Jinx (2) “Well…” “Come here and give me a hug, you big dork.” Angel said, opening her arms wide. We embraced, and Angel squeezed me tight. Oh God. “I’m gonna miss you.” She said as we embraced, squeezing me harder, and groaning for effect. “Mmmmmm!” Why do girls do that?! Don’t they realize what kind of “problems” they cause with that crap? I struggled to keep things from becoming on the up and up, and then pulled back when it nearly became a (noticeable) problem. A guy can only take so much. I put my hands in my pockets. “I’ll try and come down and visit you while you’re camping at the park.” I said. Go down! Go fucking down! “That’d be great, but we’re leaving on Thursday so try to make it before then. Afterwards, we’ll probably see you on the beach.” “And if you’re gonna come visit,” Mary chimed in, “Make it in the afternoon. I sleep naked and would hate to have you surprise me.” She gave me the naughty smile again. Damn if I was going to give Mary Christine the satisfaction of me picturing her naked. Just as I was going to give her a look to that effect, the image popped into my head anyway. I couldn’t help it! In my head, Mary shed her itty-bitty white T-shirt and dark blue cut-offs to play an energetic game of hopscotch in her birthday suit. All of her curves and angles revealed to me in their full glory. I shook my head and looked at the ground. Why me? “See,” Mary said, “Like I told you, he’s such a boy, easily influenced.” Angel rolled her eyes and took the camera from Mary, who was holding it out to her, and opened the back door of her jeep to toss it on the back seat. “Does that camera have the photos we took at Prom on it?” I asked Angel, changing the subject. “Yeah! It does! We’ll have to look at them when we get back and I can get them developed.” “Awww, you two are so cute, let’s go Angel.” Mary was moving towards the Jeep’s passenger door. Angel, sighed again, and went for the driver’s side. They got in the car, and Angel started the motor, the car thrumming to life. Angel rolled down the window. “Are you driving up alone; it’s getting late?” she asked. I immediately broke out in a cold sweat. “Ummm...yeah. My parents made me stay behind an extra day so I couldn’t go with the rest of the gang.” I was lying so much I was afraid my ass would fall off. “Awwww.” She gave me a look of sympathy. “You could follow us, I have some walkie-talkies in the back. It’d be fun.” She gave me the puppy dog look, and I either started to melt or drool, I can’t remember which. I shook my head to clear it. “Thanks, but I got some errands to run, and supplies to get before I go.” “Ok,” she pouted. “C-ya.” And with that, Angel slowly pulled out of the space and literally drove off into the sunset. She was waving back at me, and I was left merely standing there. Something I was very used to in our relationship. But that’s for another day. Alright, the truth is, I didn’t want Angel to know I was taking Madison with me. Mainly because we were really starting to get close (with the events at prom and the upcoming picnic she’d invited me to next week) and I didn’t want anything to ruin what could finally be a “real” relationship with her. And if she knew I’d be sharing about 200 miles, at night, with the school’s most notorious tease…Just connect the dots. I would have told her I was having a vasectomy before I told her the truth. It would only hurt her…right? Christ. Women. Jesus Christ. There was only one last stop before I could make the journey into the “true” beginning of my summer vacation: Madison’s house. It was a 40-minute drive in itself, and traffic was going to be a bitch on 695, I knew. Ten minutes after Angel left I got in my car. Five minutes after that, I actually started it and drove off. * * * I’m not a bible thumper but I was raised Catholic. The big man upstairs and I don’t talk much anymore though, as I have some questions he has yet to answer. Besides which, we had a bit of a falling out about 3 years ago over the fairness of life. But like any pair of former good friends, we still care about each other and inquire about how the other is doing from time to time. And while I didn’t necessarily want any specific help from the old guy, I would not have minded some divine guidance for the next few hours. You may think I’m crazy, but you don’t know Madison. I was about to drive an excess of 200 miles, in the dark, with the woman (yes woman) I regarded as the most dangerous of her species. I said Madison was a tease, but that wasn’t a fair assessment of her capabilities. Calling her a simple tease would be like calling the Pope a man of faith. Madison was a seductress. Madison was Satan in the body of an 18-year old that had Victoria’s Secret model potential. She was a temptress. She was sex personified. Madison could make the Pope FORGET his religion. “Don’t do anything stupid.” The words rang, empty and hollow throughout my entire head, reverberating off my skull. Oh God. I *was* doomed. * * * In school, Madison had been one of those girls who were too pretty and popular for me to associate with, even though she was semi-friends with Aurora. No second looks in the hall, if you bumped into her and dropped your books, she stepped over you and