bathroom.
“Good night,” I called back.
“Tell Nicki the bathroom’s free.”
“She’s trying to wake Jack up to say good night,” I said.
And Nicki smiled.
“Is that what I’m doing?” she said softly.
“I just said that so she wouldn’t think …” I didn’t have a finish for it.
I heard the bedroom door shut.
“So she wouldn’t think what?” Nicki said.
“Whatever you girls think,” I mumbled.
We were inches away from each other.
“See, I’m not one of the girls,” Nicki said.
“I know you’re not.” I thought she could probably see my heart coming through my shirt.
I turned around to get a glass of water I didn’t even want, just to do something with my hands besides put them on her.
“It’s funny, because I never thought you liked me,” she said.
“I like you fine.” I could hardly hear my own words.
“I know you do, now.”
I thought I heard her say my name, but I wasn’t sure. I kept running the water.
Then she touched my shoulder.
“Hey? Erick?”
“What?”
I turned around. I felt her arms reach up to my shoulders and I just gave in. I felt silk. I felt the soft wetness of her mouth, and the warm rush of my blood.
“Hello? It’s me!” I heard Dad’s voice in the foyer. “Where is everyone?”
I let go of her.
“In the kitchen, Dad!”
Then we turned around, and Dad was standing there with the Sunday Times under his arm.
“Hi, Mr. Rudd! How’s Pete?” Nicki said.
“Pete’s fine!” Dad said. “How was the concert?”
I didn’t even attempt to wake up Jack. Jack was the last person I wanted to face right then, anyway.
Nicki said good night and disappeared into the bedroom.
It was past one in the morning. Dad usually went to bed around eleven.
I told him I’d sack out in the living room with Jack, figuring Dad couldn’t wait to get into his study and hit the couch.
But Dad surprised me by getting down a glass, getting out some ice cubes, and splashing some scotch over them.
“I’m going to have a drink, Erick. Come into the study with me.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, or the set of his shoulders, squared way back beyond the posture for Raps #1, #2, or #3. Something told me I’d been a jackass to think Dad would ever let me get away with lying about where the girls were staying that weekend. Not Dad. He just wasn’t going to chew me out in front of the others. Dad could always bide his time.
I watched him run his hands over his nearly bald head as I walked behind him into the study. I stood there while he set down his glass and said, “Shut the door.”
I shut it, and we both sat down. He sat in the big leather Eames chair, and I sat across from him on the couch.
I thought, Here it comes.
I could still feel where her lips had touched mine, and smell her perfume. We could still hear the faint sounds of MTV pumping away in the living room.
I looked from the shag rug to the framed photographs of Pete and me, taken on Pete’s graduation day. (I was in my first suit, standing on tiptoe so I could get my two fingers up behind Pete’s head to make horns.) Finally, I looked over at Dad’s face, which was as grim and stony as I’d ever seen it.
I started mumbling something about being sorry for the lie. I got the idea anything I was going to come up with was going to be shot down in a second.
“Let me talk,” Dad said.
I looked down at my Nikes and waited.
“Pete’s sick,” Dad said. “Pete’s very ill.”
I felt that silly sort of relief I used to feel when I was a kid and Pete was getting hell for something I had nothing to do with. Then the words “very ill” began registering.
“How ill?”
“Erick, anything we say has to be between us. I want that understood.”
“All right.”
“You’re not to talk about this with Jack, or Dill, or that other one. You’re not to discuss this with anyone! Is that clear?”
“Yes. But what’s Pete got?”
It took him a long time to say it. “AIDS … I
“Good night,” I called back.
“Tell Nicki the bathroom’s free.”
“She’s trying to wake Jack up to say good night,” I said.
And Nicki smiled.
“Is that what I’m doing?” she said softly.
“I just said that so she wouldn’t think …” I didn’t have a finish for it.
I heard the bedroom door shut.
“So she wouldn’t think what?” Nicki said.
“Whatever you girls think,” I mumbled.
We were inches away from each other.
“See, I’m not one of the girls,” Nicki said.
“I know you’re not.” I thought she could probably see my heart coming through my shirt.
I turned around to get a glass of water I didn’t even want, just to do something with my hands besides put them on her.
“It’s funny, because I never thought you liked me,” she said.
“I like you fine.” I could hardly hear my own words.
“I know you do, now.”
I thought I heard her say my name, but I wasn’t sure. I kept running the water.
Then she touched my shoulder.
“Hey? Erick?”
“What?”
I turned around. I felt her arms reach up to my shoulders and I just gave in. I felt silk. I felt the soft wetness of her mouth, and the warm rush of my blood.
“Hello? It’s me!” I heard Dad’s voice in the foyer. “Where is everyone?”
I let go of her.
“In the kitchen, Dad!”
Then we turned around, and Dad was standing there with the Sunday Times under his arm.
“Hi, Mr. Rudd! How’s Pete?” Nicki said.
“Pete’s fine!” Dad said. “How was the concert?”
I didn’t even attempt to wake up Jack. Jack was the last person I wanted to face right then, anyway.
Nicki said good night and disappeared into the bedroom.
It was past one in the morning. Dad usually went to bed around eleven.
I told him I’d sack out in the living room with Jack, figuring Dad couldn’t wait to get into his study and hit the couch.
But Dad surprised me by getting down a glass, getting out some ice cubes, and splashing some scotch over them.
“I’m going to have a drink, Erick. Come into the study with me.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, or the set of his shoulders, squared way back beyond the posture for Raps #1, #2, or #3. Something told me I’d been a jackass to think Dad would ever let me get away with lying about where the girls were staying that weekend. Not Dad. He just wasn’t going to chew me out in front of the others. Dad could always bide his time.
I watched him run his hands over his nearly bald head as I walked behind him into the study. I stood there while he set down his glass and said, “Shut the door.”
I shut it, and we both sat down. He sat in the big leather Eames chair, and I sat across from him on the couch.
I thought, Here it comes.
I could still feel where her lips had touched mine, and smell her perfume. We could still hear the faint sounds of MTV pumping away in the living room.
I looked from the shag rug to the framed photographs of Pete and me, taken on Pete’s graduation day. (I was in my first suit, standing on tiptoe so I could get my two fingers up behind Pete’s head to make horns.) Finally, I looked over at Dad’s face, which was as grim and stony as I’d ever seen it.
I started mumbling something about being sorry for the lie. I got the idea anything I was going to come up with was going to be shot down in a second.
“Let me talk,” Dad said.
I looked down at my Nikes and waited.
“Pete’s sick,” Dad said. “Pete’s very ill.”
I felt that silly sort of relief I used to feel when I was a kid and Pete was getting hell for something I had nothing to do with. Then the words “very ill” began registering.
“How ill?”
“Erick, anything we say has to be between us. I want that understood.”
“All right.”
“You’re not to talk about this with Jack, or Dill, or that other one. You’re not to discuss this with anyone! Is that clear?”
“Yes. But what’s Pete got?”
It took him a long time to say it. “AIDS … I
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