Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) Read online

  The exit door at the stairwell clicked, pulling me out of my head. Two shadowy figures, one short and plump, the other slim and tall thumped against the wall. They rotated toward me like soft serve ice cream filling a cone. In daylight, they would’ve noticed me, but in the gray hallway, I blended into the wall. They’d suctioned themselves together in a lip-lock, and slowly covered the space between the stairwell and their destination. Patting my pockets, I searched for my room key. Why was it that couples got to naked-business when I was around? Once again, I was trapped. If I stood, they’d notice me, and if I stayed put I’d see an overprescribed amount of exhibitionism. Hoping they wouldn’t christen the hallway, I froze and did my best to meld into the wall.

  Francine’s late night dessert fumbled with her door lock. He held her hand and moved backwards into her room. Before Francine had both feet over her threshold and spotted me. She slung her hand to her chest and hissed. “Lord girl, you look like a corpse that’s gone stiff. How long you been sittin’ there?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “Are you gonna report me?”

  “About what?”

  Francine sighed. “I owe you.”

  It was good to be back.

  NOTE TO SELF

  Abandonment issues? Bridget and I have more in common than I knew.

  Difficult to control the urge to throw myself into Clay’s arms. With She-Devil lurking, I didn’t.

  Francine’s found herself a little something, something.

  FEBRUARY 1987

  27

  The Southern Storm

  A biting wind stirred campus, and by late afternoon the sky coughed a wet sleet. I hadn’t worn a pair of socks since my senior year in high school. During the Ohio winter, it drove my father nuts. I’d done it as a rebellious payback for keeping my curfew at ten. It had given me pleasure to irritate him as much as he irritated me. Being four-hundred miles away from home, with Mom gone, the things I’d done and said in high school now seemed childish. When you think you know it all, you really don’t know shit. I thought I wanted to sleep with Clay, but I had competition, and now I wasn’t so sure. I wished I was as experienced as Macy. Maybe then my head wouldn’t spin in analysis-paralysis. To clear my head of Clay, I needed fresh air and broke my self-imposed sock abstinence to trek to the campus bookstore.

  After a half hour, I abandoned my head cleansing and retreated to the dorm. On the lobby sofas, a crowd of regulars munched popcorn and drank Diet Pepsi while they watched afternoon soaps. The wet sleet soaked through my clothes and suctioned my socks to my canvas tennis shoes, forcing me to strip off my footwear. Dormitories are giant Petri dishes. In an effort to contain any friendly fungus, I tiptoed onto the elevator and down the seventh floor hallway. Before I made it into my room, Macy grabbed my arm and pulled me into hers.

  Wondering who she’d offended today, I asked, “What’s going on?”

  Sinking into her beanbag, she picked at her cuticles. “Shut my door and lock it.”

  Something was going on, which caused my left eyebrow to lift. I stood with wet pants sticking to my skin. “Well?”

  “I want your word that what I’m about to tell you will stay totally and completely confidential.”

  “What have you done?”

  She pointed a red nail at me. “Promise?”

  My hair was soaked, and I blinked away a drip that fell into my eyelashes. “I promise.”

  “Last night at the yellow house when I went to use the bathroom Hugh asked if I wanted to smoke hooch.”

  I rolled my eyes and dropped my soggy socks and shoes. “Hold on.” After removing my windbreaker, I made myself a cozy spot on her bed and stuffed a roll pillow behind my back.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  Crossing my legs at the ankle, I rested my hands behind my head. “Now I am. This oughta be good.”

  “Hugh and I went into a back bedroom to light up. We smoked a lot of weed.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We were goofing around, wrestling over something stupid when he kissed me. He gave me tongue and his hand was on my left boob.”

  I sat upright. “Oh God. What kind of bodily harm did you inflict on him?”

  “Sober, I’m not attracted to Hugh. Stoned, he reminded me of a juicy hotdog. The kind street vendors sell in Manhattan, and I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Wait a minute, you’re a vegetarian.”

  “A vegetarian that fell off the wagon. I’ve been sampling the kielbasa at Hugh’s all-you-can-eat-Deli.”

