CHAPTER EIGHT
I guess when you expect the worst it’s always a pleasant surprise if everything ends up going smoothly. I totally expected some dead soul to rise up from the waves and overturn the Zodiac as Dex and I motored towards shore, or perhaps we might have run into some hidden rocks and sank (then get pulled down by that…hand).
But we didn’t. We arrived in one piece and, loaded down with stuff, pulled the Zodiac up along the pebbly beach until it was far away from any rebellious tides. Dex even tied it to a tree to be safe.
The fact that we had to carry so much shit in a half–hour trek across the island was also distracting me from the ghostly dangers that lurked about. I had the backpack on, my sleeping bag under one arm, the cooler under the other, a camera case and the ghost equipment bag hanging off of each shoulder, and the lighting boards in my hand. The weight was nearly unbearable and made it hard to walk on the stones.
Dex was no better off, but at least he had the frame to carry everything on him like some sexy, overloaded pack mule. And he somehow managed to fish out a camera out of the old–looking case.
He shoved it in my free hand.
“You film our walk,” he said. I looked down at it. I hadn’t seen one of these in years but it was a totally vintage Super 8 camera. Luckily that meant it was easy for me to carry (it’s kind of shaped like a gun), but still. If I fell over at any point, and that was very likely, the camera would be the thing breaking my fall.
“OK,” I said slowly.
He reached over and flicked it on. “But don’t film anything unless you have to. You’ve only got three minutes and 20 seconds of film before we have to refill and we won’t have the time to do that yet. Or, I won’t have the patience.”
I wanted to ask him why he didn’t film it but he did have both his hands full. What a little opportunist he was.
Dex walked into the forest and I followed. We broke through the bushes, taking our time since both of us weren’t very agile, and came across a small trail heading up and down with the coast.
We walked along the path in silence, listening to the cry of far–away ravens, the crunch of dead leaves and broken twigs beneath our feet, and the sound of waves against the shore, stirring the pebbles. From the glimpses between the heavy trees I could see that Mary Contrary was still anchored out on the water. Whether she was tied up or not, I was still going to worry about her. What if we came back to the boat tomorrow to charge our phones and she was gone? I had a mini heart attack just thinking about it.
After we trudged along for a few minutes, another faint trail looked like it broke off into the depths of the forest, marked by a red and white plastic disc on a tree.
“Straight or turn?” I asked Dex as he stood at the intersection. “Is this even a path?”
He pointed south where our path continued. “If we go south for a bit we can see the ruins of the caretakers’ cottage.”
That sounded creepy. “Uh, how about we come back and do that. Let’s just get all this crap off of us.”
He nodded and we started on the path heading inland. It wasn’t as well trampled as the perimeter trail and with each step we took over the jumbled roots and overgrown ferns, I felt more and more uneasy. Sometimes the path wasn’t even obvious anymore, especially when the spaces between the trees opened up. It took Dex’s vigilant eye on spotting the discs on the trees to keep us going in the same direction.
It was when we reached this strange little glade that I told Dex we had to stop. My shoulders were killing me and the cooler was slowly but surely working its way out from under my arm.
I probably could have picked a better place. All the trees around us were dead and decaying, weighed down by old moss that dripped with stringy moisture from their branches. They looked like crippled, hunched–over people being enveloped by killer slime, frozen forever in agonizing positions.
Even when Dex said, “Are you sure you want to stop? It can’t be that much longer to the campsite,” I heard more fear in his voice than the annoyance that I was slowing things down.
I put the cooler down as gently as possible and then flung my backpack off through that one arm. Even with the weight off, I felt as broken as the rotting trees.
Dex saw the pain in my face and relented. He took his bag off as well and put everything else down on the ground. He walked over me and passed me a bottle of water from the cooler.
“Thanks” I said, taking a swig of it.
“Shoulders hurt?” he asked.
I nodded. He walked behind me, reached over and placed both of his strong hands on my shoulders and started massaging them very slowly. It was a beautiful pain.
“Did you take massage classes as well?” I asked lightly, trying to keep him from knowing how much I was enjoying it.
He grunted a no. I expected him to make a remark about giving Jenn massages but he didn’t. And I was glad. That would have been too much. I liked to live in this weird fantasy world of mine where mentions of Jenn were jarring and inappropriate. Though, you know, half the time I was bringing her up.
Dex continued to massage but I could tell his attention was elsewhere. Had we been anywhere else, I might have felt a bit rejected. But I could feel he was scanning the dank, dark forest around us, taking everything in. I started to pick up an uncomfortable vibe, one that was miles away from the massage or Jenn.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t like it here.”
“I don’t like it anywhere here,” I admitted. But for Dex to say the same thing was saying a lot.
He slowly brought his hands to a stop and paused. We held our breaths in unison. There was something weird here. A feeling in the air, like the atmosphere was dragged down with the heavy, overgrown moss.
We heard a crunch behind us.
We whipped around, my upper body aching from the sudden movement, and saw a family of raccoons creep out from behind an old rotted stump.
We had a lot of raccoons in the Pacific Northwest and it was a nightly occurrence in the area around my parents’ house. I still didn’t feel any easier around them.
There were two babies and four adults. They stopped about five feet away from us and even though we were larger, I felt outnumbered, like we couldn’t win in a fight.
