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Chapter 7. Choosing

  At 7:45 p.m. Joe was freshly showered and shaved. He sat perched on the fire hydrant at the end of his street. The sun had gone down. Soon it would be completely dark. Every three seconds he checked his watch. Tonight he was sure Christy would begin, where she ended last night. He took in a deep breath and checked the contents of his wallet.

  The squeaky wheel of Little Tyron Bank’s bicycle caused Joe slam his wallet shut. As Tyron pedaled by he said, “Hi Joe.” A few steps behind him was his grandmother.

  Joe said, “Hey Tyron.”

  Two lights turned down the street. They were low to the ground. The BMW. She had her daddy’s car. Why? Joe stood up.

  The sight of the car made Tyron stop, so did his grandmother. Both watched the car pull up to the curb.

  Christy rolled down the tinted window. Her eyes were too bright and Joe instantly felt uneasy. She said, “Hop in Josie.”

  Sternly Tyron’s grandmother said, “You behave yourself Josiah.”

  His mother called him Josie when he was good, and Josiah when he was headed for trouble.

  Tyron said, “Bye Joe.”

  Nervously Joe waved at the boy. He climbed into the expensive car. The upholstery was soft black leather. He slammed the car door. Christy was instantly on top of him. Covering him with liquor fouled kisses. She was ruining another of his shirts. Joe glanced out the window. Tyron’s grandmother was shaking her head at him. Joe said, “Let’s go someplace more private.”

  Christy pulled away and said, “I know a place we can go.” Her hands shook as she pushed away from him. She wasn’t just tipsy, she was drunk.

  Joe’s conscience tried to kick in, but he denied it by asking, “Can I drive?”

  “Sure, Josie.”

  “Call me Joe.”

  “Okay, Joe.” She saluted him like he was in the army or something. The salute was unsteady and wide.

  Joe got out of the car as Christy slid across into his seat. The instant he closed the driver’s door, he forgot about Christy. This car was sweet. He gripped the steering wheel and it purred. He would have a car like this some day. It would be expensive and foreign and bright orange, his favorite color. The interior would be silver leather with gold stitching. He pulled the gearshift out of park and eased away from the curb. The car was so smooth, he felt he was driving through butter. He glanced back in the rear view mirror, Tyron waved at him. Silly kid. He stuck his hand out the window and waved. As they turned onto the freeway Joe asked, “Where are we headed?”

  Christy snuggled up against him. Her hair smelled of weed. “Channel Road. Turn right on Wisteria and follow it to the warehouses. When you get to 1065, stop.” Her lips brushed against his throat. She put her hand high up on his inner thigh.

  Lights flashed from passing cars and eighteen wheelers caused the car to drift a little when they roared passed. Up ahead the bay appeared through the trees. Joe could see a couple ships parked at the dock. He turned on Wisteria, a huge Warehouse loomed. Rectangular contained cargo sat in high stacks like building blocks.

  Christy pointed and said, “There it is.”

  It was a big white warehouse. The parking lot was empty, so was the yard. Joe pulled into the lot and stopped the car. Christy was all over him, her hands, her mouth, she was like a human octopus. She began to suck on his neck. Mama would notice a hickey. “Don’t do that.”

  She just giggled and sucked harder.

  Her jerked his neck away from her.

  “Hey,” she protested. Then her tone softened, “I just want to see how dark it gets.”

  Stupid. “It gets darker okay.”

  “How dark?”

  “Can we do something else?”

  Perturbed, Christy shrugged. She pulled some cigarettes out of her purse.

  Joe was allergic, but he didn’t want to piss her off more. This was not going very well.

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  With shaking fingers, Christy flicked her lighter. It illumined the car. For the first time that night he could clearly see her. Her face was pinched and her make up was smeared. Not smeared from attacking Joe, but smeared from crying. With trembling lips, she took a slow drag on her cigarette as she it lit. The tip of it burned brightly. She flicked off the lighter and they were plunged into darkness.

  Several drags later, the car was full of smoke. Joe coughed.

  Christy laughed. “Guess you don’t smoke?”

  “No.”

  “Wouldn’t be good for your lungs, you being an athlete and all.” Abruptly she said, “Let’s go inside.”

  “The warehouse?”

  “Where else? Duh.”

  Reluctantly Joe followed her into the warehouse. Christy unlocked the door with a key. The place must belong to her dad. She flipped a light switch. The single bulb that swung from the ceiling came on. It cast a wavering light. Christy threw her cigarette on the floor and tamped it out. She pulled some gum out of her purse and offered Joe a piece. This he took. It was that major breath killer kind. When he bit down on it he gasped for air. It was too strong. Through watery eyes he scanned the place. It was empty except for a small couch and a refrigerator.

  Christy went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. Joe shook his head. He didn’t like the taste of beer. She frowned at him. She opened her beer. “Come sit down.” The blanket that covered the couch was clean and it still smelled good, not musty like the rest of the place. Joe had the strange feeling that all this was pre-prepared, just for him, but why? He sat down. Christy snuggled up against him. “I hear guys like you are good, really good.”

  Unsure of what she meant he remained silent. Though he had a condom in his wallet, he had the feeling that whatever he experienced tonight would not be safe. Fear rippled through him. He tried to calm himself by telling himself that everything was scary the first time. Still, he had to wonder how many guys had been where he was about to go.

  Christy took a long pull on her beer, put it on the floor and then pounced on Joe. Her hair wrapped all around them. She kissed him so hard his jaw popped and he swallowed his gum. The kiss was deep and fueled by anger. He could feel her anger scorching through him. Why was she so angry? Was she mad at him? Her tongue slid into his mouth. It tasted bad. She tasted bad. The combination of beer, gum, cigarettes and lipstick was nauseating. He tried to get into the moment, but he felt nothing but the weight of her body and the ice of her hands. What was wrong with him?

  Christy noticed his lack of interest. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want me? Everybody wants me.”

  "Everybody?”

  Her voice became so hard and so sharp Joe felt like he had been cut when she said, “Every Goddamn male wants in my pants, unless they are gay. You, gay, Joe?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it.” She shoved both hands down his pants.

  Joe jerked her hands out and rolled off the couch. She was too aggressive, too angry and close to violence. This was not how he wanted his first time to be. He stood and backed toward the door.

  There was a crunch of gravel outside, like a car pulling into the parking lot. Christy hurled herself at him. He pushed her away. “No.”

  She whimpered, “Please…”

  He turned and ran out the door. There was a car in the drive. It was Mr. Thorton’s red Cadillac. Oh, God. He spun around and headed toward the docks. He heard Christy scream, “Get back in here!” Then Mr. Thorton call out, “Christy? What are you doing here?” Joe kicked his legs into high gear and leapt over a clump of bushes. One bush caught on his pants leg. He flipped forward falling hard on his stomach. For half a second he lay there unable to breathe. Then he heard Christy shout, “I am not going home. I came here to get away from you.” Joe leapt to his feet and started running.

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