  “YOU-HAD-STONED-SEX-WITH-HIM?!”

  “Rach, keep your voice down.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  Macy curled her legs under her and spoke to the lint balls she plucked off her bouclé sweater. “Sometimes when I drink and puff the magic dragon, my clothing gives me a restricted feeling. Last night, Hugh and I ended up doing it.”

  I slapped my mouth and through parted fingers released a hollow Darth Vader wind suck. “How was it?”

  “Outside of this room, I will deny it, but sex with Hugh was damn good. What am I going to do?”

  “After taking a spin on the Hugh express, how did you leave things?”

  “Before he stood, he kissed me.”

  “That was romantic.”

  “On the forehead, and went to use the hall bathroom. After I put my clothes on I looked for him, but he was gone.”

  “You probably tuckered Hughie out and he went to take a nap.”

  Macy grimaced. “Rach, I don’t know where he went. Katie Lee found me at the top of the stairs. I hung out for awhile, but didn’t find Hugh.”

  Inside the sunflower house, I’d been disturbed by the visual of She-Devil pretzeling herself around Clay and hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Hugh. I hadn’t drilled him about where he’d been and with whom. He was drunk, but so was I. Underneath his sexual prowess commentary, Hugh was a good guy. I’m sure he had a legit reason for abruptly leaving Macy.

  Macy wiped the corner of her eye and sniffed hard.

  “Macy, are you okay?”

  “Allergies,” she said. It was winter. Not a plant or bush flowered. “When I woke up this morning, last night came back, um, clearly. Except, I don’t remember you coming home with us.”

  “That’s because I stayed.”

  “Did you see Hugh?”

  “He walked me back.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “About getting pent up physical frustrations released?”

  “He said that?”

  “Kidding. He didn’t say anything. Are you going back for seconds?”

  Macy stood and moved to her stereo to sort through cassette tapes. “Here’s the thing. I like to play by my rules, and I decide when the game is over.”

  “Did you use him for his equipment?”

  “Yes - no – maybe. It just happened. Last night Hugh took charge, and it was good. Better than good.”

  “Macy, you have me confused.”

  “Hugh started and ended it. I think he used me.”

  “So you don’t want a second round?”

  “I’ve avoided Hugh’s come-on’s all year. The crazy thing is that it was good. But what if he didn’t think it was. I mean why else did he leave? I need you to find out what he wants.”

  “Macy, I’ve never had a boyfriend. How am I supposed to figure out which way his emotional pendulum swings?”

  Her eyes softened. “Please Rach?”

  OUTSIDE, THE WIND HOWLED and the metal frame of our single, glass-pane window clinked as it flexed. Snuggled in the loft under my van Gogh, Starry Night comforter I cradled an open book. It was February 1, and talk of Valentine’s Day infested the dorm. Katie Lee had decided to surprise Nash with a romantic weekend get away and bruised her fingertips calling bed and breakfasts across the state for weekend rates.

  I’d been on campus six months and had a head full of unfulfilled fantasies about a guy guarded by a demon redhead. Besides shagging with a f
lamboyant redneck, who showed up as regularly as a monthly period-pimple, lip locking a sixteen-year-old, and sleeping, literally, with Travis, who felt comfortable enough to profess his gaydom, I had zip. My attitude had hardened. Love, romance, relationships, and flirtatious teasing were for suckers. I gulped a pocket of air and held my breath before I exhaled the remnants of any emotional gobbledygook that festered inside me. Going forward, I decided I’d concentrate on being a sensible adult with focus--books and studies.

  Macy covered my desk with her Cosmopolitan magazines and flipped pages like she was mad at them. “Hallmark holidays suck. Let me know when V-day is over.”

  I flashed a smartass grimace. Macy was full of shit. The magazine she abused was upside down. Her love connection with Hugh had her wrecked, and I wagered they’d hook-up again.

  Pressed under my left thigh, my right foot went numb. I slid out of the loft and hobbled down the hall to work out the pins and needles. Carrying the thin booklet I’d bought at the bookstore, I read as I walked. I needed to choose an American folk-artist and write a paper chronicling their craft. I ended up in the communal bathroom and realized I’d made a wrong turn. I was alone with Bridget.