They would have been cute if they were on another side of a fence, with their human–like paws, black eyes and twitchy little noses. But here they seemed like vicious predators wanting to attack. I had hoped the last of our “animal” encounters were behind us in Red Fox.
The raccoons made funny little noises and a few of them leaned back on their hindquarters to get a better look at us. Or perhaps to intimidate us. They stood like that for a bit, not moving forward or backward. They weren’t exactly in our way but gathering up our stuff with them there didn’t seem like a smart idea.
“Start filming,” Dex said softly through the corner of his mouth. I looked down at the Super 8, which was beside my backpack.
“Uh...”
“Just do it,” he hissed.
I eyed the raccoons and then made my way over to the backpack, lifting up my legs carefully, not wanting to scare or startle them. It was at that moment, when I sighted my backpack as I picked up the Super 8, that I realized we had no weapons with us. As far as I knew, we had no guns, no pepper spray, and probably nothing bigger than a kitchen knife. Even a baseball bat would have been something.
I picked up the Super 8 and pressed record. I didn’t know what to shoot, but I just aimed it at the raccoons and heard the film spinning around the reel inside. I knew it was going to quickly run out.
“So we film them and then?” I asked, my voice low. “This is just more nature documentary?”
“Could be,” he whispered, his voice low and his eyes focused on them.
At that, the closest and largest raccoon opened its mouth, teeth bared, eyes white, and hissed at us. It was a loud, unearthly sound like nails on a chalkboard over growling. It took a step closer and we took an instinctive step back.
“Or, it could be the part where everything starts to go horribly wrong,” he quickly whispered.
I kept filming but wasn’t sure what to do next. I looked at Dex. He had on his cargo jacket and hoodie underneath and his boots and long pants added protection. If the raccoon did make a leap for him, it would take a lot to bite through the fabric and by then I was sure I would be beating the off rabid beast with the Super 8.
But then all the other raccoons – including the babies – started hissing at once. We were looking into six open jaws filled with sharp white teeth and black gums. The noise was terrifying.
I was pretty close to either peeing my pants or throwing the Super 8 into the forest as a distraction but as quickly as they had appeared, they suddenly dropped to their haunches and scrambled off into the woods. It reminded me of a pack of dogs responding to their owner calling them home.
I hit the off button and let out yet another sigh of relief. “What the f*ck was that?”
Dex looked a bit shaken. “Guess they aren’t used to humans intruding on their property. This is probably their little territory here.”
“Well they can have their f*cking territory,” I said and quickly gathered up my stuff. I was getting the f*ck out of there, pain or no pain.
Dex did the same and within minutes we were leaving the dead area, our legs moving faster than they had all day.
It only took about ten minutes before the claustrophobic tangles and damp undergrowth were forgotten and the foliage was replaced with waist–high, green salal bushes that allowed for uninterrupted views of the water and the beach. Though I didn’t feel 100% welcome here, this area was at least bright and the traces of the campsite brought in an air of civilization. I was even comforted by a sign for the drop toilet.
The trees around this area were quite bare around the bottom; their branches didn’t start until quite high up, which gave an open, airy feel to the campground. Judging from the breeze that was steadily picking up from the water ahead, it was probably due to the continuous bashing from coastal weather.
We walked down the path that led us past the seven campsites, each site marked with a square gravel plot and a picnic table, and stopped among the dry knee–high grass that led down onto the wide, expansive curve of beach. With the smaller “Little D’Arcy” Island just across a tumultuous stretch of water, and the lumps of the Unit Rocks just south of it, it could have made a beautiful postcard.
To my relief, Little D’Arcy had a fairly large house on it, nestled amongst the trees. It was the house a rich recluse would have owned.
“Do you think anyone lives on it?” I asked hopefully. Though I knew the short stretch of ocean between the two islands was notoriously turbulent and impossible to swim across, it would be comforting to know help was just a stone’s throw away.
But Dex just shook his head before heading back up the trail towards the campsites. “I doubt it. Not now. Maybe in the summer.”
Discouraged at that, I sighed inside and followed him back to the sites. We decided on the one closest to the beach. It had the best view and I was happy to be as far out of the forest as possible. The only problem was that if the weather turned, our tent was going to take more of a beating. But since everything seemed OK for the moment, we would just deal with that when and if it happened.
It felt good to have the backpacks off of us, but we didn’t have time to relax and enjoy it. A quick glance to my phone told me it was already 2 p.m. and the sun would be setting in about two hours or so. I sent off a quick text to Ada and my dad to let them know I was OK and had made it safely (no point in telling them about any of the hassle we had). Then we made quick work of the tent.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been camping but, as usual, with Dex it was like second nature. Also, it was his tent after all. I helped him when I could, holding down the pegs, fishing the poles through the tent legs and keeping everything together. He even went so far as to put a wide tarp on top of the tent, strung between nearby trees, to shelter us from any rain.
“Well done, sir,” I said, admiring his handwork when he was done.
He wiped his hands on his pants and gave me a tense smile.
I stooped over and entered the tent. It was a four person tent so it was just big enough that I could stand up, albeit hunched over with my neck at a crazy angle. We laid out the large foamy mattress on the bottom and put the sleeping bags and pillows on top. I took the right side and put down my backpack, bringing the books out and other essentials I didn’t want to go digging for later.
