Authors: Julie Halpern
“Leo? A new boyfriend?” Since Dad’s death, Mom wavered between her old, uptight self and trying to fill in for the missing, laid-back parent.
“Not really. Just a guy who likes horror movies.” And, you know, other things we can do together. “I’m driving.”
I thought maybe my driving would put Mom’s mind at ease; the unknown of other kids’ driving records sent her into hysterics if I was even a minute late. She seemed to trust me in the driver’s seat, since she helped train me. And she knew my seat belt worked.
“What time will you be home?” she asked instead of told me, her attempt at cool.
“The movie starts at eight, so maybe eleven? Twelve? I don’t know how long the Q&A will go.”
“Call me if you’ll be later than eleven thirty.”
“Will do,” I told her as I left for my room.
Normally, I never kept Skype open because my aunt Judy was like a Skype vampire, waiting to suck away any time I had chatting with her. Once I even deleted her as a contact, but she called my mom within minutes to report it. I had to make up an excuse about accidentally clicking on her name instead of an ex-boyfriend I meant to delete, which would never happen since Skype asks you repeatedly if YOU ARE SURE you want to delete the contact.
For Becca, I opened Skype. Before I had the chance to video call Becca, my computer rang. It was Aunt Judy. If I didn’t talk to her, she would call the entire time I was on with Becca. I clicked to answer.
“Hi, Aunt Judy.”
“Oh, Alex, so glad to see you! And on a busy Friday night, I’m sure.”
“Yep.” I nodded casually.
“So, any new boys in your life?”
Aunt Judy seemed to fancy herself the young and hip aunt, which was hard to be when you sported a curly mullet without a hint of irony.
“Aunt Judy, I can’t really talk. I have to Skype with my friend. She has cancer.” I hoped just laying it out there would clam the old lady up, but then it turned into a bloated pity fest.
“OH MY GOD! MY POOR ALEXANDRA. WHAT CAN I DO? ARE YOU OKAY? IS SHE OKAY? OH MY GOD!”
“Aunt Judy!” I had to yell several times until she took a break to exhale and grab a tissue from her bra. “I have to go. She’s calling me on Skype right now,” I lied.
“YOU TAKE CARE OF YOUR—”
I hung up on her. I hoped she’d get the hint to give me space from Skype, but it could also go the way of the concerned checkin, too. I liked Aunt Judy, though. She sent fat checks for birthdays and was actually the first person to show me a horror film when I was eight. My parents had dropped me off at her house for a dinner date, and Aunt Judy put in a tape of one of her favorite childhood movies,
Heidi
, so I could watch while she made dinner. Turned out it was not
Heidi
, but
Carrie
, and by the time Aunt Judy came to tell me dinner was ready, Carrie was being scolded by her psycho mom and getting her period in the shower. Such sweet, innocent times those were.
Becca’s icon, a headshot of the gorgeous Number Six Cylon from
Battlestar Galactica
, showed that she was signed on to Skype, but that didn’t mean she would answer. I clicked on the video call button and let it ring. No answer.
That gave me time to think about tonight. I didn’t want to call it a date, didn’t want to think about the attachment and attention and commitment that came with having a boyfriend. I needed all of that for Becca, not some guy I only knew in my dreams until last week. So far it had been easy enough, fun even, and definitely fulfilling in certain areas. That’s where I wanted it to stay.
I decided not to change clothes.
In ten minutes, I’d leave to pick Leo up at his house, a house I’d driven by dozens of time with Becca riding shotgun when I first got my license, in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. I liked those glimpses. Nothing serious about a glimpse. I didn’t need any more serious.
Just as I was about to leave my room, my Skype rang. I thought it might be Aunt Judy checking in, but happily it was Becca. My view of her was skewed, her laptop on her stomach as she lay awkwardly on her bed with her neck propped up. I forgot for a minute that she had no hair, and her skin was almost chartreuse.
“Hey! How are you?” I asked like a dumbass.
“Gurgle,” was all she said, not the sound but the actual word. “I have a puke bucket next to my bed. A bucket of puke,” she slurred. I didn’t know if she was tired or pumped full of drugs or both.
“Speaking of buckets,” I tried to sound cheery, “I’ve been working on your list. I draw the line at wearing two different shoes, though.”