  Avoiding her would signal a blatant act of bitchdom. As much as I wanted to ice her, I couldn’t. Bridget ate meals and partied with us. Snuffing her out of the circle wasn’t so easy and could backfire, leaving me as the loner. Her reflection in the mirror above the sink stared at me. She hummed with a mouth full of toothpaste foam. I held one finger inside the closed pamphlet. “Does your mood have to do with February fourteenth?”

  She spit into the sink and rubbed her tongue across her Chicklet white teeth. Pulling a long string of dental floss from a container, she wound it around both index fingers like a garrote. “There is someone I adore. I could really see a future together.”

  “Nash?”

  Bridget snorted. “Please.”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

  “I know this someone likes me, I’m just not sure how deeply.”

  She spiked my curiosity. “Who is he?”

  “We’re still in the discovery period, so I don’t want to say anything yet.”

  I couldn’t decide if Bridget’s cryptic response mostly annoyed or unsettled me. Could she be hiding an infatuation for bad-boy Nash? Who else had she slept with? I figured she trusted me as much as I trusted her, and that I was better off not knowing.

  She sawed floss between each upper tooth four times, working left to right. Before she started the bottom row, she asked, “What are you reading?”

  I backed up, inching my way to the door. “Eighteenth and nineteenth century American folk-art biographies.”

  “What is folk-art?”

  “It’s when an artist ignores rules of proportion and perspective.”

  Bridget tilted her head and leaned her hand on the sink. “In paintings?”

  “In anything. Metal, wood, a quilt.”

  She turned her back toward me and gathered her toiletries from the metal shelf below the mirror. “That doesn’t sound artistic.”

  “Art isn’t about a perfect sunset. It can be rustic and still tell a story.”

  “Who buys it?”

  “You’d be surprised. My dad refurbished a couple of Clementine Hunter paintings for a museum in New Orleans. They’re highly collectable and not cheap. If you know what you’re doing, buying and selling art can be lucrative.”

  The lights flickered in the bathroom. Bridget wiped her mouth with a washcloth. “Did you hear? A big storm is forecast.”

  “If it snows, it’ll stick for fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, before ducking into a shower stall.

  Conversations with Bridget left me off balance. She held eye contact uncomfortably long and got me to say more than I meant to. She never concretely responded to my questions. I left feeling that she knew more about me than I did about her.

  Back in my room, Macy had left, and Katie Lee had chosen her Valentine getaway location. I settled back into the loft with the art history pamphlet Professor Schleck had assigned. Gusts of wind tapped tree branches against our window. As the night wore on the erratic pelting eventually subsided.

  I awoke to a tap, tap. Then nothing. I heard it again. Tap, tap. Except this time, it was louder. A drool puddle saturated my cheek to a corner of my pillowcase. “What is that?”

  Katie Lee stood, rubbing her eyes. “It’s coming from the hallway. I’ll take a look.”

  “Its six fifteen. Still dark outside. I may have to kill someone.”

  She opened our door a crack, enough room for Hugh to pounce in.

  “Why are you holding a cafeteria tray?” Katie Lee asked.

  I still hadn’t gotten used to him without a mustache and didn’t immediately recognize him. He wore his red and black check shirt jacket and a black snow hat covered his shoulder length blunt cut. He didn’t see the resemblance, but I guessed Tom Petty was a relative. I’d asked if his mom was a groupie. He said he’d have to check on that and get back to me.

  When he stepped into our room, I swore I smelled greasy meat. The kind inside a glass box that rotates on a metal stick. I worked hard to extinguish the thoughts of him and Macy--naked.

  “Have ya’ll looked outside?”

  Katie Lee shut our door and climbed back under her covers. “You’re outta your mind.”

  “It’s six sixteen,” I said.

  Hugh’s boots clunked across our floor. His eyes grazed over the top bunk, and he shook my ankle. “Look outside.”

  “Listen, boots. It’s before visiting hours. You’re gonna get us busted if you don’t keep your voice down.”

  Hugh grabbed the blind cord and yanked, crashing the metal slats to the top of the window frame. “Look!”