Dex pointed at the books. “You better get your script ready. We don’t have much time if we want to shoot some stuff before the sun goes down.”
“What kind of stuff?” I asked, stiffening. For some reason I didn’t think we’d be shooting anything with me on camera today but, like I said earlier, he was an opportunist. >
“Just the intro, you know the drill. There’s that little grassy hill to the left out there that looks over the beach. Would be a perfect shot. You go whip something up, I’ll get everything here ready. Then we’ll shoot it, come back here and we’ll figure out what to do for dinner.”
Dinner sounded good. The Triscuits were barely holding out inside of me. I scooped up the books, as well as a notepad and pen, and got out of the tent. He obviously needed some time alone to get his shit together. Probably wanted some privacy to talk to Jenn on the phone or something like that. I looked down at the beach and the dried, reddish logs sprawled out along its length. It looked like the least scary place for me to do some work.
I walked further down the beach than I initially planned. Picking what log to sit on was a bit like trying on underwear. Some had bird poop on it, some were too small for my ass to rest comfortably on. Eventually I found a nice broad one and took a seat.
I was at the very end of the beach and had a wonderful view of our blue tarp poking up amongst the trees and leafy bushes, the grassy knoll that Dex had been talking about and the short distance to Little D’Arcy across the way. Gulls flew about in the sky, letting out an occasional cry, while other birds floated among the waves.
I wasn’t sure where to start with my reading and what I should incorporate into my quick introduction script, but it didn’t take long for me to feel completely creeped out again.
It turns out that where the lepers’ housing had been was where the campsite now was and that the graves where they were haphazardly buried were all over the place. Apparently they were never marked either, except by a small mound, or by the placing of a boulder or two. I had already seen a few places like that around the tent and that realization turned my spine to custard.
I twirled around on the log, suddenly afraid with my back to the dark bushes and had this mounting urge to flee. I know I had read that they were all buried here, but I figured maybe a place like the dead mossy glade would have been the area. Or, you know, an actual cemetery. Not where I was, where we would be sleeping tonight and where so many other people had slept. To think that the next suspicious looking rock might house a rotting casket underneath…
I shivered violently.
I didn’t need to read anymore. I didn’t feel like I needed a script either. The history of this place already felt ingrained inside of me. I wanted to enjoy the casual scene of the beach, the glittery waves and the open space as the sun made the shadows long. The beauty of D’Arcy Island was so misleading.
I closed the books and gazed over the scenery. I did this for a few blissful minutes before I felt a little itch in my head. Surfing the internet seemed like a better, more distracting use of my time. I pulled out my phone and noticed the battery was already half used and the reception bar was nonexistent. Uh oh.
I opened the browser and it spun around for what seemed like forever until it latched on to a page. The bar wavered and then disappeared again. I had a feeling staying in touch wasn’t going to be easy here. Then again, nothing had been easy so far.
Still, it at least allowed me to check my Twitter and Facebook accounts. There wasn’t anything too interesting there. I was still new to the whole Twitter thing so I didn’t have many followers but occasionally someone would “tweet” me and say something nice about the show. Today someone had said they really liked the concept of the show and asked where we were going next. I replied back and told him he’d have to wait and see. Dex and I had decided it was probably best if we never gave anyone straight answers – keep people in suspense, something Dex did very well.
It was nice that I never got any nasty comments on my Twitter (so far). I think people reserved that for actual famous people and stuff like that since Twitter accounts weren’t anonymous; well, not really. You were still held accountable, plus it was easy to block people on Twitter. One click and you didn’t need to look at them anymore.
The blog, of course, was another story. Every single nasty comment was left by someone anonymous who didn’t provide a name or an email address. I suppose there was some way I could try and figure out who they were by finding out their IP address but that involved doing something in the back end of the blog and Dex would have to do that himself. I knew if I asked him to look into it, he’d respond with a flat–out no and then chide me for caring what other people thought.
I couldn’t help it though. Every time I thought about checking the blog out of some strange torturous compulsion, I felt so nervous I was almost sick about it. I hated not knowing when these comments were going to come and what they were going to be about. They went straight to my email, too, which didn’t help. Even if I avoided looking at the blog, I still had to check my emails at some point, and that’s where they were, waiting for me.
Like this time. It’s not like I got a lot of emails from people but sometimes it was from my cousin Jonas in Sweden, sometimes it was a concert announcement, sometimes it was catching up with my friend Gemma who lived down in Eugene. To be honest, I didn’t get enough email to warrant being an obsessive checker but there I was, checking anyway. It seemed I got comments more than anything else.
Case in point, as the browser slowly logged me into my email account, I could see four messages from the blog comments. Three of them had names assigned to them, which usually meant they were benign or spam. I always checked those last to raise my spirits. The final message was by Anonymous.
That sick feeling returned and my heart started to pound loudly in my chest. It was a different kind of fear than the one I was experiencing on the island. It was almost more upsetting in a way, which was really ridiculous. It was just words, silly stupid words from people I didn’t know. It shouldn’t have been as terrifying as camping on a ghostly leper island, yet it was.
I took a deep breath and clicked the name. I closed my eyes as the internet was found among the spotty reception and waited. On the plus side, my fear of the island was subsiding.