kept walking. That kinda crap. That is, until we started working together. See, Tom and I decided (in our junior year) to get jobs at a record store in order to broaden our musical horizons past what we saw on MTV and on the radio. We thought it’d make us better musicians on the whole (and ultimately we were right). So we scouted around to come up with the proper working environment: a non-formal, corporately ignorant record store with a plethora of customers. And with that, we decided on Record and Tape Traders. But the closest one was in Glen Burnie, which was no real problem cause both of us drove. It would just mean a 40-45 minute drive to work. So we filled out applications, got interviews, and lo and behold, we were both hired. It wasn’t such a bad job: six bucks and hour, interesting customers (to say the least), employee discounts, and all the exposure to music we could have asked for. Besides which, you could wear pretty much anything to work as long as it wasn’t too offensive (a major plus). About a week into our employment, Lydia, the store’s manager (and our boss) decided to hire one more person to help fill out the weekend schedule. Guess who? When she walked in, I could tell she was not wearing a bra, which would account for the additional “movement” that she was flaunting. The (very tight) white babydoll Green Day T-shirt she was wearing left very little to the imagination and very much to her midriff. From there on down was a little silver belly button ring attached to a stomach that was not fat, but added that needed look of actual weight to a very slim waist. This preempted a pair of black, skin-tight, Nautica jeans that covered a pair of shapely full hips and thighs. My mouth dropped open. Tom dropped the stack of used CDs he’d been carrying to the front. Madison was a 5’8,” 130 pound fantasy. Long, full-bodied brown hair came past her shoulders and accentuated a face that could be as innocent as the Vienna Boys Choir, or as naughty as Jenna Jameson. Her smoldering brown eyes seemed to be an extension of her voluptuous figure. If she blinked at you the wrong way, or stared at you too hard you’d be running to the bathroom to clean up the newly made mess in your pants. Guy or girl, and I am not kidding. Her complexion was darker than most white girls, almost Italian or olive (though Madison once told me she was Native American and French…go figure). And when she smiled, she let the top of the stud in her tongue ring stick out between the two rows of her teeth for added effect. The first time I ever saw that smile was when she saw Tom scramble to pick up the dropped CDs, and realized that she was the cause of the incident. Madison was like that. It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen her before. We’d eyeballed her tons of times at school: when she walked down the hall, alone or smoking with her trashy group of friends (who were nowhere near as hot as she was but ten times as slutty), or while she lewdly made out with her boyfriend KC in plain sight of us commoners. THIS Madison was different from THAT Madison we would come to find out. This Madison acknowledged your presence. This Madison actually looked at you and talked to you. This Madison would openly flirt and bat her eyes at you, despite her having a boyfriend and a (very) active sex-life. This Madison TOLD YOU about that sex-life. This Madison was speaking to me. “Hello, Mack are you there?” This Madison knew my name. Oh. My. God. “Yeah—Yes—I mean, hey, what’s up?” Smooth boy, real smooth. “I’m here for an interview.” “Really?” I managed breathlessly. “Yeah, where’s Lydia?” Her voice had a deep velvety pitch to it that ultimately fit her persona. She sounded like a voice-over on one of those late-night phone sex commercials. “She’s in the back.” I wheezed and pointed. “You can just go back there, she’s probably waiting for you.” “Thanks, babe.” She winked at me before turning to walk toward the back. I never liked those pair of pants anyway. Madison’s parents were divorced. Her mom lived in Columbia, and during the week she lived with her and went to school with us. On the weekends she lived with her dad in Glen Burnie, hence the weekend job at Record and Tape. During the week she also worked at Victoria’s Secret in the Mall. She was often the top seller of the month. Wonder why? I didn’t think so. Her job at Record and Tape represented that other personal side of Madison. She was big on music, Madison was. She loved to rock out, sing, air guitar and dance at any opportunity she could find. Her favorite Band was Garbage but her favorite CD was the Coyote Ugly soundtrack. Whatever. She had…eclectic tastes shall we say. In school she was a Calvin Klein/Nautica refugee; at Record and Tape she still sported the designer pants but she also mixed in the Hot Topic look (with the dark colors and band t-shirts) that you just didn’t expect. * * * With summer in full bloom, Madison was spending more time at her dad’s house, which caused her to increase her working schedule at Record and Tape and decrease at Victoria’s Secret. She hadn’t been able to get out of work that Monday so she couldn’t get a ride to senior week from any of her trashy friends who’d left Sunday, or