Random Acts Part 5

Tom is shaking his head. He takes a step in my direction and leans up against me, his beer breath in my face. "Just be yourself. Pris likes you the way you are. Don't go pulling any pseudo-psychological stunts on her . . . you might as well try casting a voodoo spell, same f.u.c.king difference. If it happens, it happens. Don't try controlling something that can't be controlled."

"It might give him an edge," Heather says.

"He doesn't need an edge," Tom tells her. "Pris doesn't like Felix."

"Then why did she disappear with him?"

"To talk."

"I think it's more likely she'll make it with Felix just to show you she doesn't need you."

"Why would she choose Felix?"

"She wouldn't want to use someone she actually likes."

"Pris doesn't use people," I blurt at her.

"Everybody uses everybody," she says to me in a scathing voice.

Aaron jumps to my defense. "Just because you use people every waking moment of your life doesn't mean everyone else does."

"You're one to talk, Aaron. Tell me, look me in the eyes and tell me you don't use your clients."

"I defend them!"

"How much do they pay you?"

"If anyone uses anyone, they use me!"

"How much do they pay you?"

"That has nothing to do with it."

"I've heard you're one of the highest paid lawyers on that side of the bay. How much do you charge just to defend someone for a drunken driving charge? A simple D.U.I.? How much."

"Now look, tens of thousands of dollars went into my education----"

"Tell me you don't use people. What about witnesses, Aaron? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't use them."

I watch in horror as this evolves into a major argument, and without thinking I raise my beer bottle and fling it straight down at the floor. It doesn't smash like I guess I wanted it to --- the porch is made from pine, which is soft, and the bottle is hard Mexican gla.s.s. It bounces all the way back up and smacks me under the chin, and there's a sharp pain in my mouth as my teeth sink deep into the flesh of my tongue. I stumble backwards, hands to my mouth, and Aaron and Heather continue their argument without a pause. Turning, I walk quickly away, feeling stupid and impotent, pushing my way between people and skirting walls and making my way to the front door. I'm leaving.

I stand in front of the house for a few seconds, enduring the pain and tasting blood in my mouth, then walk a little ways down to the corner and sit there, my back against a light post. A cable car should be along here any minute; I'll catch it and ride it down to Market Street, where I can catch a BART train across the bay and back to Berkeley. f.u.c.k them, I think, f.u.c.k all those screwy people. I'm a G.o.dd.a.m.ned scientist for crissakes, what am I doing at a party with actresses and dancers and playwrights?

The fog swirls around the street lights and makes a ceiling over the street. The trees seem to grow up into it. After five or ten minutes sitting on the cold cement, leaning against a damp, freezing metal lamp post I find all the warmth has drained out of me, leaving me shivering.

There is no cable car in sight. Absently I pick up a sc.r.a.p of newspaper that is lying in the gutter; its a section of TV listings for last week.

After glancing through it I find I missed War Of The Worlds last Thursday at 9:00 PM. I didn't even know it was on. Oh, I hate TV anyway.

s.h.i.t.

"Are you okay?" asks a voice. I look up to see Tom standing about two feet away, hands in his jacket pockets.

"No," I tell him. "I'm despondent."

"Would it help if I bought you a wh.o.r.e?"

"No." I glare at him.

"I just thought I'd ask."

I hear a bell ringing, and up the street a cable car rumbles over the top of the hill, shrouded in fog. There's hardly anyone aboard it --- no doubt it's the last one of the night.

Tom looks at it too. "Oh, come on. You're not leaving."

"Why not?"

"Don't just give up."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll never know if you had a chance."

"I don't want a chance."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Come on, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Come back inside. I'll even help you find her."

I watch the cable car approach, ignoring him. As I watch it, it pa.s.ses by and continues on down the street. It occurs to me only then that I had intended on riding it. "If you promise to find her and tell her that you're breaking up with her then I'll come back inside.

Otherwise, see you later."

"I promise."

"You promise? You'll tell her?"

He nods.

Grunting, I fight my stiff muscles and get to my feet. "Let her down easy --- she loves you, for G.o.d sakes."