I opened them slowly and looked down. The comment was short and read: “I can tell from looking at your face that you’ve never accomplished anything in your life. It’s sad that this probably is the high point. Thank god you’re too fat to have an ego.”
Ouch. Major f*cking ouch.
I felt tears pricking hotly at the nerves behind my eyes. It wasn’t so much the fat thing; I was kind of used to that by now and it was such the typical cheap shot to take on a female who had a little meat on her bones. It was the other thing. It hit a little too close to home, to be honest. This actually was the most I had accomplished; at least it felt that way. And they were right. That really was sad.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I looked up and saw Dex storming towards me like a gruff freight train, the pebbles kicking up behind him. I must have totally been in my own little world to not have heard him coming.
He stopped in front of me, spied the phone, and yanked it out of my hands.
“Hey!” I yelled at him.
He looked at the phone and read over the email with disgust. “Another comment? Nice. Way to play the fat card again, you bitch.”
He stuck my phone in his pocket, shaking his head at me. “I gave you a simple task, read the bloody books and work on the f*cking script and instead you’re back to checking the blog again. Do you like to torture yourself?”
If I wasn’t close to crying before, I definitely was now. Those hot prickles came faster. But I couldn’t cry in front of him and not over that. So I channeled the tears into anger and gave him my most potent glare.
“I can check whatever the f*ck I want to check, especially when it’s on my own phone.”
“You’re technically on the clock right now.”
“Oh, whatever, Dex, since when is it any of your business? And why do you care so much? I don’t believe you have that much concern for my well–being.”
“It is my business. You know I have to keep you in check here and that’s hard to do when you keep getting sucked into this shit.”
“You don’t think much of me, do you?”
He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes to the heavens. He plopped down beside me on the log, leaned forward with his elbows propped up on his knees and folded his hands into a steeple.
“I’m going to say this only once, kiddo,” he said slowly, his voice bordering on fatherly and fed up. “You know I think the world of you.”
Actually, that was news to me. He could see the skepticism on my face.
“I do. All those things I said last night about...you, I meant them all.”
Ugh. Why did he have throw that in there? Butterflies at the pit of my chest were beginning to stir. They did not need the encouragement.
“But again, it doesn’t and shouldn’t matter what I think. It’s all about what you think. What you think about yourself. Obviously this crap is getting to you; otherwise, you wouldn’t bother checking and you wouldn’t be getting upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I said and opened my eyes wider.
He gave me a sad smile. “You looked pretty miserable as I was coming over. You think you’re pretty good at hiding those eyes of yours. But you’re not.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not as deceptive as you are.”
“It’s a learned art. You’re better off learning how to not give a shit about what other people think of you. Whether it’s what some strangers on the internet think, whether it’s what your old classmates think, or what I think or what your parents think, in the end, no one’s opinion should matter but your own.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t be listening to you right now?”
“You’re not getting out of this that easily. And I’m not giving you back your phone either.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. He had to be joking but his eyes said he wasn’t.
“You’re confiscating my phone!?”
He got up off the log. “For now. We’re all ready to shoot. I’ve got the camera up on the tripod, lighting is perfect. We are ready to go and I need you in the moment. Need you to be here and ready to tell the island’s tale.”
I was barely listening to him. My eyes flitted to the water, finding the rhythmic waves a less aggravating sight than Dex lording over me with a stupid smug look on his face. Sometimes I felt like we were total equals with each other and other times it felt like we were in some bizarre teacher–student situation. Or doctor–patient, as it seemed to be now.
“Aw, now you’re mad,” he said mockingly, bringing a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it.
I avoided his face and sucked in through my teeth. Stupid jerk. I had half a mind to pick up one of the stones and throw it at him. The anger inside me was astonishing enough that I was almost afraid I’d do it. He twitched a little too, as if he could feel the energy rolling towards him in an invisible wave.
But I just got to my feet, grabbed my books and walked off towards the grassy knoll, my feet sliding awkwardly on the stones as I went.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. It should have been pretty obvious. I could see the camera already set up on the hill, all he needed was me. Might as well get this part over with. I wasn’t exactly in the camera host mood but by God I was going to have to fake it.
I made a quick stop in the tent. I zipped the door behind me so he’d have the common sense not to come in after me, and attempted to make myself camera–ready.
I changed into a flattering v–neck, long–sleeved shirt and swiped on a coat of cherry lipstick that was the same vivid red. Yeah, this was obviously not my usual on–camera attire but you know, f*ck that. I was going to prove I did deserve to be out there. I knew the top made my breasts look great. I mean hey, Jenn shows hers off on freaking Wine Babes and she has nothing on me in that department, plus the red coloring and lipstick suited my skin tone and hair. I didn’t care if I was going to freeze my ass off, I was a professional and this is what was going to happen.
I decided to keep my black jeans and Chucks on and applied a few eye–opening strokes of mascara. I was ready to go.
I stepped out of the tent and immediately was struck into submission by the cold wind.
Mind over matter, I thought to myself, though I suddenly wished I had worn a more padded bra. Oh well, I’d just make the headlights work for me. Keeping my chattering teeth quiet, I strode up the path over to the hill, where Dex was now fiddling with the camera settings.
The hill was grassy and undulating, with rocky mounds here and there. I didn’t let my mind think about whether they could be graves or not. The view was gorgeous, especially in the fading sunlight. The beached curved out to our right, while a rocky shoreline and smaller beach spread to the left. Across the way sat the stoic Little D’Arcy Island and its lone house.
