MONDAY
Once, a couple of years ago in Portland, Morgan sat at a booth inside Roxy’s diner staring at a plate of untouched eggs. She’d been doing lines all night with Corey, a straight boy who stripped at the gay club next door and his girlfriend Jules, who worked with her at the tanning salon. It was 5 a.m. Her ache became a tsunami.
Usually she didn’t crash after coke. She mellowed. This time, she craved. Her hands shook while her friends accompanied the juke, mangling the lyrics of a Cure cover. She touched Corey’s wrist and sniffed.
He understood.
A moment later, she squeezed into the tiny bathroom and did a bump with Jules. Morgan wasn’t interested in her friends’ plans for the morning. She wanted the blow; she did not want to be the sweet center of a Corey–Jules dessert. Instead she left the stall, pushing open a black door decorated with pages from The Enquirer and dropping cash on their booth. She left without a word, walking the ten blocks up Burnside to her apartment. Back home the dawn cut through the blinds. She spent the day remembering the last spring her mother was alive, back when her mom started sleeping away daylight.
Twenty-four hours after killing a guy, Morgan was chasing equally powerful cravings. Except it wasn’t for coke. But as she showered off the stink of the hospital, she knew one thing. If she didn’t figure it out, and soon, then death would be just around the corner.
-2-
Stephanie Anderson skipped dinner. Typing up an essay for English, she left her headphones on and blew off her father’s knocking –– ignoring the door as it thumped against the jam.
A minute later, he gave up.
She’d been mad all day. Half of her friends had the flu and she’d been fighting its symptoms for days. She still went to school. It was something to take her mind off of everything. Her sister had been in the hospital and her father had left without waking Stephanie. Only later did he tell her what happened.
Morgan had killed somebody. It was unreal. It was like some play Stephanie was dragged to as a kid. One with her older sibling as the villainess.
She phoned her right after school let out, but knew she wouldn’t get a call back until well past sun down. If then.
Stephanie sighed. Central Corona High School always left her feeling grimy; she’d showered and put on comfy sweats as soon as she got home. Now she went to her closet, extracting two shopping bags from their hiding place behind a carton of photos intended for a scrapbook.
The bag’s contents was one of Victor’s many presents.
He was the kind of guy her older sister would understand.
Victor had entered her life only a few weeks ago, but already it was as if he’d inhabited it for years. She’d met her ex at their church; the most dangerous thing about him was a hand-me-down electric guitar. This new boy – new man really – was aloof and mysterious. He didn’t need her approval. He didn’t need her to tell him how good he looked (Chad was more like a chick than she was –– he always needed his appearance complimented and pouted if she didn’t).
Victor was different. He was smart without advertising it and took her on the sort of adventures which would turn the rest of her father’s hair gray if he ever learned about them.
But more than his confidence, more than the spontaneous trips to LA and San Diego, he was.sexi.
There was no other word. The very first time they’d kissed, she’d been embarrassed by how wet she became. She was a virgin, and had always planned to stay that way until marriage. It was easy being chaste with Chad, but with Victor, well, she was ready to hock her silver purity ring, just lie down and live for him.
The thing was, when she suggested going all the way he’d turned her down. Wouldn’t even let her take care of Him, although she’d done that with her ex (it felt gross with him, and unequal because he never returned the favor.) After a date with Victor, all she could think about was sex. She knew her extra shower time was sinful, but Stephanie couldn’t help herself.
Today she had texted Victor right after leaving a message on Morgan’s voice mail.
Pulling off her sweats, and dropping them on the floor Stephanie dug around in her desk for scissors. She needed a pair for the store tags, but they were missing in action. “Dammit.” The curse echoed in the tiny room, startling her.
Stephanie’s door emitted a squeal when she opened it. Leaving her room slowly, like a swimmer testing the water, she felt goosebumps erupt across her bare skin. The house was drafty, but tonight even the chill was exciting. Although her father was gone, she still tip-toed down the stairs to his home office. Her scissors sat atop a pile of paperwork. Typical –– he never remembered to return stuff he borrowed.
Moving naked through the living room was more like a twelve-year-old sleepover dare than her current risks. Still, it left her breathless as she walked through the doorway into her room. After cutting off the tags and dropping them into the shopping bags, she shoved all of it back into the closet. Victor spent over a thousand bucks that day without batting an eye.
Stephanie took her time. The lace thong felt luxurious, the bra a better fit than any she owned. Dressing before the cheval mirror, its reflection revealed a girl already looking dangerous. The top Victor bought was sheer, revealing way too much cleavage (like her sister, Stephanie developed early – Trig was not the only place where she was flirting with Ds.) She’d lived in Riverside County her whole life; she did not have to look it.
Struggling into the silk lined black leather pants, she felt outside of herself. In the store he told her she resembled Kristen Stewart in The Runaways. He was right. She looked just like some rock chick from when her dad was a high school sophomore. It reminded her of how much older Victor was, but when he smiled it was worth looking like the sleazy runner-up in an ‘80s costume contest.
There was no way, however, that she was tramping around (no pun intended) in the pricy fuck-me heels he’d gotten her. Too cold, too blister inducing. Instead, she pulled on her black Uggs, and feeling suddenly shy, added a fleece lined hoodie to her ensemble. Topped off with a floppy white cap, Stephanie exited her house looking less like a teenage vixen than what she was: a SoCal girl with a generous Daddy.