Ledge Walkers Page 7

  Before he headed back to the kitchen, he looked at Maggie and said, “No honey in yours."

  "I don't get that whole honey thing about vegans,” Alison instantly began. “No offense, Maggie. I mean you all try to be so nice to living creatures and all, but how is putting worker bees out of work a nice thing to do?"

  "They're not called ‘worker bees’ anymore,” Laura yelled from the island of jocks and brainiacs. “That isso politically incorrect. They are now ‘vacationing bees.’”

  "Are they really?” Holly asked from the table of preps, and laughter rumbled through the house, probably directed more at Holly than unemployed bees.

  I thought it was funny, too, but I still experienced nothing beyond twitchy mouth corners. I watched Maggie shake her head, and I didn't feel so alone.

  "Are you going to eat any of that?” Claudia asked. “It's awfully good."

  More than just about anything negative in life, I hated scenes. I did not want nor would I be a part of one, but damn, I just wanted to scream at her—as stupid as it was, and it was stupid. But why did I want to scream? Had she suddenly changed in my eyes? Was my love for her that superficial? Was it simply the not knowing? Was it feeling like a fool: the nerd and the cheerleader?Argh!

  "Come on, honey,” she coaxed. She lifted a spoon in my direction, and I submitted with open mouth, but only because I did not know what else to do.

  Then she placed her hand over mine. Usually when I hurt that simple act brought such comfort. At that moment, it seemed to sear.

  "I love you,” she assured.

  In an instant, red-hot tears spilled from my eyes, and something inside me suddenly echoed with a scream I did not utter.

  "Come on,” she said. “Let's just go somewhere and talk."

  "No!” I said emphatically. “This is ours. I don't want it ruined because I am a jerk."

  "It's not going to be ruined. Sam and these guys are quite capable."

  "Please just let it be!"

  "Do you want me to get Kris?"

  I did and I didn't, so I said no.

  "Just go out on the porch then and have a cigarette. Maybe a few moments to yourself will help."

  That sounded great, and I searched for a way to do so without looking like I was causing a scene.

  Claudia quickly stood up and said, “Sam, that was absolutely delicious! Guys, let's help him out and bring our dishes to the kitchen."

  She was good, and I was grateful. She grabbed my untouched fruit salad and shooed me. I calmly made my way toward the porch. The instant I got there, a speeding and pushy Laura elbowed me.

  "Think you're just going to sneak a smoke without me, huh?” she challenged.

  I followed my instincts and turned to look at Claudia, knowing full well that I had been set up, that she had called the cop on me. She gave me a shrug and an I-meant-well smile.

  Laura yelled to the group, “To hell with these seating arrangements. Kate and I have designated the porch as the smokers-only area. I trust someone will deliver Sam's goodies to us.” She cleared her throat and glared at Claudia.

  With that, she threaded her arm through mine and pulled me out to the porch. She grabbed us both a cigarette, gave me one, and then lit them both. Hadn't we just done this, but in reverse? I didn't like being on this end, but then I recalled that I hadn't liked the other end either.

  "You know,” she began. “Holly's a table up from me, too."

  "Yeah, but Claudia'stwo up from me!"

  "She was two up when you got together. Today didn't move her any further away.” After a long pause, she said,

  “Perspective, Sutter. You seem to look at a lot of things in life like you're still at the nerd table. Everything from the nerd table looks like a long shot."

  Ah, long shots! That indeed struck a cord, and suddenly I gleaned some primitive understanding. Claudia had been my ultimate long shot. She was beautiful, smart, articulate, funny, passionate—so many things. And yes, it was that ancient predicament that spawned too many melodramas: She was all these things, and she wanted me.

  I remembered fearing that I was going to end up the punch line in some sick cosmic joke.

  Suddenly, I heard Sam's voice, “Remember fish sticks that were gooey in the middle? Instead, let's try tilapia planks breaded with panko crumbs and Parmesan, pan-fried in garlic olive oil, and served with dill mango mayonnaise. And what school cafeteria menu would be complete without Tater Tots? Let's try diced Yukon golds, stuffed with goat cheese and crispy pancetta, steamed, and then fried."

  "You are god!” I heard Holly yell.

  A minute later, Claudia appeared in the doorway with two plates. “Could you two cut a path through the smoke for me? My hands are full."

  Laura faked a machete in the foggy jungle. She neared us, and Laura and I both sat down on the floor in front of the couch. She handed us our plates and then sat next to me on the couch. A kiss was planted on my head.

  "Do you feel better?” she asked.

  "Getting there. I can at least breathe again."

  "In this?” she gasped and probably literally. “Promise me you'll eat something."

  "I will. I promise."

  She got up to make her exit. She went up the step to the dining room, turned, and stopped. Her eyes peered into me. “Honey?"

  Oh shit!I looked at her, thought for a few seconds, and asked, “Captain, huh?"

  She scrunched her face like she was braving pain, and then very coyly she nodded her head.

