CHAPTER TWO
Sucks for you (Julia)
It was official. Crank was crazy. Compelling, interesting, and damned good looking. But crazy.
Too bad, really. He was kind of fun to be around. But I already knew that when today was over, I’d never see him again. On Monday, I’d be back at school, back to my life. It was going to be bad enough when Maria Clawson wrote whatever she was going to write. And there was no doubt in my mind she’d be writing about this. It was another chance to smear my dad. My fault. Again. I wasn’t angry with him for his outburst. How could I be? Maria Clawson, without even knowing me, had used me to try to ruin my father’s career, and in the process had nearly ruined my life. He could have done a lot worse, and it wouldn’t have bothered me.
We walked south on 15th Street then veered to the right on Vermont Avenue, headed toward the White House. Crowds of men and women filled the streets, most of them dressed in casual fall clothing. On Monday, they’d all be in suits, commuting to and from work in various government offices, trade associations and lobbyists. For now, this was the domain of tourists and visitors to the city, along with the homeless who crowded this part of town. The sky had turned a brilliant orange as the sun angled in from the west. It would be dark soon.
We stopped at Pennsylvania Avenue, just on the edge of the crowd still shouting and waving signs at the White House.
Somehow I had the feeling no one inside was paying the slightest bit of attention.
“My dad’s in the National Guard,” Crank said out of nowhere.
I looked at him, startled. “You don’t think he’d get called up for this, do you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He did for a while after September 11. My brother had to go live with our grandfather for a while. That … didn’t go well. I know I’ve got this don’t give a damn attitude, but I was all for playing at the protest. Doing whatever we can.”
He had a serious expression on his face as he stared at the White House. The sudden shift to seriousness on Crank’s part was unnerving: up until now, he hadn’t seemed serious about anything. He stared at the White House with his jaw set, anger in the lines of his face.
“That must have been hard.”
“Yeah, well, people don’t get that this stuff affects real people’s lives. It’s all sign waving and protesting and policy, but when the rubber meets the road, it’s guys like my dad who will be in harm’s way. That pisses me off.”
“Are you and your dad close?”
He shook his head, an amused smirk crossing his face. “Can’t stand each other.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I knew all about conflict with parents, but I wasn’t discussing that with anybody. Ever.
“This is way too serious,” he said. “And I haven’t had enough to drink.”
“You’ve had too much to drink, based on what happened back at Georgia Brown’s.”
He chuckled. “Forgive me, Julia.”
I shrugged. “It’s getting my parents to forgive me that will be the trick.” I turned and started walking toward 14th Street. He followed.
“Seriously? How much harm are we talking?”
I sighed. “My dad’s nomination for Ambassador to Russia got held up for almost two years … partly because of the stuff that woman was writing.”
He coughed. “Your father is the Ambassador to Russia?”
I shook my head. “He was … he retired earlier this year, and the family moved home to San Francisco.”
“So, you’re like … a society girl. An heiress.”
“Something like that.”
“That’s wicked hot.”
I stumbled, trying hard not to blush, and failed. “What?”
He let out a loud belly laugh. “Just kidding.”
A couple years ago, this would have thrown me way off-balance. But I wasn’t eighteen anymore, and it took more than a pretty guy flirting with me to do that. “Seriously. What’s hot? Is it the heiress part or the society part?”
He smirked and gave me a frankly appreciative look, his eyes sweeping from my feet, all the way up my legs and entire body. I felt a shiver as he did it. Then he said, “I’d say, all your parts.”
Nice. “In that case, I guess I’ll forgive you.”
“Man,” he said. “You’re too easy.”
“Easy? No. Just forgiving.”
“Sure, whatever. So you like, went to high school in Moscow?”
“No, three years in Beijing, then I finished out here.”
“In Washington?”
“Well, Bethesda-Chevy Chase. It’s just outside DC, in Maryland.”
He shook his head. “Too much. Way too much. So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. What about you?”
He stepped close and looked me in the eyes. “I want to take you back to my hotel and have my way with you.”
I sucked in a quick breath. Not what I’d expected him to say. I swallowed, meeting his eyes, then dropping mine to his lips. Bad idea, because his lips looked very kissable, and I found myself wanting to find out what that felt like. Then I tried to speak, but my voice caught a little. I coughed then said, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date. And we’re not going to have a second one.”
