Part 16 (1/2)

Ruby says, ”I stayed here when I was a little kid, and it wasn't like this.”

The Deadhead says, ”There's one more empty room, if you wanna check it out.”

”But this is the better one, right?” Ruby asks. ”Or you would have shown us that one first?”

The guy laughs. ”Not necessarily.”

Without another word she turns around, steps past both of them and walks steadily down the hall. The idea that in that that place she might have-she can't even complete the thought. place she might have-she can't even complete the thought.

Back on the street, there's an electric feel to the air, the threat of a storm. The wind has picked up, and clouds have moved in. She waits near the car, and Chris is there a moment later, nuzzling his face into her neck. Pulling her head away from him, she says, ”There was no way no way.”

”I'm sorry,” he says. ”I would have taken it without looking.”

He pulls her against his chest. She isn't quite ready for a hug. Her face winds up in the moist, metallic heat of his armpit. Why do guys' bodies smell so much stronger than girls'? What's churning away inside them that women don't have? Is it elemental, like testosterone? Or emotional, all the ways they hold everything back, feelings that rot beneath the skin- Chris says, ”We could go back to the beach and sleep-”

”It might rain,” she says, looking up. Rough-edged clouds are advancing, a scruffy gray blanket yanked across the black sky.

”I'm really exhausted,” she says.

”We'll find somewhere else,” he says. ”Didn't we see someplace back by the state beach?”

So they drive back the couple miles they've just traveled to a motel they've already pa.s.sed twice tonight. Island Beach Motor Lodge. The man at this desk is a little bit older, and better dressed. He isn't smoking or watching TV. A love song plays on a radio. He stands with both hands behind the desk, fingers tapping anxiously against some unseen surface as he listens to their request and asks for Chris's ID. ”Can't rent to you if you're under twenty-one. I suggest that you go up to the Heights.”

”We were just in the Heights,” Chris says. ”Come on, man. We're looking for someplace clean.”

The man eyes Ruby up and down. ”Rules are rules.”

It comes to her, what she needs to do-she twists the fake ruby into her palm so that only the metal band shows. Then she steps forward and rests her hand on the desk, saying, ”I know you probably get a lot of irresponsible people showing up in the middle of the night. But honestly, I went to the place in Seaside Heights where we were supposed to stay, and it was gross. Like, c.o.c.kroaches and broken furniture and worse. Maybe for high school kids, that's all they need because they're just here to party. But we're on our honeymoon, and we're looking for something nice.”

”Your honeymoon?” His eyes s.h.i.+ft back to Chris, who throws an arm around Ruby.

”Um, yeah. Mister and missus,” Chris stutters.

The man blows air through his lips, a flapping, exasperated noise. ”Hold on.”

As he picks up a phone and presses a b.u.t.ton, Ruby adds, ”And we can put down an extra deposit, for cleaning, or security, or whatever, if that would make things nice.”

An older man walks through the door in a bathrobe a few minutes later. He looks like he could be the first one's father. He looks, in fact, like he could be her her father. Same thick white hair-Clark is not even fifty but he's gone totally silver-same gangly body. OK, the face is different on this man-the nose is smaller, the eyes not so blue. But still. The resemblance makes it painfully simple to imagine what she looks like through his eyes. She hasn't fixed herself up in hours. She's wearing Chris's clothes. His pale skin looks almost green in the fluorescent light. Maybe she should have stayed in Dorian's preppie clothes. She might pa.s.s inspection now. father. Same thick white hair-Clark is not even fifty but he's gone totally silver-same gangly body. OK, the face is different on this man-the nose is smaller, the eyes not so blue. But still. The resemblance makes it painfully simple to imagine what she looks like through his eyes. She hasn't fixed herself up in hours. She's wearing Chris's clothes. His pale skin looks almost green in the fluorescent light. Maybe she should have stayed in Dorian's preppie clothes. She might pa.s.s inspection now.

”Where are your bags?”

”We don't-” Chris starts to say.

”Look, this is a family operation, and we don't go for-”

”We don't need them right now,” Ruby interrupts. In the last half hour, she has begun to understand the implications of what Chris meant by not having a plan. She didn't expect that ”making it up as we go along” would meant that she would have to take charge. ”Bags are in the car,” she says.

The man takes another look at her, scrutinizing.

Chris says, ”How much? I've got a lot of cash.”

”I want a credit card.”

Chris looks at her. He lowers his voice. ”Do you?”

”Yeah, my father-for emergencies.”

”Mine is maxed out,” he says, adding quickly, ”I have to pay for it myself.”