her boyfriend who’d left this morning. So I’d gotten the lucky job of transporting her to Ocean City, home of the seven-day party. Like I said, it was a 45-minute drive to Glen Burnie from Highland, at least by 695, but I knew the back roads that would shave about 10 minutes off my time. I took 695. No rush. I needed time to think…and to pray. Driving along at an even 70 mph (15 miles over the speed limit), blasting Eve 6 through my Camry’s crappy speakers, I was at peace for the moment. The only thing more therapeutic to me than guitar playing was driving long distances while listening to music. Sure my car was an 88’ Toyota, and sure the motor was going to start to over heat as soon as I got back into stop and go traffic, and sometimes the accelerator randomly stops working and nearly causes me to get killed. Yes, my car is a piece (of shit), but it’s my POS, so don’t laugh. “Jesus Mack, why don’t you just get a new car?” Madison asked. She eyed my Camry distastefully, as she dragged her suitcase over to where I was parked. I opened the trunk. “Do you wanna ride or not?” I snapped. “Yeah.” “Then lay off the car.” “Alright babe, I’m sorry, don’t get so fucking defensive.” That was another thing about Madison; she had the worst mouth I had ever heard on a woman. But instead of repulsing me, it had the exact opposite effect. Whatever, man. She dropped her suitcase in the trunk with an audible THUNK. A metallic thunk. A rattling, metallic thunk. Hmmm. “What’s in the suitcase?” I gave her my suspicious eyeing look. “Clothes.” She replied quickly. Too quickly. “Clothes don’t make a sound like that.” “They do when they’re packed in with a 24 pack of beer.” Jesus. “Awww, c’mon Madison! There are going to be cops all over the roads down there. What if we get searched?” “We won’t if you drive slow.” She moved to the passenger side door. “Can we get going? It’s getting late.” “Madison.” I gave her the warning tone of voice. “Mack…come on…(playfully) You know how I get when I drink.” She shot the soul-stealing look at me but I managed to look away just in time. “All the more reason to leave it here.” I told her, and meant it. “Maaaaack.” Now she was pouting. Her bottom lip poked out, and her brown eyes stopped smoldering to take on the innocent look that she’d mastered. “Pwwwease?” I never stood a chance. Angrily closing the trunk, I went over and unlocked and opened her door, then went over to the other side to get in myself. On the way back to the beltway, she relayed all the days events in the store. Our boss’s shouting match with a customer over the condition of a CD, a fight between two Goth kids over a rare Nine Inch Nails EP; you know, the usual. I let her do all of the talking until she ran out of steam (it took a while, though), and then I filled the silence with a question that’d been bothering me. “Why didn’t KC just wait for you to get off work if he wasn’t leaving till today anyway?” Madison shifted in her seat. “KC and I broke up a week ago, Mack. Didn’t you hear?” “No.” SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! The silence built up again. I let it stay there, my instincts told me to keep my mouth shut. “He says it was better to break up now, rather than at the end of the summer.” She said, matter-of-fact. “Mmm.” “That’s why I fuckin need this week. To recover.” Oh God. “Cause I’ll tell you, I haven’t gotten laid in two weeks and I am going fuckin nuts.” Jesus Christ. “You’re awful quiet.” “Just listening to the music. I love this CD.” “So do I, KC and I once had sex to it.” WHY LORD?! WHY?! She was looking at me really hard. I was trying to contain a scream, but it came off as off-key humming. “How bout you Mackenzie, when’s the last time you got some?” Crash the car, or keep talking? Crash the car or keep talking? “It’s been…a while.” I said. “Hmmm, then we’ll have to do something about that.” Traitor! Go down! Go fucking down! Go down or I swear to God I’ll— “Ohmigod, turn this song up!” Madison suddenly exclaimed. Eve 6 had saved me. The CD had started over from the beginning and the opening song on Horrorscope; “Rescue” (ha ha) had caught the interest of Miss Madison Carter. Divine Intervention. Sweet merciful Christ. We were fine for the next two hours as our conversation switched to lighter topics (death, violence and rock n’ roll). Then, it happened. Traffic back up on route 50 going into Ocean City. An accident. The police were giving using the delay to give sobriety tests to anyone they thought was drunk or questionable. Oh shit. After expressing our mutual distress over the turn of events, we again fell back into the uncomfortable silence from before. It was a silence that was uncomfortable not because it was silent, but because I didn’t know what she was going to say to break the silence. “So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Mack?” Is she serious? “Excuse me?” “Why aren’t you dating anyone?” Too many cars, can’t get a clean crash-- “I mean, you’re a decent looking guy, and you’re fuckin funny as hell.” “Decent?” Madison laughed. “Jesus Mack, I was trying to be honest with you but if you want me to lie and say you look like fucking Will Smith, I will.” “That’s ok.”
Copyright © 2001 MacKenzie Morgan |