In a motion so quick I would have missed it had I not been watching, he licked his lips, then stepped even closer. Too close. Way up in my personal space. I could smell his sweat from the performance. He said, “Then I’ll have to settle for a kiss.”
I opened my mouth, speechless. No one was this forward. He was nuts. I took a breath, said, “I …” and then he stepped forward just enough to close the gap between us and touch his lips to mine, and he was kissing me, and more disturbingly, I was kissing him back. Shivers ran down my back as he put his hands firmly on my waist. His tongue darted forward and pressed between my lips, and mine met his, and I think I may have made a little bit of sound because he pulled me closer, and I was lightheaded, even though I’d barely touched my margarita.
I gasped and pulled back just a little bit. “We should … stop.”
He sighed and met my eyes. “Why?”
“Because I don’t do this with guys I’m not serious about.”
He replied, “I don’t get serious about anybody.”
“Neither do I,” I said, trying for a flippant tone, but knowing I was failing. It’s hard to be flippant when you can barely breathe. Crank was setting off every alarm I had. Crazy, assertive, a little arrogant. I’d been down that route before, and it ruined my life. I took a deep breath and tried to ground myself.
He chuckled and slid his arms up to my shoulders. He squeezed gently then dropped his arms. “Yeah … sucks for me.”
“I’m not your type of girl, anyway.”
“True enough,” he said. “You’ve got way too many clothes on, for one thing.”
I laughed. “Why don’t we grab some dinner or something? Since I didn’t get to finish my salad before.”
“Something … all right. Where to?”
“I don’t care.”
“Then let’s walk and see what we see.”
I’d like that (Crank)
So we walked, and we talked. I was aching to kiss her again, and I could tell she was too. Maybe I’d get lucky, maybe not. Whatever, I was having fun. As we walked, Mark sent me a text message, asking if I was coming back to the hotel. I sent back a response telling him to buzz off.
Her phone rang a moment after that. “Sorry.” She flipped it open and answered.
“Hello? Oh, hey, Brittany … no, I’m out with … a friend. Yeah, I won’t make it tonight, sorry … what? No, I was planning on staying at my parents’ place in Bethesda. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”
She flipped the phone closed.
“Friends checking up on you?” I asked.
“Something like that,” she said, looking distracted. “Let’s eat here.”
‘Here’ was a hole in the wall—a door to a half basement just before the gate that led into Chinatown. It had a small, old and dirty sign written in Chinese characters above it. It did not look like a restaurant.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Come on,” she said, taking the four steps down and opening the door.
The smell of food flooded out the door when she opened it. Inside, there were six tables, four of them occupied. The diners were all Chinese, all older. The walls were a faded yellow, the lighting dim, and the room had none of the normal kitsch I was used to seeing in Chinese restaurants.
A woman came out of the back and spoke in a thick accent. “I’m sorry, we’re closing for the night.”
Julia responded with a stream of words in Chinese. At least, I think it was Chinese. She might have been speaking Greek for all I knew. The only language I knew other than English were some choice curses in Spanish.
Whatever. The woman replied to Julia and then Julia spoke again. The woman beamed and led us to a table.
“You have hidden gifts,” I murmured.
Julia grinned. “This place is locals only. The food here won’t be anything like what you’re used to.”
I just looked around, taking a seat across from her and checking out the unusual surroundings. Not like I hadn’t eaten in holes in the wall … in fact, local sub shops are pretty much what I survive on. But this was different, if only because I was so used to seeing a certain look at Chinese restaurants in Boston. Plastic signs above the counter with pictures of the food, cheap pictures with oriental themes in badly constructed frames. This place could have been a burger joint anywhere, if it weren’t for the customers and staff and that not a single person other than Julia and me spoke English.
The waitress appeared with tea in a small steel urn and water, but no menus. Julia spoke with her in Chinese, and the waitress answered. After a minute or so of the two chattering at each other, the waitress nodded and walked away.
“What exactly were you two chatting about?”
“Dinner,” she replied. “Trust me. This will be good.”
“Any other surprises? What other languages do you know?”
“Um …” She bit her lower lip. The combination of that, and the stray hair hanging down the side of her face, made me want to lean forward and touch her. “I speak French, Cantonese, Mandarin, a little bit of Japanese. Some Spanish. Kind of goes with growing up the way I did. And I was always good with languages. It’s good to know what the locals are saying.”
I swallowed. “Do you read physics books in your spare time?”