She attempted a smile but could barely hold up her head.
“And I’m going to wait until you’re better so we can hop a train like a hobo together.”
Was Becca asleep?
“I better let you go. I’m going to see Bruce Campbell tonight with Leo Dietz. Wish it was you, though.” Did I really, or did I feel obligated to add that? God, she looked like shit.
After Becca didn’t answer, I started to say, “Well, bye. I’ll talk to you—”
“Alex. Alex.” B came back to life and spoke urgently. “You gotta do something for me,” she breathed.
“What? Anything.” I meant it, too.
“Find out if he’s circumcised.” And then she definitely was asleep.
Even sick as fuck and pumped with meds, Becca was a complete pervert. She better not die on me.
LEO WAITED OUTSIDE
for me on his front porch. His house had fancy landscaping with brightly colored window boxes and rounded bushes. A huge American flag flew from a post.
He slid into my dad’s car wearing a pair of jeans spotted with oil and a dark green t-shirt. I couldn’t remember if it was the same outfit he wore earlier. He smelled minty. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I agreed, and we drove off.
I had NPR on the radio, a story about Damien Echols, a Southerner wrongly sent to prison for a sick crime he didn’t commit just because he was an all-black-wearing metalhead and the town needed a scapegoat. We listened intently, finishing the show as we parked at the Orpheum. A line snaked around the block.
“Good call on getting here early,” I commended him. He placed his hand on my back to guide me toward the end of the line. It was an odd feeling. Boyfriendish, almost, and unnecessary. I scooted ahead of him to find our spot in the queue.
Most of the people waiting were in some kind of costume: fake blood, wigs, one guy even had a disembodied hand gripping onto his shoulder. There was enough people-watching to keep us talking and laughing. I even managed to accomplish one of Becca’s early Fuck-It List items—number 3:
Chew 10 pieces of gum at once and blow a quadruple bubble.
It was rather hilarious to observe Leo as he watched me polish off an entire pack of his Dessert Delight gum. “This apple-pie gum is fucking gross,” I spat through strained chomps of the massive wad in my mouth.
“Not nearly as gross as watching you chew it.”
I spat out several double bubbles but never made it close to the coveted quadruple.
At seven, the line began to move, and we made our way to our seats. “Do you mind if we sit on the aisle?” I requested. “I like to have an exit route.”
“In case of a zombie attack, I’m assuming.” I nodded. Once we were in our seats, Leo asked, “Do you want any snacks?”
“Dots, if they have them,” I said, and fished a few dollars out of my pocket.
“That’s okay.” He wouldn’t take the money. “You can pay for coffee later.” Leo stood up and rubbed past my knees on his way out of the row. Standing next to him outside in line did nothing for me, but that small act of connecting with my knees made my stomach tingle.
I texted Becca while Leo was away.
About to see Bruce! I’ll tell him u say hi
As the lights dimmed for the start of the movie, Leo returned and slid past me once again. I tried to ignore my libido’s feelings to retain the reverence of the Evil Dead films. Leo handed me the box of Dots, while he munched from a tub of popcorn. I attempted to remove the clear wrap from around the yellow box in a movie-appropriate manner, but it took me forever to find a weak spot to open the plastic. By the time I was in full crinkle, characters were talking and some people in front of me turned around to glare. I popped a Dot in my mouth and sneered back.
“Ew.” I spit the Dot into my hand.
“What’s wrong?” Leo leaned over and whispered into my ear. He smelled all buttery.
“I ate a green one,” I whispered back. The warmth of his cheek near my mouth begged for a kiss, but I restrained myself.
“Here.” He handed me a napkin from under his tub, and I rubbed the sticky mess from my hand into it.
Each time I pulled a new Dot out of the box, I held it up to the screen in hopes of discovering its color in the darkness, lest it be green again.
“Do you want some popcorn?” Leo whispered midway through the film.
“No thank you. Want a Dot?”
“Are there only green ones left?”
“Yep,” I told him, and he kissed me one, two, three times on the mouth. I wished there weren’t so many people around us.