"I know. But she's a lot tougher than you think." He doesn't explain further, and within a minute we're back inside the house. The babble of all the voices is a shock after spending ten minutes out in the cold, foggy silence. Tom immediately disappears, off looking for Pris. I spot an empty chair which is relatively secluded from everybody and sit in it, rubbing my sore chin. Leaning back, I close my eyes, letting the world swirl around me. All the noise of the party, the music, the laughter, the babble . . . it ebbs and flows around my alcohol-infused head. The air around me is, at least, warm; occasionally I still give a shiver or two as my body temperature comes back up, but I finally feel comfortable. Time seems to stop for a while, and I watch the random geometrical shapes flashing around on the inside of my eyelids, feeling lulled. I hang for a while on the edge of drunken sleep, but I hear my name called and I stir. For a moment I think that there's someone else here with the same name, and someone is calling him not me, but then I hear it again from quite close and open my eyes to see Pris standing squarely in front of me, her hair a bit messed, her eyes red, her mouth half open and her upper teeth showing. Her left hand is holding two fingers of her right hand, both hanging in front of her pelvis. The wide-necked sweater she's wearing has slid to one side, exposing a smooth, beautiful shoulder.

"I have Aaron's car keys," she says. "Let's go get some cigarettes."

"Okay." I calmly stand up. She grabs a hold of my left arm as we walk toward the door; I look at her, but she's looking straight ahead.

Her grip is tight, but not limp. She's keeping very close to me.

I open the door and we walk down the steps; she pulls out Aaron's keys and points up the hill. "He says it's right on this street."

"Okay." We start up the street.

"Hey guys. Hey, wait up!"

Both of us turn around. It's Felix, coming down the steps from the house. "We're just going on a cigarette run," Pris tells him.

"I need some too."

"We'll get you some," I tell him, furious.

"Oh come on," he says, laughing. "Don't leave me behind!"

I hear Pris sigh. I'm about to tell him no, but he's on the other side of Pris and she has taken his arm. "I don't want to come back," she says. "Aaron said we can take the car and he'll pick it up tomorrow."

"Did you talk to Tom?" Felix asks her.

"Yes." Her voice is venomous.

"What did he say?"

"He . . . he said . . ." Pris stops in her tracks, sucking in a sudden breath. Tears leak out of her eyes, rolling down her face. Before I have a chance to react, Felix throws his arms around her and she stands clinging to him with one arm, crying on his shoulder. You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I think to myself. Felix asked her that because he knew it'd make her start crying. He knew it would. He did it just so he could hold her. But I notice her other hand still has a hold of my left arm and it's squeezing tightly. Reflex, I wonder, or because she wants me near her, too? d.a.m.n you, Felix! Her and I would have been alone!

Pris pulls away from Felix, takes a breath, and says, "Cigarettes.

Please." We continue up the road. After a block I spot Aaron's white Mercedes 250 SL, and as we reach it Pris hands me the keys. I unlock the driver's side door and open it for her. She slides in, reaching out and unlocking the other side for Felix. I pull the chocolate out of my pocket, get into the car, close the door, then put the chocolate into her hand. "This'll hold you over until we get your cigarettes," I tell her.

"No thanks," she says, handing it back. "I've had too much already."

"You did?"

"Felix had a whole pocket full."

I start the car and pull violently away from the curb before Felix has a chance to shut his door. He's in the front seat, too, right on the other side of her. I wish he had fallen out. I wish he had fallen out and a cable car had run over his head. You, I think as I glance at him, are no longer any friend of mine.

We stop at the mini-market and Felix and Pris go inside and buy their cigarettes. When they come back out to the car she's crying again, already puffing away; she stands outside a moment with Felix, Felix holding her, her smoking, smoke blowing everywhere, then she pulls away and opens the door and climbs slowly into the car. Followed by Felix. I have to act like I still like him, I realize, or Pris will wonder why I'm mad. Then she might realize I'm jealous, and then she'll probably look at me as the same sort of emotional vulture that Felix has become.