“Jesus Christ,” Dex exclaimed. He had looked up from the camera and was staring at me all bug–eyed. Not ogling me, unfortunately, just surprised.
“Is there a problem?” I asked testily and crossed my arms. Naturally this made my cleavage even more impressive. I was doing it out of anger, though, I swear.
“Uhhh.” He blinked hard and tried to focus.
“You are such a guy,” I remarked, shaking my head at him.
He let out a small laugh, but kept his eyes on my chest. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry, I…you just surprised me…you’re normally not…aren’t you freezing?”
I shrugged as casually as possible. “I’m fine. Are we going to do this or what? We don’t have that much use of the light and we’re wasting time talking.”
He hesitated. He wasn’t used to me telling him what to do. >
“OK,” he said quickly. “Let’s go then. Stand a bit over to the right, maybe back up a foot so you don’t, uh, overwhelm the camera.”
I did as he said, holding my shoulders back and tried to calm my nerves. I may have looked confident but I didn’t feel it all. I was just going to have to fake the whole thing. I’d show everyone just how professional I could be.
Dex fiddled a bit with a bounceboard on the ground, propping it up against a rock (grave?) and gave the camera the final once–over.
“Rolling,” he said. He pointed at me. “Go.”
I took a deep breath, readied myself, and went into a lengthy intro about the island’s history and a detailed, dramatic description of what it would be like to have been one of the lepers. I don’t know where it was all coming from. I had been going over in my head earlier some key points to focus on and what order to do them in, but the description about the Chinese lepers just came out of nowhere.
By the time I was done, I was shaking at the knees from the overload of nerves (and the cold) and I was out of breath from trying to sound clear, concise and confident.
“Cut,” Dex said slowly and a bit unsurely. He looked up from the camera, not looking impressed like I had thought he would. He looked utterly confused.
“What the hell was that? Better yet, who the hell was that?”
I felt a bit defensive. I thought I did an awesome job and I rarely thought that about myself.
“I was trying to be professional.”
“Yeah, well, you were, kiddo. You were. But that’s not why people love you. The world expects a pose from everyone these days. You have to loosen the f*ck up. That wasn’t you.”
“Yes, Dex, it was me. That was me being professional and apparently people want that.”
“No, they don’t. They want you being you. They want your personality.”
“I’m a goof. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time.”
He stepped out from behind the camera and took a step closer to me. “I know you don’t. That’s what makes you…charming. That’s why you’re doing this with me.”
I sighed, all confidence rolling out of me. Even when I try to change, I fail.
“See,” he said, walking forward until he was right in front of me. He pushed a piece of hair back behind my ear. I flinched slightly at his touch. I couldn’t help it. My nerves were jumping all over the place. “This is exactly why I don’t want you to give a shit about those comments. I know what they say. But that’s the opinion of a few people, and most likely, just one person. They’re just a jackf*ck who doesn’t know what they are talking about. Everyone else, Jimmy included, they want you. Just as you, as Perry Palomino. And that’s why we’re going to have to do that all over again.”
“Are you f*cking kidding me?” I cried out. I was so ready to throw in the towel.
He cocked his head at me. “Just once. The information, it’s all great. I liked what you did with the lepers and everything. That’s perfect. But, come on, baby.”
Baby? He reached for my shoulders and shook them around, my boobs jostling up and down. He tried, with little success, not to notice.
“Relax. Get jiggy with it. Have fun. I know you’re a fun person. Let’s let everyone see that.”
Though I was appreciating how close he was to me and the fact that he was still holding my shoulders with his strong grip, I had to say, “This is still a ghost story, right? It’s not Girls Gone Wild.”
“Hey, you’re the one who put on that shirt.” He leered and walked back to the camera. “It’s just you and me here. Tell me about the island. I was barely listening the first time anyway. Things were, uh, distracting me. Tell me what you know. And go.”
And so I pretended that Dex hadn’t heard anything I said, and described everything as if it was for an audience of one. He asked the question, I responded, simple as that.
When I was done, Dex broke into that genuine, wide smile that so rarely stretched across his face.
“See how much better that was! Did you feel how much better that was?”
Not really, though I was more relaxed. I messed up a few times regardless of whether I was just supposed to be talking to Dex.
He could see I wasn’t convinced. “It was much better. And just one take. Now that that part is done, we don’t have to worry about it, and it’s right on time. Look at that f*cking sunset.”
I turned around and saw the golden sun heading down for the horizon where a far–off freighter was making a nautical silhouette. My arms and chest glowed golden. And suddenly I was freezing, almost unbearably cold. The adrenaline of being on camera was gone and my goose bumps were out in full force.
I shivered and made a beeline for the tent. “OK, it’s time for a sweater,” I said through chattering teeth.
“Aww, don’t be so modest now,” I heard Dex call out from behind me.
I put on a Fu Manchu sweatshirt and my yellow coat on top and helped Dex put away the camera equipment before the darkness came. Then we got our lanterns and flashlights out and started setting out the small cooking stove on the picnic table adjacent to the tent. I heated up two cans of ravioli for us (yeah, totally gourmet) while Dex fixed another tarp across the table. It didn’t look like it was going to rain, but if it did, it would be nice to have a dry place to sit.
