beekeeper.
Fawn sat up straighter and adjusted her bathing-suit straps. “What the fuck is he up to now?” she said.
He waddled down the drive toward the curb, his elbows and knees jutting through the white suit fabric. When he got there, he put the canister down, to peer, hunchbacked, at we knew not what. Sidewalk cracks? Dead leaves?
Fawn stood up. “I’m going to go talk to him,” she said. “You wait here.”
“You’re going over there?”
“Sure, it’ll be fun.” Tugging at her suit bottom once, as if for luck, she sauntered right across the street and up to him as if this were a thing that happened all the time.
As Fawn approached, he shot straight up as though spring-loaded, dropping his canister on his foot. It was pathetic, a move right out of vaudeville. He and Fawn started talking, and after a minute, he picked up his canister and proceeded to walk Fawn around the perimeter of his yard, pointing occasionally. Was he giving her a guided tour of the lawn? Identifying the flora?
When Fawn came back she flopped down on her towel, looking entirely satisfied. “Earwigs,” she said.
“Earwigs?”
“Apparently he’s got an infestation.”
“Gross. So what’s he like?”
“Weirder than weird. He says he’s got a pool in back and that we can come over anytime we want and swim.”
“Really?”
“It’s probably one of those aboveground jobs or worse, he’sgot a little paddling pool. You know, plastic with little swimming goldfish and octopuses.” She gathered her hair up into a handheld ponytail then released it again. “He acts all nice and everything, but he’s totally perverted. He’s been dying to see our tits for a month. What do you say, should we show him?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m not serious, ditzoid. But it would be funny, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said, though inwardly I was revolted.
“Speaking of tits, Tom tried to get up my shirt last night.”
I had actually witnessed this the night before as a kind of extended wrestling match: Fawn fending Tom’s hands off as he retreated, then tried again, then attempted to go up the back of her shirt and around the side. “Wow,” I said, not wanting Fawn to think I was spying on her. “That’s pretty forward of him.”
“I guess so. He’s cute though, don’t you think? I seriously considered giving in, but it’s more fun to see them work for it.”
“Mm hmmm,” I said vaguely. Fawn would soon know or guess just how limited I was in the romance department, but I was trying to stall for as long as possible. “So, are you two a couple now?”
“I just met the guy. It’s not like we’re engaged because he tried to feel me up. Geez.”
“But you like him, right?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes with a sigh. “Maybe. We’re going out again tonight, so ask me tomorrow.”
For a split second, the sun seemed to pulse. I squinted and shook my head to clear it. “Oh? Where are you going?”
“You’re invited too, stupid. What? Did you think I was ditching you already?”
“No, of course not,” I said, relief sinking all the way through me.
BENNIE AND THE JETS
W hen we arrived at Turner Park to meet Tom, he and the others were waiting next to an Econoline panel van in the main parking lot. “This is it,” Tom said. “My new ride.”
“Wow, it’s really nice,” Fawn cooed, but it wasn’t nice at all. It was stark white with two bucket seats up front. The back was unfinished, not even carpet laid down, but Tom insisted he had big plans for it, curtains, a platform bed, a custom paint job, and a mural, though he was torn between the black horsemen of the apocalypse and a rising phoenix, with flames licking across the hood.
“Horsemen,” said Fawn. “Definitely.” She hopped in, claiming the front seat without waiting for an invitation from Tom, playing the girlfriend to the hilt. “So where are we going?”
The rest of us climbed into the back, sitting
Fawn sat up straighter and adjusted her bathing-suit straps. “What the fuck is he up to now?” she said.
He waddled down the drive toward the curb, his elbows and knees jutting through the white suit fabric. When he got there, he put the canister down, to peer, hunchbacked, at we knew not what. Sidewalk cracks? Dead leaves?
Fawn stood up. “I’m going to go talk to him,” she said. “You wait here.”
“You’re going over there?”
“Sure, it’ll be fun.” Tugging at her suit bottom once, as if for luck, she sauntered right across the street and up to him as if this were a thing that happened all the time.
As Fawn approached, he shot straight up as though spring-loaded, dropping his canister on his foot. It was pathetic, a move right out of vaudeville. He and Fawn started talking, and after a minute, he picked up his canister and proceeded to walk Fawn around the perimeter of his yard, pointing occasionally. Was he giving her a guided tour of the lawn? Identifying the flora?
When Fawn came back she flopped down on her towel, looking entirely satisfied. “Earwigs,” she said.
“Earwigs?”
“Apparently he’s got an infestation.”
“Gross. So what’s he like?”
“Weirder than weird. He says he’s got a pool in back and that we can come over anytime we want and swim.”
“Really?”
“It’s probably one of those aboveground jobs or worse, he’sgot a little paddling pool. You know, plastic with little swimming goldfish and octopuses.” She gathered her hair up into a handheld ponytail then released it again. “He acts all nice and everything, but he’s totally perverted. He’s been dying to see our tits for a month. What do you say, should we show him?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m not serious, ditzoid. But it would be funny, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said, though inwardly I was revolted.
“Speaking of tits, Tom tried to get up my shirt last night.”
I had actually witnessed this the night before as a kind of extended wrestling match: Fawn fending Tom’s hands off as he retreated, then tried again, then attempted to go up the back of her shirt and around the side. “Wow,” I said, not wanting Fawn to think I was spying on her. “That’s pretty forward of him.”
“I guess so. He’s cute though, don’t you think? I seriously considered giving in, but it’s more fun to see them work for it.”
“Mm hmmm,” I said vaguely. Fawn would soon know or guess just how limited I was in the romance department, but I was trying to stall for as long as possible. “So, are you two a couple now?”
“I just met the guy. It’s not like we’re engaged because he tried to feel me up. Geez.”
“But you like him, right?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes with a sigh. “Maybe. We’re going out again tonight, so ask me tomorrow.”
For a split second, the sun seemed to pulse. I squinted and shook my head to clear it. “Oh? Where are you going?”
“You’re invited too, stupid. What? Did you think I was ditching you already?”
“No, of course not,” I said, relief sinking all the way through me.
BENNIE AND THE JETS
W hen we arrived at Turner Park to meet Tom, he and the others were waiting next to an Econoline panel van in the main parking lot. “This is it,” Tom said. “My new ride.”
“Wow, it’s really nice,” Fawn cooed, but it wasn’t nice at all. It was stark white with two bucket seats up front. The back was unfinished, not even carpet laid down, but Tom insisted he had big plans for it, curtains, a platform bed, a custom paint job, and a mural, though he was torn between the black horsemen of the apocalypse and a rising phoenix, with flames licking across the hood.
“Horsemen,” said Fawn. “Definitely.” She hopped in, claiming the front seat without waiting for an invitation from Tom, playing the girlfriend to the hilt. “So where are we going?”
The rest of us climbed into the back, sitting
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