This time I pull away from the curb less violently. Pris hasn't said where she wants to go, so I drive randomly, eating the chocolate I bought for her while she and Felix smoke. Felix has left his arm "consolingly" over her shoulder. After a few minutes, Pris leans over and rests her head against him.

I sigh. What's the use? Felix got to her with the chocolate first, now she's his. "Where am I going?" I ask.

"Want to go to a bar?" Felix asks.

"No." Pris sounds like she's half asleep.

"No?" Felix says. "Why not?"

"Let's go to my house," she says.

"Okay." I bite my lower lip. "Where is your house?"

She gives me directions as I drive, and after twenty minutes or so I bring the big, heavy German car sliding to a stop. Her apartment house is dark; everyone is either asleep or not home. "Come on up," she says, looking at me.

"Are you sure you----"

"Come on," she says. "I'll fix you something to eat."

Felix is already out of the car, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to leave her alone with him. I shut off the engine and climb out, locking all four doors of the car when I turn the key --- a feature that gives you a little thrill of power --- then follow Pris and Felix up the stairs and into the apartment house. Felix excuses himself, heading directly to the bathroom.

I follow Pris into her room, which used to be a living room back before the house had been converted into apartments. The house itself must be over a hundred years old. The room is large and very San Francisco-ish, with ornate molding and high doors and wide bay windows.

Her closet is a pole between two stands in a corner by her large bed.

Pris turns around and looks up at me. "This has been a s.h.i.tty day."

"I'll bet. Is there anything I can do?"

"Hold me." She leans forward and puts her face against my shirt. I put my arms around her, pulling her closer, and she slides her little Pris-arms around my waist and holds on, squeezing. We stand there silently hugging for about three minutes, then Felix comes wandering in.

"Hey," he says. "Where's mine?"

Pris pulls only one arm away from her grip and beckons to him. He comes forward, embracing both of us. It has become a group hug.

Tottering, we lose our balance, and all three of us fall like a tree onto her bed, then lie there laughing about it. n.o.body gets back up.

Eventually Felix and Pris fall asleep huddled together against me; she's in the middle, facing me, her legs wrapped around one of mine. I find it impossible to sleep with her so near . . . it's too exciting.

This means she prefers me to him, doesn't it? Her facing me, with her arms and legs around me? I might as well push him off the bed. I don't, though. I just lie there awake, feel her breath against my cheek, feeling her heart beating against my arm. I'm so happy it almost hurts.

There's no way I can sleep, no way at all.

Dawn breaks and fills the room with light. I'm still awake, but just barely. The cube, I realize, is in my shirt pocket; I pull it out and unfold it and lie there staring at it. Occasionally I'll get a glimpse of the extra dimension. I've found that if I stare at it without blinking for a long time my eyes will go out of focus, something shifts, a stabbing pain shoots through my head, and suddenly the cube is impossibly intricate and my hands seem to be melting. At this point I always have to blink and the sight goes away.

When I thought the cube was bending light I was actually starting to see this.

My eyelids get heavy, and either the cube or the alcohol has given me a headache. It's time to close my eyes. I put the cube back into my pocket so that Felix doesn't wake up and see it, then, gently, I place my hand on Priscilla's left breast. Keep my eyes closed, pretend I'm asleep; she'll think I didn't know I'd put it there. It's so soft, so warm. My heart is beating like it's about to pop a valve, and it won't stop. I feel guilty, now, molesting her in her sleep . . . I pull my hand away, place it on her stomach, no, down further, rest it on the curve of her hip. Innocent enough. My heart rate comes slowly down along with my blood pressure. Relax, I tell myself. Relax.

She moves slightly, and makes a girlish sound. I open my eyes, look at her beautiful, peaceful face. Her eyes open for a second, stare unfocused directly into mine, then close again. She makes another sound, moves, sighs. I sigh too, feeling privileged, and grudgingly let my eyes close again. I want to keep watching, but my lids won't cooperate.

What now? Sleep? No, I won't sleep, I'll just have to stay up. I've got a cla.s.s in Berkeley at 10:00 AM. Teaching 20-year-olds about lizards, snakes, frogs, and turtles. Jesus.