She wrinkled her nose at me and tried to change the subject. “No. Definitely not. What about you? What do you do in your spare time?”
I shrugged. “I don’t get any spare time, really. When I’m not with the band, I’m working or spending time with my little brother.”
“Not in college?”
“No, I didn’t finish high school. Dad and I never saw eye to eye, so I left home when I was sixteen.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What do you do, then?”
“Cook. And play guitar and sing. The band is going well, that’s where my focus is.”
“That’s risky,” she replied. “Not going to school. What happens if the band doesn’t work out?”
I shrugged. “Risk doesn’t bother me. We’re going to make it.”
“I hope so,” she replied, doubt written on her face.
“Hey,” I said, irritated. “Don’t judge me. I get plenty of that from my father.”
She shook her head. “I’m not judging you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You are. You’re going to college with the arrogant chowderheads across the river who plan to run the world some day. You’re sitting there right now, wondering why you’re having dinner with some guy who never figured out algebra.”
Her reply was sharp. “Don’t tell me what I think.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. Her expression was fierce as she spoke again.
“I’m not as wedded to the whole masters of the universe thing as you might think. Some of the people I go to school with are a bunch of overprivileged kids, yes. But I also go to school with people who busted their asses to get where they are. My roommate’s mother waits tables at two different jobs for something like two dollars an hour, and sold her car in order to make up the shortfall in tuition this year.”
“Hey…sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I make a lot of assumptions.”
“It’s all right,” she replied. “And you’re right … maybe I was judging you a little. Everyone and everything I know points to education, doing well in college, going to graduate school, all of it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But sometimes those things aren’t even options. If I’d stayed home, living with my dad … we were at war with each other. At least now I can go over and see Sean and nobody gets hurt. Watching out for him is what matters.”
“You love your brother. I can hear it.”
I grinned. “He’s a good kid. Misunderstood. But a good kid.”
The waitress returned then, with a platter of food. I didn’t recognize anything as she placed the plates in front of us. I kept my mouth shut as she filled the table up. She didn’t leave forks, just chopsticks. This ought to be entertaining.
When the waitress left, I said, quietly, “I don’t recognize any of this food.”
“It’s real Chinese food, not the stuff you get at takeout. Cantonese. Try it.”
She pointed out which dishes were spicy and then laughed a little as I tried out the chopsticks. Next thing I knew, she was showing me how to use them, and we were laughing again. The conversation shifted: school, life, and politics. It was crazy. Except for Serena, I’d never spent this much time with a girl, not just talking. Don’t get me wrong. I spend plenty of time with girls. But not for conversation. I’m usually not that interested in the talking part.
As she slipped around to my side of the table and took my hand in hers to show me how to hold the chopsticks, I noticed that in the middle of all the bracelets and bangles she wore on her right arm, she had an old faded friendship bracelet. It looked out of place. I met her eyes for just a second. Then I had to look away. It was wicked intense, and maybe a trick of the light in there made it seem as if her eyes had turned green, the pupils huge, dilated. Her eyes were framed by long eyelashes, but no mascara or other makeup that I could see. I caught my breath for a second. I don’t fall for girls. I don’t have time for the head games, the handholding, or the silly crap that comes with it. But maybe because I was away from home, and for once had nowhere I needed to be, I just enjoyed it. My eyes dropped to her thighs, wrapped in a flowered green skirt that just touched my torn up dungarees. Her legs were effing perfect, and I had to look back to my hands before I just dropped everything.
She laughed when my rice fell through the chopsticks.
“Seriously?” I said. “Where did you learn this?”
“China. It’s an acquired skill,” she replied.
“You cook Chinese food, too?”
She scrunched her face up and grinned. “I don’t cook anything.”
She returned to her side of the table just as the waitress reappeared, and we sat and ate. I liked having her sit next to me. And that’s the thing: I love girls. I love having them sit in my lap, I love touching them everywhere, I love taking their clothes off and licking the backs of their necks, and anywhere else. But when they get up and leave? Never bothered me. What the hell was wrong with me now, that having her get up and move to the other side of the table made me feel different?
“What time is your train in the morning?” I asked.
“Ten o’clock.”
“What do you say we go to a club, then?”
For just a second, her face tightened, almost in anger. Then her features smoothed out. It was a deliberate, practiced action. She was forcing herself not to react. I didn’t understand this girl at all.