We watched the rest of the movie as members of an audience, reacting together with laughter and disgust at the appropriate intervals. When the film ended, Bruce Campbell, the lead actor in the Evil Dead trilogy, as well as a cult god, walked out on the stage. He looked paunchier and older than in the films, but still had that great movie star butt chin I admired on him. The audience took several minutes to calm down from our enthusiastic standing ovation, and when we did Leo immediately took my hand in his.
I never was much for holding hands. Most people were so clammy, or our fingers fit together wrong. There was nothing worse than intertwined fingers as a gesture of romance only to realize that the boy’s hands were stumpy and there was barely enough room to lace our fingers together. Leo didn’t weave our fingers, but held my hand on his lap with a grip that tightened every time he laughed at something brilliant Bruce said. Leo’s hand was much larger than mine, with prominent veins. At times, no matter how funny or engaging Bruce was, I was distracted by the force with which Leo would jerk my hand with a laugh. Not a bad distraction, but I wanted to focus on Bruce, maybe learn something for my own movies.
I fished my hand away from Leo’s and pretended to dig something out of my back pocket. He didn’t seem to notice. I spent the rest of the show wondering why Leo didn’t try to hold my hand again.
Bruce was selling and signing copies of his books, posters, shirts, and any other weird artifact people brought to him. When it was time for me and Leo to greet him, I told Bruce, “You are a legend.”
He thanked me and offered to sign an
Army of Darkness
poster I brought along. “Gimme some sugar, Baby,” he wrote, a classic line. One of my favorites. I asked Leo to take a picture of me and Bruce with my phone, and he did. Then the next person in line, a rather large woman with a
Bubba Ho-Tep
t-shirt on, asked us, “Do you want a picture with both of you?”
“Sure,” Leo answered before I could decide for myself. When the moment was over, Leo and I reviewed the picture. We stood on either side of Bruce, smiling like dorks, while Bruce produced bunny ears behind our heads. Classic.
If it were possible for me to feel jubilant, that’s how I felt as Leo and I walked back to my car. For two seconds I forgot about my dad and Becca and just reveled in the primo evening.
Leo was bubbly, too, and quoted moments from Bruce’s Q&A verbatim. “Remember when…?” “And then he said…” It was funny how cute and sweet such a big, supposedly scary guy could look. I started the car, and the clock read 10:45. “What time do you have to be home?” I asked.
“One,” he answered.
“Midnight for me. But you can have my glass slipper.” He smiled, illuminated by the parking lot lights. “What do you want to do?” I asked. I knew the question was too open, too obvious. At that time of night, we could go back to someone’s house and worry about waiting parents, go to Denny’s for coffee, which I had previously offered to cover, or find somewhere to park the car.
“How about the Halloween store?” Leo suggested. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Is there one up yet?” The phenomenon of pop-up Halloween stores was always exciting and depressing at the same time. Anything huge and Halloweeny meant awesomeness in my book, but they were always thrown into some giant, dead store space that would become empty again once the holiday ended. Or at least until the pop-up Christmas store took its place.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Where is it?”
“Where the Borders used to be,” he directed.
I drove to the strip mall parking lot and parked in the vast emptiness. We unclicked our seat belts and walked up to the blackened windows. Leo cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in. “I guess we’re a little late,” Leo noticed as we surveyed the dark store.
“They stay open later when Halloween gets closer,” I mentioned.
“Next time,” he suggested.
I mulled over the idea of a next time as we returned to the car. “So,” I asked as Leo hopped in and shut the door. “What now?” I started the car and turned on WVVX, a local station that turned from Spanish to metal at 8:00 p.m.
As I attempted to tug on my seat belt, Leo slid toward me and ran his hand up my arm. At that moment, the streetlight above the car flickered off. “I planned that,” he said. He leaned over and kissed me, his position awkward and sideways, the steering wheel preventing us from getting comfortably close. I gently pushed his chest away from me and crawled my way over the armrest and into the backseat. Leo followed, less gracefully, and stumbled until we were next to each other.
Our hands were everywhere. He pulled my shirt over my head, and I did the same to his. Or was it the other way around? He leaned back onto the leather bench seat, and I rested on top of him. Without taking my bra off, Leo slid his hand inside it and drove me to an embarrassing squeak.
“What was that?” He laughed quietly, as if talking loudly would alert someone outside to our presence.
I bit his lip slightly harder than playfully, which he took to mean I wanted more. I did.