  Leaning from my bunk, I squinted at a blanket of white.

  “Ladies, we’ve got ourselves a snowstorm. Get your mittens cause Thursday classes are cancelled.”

  I rolled to the edge of my mattress and blurted, “You’re kidding?”

  Below me, Hugh fought to remove Katie Lee’s covers. A sheriff’s knock rapped on the door, and we all froze.

  “Hall-monitor. Ladies, open up.”

  My eyelids ricocheted an alert. “Shit.”

  If we kept quiet and pretended no one was in the room, maybe the knock would go away. That didn’t happen. A second round of knocking pounded our door. The voice behind the fist asked, “Do I hear male voices in there?”

  Katie Lee called out, “Just a minute. I’m not dressed.” Hugh licked his lips and seductively eyed her.

  Hugh needed to disappear, and there was only one place to hide. Leaping down, I stuffed him behind my hanging clothes and shut the door. Katie Lee held her hand on our door handle until I climbed back into bed. She nodded, and I signaled a thumb up.

  Our hall-monitor peered over Katie Lee’s shoulder. “Hey Y’all. Sorry to bother you, but I got a complaint that male voices were comin’ from your room. Do you have any fellows in here?”

  Katie Lee yawned. “No, ma’am. Your knocking just woke me up.”

  Our resident assistant took a half-eye look in our room. There was nothing to see. “Sorry for the interruption, y’all,” she said, shutting the door behind her. A few footsteps later, we heard her bang on the room next door.

  Hugh let himself out of my closet. His cheeks had reddened, and he wiped the perspiration off his brow. Kicking his boots off, he sprawled on Katie Lee’s bed.

  Katie Lee locked our door and mouthed, “Mama.”

  “Francine wouldn’t bust us.”

  Katie Lee wasn’t convinced. “Did anyone see you come up here?”

  Hugh pulled a toothpick from his pocket. “I don’t think so. I knocked on Bridget’s door, and then Macy’s, but neither opened up.”

  I scoffed at Hugh. What did he think this was? The seventh floor stop and shop. “You’re lucky Bridget didn’t shoot your nuts off with the gun you loaned her.�
��

  Hugh covered his privates. “She’d never inflict bodily harm. She has an easy going temperament.”

  Katie Lee anchored her hands on her hips. “And we don’t?”

  “No. I mean yes,” he stuttered.

  Katie Lee pointed at the door. “Back the way ya came.”

  “On one condition. Y’all have to join me outside.”

  A BLISTERY SHEET OF SNOWFLAKES blurred my vision, and I didn’t see the snowball until it whizzed past my ear, smacking the glass door behind me. Campus Drive had disappeared under a cover of white. Nothing in the form of transportation moved. Cans of bug spray, not snow equipment, were standard down here.

  The novelty of snow was like a limited-edition attraction and students milled around campus at an ungodly early hour. Katie Lee saw someone she knew and disappeared into the curtain of white, and I climbed to the top of the steps outside Grogan looking for Hugh. Not planning to stay outside for long, I hadn’t worn socks with my flats. “Since I’m awake,” I shouted to the dropping flakes, “I’ll stay out here for ten minutes. Then I’m grabbing something hot to eat and tucking back into bed.” Inclement weather had cleared my schedule, and I’d pencil in time for a nap, reading and perhaps even tackle a first draft of the paper for Professor Schleck.

  I hadn’t brought winter-gear to school and used a pair of socks as hand warmers. Cupping my palm along the rail, I sliced through the mound of flakes like a jigsaw. When I reached the top of the stairs, I clapped the clumps that stuck to my mittened hands. Someone shoved my back, knocking me off balance. A second push launched me down a slope toward the dorm. Someone had powdered me like a pastry, and I’d lost a shoe. My attacker stepped in front of me. Heavy mascara framed crystal blue eyes, and auburn wisps of hair poked out from the neck of her ski mask.

  “If ya talk to Clay again, fallin’ down a slope will be the least of your worries.”

  I knew this southern snow demon even though I’d never been formally introduced. Rolling onto my knees, I asked, “Who are you? His mother?”