She digs into her purse and finds the MasterCard behind her driver's license-an ugly photo of her in a gray sweats.h.i.+rt, her hair pulled back so severely she looks like the new inmate at a women's prison. (All those years she spent never wearing makeup!) She feels a pang of reluctance as she hands over the plastic, knowing that her father will see the statement at the end of the month. She'll have to lie, say she's here with some girlfriends. Clark knows she's in Seaside. He'll understand that she has to sleep somewhere. Of course, he'll suspect she's with Calvin. Is it better to let him think that? She'll pay him back. And if she can't afford it, what's he going to do? Cut off her tuition? Let him. She wouldn't miss college. She could leave Manhattan. She could move in with Chris.

She realizes that she doesn't even know where he lives.

Standing at the threshold, Ruby pauses. She lets Chris enter ahead of her, watches as he flicks on lights. The room offers no surprises-two full-sized beds covered in mismatched patterned bedspreads, a nightstand between them. A lamp glows there, and above it she sees a faded, framed print of a lighthouse sending its beam across a stormy sea. (She's seen this lighthouse before, it's somewhere on the Jersey Sh.o.r.e. Barnegat? Sandy Hook? The names come back to her from other family vacations. Other moments when Jackson was alive...) Thick vertical drapes block out the windows, and when Chris pulls them open she can see, even from the doorway, that they weren't given a room with an ocean view. All that is visible is the parking lot where they've left Chris's car and beyond that the grid of streets. Speckles of rain are landing on the plate gla.s.s. A thick, soft smell floats out toward her-she recognizes it as carpet powder, the kind you sprinkle on a stained rug and vacuum up. The illusion of having cleansed a problem. But after the Surfside, she'd give this one the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

G.o.d, am I doing the right thing?

For one moment more, she absorbs the possibility that she might still turn back, might still wait. Then Chris, deep inside the room, makes an about-face and swings his arm wide, saying, ”Look, honey, cable television.”

It's not the prospect, the likelihood, of s.e.x that halts her here in the hallway. She's not afraid of what might happen. But the ordinariness of the room is a damper on her sense that the events of this night have been fated-like taking a bite of a hot dinner she's been salivating over and discovering it to be cool in the center. How can she hold on to her sense of meant to be meant to be in a room so unremarkable? in a room so unremarkable?

It must be on her face, this indecision, because Chris sends her a look so questioning that she fears she has hurt his feelings-has introduced some element of doubt to what up until now has been mutually understood. She takes a step backward. ”If this is a honeymoon, aren't you supposed to carry me over?”

There's a sudden bright flash-a jagged zip of lightning through the window. As Chris walks toward her, ready to pick her up, Ruby hears thunder roll.

The kissing is more than good. The desire to kiss-to keep on kissing-is strong. After Calvin, that's important. She feels the kiss unfold, her mouth like a night bloom opening to the dark humidity. It's one long kiss, not a series of little pecks to interrupt a jabbing tongue. Chris is a better kisser than Calvin-or is it that he's simply the right kisser for her? Maybe Calvin's kissing is right for someone else? Maybe for a boy. Maybe he won't figure out how to kiss until he kisses the kind of person he really desires.

Chris's hands are under her s.h.i.+rt, fingertips cold as they trail across the warm sunburned patch on her stomach, the souvenir of her few hours at the beach. When she thinks of his hands and not his mouth, she feels the panic of moving too fast. moving too fast. Her thoughts fly back to the first kiss in Alice's bedroom-he didn't ask, he just went for it. Then he lured her from the club and into his car, and now they're in a motel room. What if he's no different than Calvin, another boy with money who gets whatever he expects- Her thoughts fly back to the first kiss in Alice's bedroom-he didn't ask, he just went for it. Then he lured her from the club and into his car, and now they're in a motel room. What if he's no different than Calvin, another boy with money who gets whatever he expects- ”Are you OK?” He has pulled away from her mouth, his hands have slid down her ribs to her waist. ”Something just changed.”

”No-”

She sits down on the edge of the bed. Thinks about the noise the springs make-will people be able to hear? This is a family operation. This is a family operation. She's removing her boots, her socks, wiggling her freed feet. There's a little pop in one ankle. She cleans her toes of sand. A weird memory-Jackson used to call the dirt between his toes ”little acorns.” She's removing her boots, her socks, wiggling her freed feet. There's a little pop in one ankle. She cleans her toes of sand. A weird memory-Jackson used to call the dirt between his toes ”little acorns.”

She says, ”I was thinking of when you kissed me this afternoon, back at the house.”

”You tasted like beer.”

”You tasted like mouthwash.”

”Is my breath bad now?”

She shakes her head. ”Is mine?”

”Nah. You taste great.” He moves in again, but she stops him. He says, ”Something is is wrong.” wrong.”

”I kind of want to take a shower, before anything.”