Slide - Kyle Beachy [40]
“I don't like anything you just said.”
“Yeah, see, you ain't gonna like it.”
We got out of the car and began walking toward the Baja Beach Club.
“Are you gay?”
“No,” I said.
This was man. A particularly brutal example of man, for sure, but exemplary nonetheless. The men in the hostels in Europe, the backpackers walking a few steps behind Audrey and Carmel. American? Care for a drink? Listening to their stories, cocking their heads to project interest. Gestures for Audrey, the things I'd stopped having to do. Men trained in the arts.
“Hold on. Why is everyone so young? What is this place?”
“Technically legal is the same as totally legal. Don't think about specifics.”
We were close enough now to read the sign that said 18 and overs ONLY. I knew of such clubs out here, with an indoor sand volleyball court and the rhythmic pump of bass, hair gel gleaming in the strobes programmed to match up with that song about wanting to fuck you like an animal. Jäger shots spilled while being passed from adults to children, wall decorations that glowed fluorescent in prevailing black light. I stopped walking.
“Edsel. Don't go in there. These are children, tiny little people. Look at their legs, look how small. Look at the zits on the guys. I can't go in there. Be serious.”
“You're either coming or you're not. Don't make a single difference to me.”
End of lesson one. I watched him move into the middle of the line, an enormous body among a collection of small frames in jeans that rode low and tight. The ogre surrounded by tube tops and plastic hoop earrings. I returned to my car and drove back into my father's city
The Hoyne daughter was next door, shooting lazy jump shots at the basket bolted above her parents’ garage. She shot and missed and followed the stray ball as it dribbled into the lawn, pulling from a cigarette as she walked. She hit a few and missed several more. I had memories of this little girl running insane circles through a front-yard sprinkler, cackling and spinning. Now it occurred to me that she had seen me pull into the driveway and had likely noticed that I hadn't left the car in what felt like at least three or four hours, and she was probably at this moment trying to recall the Five Simple Steps to Reporting a Sexual Deviant memorized for health class. I opened my car door just as she lobbed a shot that was short and left enough to bounce off the rim and into the grass separating the two driveways. She ended up following the ball, facing me as I pushed the door shut.
“You fall asleep in there?” Her hair was straight, feathered at the end so it just reached her bare shoulders.
“I was looking for something,” I said.
“You should have tried turning on the light.”
“Except the thing I was looking for, that wouldn't have helped.”
“Oh Lord. You're home from college now and all deep.”
“I am a very complex person. This is true. I am rife with depth.”
“Outstanding. May I offer you a smoke?”
The girl stepped over the ball and continued toward me. I pressed a button on my key