Her voice quiet, she said, “Okay. I’d like that.”
Not what I expected (Julia)
It was funny, I thought, as we paid the bill and left the restaurant. Crank was … different. Easy to be around, and he made me laugh. But I was never going to see him after tonight, and that made me kind of sad. For a brief second, I thought of seeing him when we got back to Boston, but seriously? Bad idea. My life didn’t have room for someone like Crank. And from what he’d said, his didn’t have room either. This was all a little off-key, out of place, almost as if it was someone else out to dinner with him, and I was playing a role. I almost never go out with guys. And I never let my emotions get ahead of my brain.
But tonight, as we tried to wave down a cab to head toward Georgetown, I was feeling a little out of control. The way his shirt gathered around his arms, the easy strength in them, the easy grin … I was attracted to him in a way I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time.
I’ve never liked feeling out of control. Not like that. I’d gone there once, head over heels in love, and it did so much damage to my life I didn’t think I’d ever recover. No way I’d ever go there again. Whatever else happened, I was in control of my life. No one else. Certainly not some formless emotion and lust that can take away who you even are. I was fourteen when it happened, almost eight years ago, and the consequences and damage were beyond anything I could have conceived. What I learned was this: letting myself be at the mercy of hormones and brain chemicals and emotions can be deadly.
A cab pulled up, and we got in. I thought of tossing away caution and telling him I wanted to go home with him. One night wouldn’t be so dangerous. One night could be okay. One night could be free and fun and not go anywhere.
The cab driver took a hard right turn, accelerating to get through the light before it changed, and in the process I was pushed across the back seat toward Crank. He put his arm around me, an automatic reaction I’m sure, but I stayed there.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Fine!” I said. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“No idea. Aren’t there a bunch of clubs in Georgetown?”
“I think so. I didn’t get out much when I lived in the area.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why not? Don’t take offense, but you seem like you were probably one of the popular girls.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. What makes you think that?” I asked, giving him a challenging stare.
“First impressions, I guess. You still look very professional in that outfit, kind of preppy. Sexy as hell.”
I’m not a blushy sort of girl, but that made me blush. “It’s not exactly club attire, is it? But I don’t want to take the time to go back and change.”
“No worries, Julia. It’s just us, anyway.”
I swallowed and then leaned against him. What had gotten into me?
Lust. That was the only explanation. I could feel the hard muscle of his shoulders and thighs pressing against me, and my body was responding to that—no matter what my mind said.
The cab came to a halt, and the driver muttered something. I leaned forward. Nothing but red taillights ahead of us for blocks.
“What’s going on?” Crank asked.
“Construction,” the driver said. “Bad. You want me to let you out here?” He looked anxious to dump us out of the cab as soon as possible, to avoid being stuck in the westbound traffic.
I took a breath. My chest was tight, my whole body tense. I rubbed my hands on my skirt, closed my eyes and thought, Screw it. I can do this. It’s just one night, anyway.
“Do you want to…” he asked, just as I started to say, “Let’s …”
We both stopped, and he laughed.
“You go first,” he said.
I bit my lip, and I could feel my cheeks heating up again. “I was going to say …” and my voice trailed off.
“You were going to say?”
He grinned. It was a crooked grin, the left side of his mouth slightly higher than the right, and it made me want to melt into my seat and pull him right after me.
I took a breath and closed my eyes. “I was going to say, where are you staying?”
I kept my eyes closed another fifteen seconds or more. And, let me tell you, fifteen seconds is a long, long time. Finally I opened them, and he was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t interpret. For someone who was always joking, always making snide remarks, he looked serious. Too serious. More serious than I was comfortable with. I didn’t need serious in my life.
I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, then he said, “I’m at some dump in Arlington. Sharing a room with Mark.”
“Oh,” I said, my voice unnaturally tense.
“What about you?” he asked. He spoke very slowly, carefully.
“Um … my parents have a condo in Bethesda. I was planning on heading back there tonight.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he said.
I couldn’t get control of my breathing. I felt lightheaded. Out of control. “Come back to my place.”
He titled his head, leaned close and whispered, “Are you sure?”
I found myself chewing on my lower lip again. “Yes.”
I dropped my eyes and leaned forward, putting my hand on the back of the taxi driver’s seat. “Can you take us to Bethesda instead? Wisconsin Avenue and Montgomery.”
