The Fifth Stage Part 30

196.

I roll over and wipe the sleep from my eyes. The framed clover scowls at me. It knows the truth, a secret shared by the three of us Lora, the clover, and me. At times, I long to confess, to wear that scarlet letter on the outside for the whole world to see, but I won't. I'm too much of a coward.

"Good morning." Rebecca comes in and hands me a cup of coffee.

"Light cream, right?"

"Yeah." I struggle to sit up. She's adorable, wearing nothing but her cotton blouse from last night, its hem bouncing against her bare thighs. The top b.u.t.tons are open, and I peek at her barely-hidden b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Another pang of guilt a.s.saults me. "How long have you been up?"

"A few minutes. Did I wake you?" She sits on the edge of the bed and scans my face.

"No."

"I watched you sleep for a long time. You sure do frown a lot." She sips her coffee and stares at the picture lying facedown on the nightstand, but says nothing.

I glance at the clock. "Lord, look at the time! Guess you have to get to work soon, huh?"

"No, I'm not on till this afternoon. I thought we might go out for breakfast."

"Uh, not this morning. I've got sales meetings all day tomorrow, and I need to get down to the office and get my s.h.i.t together. I've been letting things slide for the past few weeks." I take a long drink of coffee, scalding my tongue.

"Okay, maybe we can catch up later?" She's reading me, sensing my uneasiness, not pressing too hard. It would be easier to blow her off if she'd make demands of me, or push for something, anything, but she doesn't. She kisses my cheek. "I wanted to tell you something last night, but somehow I couldn't." Rebecca hooks my eyes. "I just want you to know that I don't sleep around... I mean, I have to care for someone before... "

"I'm flattered." I look down into my cup, already dreading the look on her face when I work up the nerve to call it quits between us.

She gives me a sad-eyed smile. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I'm irresistible, remember?"

"That you are, Miss Greenway, that you are." I take her hand and graze my lips across her fingers. She smells of aloe and baby powder, making me want to invite her back to bed for round four, but I can't.

Rounds one through three are still fresh in my mind, and it could take 197 months for my humiliation to fade. "What the h.e.l.l am I going to do with you?"

Rebecca touches my cheek, her gaze resting on mine. "Don't freak out on me, okay?"

"Too late."

"Was I that bad?"

"On the contrary." I take another long swallow of coffee. The tears welling in my eyes won't go away. "I'm so f.u.c.king confused."

Rebecca takes my cup and sits it on the nightstand. "It's okay to be confused." She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and we sit still for a moment. Then she says, "I'm going to go now. Seems like you need some time alone. I'm sorry if I rushed things."

"It's not your fault. It's mine."

"Let's not talk about fault. I had a wonderful time, and I'd do it all over again. I hope you feel the same."

When I don't reply, hurt registers on her face, but she smiles and pats my hand before heading for the door.

I throw back the blanket and start to get up, but Rebecca waves me away. "You lie still. I can let myself out."

I should protest, but I don't.

She pauses in the doorway. "Will you call me?"

I nod, not knowing if I ever will work up the nerve to see her again.

The echo of the walled room rings in my ears. That's good, familiar, something I've done for years. Nothing unusual here, nothing to worry about, nothing to regret. The racquet feels like it always does, light but powerful in my hand, under control. Forehand, backhand.

Forehand, backhand.

I whack the small blue ball hard against the front wall, watching it slam into the surface and bounce back to me. That's the thing about racquetballno matter how hard you hit the ball, it always comes back.

No matter how good or poor your shot, the ball will never end up more than a few feet away. And with four solid walls, no one can see when you make stupid plays or flail about like a three-hundred-pound ballerina. No one knows how inept you are.

A knock sounds on the back door, and Tonya crouches through.

"Hey. How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes." I toss her the ball and step toward the back of the court. "You serve."

198.

"Don't I get to warm up?" She twists the racquet strap around her wrist and gives me a once-over. "What's up with you? You look funny."

I shrug and turn away. "I thought you were going to warm up."

"Oh, my G.o.d. You got laid, didn't you?"

"Shut up."

"No way. I've got to hear this." She takes one step toward me. The slap of her court shoe bounces around the room.

"What makes you think you know everything?"

"I don't know everything, but I do know you, and you got laid.

When? Where? Who? Rebecca?" Her excitement bubbles into an out- and-out laugh.

"Drop it."

"Details, girl, I want details."

"Shut up and serve."

"So tell me about it. Was she as good as she looks?"

The night rushes back to meRebecca's skin, her breath, her scent.

Muscles twitch in my groin. My heart trips on its last beat, and deep red creeps up my cheeks. I stammer something about being a lady and refuse to discuss it.

Tonya's lips twist into a devilish smirk. I know that p.o.r.nographic thoughts are flashing behind her eyes like a raunchy DVD playing in slow motion. She's savoring the image of every kiss, every nibble, every thrust.

Finally, she says, "Bet she was good, but then again, you haven't done it in so long I guess anything with a pulse would be good."