By the time the tarp was up and we were all organized for the night, it was pitch dark. We sat across each other at the table and spooned ourselves our dinner into our paper bowls. The lantern sat at the end of the table, providing just enough light to see by (and dare I say, the glow was pretty romantic). The Super 8 camera and the night camcorder were beside Dex on his bench, while the books and a heavy–duty flashlight were on mine. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any plans to go exploring tonight which suited me just fine.
But you never knew what might come exploring our way.
“There are no bears on the island, right?” I asked. I knew there probably weren’t – it was way too small for them – and I hadn’t read about it, but I figured it would be good to know since we had food out and all. Or at least the smell of food. I finished all of my ravioli in seconds flat.
Dex shook his head while he placed our empty bowls in the garbage bag hanging off the table. “No, but I wouldn’t count out those raccoons. I’ll put the garbage and the food away from the tent in case those little turds pay us a visit in the night.”
I didn’t like the idea of those nasty little creatures lurking somewhere in the forest, waiting for us to fall asleep. Beyond us and the tent, we could only see blackness. It was giving me the major creeps, not knowing what was out there beyond where the weak light fell.
I shook it off and noticed Dex was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You OK?” he said.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just f*cking creepy here at night.” That was starting to become an understatement and fast. The bad vibes and feelings that first washed over me when the Mary Contrary pulled into the cove were coming back, poking at me in different places. My mind wanted to think about the graves we could have been sitting on top of. It wanted to think about the coffins being delivered. It wanted to think about the hand coming up from behind and…
I turned around quickly, sure that something was coming. But only the salal bushes and the nearest trees glowed in the light.
I faced Dex with a sheepish grin.
“I’ve got your back,” he said, leaning over and fishing something out of the cooler that was on the ground behind him. “I’ll let you know if something is coming to get you.”
He produced the bottle of Jack Daniels he had bought at duty free and placed it triumphantly on the middle of the table. “I think this will cure what ails us tonight.”
“I might need the whole bottle,” I joked.
“We’ll see. You’re at least getting half of it.” He unscrewed the top and took a swig from the bottle, wincing hard before passing it to me.
“No glasses?” I said, taking it from him and eyeing it warily. The amber color looked pretty in the light but I knew it didn’t go down the same way.
“We’re roughing it now,” he said and nodded at the bottle. “Go ahead. I’m trying to get you drunk.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, sussing him out. He raised his eyebrow in a cheeky way. That f*cker, I never knew when he was joking or not.
I sighed, closed my eyes and took a gulp. It burned my chapped lips and then my throat as it went down but luckily it wasn’t bad enough to come back up again. The distinctive taste of bourbon was conjuring up the memory of drinking it with Coke last night. A belated hair of the dog.
By the time the liquid reached my stomach and produced a pleasant warmth, Dex was taking another swig of it.
“Does that mix well with your new medication?”
He paused in mid–sip. I was vaguely aware that my question might have been a bit too personal. But he shrugged and finished swallowing.
“They’re all the same. I’m used to it by now.”
Then it was my turn to drink again. I took the bottle from him, our fingers brushing each other. It was one of those instances that had he been any other person, I wouldn’t have noticed every touch, every contact.
I was already starting to feel it. This was not a good sign. “Maybe I don’t need the whole bottle after all.”
“Whatever makes you feel good.”
“I should be feeling good very soon.” I took another swig, this one a bit smaller. It burned less. I felt floatier and the shadows around me danced in a non–threatening way. The heat in my belly was passing up through my nerves until it settled somewhere on my brain like a warm blanket.
“I wish we had music,” I said lazily, passing the bottle back to him.
“I have our phones,” he said.
That’s right. He still had my freaking phone.
“Am I allowed to have it back?” I asked, annoyed. I put my hand across the table, palm up. He took my hand in his and held it. An electrical charge I was sure I could only feel sparked from his fingers to mine. Once again I was torn between enjoying the butterflies flying around in my boozy insides and actually wanting my phone back. Gotta say though, at the moment, holding his hand was taking precedence. I was such a girl.
“Not yet,” he said, still not letting go. His hand was nice and warm against the cold.
“What if my sister texts me?” I implored him, not wanting to be swayed. “Or my parents? They’ll worry.”
“Oh, your sister already has and I said you were fine,” he said breezily. “She agreed with the idea of you taking an internet break.”
My heart skidded to a halt.
“W–what?” I stammered. “What…you can’t read my texts, those are personal! Oh God, what did they say? No wait, don’t tell me.” I started mentally going over every single text that would have shown up in the last 24 hours. The idea of him reading those was mortifying. My pride was dying a slow death inside.
He squeezed my hand and grinned. “You should see your face right now.”
“What?”
He let go of my hand and casually reached for the bottle. “You are so gullible. You are so gullible, to me,” he sang in an incredibly baritone voice before taking another sip.
“You’re joking?”
He finished and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You really think I’d go reading your texts? Wow, Perry, I’ve got to say…that hurts. That hurts big time”
I could see it didn’t actually hurt and he knew exactly why it wouldn’t have surprised me if he had read my texts.
“Whatever, give me that.” I swiped the bottle from him and took another shot. This time it burned away the annoyance that was furrowed up on my forehead.