Suddenly it was quiet in the cab. Tense, awkward. I couldn’t believe I’d done this. I did not do one-night stands. But here I was, half-hyperventilating, with this guy I’d only known for eight hours sitting beside me in the cab. And I guess if it was just for now that was fine, but what if he wanted to see me again? What if he wanted to date? What if?
I didn’t think I could handle that.
This was so stupid. Things were so much easier with Willard, before I broke up with him. I was always in control. There was no passion there, true. There wasn’t anything there. But it was comfortable. Easy. I wasn’t afraid.
Crank, though: he made me afraid.
The cab cleared the traffic and turned up at Massachusetts Avenue, and we were speeding out of downtown DC.
“You’re awfully quiet now,” Crank said.
I looked at him, and his eyes were boring into mine, intense, probing.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked. “It’s okay.”
I leaned a little closer. “No. Just … it’s just tonight. We don’t see each other again. We don’t call each other in Boston. We don’t … anything. Okay? We enjoy each other’s company tonight, and then we’re done.”
He stared at me, surprised. And … his face looked disappointed. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once in his throat. “I don’t know why, but that’s … not what I expected.”
“Don’t get expectations. Not with me.”
He shook his head. “Usually I’m the one who says things like that.”
The cab came to a halt, and he paid it, and we were out on the street. A cool wind blew through the streets of downtown Bethesda, and traffic rolled by us. I took his hand and walked to the entrance of the high rise, swiped my access card to unlock the front door, and we walked into the lobby.
The night concierge was sitting at the counter, watching a small television. She looked up briefly, gave us a casual wave and went back to her show. Good. If it had been the day concierge, my appearance with Crank would have been reported back to my parents by morning.
We waited in silence for the elevator. The bell when it arrived on the ground floor was loud.
“Nice place,” he said. “Fancy.”
“My parents bought it a few years back when we were living in the area.” I didn’t want to talk about the year I’d lived with my parents here. I didn’t want to think about it. If there’d been any other place I could have taken him, I would have. I didn’t like having this crazy, free moment mixed with my past.
We stepped into the elevator. It rose, quickly, to the top floor. He followed me down the hall, and we stopped at the door while I fumbled for keys. I was shaking with anxiety, nervousness. The weight of this place made me want to scream. But not enough to push him away.
I unlocked the door and opened it, then started to step in. My heart was thumping in my chest, and my throat was tight. Not just because of him. Because of this place. I had no good memories here. Even with the lights still out, looking inside this condo, which I’d stepped foot in only a few times since the day I graduated high school, shook me to the core and made my skin crawl.
I shuddered and then turned back toward him when he didn’t come inside. He gave me a speculative, questioning look. As if he were curious about me, about who I was.
But that wasn’t any of his business.
“What?” I asked.
“You don’t want to see me again,” he said.
I did. But I shook my head no.
“You don’t sleep with guys unless you’re serious with them,” he said.
“I don’t have room for serious in my life.”
He stepped close and brushed my lips with his, then spoke in a low tone. “I want you to be serious about me,” he said. “I can get a girl to sleep with me any time. But there’s something different about you.”
I stared into his eyes. He meant what he was saying. We’d only known each other for a few hours, but I felt a connection too, even if it was only lust. I wanted him. Right now. I felt my breath speed up as I started to speak, “I …”
“Julia,” he interrupted. “I’d love to get to know you better,” he said. “But I’m not going to sleep with you. Good night.”
Then, unbelievably, he leaned forward and kissed me again. Slow. Our tongues just made contact. Wet and warm. Hungry. I wanted to whimper, pull him inside, but he turned and slowly walked back down the hall until he was out of sight.
I just stood there and watched him go, and part of me, a huge part of me, wanted to run after him. But I still remembered.
I remembered what it was like to have a hot, sexy, charismatic guy want me. I remembered what it was like to lose control, to feel that rush of emotion. To be overwhelmed.
I remembered what it was like to have my heart torn out, to have my dreams smashed, to be bleeding and lost in the back streets of Beijing. To have scandal nearly tear my family apart.
No matter how much I might have wanted this guy: I couldn’t go back there. Not now. Not ever. If it wasn’t going to happen for just tonight, it wasn’t going to happen at all.
So, I walked in the condo and closed and locked the door. I didn’t turn on the lights. I didn’t want to see the inside of this place. Instead, I made my way to the couch and lay down, alone.
I didn’t cry. Not here. Never again.