  I laughed. Yes, indeed, my laugher functioned again.

  She turned, took a hesitant step, and slowly turned around again. “Honey?” arrived once more.

  Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!I braced myself.

  "I do have genital warts. I thought you should know.” She turned quickly and sped away into the dining room that was now in an uproar. I heard “I was kidding!” at least three times.

  Laura and I laughed as we stuffed ritzy fish sticks in our mouths. I was famished, and I knew that for me, that was a good thing. Negative emotions killed my appetite quicker than Maggie's tofu.

  "Do you ever wonder how you got Holly?” I asked.

  "Look at her!” She snickered. “Watch her. Talk to her. Laugh with her. Shit, I think I wonder at least five times a day."

  "Do you think you wonder because you don't think very highly of yourself, like you don't deserve her?"

  "Oh, I deserve her. I make sure I spend everyday deserving her. You're the writer. It's verb not a noun—not a place you get to,” she said and then paused. “I don't think I wonder because I figure I'm a big schmuck. I think I'm just in awe. Sounds corny, I know—and if you ever repeat this, I will totally deny it.” She slapped my arm.

  “What about you?"

  "I think for a long time I didn't feel like I deserved her. I felt so damn small. I hated it,” I recalled. “She was very patient with me while I figured out how we fit. My guess is that's why she didn't tell me about the cheerleading thing. I think you're right—and if you ever repeatthat, I will totally deny it.” We both laughed, and then I continued, “I think you're right that I do look at things from the nerd table."

  "Yeah, but there's a catch to that nerd table, Sutter. It makes you just as judgmental as anyone at any other table who hurt you. Think about it. You've got this big idea in your head about what a cheerleader is. You judged Claudia based on that idea. That ain't cool, Sutter.” She punctuated with a fish stick in the mayonnaise, aimed, and shoved it in my mouth.

  Ouch!Not the fish stick. The truth.

  "You haven't had to sit at the nerd table in almost twenty years,” she said. “I don't think if anyone here would have had to guess where you belonged, that they would have put you at the nerd table. If you're still sitting there, that's in your mind only, bud. If you think Claudia's going to turn into some vicious snob now that you know about her passion for pompoms, well, that's pretty stupid."

  "Do I have bruises?” I asked, examining my arms. “Or do it just feel like that
?"

  "I remember being a afraid of them few myself. Don't ever—"

  "Repeat that, I know."

  "I also remember a few who were absolutely gorgeous. And a few whose—"

  Claudia entered the porch, scaring the crap out of both of us. “Kate, I take it you're all right. I can tell because you two are up to no good again."

  We laughed, and I stretched my hand up to her. “Come here,” I helped her down, and she sat on my lap.

  Laura got up quickly to make her retreat. “I'll leave you two alone so you can shake your pompoms.” In two shakes, she was gone.

  "Once you're okay, I know I am going to live to regret the fact that she knows.” Her head hung dramatically, but she smiled. “Areyou okay?"

  "Yes,” I assured the both of us. “Are we okay?"

  "Of course, we're okay.” She apologized again for not telling me long ago, and I apologized for putting her in a position where she felt as though she couldn't.

  "Howdid the nerd get the cheerleader?” I asked her.

  "Honey, you pay palimony to a blow up doll—"

  Oh, not this again.

  "As silly as it seems, you do it because you care about things that most people don't even think about. Just imagine how good that kind of caring might be to a flesh and blood woman. You love me so nice, you take care of me, and despite what the hell you may have just put in your head, I consider myself very lucky."

  And then she kissed me. One of those long ones that begged the stomach to drop and bounce back up again only to encore. And one of those that begged for an “Oh God” that I didn't think I'd ever be able to say again with a straight face. And one of those that begged for—

  "Meyer lemon sorbet,” Holly yelled upon entering the porch. “Look at these, you guys! They are so beautiful."

  That was not quite what the begging was for, but they were indeed beautiful. The bright sorbet had been placed into a hollowed and frozen lemon that sat in an elegant glass. A sprig of mint made the picture perfect, and suddenly Claudia forgot all about those begging kisses and started feasting on something else.

  We returned to the house after Claudia finished her dessert and half of mine.

  As we filled out comment sheets for Sam, he took pictures of the extra servings he had set aside. Suddenly there was a pop, a loud impact under the dining room table, and then a scream. All eyes turned to us for frantic clarification.

  "Pay no attention to that ... someone behind the curtain,” I said in a great and powerful voice.

  I looked at the kitchen clock. Six on the dot. We were being paged.

  Chapter 7

  They clustered around us. I think they came more from curiosity about what the noise was and who screamed than from impatience to get to the next segment of our day. Boisterous conversations began about possible origins, and soon order ceased to exist.

  Claudia shouted, “Okay, everybody, listen up!” Then she vigorously clapped her hands.