I whirl on her. "I said serve the f.u.c.king ball!"

"d.a.m.n, don't be so defensive. I'm happy for you, that's all."

I turn away before my tears spill. "Are we going to play, or what?"

Tonya grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Her expression sobers. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? That woman is a hottie. She's a score to be proud ofI sure would be."

"Well, I'm not proud." Part of me wants to get it out, to talk to her about my feelings, but Tonya won't understand. People like her never do.

"It's not like you picked up some s.k.a.n.k at a bar. You landed a good one. Enjoy it." She pats my shoulder like I've hit the winning basket at the buzzer. A game, that's all any of this is to her.

My frustration flares, but I clench my teeth. "Serve."

Tonya bites her lip, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern. "What gives, Claire?"

199.

This time the tears won't stop, and I'm sobbing by the time she wraps her arms around me. We sit down on the hardwood floor, and she watches me as I try to regain some sense of dignity.

"Talk to me, baby."

"I feel like a heel, that's all," I whine between sobs. "I broke every promise I made."

"Promises? What promises?"

"I promised... I swore." I drop my head. Tonya's stare is too intense. "I told her I'd never be with anyone else. No matter how long it took, I'd wait. I put my hand on the Bible and swore."

"You're kidding, right? You were stressed out. You'd have said anything to keep her. You'd have done anything, but nothing worked, did it? You can't hold yourself to those promises, and I can guarantee that no one else does."

Now I'm getting angry, maybe because she's right or maybe because I'll never admit it. "Sport-f.u.c.king may be okay for you, but I happen to have some morals. Women are more than bedpost notches.

Promises mean something to me."

Tonya jumps up and glares at me. "What the h.e.l.l is your problem?

Every time I try to get you to face facts, you turn it into some kind of moral judgment on me. You know what your problem is? You're a chicken s.h.i.t. You're so d.a.m.n scared of getting hurt again that you'll use any excuse to keep from getting close to anyone."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you." I'm on my feet, screaming. "You're so G.o.dd.a.m.ned afraid, you won't even go out with the same person longer than a month."

Tonya stiffens. "There's one little difference, old buddy. I'm happy with my life. I like the way things are for me. You, on the other hand, are f.u.c.king determined to be miserable."

"What do you know about misery?" I want to reel the words in, but it's too late.

Her eyes narrow, and she grits her teeth. "Watch it, Claire. I've let you get by with a lot for the past few years, but you're about to cross the line."

She's right, I am about to venture into forbidden territory, but I don't care. I'm angry with myself, with Lora, with Rebecca. I need a fight, and I'll take any I can get. "How come you get a line that can't be crossed, and I don't? How come I have to forget my past, and you don't?"

"I have forgotten."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

200.

"Whatever." Tonya picks up the ball and throws it at me. "Serve, d.a.m.n it, before I get mad."

"h.e.l.l, no. You started this, and I'm going to finish it." I drop my racquet. It clanks against the floor.

Tonya holds her hands up and gives me a time-to-cool-it look.

"Okay, okay. Let's not get all stressed out here. I know it's the first time you've been with anyone else, and I guess that's a little freaky for you.

All I'm trying to say is that it's okay to f.u.c.k someone else."

"Then let me f.u.c.k you."

She smiles that wicked little grin she saves for potential conquests.

"Thanks for the offer, but you know that's not my thing. I'm a giver, not a taker."

"Why won't you let me touch you, Fly? Why doesn't anyone ever touch you? Is it because you can't take your own advice? Can't you let go of your own past?" G.o.d, I'm smug. If I were her, I'd knock the p.i.s.s out of me.

The grin is gone, and by the look on her face, she wants to do more than hit me. She wants to kill me, but she manages to keep her tone flat.

"Claire, I know what you're doing. You're mad at yourself and you're taking it out on me, but this is going too far."

I expect her to charge, to let me have it with both barrels, but she just stands there. I hang my head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Fly."

She doesn't seem to hear and keeps talking in the same even tone.

"I was a wh.o.r.e on the streets when I was ten years old. I turned every trick in Atlanta to keep my parents pumped full of heroin and booze.

Those men did things to me that shouldn't be done."

She blinks and tilts her head. "Now all I want to do is give pleasure instead of having it ripped out of me. Is that so wrong?"

"No, honey, it's not wrong." I go to her and wrap my arms around her waist. It was stupid to compare our pasts. My suffering is that of an adult, a grown woman with the power to make choices. My decisions turned out to be wrong, but they are mine, and only I am to blame. It's a miracle Tonya's even alive. Asking her to conform to my way of thinking is like asking a sparrow to swim.

Tonya stifles her tears and strokes my back. "I know how lucky I am. If they hadn't found me when they did, I'd either be dead or a crack freak like my sisters. But someone did save me, and my new parents gave me a good home, a place to feel safe. The scars will never go away, though. They're part of me."

"I had no right... I'm so sorry."