from a magazine or a pop-up book. “All right,” he called, with his voice carrying over the bedraggled costumed crowd. “Time to go home.”

The party was over. My hair hung heavy from its ponytail; my fingers were like ice. I balled my hands into fists and crossed my arms. Damp partygoers left in twos and threes. The keg was rolled away under the baleful glare of Deputy Mike and his partner. Alex, Tina, and I waited on the porch.

“You,” said Deputy Mike, pointing at Alex. “What was the fight about?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, then added a belated, “Sir.” Blood stained his cheeks. He was as tall as Deputy Mike, maybe even taller. “A misunderstanding.”

Beside me, Tina stood tense and shivering in her skimpy bustier and bare legs. “I’d like to go home,” she said, and inched closer to Alex.

“Looked pretty serious to me,” Deputy Mike insisted.

“Can you take me home now?” Tina asked again. I sensed that she might be trying to help Alex get away from Deputy Mike, but neither paid her any attention.

“Nothing important,” said Alex, and I wanted to stomp on his foot. I wasn’t anything important. Tom and Aaron weren’t anything important.

“Who was the fight with?” asked Deputy Mike.

Alex hesitated, showing the first sign of unease.

“I asked a question.”

Alex shook his head with a stubborn, mulish expression, but he glanced at Deputy Mike before speaking. “Tom,” he said.

Deputy Mike swore under his breath, unzipping his jacket.