  I laughed to myself, suddenly not seeing my favorite manager, but instead, the captain of the cheerleading squad, rallying the team, pumping up the crowd. I contained my laughter successfully enough, and I would have pulled it off without any backlash had I not looked at Laura. She, too, was laughing, even harder than I was, and as soon as we acknowledged each other, control began to depart.

  Claudia clapped her hands again, and this time the loudest snort I had ever heard ripped out of Laura's nose, a demon released. She grabbed her stomach, bent way over, and I could see her body convulsing with laughter.

  That was when I snorted, so crudely that I had difficulty fathoming it as a human sound, much less that it came from me.

  Claudia's head forcefully whipped to me, then to Laura, and back to me. She was not stupid; she knew just how juvenile we were, and she knew just what made us laugh. “To the first person who saysanything: I will shove a captain's whistle up your ass, out your throat, and make you blow!” she yelled, but it was obvious she worked very hard to appear unamused.

  It could have stopped there. Really it could have. I could have just swallowed really hard and been done with it, but I had such a hoard of unspent emotion within me that my body seemed to scream for an outlet. And so I did it. I took my life in my hands, and I whistled. It was a wet, half-assed number that sounded more like Lover Doll had blown a nipple. Tears streamed down my face. My legs gave out, and I found myself kneeling on the floor, covering my head from the wrath I knew was headed in my direction. I saw her feet in front of me, now pointing in my direction, but I felt no fear. I figured that at that point a good slap, playful or otherwise, might do me good. In fact, I thought it might be the only thing to save me.

  But I was wrong.

  As if taking one for the team that Claudia tried so to rally, Laura whistled, too. And then Holly. And then Alison. On and on, until the lot of us were whistling—and laughing uncontrollably. I don't think some of them even knew what the hell was so funny, but by then, it did not matter. We were what was funny. Claudia finally gave in, collapsing next to me on the floor, laughing and wiping tears from my face.

  Eventually the laughter waned. I looked up and saw Sam staring down at us.

  "God, I'm glad I'm a gay man,” he said. “You guys are absolutely unbelievable."

  "Did you slip something into the sorbet, Sam?” Claudia asked.

  "No, but I should have. Something calming,” he replied. “Now are we going to do this or not? My guy's din din is getting cold."

  Oh yeah.

  "Everybody!” I yelled, absolutely refusing to clap my hands. “We're ready to learn about the people under the stairs, but first you have to hand over your keys.” I got up from the floor and grabbed the waiting brandy snifter from the top of the refrigerator. I held it out expectantly.

  "Keys?"

  "Yes. If you embark on this next part, you are stuck here. A cab or a call is your only means of escape. Now hand them over."

  Reluctantly, they did so. I swirled the brandy snifter and thanked them.

  "Oh my God,” Alison said, “I just saw something like this on that Frigid Detective show the other night!"

  "Frigid Detective?"

  "There's no such thing as a frigid detective. Trust me."

  "Well, whatever. The one with the detective who cuts her hair with a weed whacker. You know the one.

  Anyway—"

  "Ah, Cold Cuts."

  "Anything's better than Frigid Detective."

  "Thereisn't such a thing as a frigid detective. Shut up!"

  "Anyway!” Alison said loudly. “It was the 70s or something. Everybody was at a party, and they put their keys into a snifter. You grabbed a key, and whoever's keys you got you slept with. Swinging or something, and somebody got killed."

  Everyone instinctively looked to the others in the room. Yes, we loved each other, but “Uh uh! No way!” raced from beginning to end.

  "Alison,” Claudia said, “that is not what we're up to. Trust me. And anyway, what would happen if you picked out your own keys? That's just stupid.” She looked at Alison, and it became obvious that her sole intent was planting seeds of absurdity in Alison's mind to give her something ‘productive’ to do. They would eventually sprout, but it was never immediate.

  "How many here partied when you were in school?” I asked.

  Every hand shot up. “Did anyone ever teach you how?” Claudia asked.

  The resounding “No!” came forth.

  "We're just combining a little Sociology with a little Health,” I said. “All you have to do is have a good time, socializing with anyone except the porcelain goddess."

  Claudia yelled, “Do we want to be strong, healthy women or lushes?"

  "Strong, healthy women!” ran headfirst into “Strong, healthy lushes!"

  We then explained that our helpers had been locked in the basement since we arrived home and that we needed to free them. Everyone moved toward the basement door, thanking Sam for a fabulous dinner.

  "I get to come with you,”
he said. He picked up his platter of extra servings and joined the charge.

  I wasn't sure how many of them had ever been in our basement of broken dreams. We spent a considerable amount of time finishing it and installing a bar, lights, music—turning it into a real party room for two who rarely partied. Now, it was simply part of the path to the laundry room or a swanky place to crouch when tornado sirens blared.

  As we entered this time, though, it proved to be everything we had dreamed—and it finally had a damn good reason to exist. Our helpers turned on the music when we hit the steps, and lights danced throughout the room.