The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady - Elizabeth Stuckey-French [126]
Gigi dunked underwater and came back up, spluttering and wiping her eyes. Was she crying? There was no sense blaming her, he realized. He’d led her on. He was proud of himself for having wise thoughts at a time like this, even though he was still treading water. He spoke to Gigi in what he hoped was a calm and calming, gentle voice. “Please come in with me.”
She grimaced. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially with you, asshole.” She raised the beer bottle, drained the water out, then cocked her arm back and tossed it at him, and before he could throw his hands up, it struck the side of his head and bounced off. She covered her mouth, laughing. “Oops,” she said.
Vic clutched his stinging head. “You bitch.” He was speaking B movie dialogue. This whole scene was out of a B movie. Pirate May-ture (aka Duckie) and the Drunk Vixen Get Swept Out to Sea. Never in his life had he imagined himself in such a melodramatic scene. But why not him? Why should he be immune? Life wants to be a B movie. Everyone’s life. Even his. Get drunk, act on your impulses, shout out stupid shit you’ll be ashamed of later—B movie!
Another curtain of lightning, behind the houses, this time a wraparound curtain instead of a café curtain, and then the deep chuckle of thunder.
“I’m just your midlife crisis,” she said. “I’m your shiny red sports car, motherfucker.”
He rubbed his temple. Why couldn’t he just swim away and let her drown? A band of stronger rain washed over them, then another. A line of heavier thunderstorms coming in. “You’re just like your brother,” he bellowed. “A cheating, self-pitying sociopath.” That had a real ring to it.
Gigi barked with laughter. “Who’s the one cheating?” she yodeled. “What do you call what we were doing, Duckie? You’re just pissed ’cause you’re stuck in a crappy job and you’re not even a member of your own famdammly.”
It was the remark about his family that made him want to quit fighting. “My daughter’s trying to save us,” he said. “So’s your son.”
Ava and Travis were wading into the water, lumbering toward them, terrified expressions on their faces.
Gigi turned to look. “Hey! It’s Avis and Trava!”
Vic dove under the water, scooped her up and, clutching her under his arm, hauled her ass and his out of the water.
* * *
On the way home with Ava from Alligator Point, Vic could drive only twenty miles an hour. Lightning flashed all around them and Ava screeched every time. Ditches were full up, more than full, and the overflow crept out across the road, forming rivers. In Carrabelle they drove through a lake of unknown depth where the road used to be. They were in it before he could stop, so he had to keep going. Tree branches flew in front of them. They swerved to avoid a plastic kiddie pool. Stoplights swayed manically over their heads.
He’d swallowed three quick cups of coffee in Maude’s kitchen, so now he was a wide-awake drunk with a throbbing knot on his forehead who had to take a leak, driving with his precious, terrified towel-wrapped daughter shivering beside him in the car, but he still thought it was a better option than staying at the party. If he’d stayed, he would’ve done something even more asinine than he was doing now. God, just get them back safely. He felt he’d barely escaped some alternate life in which he and Gigi acted out scene after scene of their B movie. He knew he’d have to straighten things out with Gigi once and for all the next time he saw her. He’d have to come clean at FTA. But for now he felt lucky to have escaped.
What almost caused him to have a wreck, right before he tackled the Ochlockonee Bridge, was his cell phone ringing. The unexpectedness of it startled him. He veered into the other lane, overcorrected, and spun sideways, his tires spewing up water. Fortunately they were the only car on the highway.