“That a girl. Though I must say, I’m incredibly curious as to see what texts you might be getting. Are you talking about me? Nice things I hope. You can get pretty mean.”
“Shut up.” I waved at him. “Just play some music from your phone.”
“Done and done.” He brought it out from his front coat pocket and laid it on the table. He made quick work of it, flicking through the screens until Queens of the Stone Age came on. It was energizing enough to go along with the increasing drunkenness I was feeling, but not eerie enough to make me feel more afraid. Not that I actually was afraid now that I was pleasantly drunk. Dex was right; it was curing what ailed me.
We talked about music for the next little bit, a usual topic between the two of us since we had very similar music tastes, until the booze made me sway a little. With his handsome face expertly lit in half glow, half shadow, I became more aware of how much, uh, looser I was feeling. The warmth was everywhere now and I leaned further across the table at every word he said. I felt like some stupid adoring fan but there was no way around it. I felt playful. I felt frisky. This was bad, bad news.
It wasn’t just me though. He had a bit more swagger in his movements. Plus he was giving me the eyes (it at least looked that way) and acting more flirty than usual.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Or maybe it was the best idea ever. I wanted to find out, something sober Perry would never dare do.
“Let’s play a game,” I said after we discussed who was the better drummer, Dave Lombardo or Neil Peart.
He raised his brow and his bottom lip twitched. He was intrigued. “OK…what kind of game? Strip poker?”
Again, I couldn’t tell if he was taking the piss or not but I acted like he wasn’t. “Do you have cards?” >
“No…”
“How about ‘I Have Never?’ “
It was the good old drinking game where you take a sip if “never” is a lie. I was a champion in college. Mainly because the game got sexual really fast and then I never got drunk accordingly. It was a great way to get to know people better though.
“Now you’re trying to get me drunk…” he mused with a smile.
“You’re already drunk.”
“So are you.”
“Then this should be interesting.”
He pursed his lips and thought things over. Then he said, “We’ll see what you’ve got. I’m going first. I have never…shoplifted.”
He didn’t drink. But I did. God, it burned.
“Perry! I am appalled!” he said, slamming his fist down on the table in mock fury.
I wasn’t proud of it, but I told him I had shoplifted numerous times in high school. Makeup from the local drug store, actually. Not cuz I needed it or couldn’t afford it but because of the thrill. I guess, anyway. Young Perry did a lot of stupid things.
It was my turn. I racked my brain for things I could get out of Dex.
“I have never…been arrested,” I said.
He didn’t drink. That surprised me. Yet, I had been arrested, so I had to. I took another timid swig.
His jaw literally dropped open. “What the f*ck? What for?”
“For the shoplifting! I got caught one time. They arrested me, called my parents…anyway.”
“What? Don’t ‘anyway’ me. That’s huge. Even I haven’t been arrested.”
“I know! That’s why I’m surprised.” I pointed at him.
“Wow, I have got to step up my game. You are out…bad–assing me right now.”
I gotta admit I was loving the look of astonishment in his eyes. It felt pretty freaking good. “Your turn,” I said.
He thought about it for a moment. I caught a wicked glint in his eye before he said, “Fine. I’ve never had a threesome.”
Wow. And he was just jumping straight to the point. Of course I never had a threesome before. I’ve barely had twosomes. He probably did though. He was just looking for an excuse to show off.
But he didn’t drink either.
“Huh,” I said. “Did you think I’d actually drink?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t think you were a shoplifting criminal either.”
“Oh, whatever. OK, I’ve never kissed a guy.” I couldn’t help but smile as I drank to that one. I watched Dex carefully. I could see the workings of his mind behind his heavy, drunk eyes. Finally he drank.
“Are you serious?” I asked incredulously.
He shrugged. “Does kissing your bandmate on stage count? He was a guy. And for the record, I didn’t like it. Much.”
I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t count.”
“Ah, rats then. OK, I’ve never had sex in public.”
And he drank to that right away, naturally. I didn’t though. No explanation needed.
Still, I had to ask him, “Where?”
“Where haven’t I?”
“OK, that’s enough,” I said quickly, not wanting to get the mental image of Jenn and him in the sweaty throws of passion in a public restroom somewhere. “I have never….told someone I loved them when I knew I didn’t.”
It was a fairly heavy question considering the brevity of the scene. I wasn’t sure why I asked it but I did.
There was a pause. Then he reached for the bottle and took a small swig, wincing.
He cleared his throat and said, “Well, that was certainly, uh, poignant. I’ll bring it back around again. I’ve never been skinny dipping.”
We both didn’t drink.
“Interesting. Too bad the water is freezing here,” he said with a wink.
“Ha. All righty. Next one I hope we don’t both suck at. Let’s see… I’ve never been cheated on.”
And I said it before I even realized what I said. This question is normally standard, I mean it’s a common occurrence these days, sadly. It’s just that in Red Fox, Dex’s old college friend Maximus had brought up the fact that Dex’s ex–girlfriend, Abby, had been cheating on him. He found out. They fought. And she died later that night from driving drunk. In Maximus’s opinion, Dex had a hell of a time trying to recover from it. He still didn’t know if he had.
Dex had never known what Maximus had told me, so my reaction to asking the question (which was a face full of ‘oh, shit, shouldn’t have said that’) probably told him all he needed to know. His face was pained. Almost angry. He knew now.
