“After, then.”
“It’ll be late. Like ten o’clock.”
“That works.” She looked at me from under lowered lashes. “And if you get tired, you’re welcome to stay over.”
“Evelyn…”
“Oh my God, I’m kidding. You’re such a grouch.” She got up, straightened her tight skirt. “Ten o’clock, Stratton. Don’t be late. We have to strike now, while you’re hot and getting hotter. Musically, speaking.” She blew me a kiss and strode off, ponytail swinging.
I didn’t want to go to Evelyn’s and make another video. I wanted to go to Violet. I wanted to climb up the trellis like I always did and play for her. Then kiss her and not run out the door but stay. Hold her and sleep with her. No sex, just sleep. Like I did the night four years ago when she found out where I’d been living.
But I’d promised to give Amber some time and I was fairly sure Violet was sick of my shit by now. Running hot and cold, but mostly just running.
After school, I went home and took a quick shower before work. Chet was there, as usual, demanding to know where I go every night and getting pissed when I refused to tell him.
“If you were my son…” he warned.
“I’m not,” I shot back, “so mind your own fucking business.”
I let the door slam, anger burning my skin. If Dad hadn’t left, Mom and I wouldn’t have had to deal with Chet fucking Hyland. We wouldn’t be living in a shithole apartment after living in a car. If he were still around, I wouldn’t be such a fucking mess. I could be the guy Violet deserved.
At the arcade, I spent hours watching tourists plunk quarters in machines or play Skee-Ball for shitty plastic prizes. In a sea of noise, the Pac-Man game seemed the loudest. Over and over, the ghosts trapped Pac-Man and then came the down-the-drain sound effect of his demise.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
So I took the bus to Evelyn’s large white, two-story house. It loomed ghostly and quiet in the night. As usual, I texted her I was there, and she let me in, guiding me through the house’s clean, warm space; smiling family photos hung on every wall.
Her bedroom walls were covered in collages of lips, eyes, and clothes cut out from magazines, and sketches of outfits that I guessed she had done. I didn’t give a shit about fashion, but I recognized talent when I saw it.
“You smell like popcorn,” Evelyn said, fussing over me.
“Hazard of the job.”
“Ha! You’re cute.” She ran her fingers through my hair.
“Is that necessary?”
“I’m trying to recreate that look you had in the first video. When you took your beanie off and ran your hands through your hair. If I had a dollar for every commenter who told me that maneuver set their panties on fire…” She tapped a nail to her chin. “Come to think of it, I do get paid when that happens.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, “do I get a cut, or did I go from giving my shit away for free on the internet to giving it away to you?”
“I told you, we’ll work all that out later.”
“You said you had demands for helping me.”
“I do. In due time.”
She looped a bone horn necklace with a leather string around my neck.
“Is this necessary too?”
“It goes with the leather man-bracelets you wear on your wrists,” she said. “Draws attention to your forearms. Very hot. The necklace will do the same for your chest and neck.”
She moved in front of me, bending over to scrutinize me, her hands in my hair again. I was afforded a view of her breasts pushing out of her top. She caught me looking and a slow smile spread over her lips.
“You’re looking at me.” Her hands slipped down my chest, palms flat. “Do you like what you see?”
“Evelyn, stop…” I caught hold of her wrists and took them off of me.