I quickly covered it up by reaching for the bottle and taking the biggest gulp possible. I wasn’t lying either.
The flash of animosity and regret quickly disappeared from his eyes as he saw what I was doing and curiosity took over. I noticed he didn’t drink. I didn’t blame him, though he probably felt like it.
“Who cheated on you?” he asked.
“My boyfriend in college. Mason. He was a dick.”
“What happened?”
I sighed and felt like drinking again, just to get through answering the question. I wasn’t still hurt; I mean, it had been a few years now, but the feelings could sometimes feel fresh. I didn’t want to get into them here and now, when I was feeling vulnerable. Dex had the right idea by lying.
“Uh…I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t attractive enough for him.”
“That’s never it,” he said quietly. “It was something else.”
“OK, it was something else then. Whatever, who cares. He didn’t love me enough. He didn’t want me, I don’t know. He’s an a*shole, that’s all I know.”
“You never found out why?”
I gave him a stupid look. “Don’t you think I f*cking asked?”
“OK, OK, no need to get mad here. It was your question.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to get the building tension out and stared at the wavering light of the lantern. “He said it just happened. It was a study partner of his. He just didn’t have the balls to tell me he wasn’t in love with me anymore. He broke my heart and I’ll never forgive him for that. It really f*cked me over.”
I glanced over at Dex. He was looking into the forest with a strange look on his face. Maybe he was relating.
“Should we play something else?” I asked. “This took a turn for the suck.”
Dex looked down at the phone to check the time. “Sure. I was having fun.”
I gave him a small smile. “Sorry. I know I brought it on myself.”
“Hey, it’s all good. I learned something new about you. Might explain why Perry Palomino is perpetually single.”
It might. It still smarted to hear him say that though.
“I had wondered, you know,” he said softly. “I was sure you’d just have to show your face at a concert in Portland and have a crop of guys in studded vests to choose from. I went to an Anthrax show at the Memorial Coliseum, way, way back in the day. I saw many Perry ‘types’ over there.”
The truth of that was I rarely went to concerts, even to my favorite bands, because more often than not I had to go alone. But I didn’t tell him that.
Dex reached into his pocket and brought out his pack of cigarettes. He offered one to me.
“Why would I want that?” I said asked while shaking my head and pushing the pack back towards him.
“I dunno. We’re camping, drinking whisky out of the bottle, seems like the time when everyone smokes.”
He lit it, taking a puff and blowing the smoke to the side of him. The light breeze carried it away into the darkness. “How about Truth or Dare?”
That game was no better than the one before, but at least you had the dare element, which could get pretty exciting, or at least funny. Frivolity is what we needed. I agreed and we were off and running.
We stuck to dares for the first few rounds to put enough distance between us and I Have Never. I dared him to take a large shot, he dared me to sing along with the next song on his playlist, I dared him to run around the picnic table, while he dared me to take a large shot and squawk like a chicken.
Then it was my turn again.
“Truth or dare?” I asked, leaning forward on my elbows, swaying slightly.
“Dare,” he said without thinking about it.
“I dare you to kiss me,” I said. I don’t know why I said it. OK, I knew why, but it still surprised me to hear it coming out of my mouth, especially when we were just talking about cheating and all that. And, you know, it wasn’t like me to be so blunt.
Dex, too, was taken aback. He barely showed it but I could tell he did not see that one coming. Good. It was about time I saw him shocked at something I said, though I guess the arrest and shoplifting story did a good job of that.
I watched him carefully, keeping a drunk, breezy smile on my face in case he was too freaked out about it. I took on the role of the teasing temptress. All in good fun, nothing on the line here, no one’s feelings at stake. I was breezy.
He was trying to figure me out. His eyes were flickering, taking it all in. He wasn’t sure whether to smile or not but in the end, the corner of his mouth won.
“I can’t do that,” he teased.
“But you have to,” I pleaded in my lightest tone of voice. “You said during the hockey game…if you were dared. This is your dare.”
“It’s kind of inappropriate.”
Actually it was perfectly appropriate when you took in everything I had just said.
“Whatever,” I said. “You have to take truth then.”
I tried not to look as rejected and pathetic as I felt with him turning me down, and kept that flirty smile on my face. He leaned in a little closer. Our eyes locked but I didn’t want to give anything away. I hoped that being drunk was preventing him from reading me.
I think it worked because he leaned back slightly and said, “OK, give me truth then.”
I wanted the truth to be something he couldn’t back out of. Something he had to answer, inappropriate or not, something I really wanted to know. I had just the question.
“What was that phone call about? The one you got at the hockey game that you freaked out on and ran away. Who called you? What did they say?”
From the way his shoulders sunk like I had placed some giant, invisible weight on them, to the way his eyes went blank, I knew I had asked the right question. It was something he would have never answered in a million years and now he had to. Or at least, I hoped he had to. I couldn’t force Dex to do anything but I hoped this time I wouldn’t have to.
I let him bide his time, let him suck on his full lower lip, let his eyes try and to stay hidden by blasé and the shadows. I let him feel the booze work through his veins, hoping that it would take his guard down a few notches like it had done with me. I let him decide what to do next.
He answered. He tried to appear casual about it but he said, “Jennifer is pregnant.”
And with those words, my whole world came crashing down.