“The Party, Part Three”

Lena was mostly passed out. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed. Her head lolled. Her lids were not quite closed over eyes that rolled in their sockets.

Eric stood over her and smiled. The pill had done its work, no problem. He knew she was a lightweight. Now it was time to close the deal.

He pulled her legs apart and pushed up her skirt, exposing white panties. His breath quickened and he started to sweat. There was so much going on that was so fucking perfect about this. Virgin. Under age. Totally helpless. This was one hell of an experience, all right. Fuck yeah.

He undid his belt and let his loose chinos drop to his ankles. His cock was painfully hard against his boxer shorts.

Too fucking perfect.

Eric reached between Lina’s legs and got his hand on the waistband of her panties. She didn’t even moan.

Four things happened next; none of them expected; none of them good.

The bedroom door opened.

Eric heard Crystal DuBois screech, “What the fuck?”

Eric started to turn around, but he had to shuffle since his pants were down around his ankles.

Crystal’s Doc Martens combat boot slammed fast and hard into Eric’s unprotected testicles.

Later, Crystal would remember opening the door. She would remember nailing mother-fucking Eric Finn dead center. And she would remember Preston grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back.

She had no memory of Eric Finn doubling over and tripping on his pants, or his hitting the floor at her feet, but he must have, because Preston later told her she’d been kicking the bastard in the head and ribs repeatedly before he yanked her away.

She was pissed at Preston; he and Eric Finn were All Men, just then. She twisted and hollered, but her blind rage subsided as quickly as she broke free. Hot fury gave way to iron determination.

No more girls were getting hurt tonight. Not like this.

Crystal turned and put herself between Preston and the bed. She noticed Eric Finn scrambling across the room and pulling up his pants, but her instincts held her at her post. Everything was protect the girl. Her mother had done it for her often enough, and damn if Crystal hadn’t done it for her mother the one, last time it really mattered. Now, it was time to protect this one. Protect the girl.

Preston looked confused and scared. Of the situation, or of her? Better be both, if he was smart. She looked over his shoulder toward the door. Fucker Eric Finn slipped past Brad Kruger, who had appeared in the doorway with Crystal’s hat askew on his curly-haired head. She found Brad’s eyes.

“Do you know who Carson Meunetti is?”

“I — yeah, I think…”

“Go get him. Go! And close the fucking door!”

Brad nodded, eyes wide. He whirled and slammed the door behind him.

Crystal glanced at Preston. “No one comes in but Carson.” She didn’t wait for his response before gently closing the girl’s legs. Her name was Lina. Lina Porter. That was it. Crystal crouched down next to her head.

Lina was still unconscious, snoring slightly. Crystal turned her head to one side so the girl wouldn’t choke on her own spit.

Brad found Carson in the back yard. “Dude, you’re Carson?”

“Yeah — Brad, right..?”

“Yeah. Come right now.” He held a hand in front of Carson’s old junior high school buddy, Jim. “Just you.”

Brad turned and took long, urgent strides back toward the house. Carson followed him. Something about the guy’s tone… it triggered primate instincts of alarm. Something was way wrong.

Brad opened Preston’s mom’s bedroom door and jerked his head toward the room. Carson wordlessly slipped past him. Brad closed the door, staying in the hall. Standing guard?

Carson saw Preston, saw Crystal… and then saw Lina. He was at the door, then he was on his knees next to the bed and at her side. No time, no distance, no steps between. Crystal made room.

“What…?”

Crystal’s voice was hard. “I think she was drugged. And would have been raped.”

Car looked at Crystal. She looked back at him. Over the years to come, Crystal would do a lot of stuff Car couldn’t condone. Even so, he would never deny her some compassion and the benefit of the doubt because of how she looked at him that night, and what she had done to save his best friend. He nodded to her, a wordless thanks.

“Was it…”

“Yep.”

Carson closed his eyes and swallowed. For a moment, he wanted to cry. That passed quickly into wanting to kill, and that was something new, something he’d never really felt before and never really understood, never really thought of as more than a movie cliché, but there it was: Carson wanted to see Eric Finn dead, and he wanted to do it, wanted to take Eric Finn’s breath, stop his heart, and do it with his bare hands.

It was too intense to last. All that mattered was that Lina was, if not okay, at least spared from what could have been.

He sighed heavily.

“I gotta get her out of here.”

Crystal nodded sharply and stood up. “Party’s over,” she said to Preston. “Get everybody out.”

Carson heard the door open and close. He kept his eyes on Lina.

“My parents are out of town,” he said. “I’ll take her back to my place. Make sure she’s… make sure she sleeps it off.”

Crystal didn’t answer right away. She saw the expression of love and worry and good solid caring on Carson’s face and bit her lip. They weren’t all Eric Finn. They weren’t all her god damn dad. They weren’t even all Preston.

“She’ll be all right,” she said.

Heather, soundly sleeping, breathed softly next to Alex. She lay on her side, facing him. The back of her hand just barely touched his forearm and moved slightly now and then as, he assumed, she dreamed.

Alex lay on his back and stared into the darkness. Sleep wasn’t happening; not for him.

He sighed. He was with the wrong girl.

Heather was the wrong girl.

Damn it.

He’d mistaken their unusual, emotionally intimate first meeting for something different, something… true. Man, he’d wanted it to be that. He really, really wanted something true. He really wanted to know what that was like; if it was even real.

He’d never experienced anything like the night at Grant’s, when he and Heather bared their souls while Grant and his girlfriend did their thing in the other room. It had seemed like something rare, remarkable.

Now, even laying in her bed after making love, Alex realized that while he and Heather had shared a lot of facts about each other, they didn’t really know each other. Not really.

It was the sex that drove that point home, for him, at least. Alex had only ever been with Eve, but he knew enough to understand that the first time with someone wasn’t necessarily indicative of how good it might get, with time. That was fine; Alex got that. The problem was that all the emotional intensity with Heather on Monday night was just flat out missing in action when they slept together.

Maybe that was his fault. Maybe he had expected too much; built the whole thing up to be more than it was; more than it could be, yet.

He sighed again. Heather stirred and mumbled in her sleep.

Alex hadn’t asked for the fantasy vision of Angel to pop into his head. He hadn’t known it would happen, and hadn’t expected it to push him into coming.

But it did.

Of course Alex had imagined Angel… that way… before. Even before Monday, when he’d started the first day of summer with a strong, confusing and utterly compelling urge to see her and she’d started to happen for him, it was only natural he’d envisioned her very female attributes now and then when he’d masturbated. But that had been… well, that was just convenient objectification.

The problem, or discovery, or… complication… was that when she’d popped into his head while he was having sex with Heather, it wasn’t exactly the thought of her body beneath him that did it.

It was the recognition that being on top of Angel was where he really wanted to be.

Alex grinned a little shamefully in the darkness. It was pretty crass, thinking of it that way, but the point was that he wanted to be with Angel. He had to know if their deep friendship, their multi-layered knowledge of and care for each other, would translate into something more.

He needed to know right now.

But how? Heather had driven them here. Damn.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t feel right, being here, and the urge to see Angel, to talk to her, to tell her… well, he’d figure that part out when he got there, but he needed to get there. He’d go find a phone – he remembered seeing a convenience store on the corner down the street from Heather’s place – and call a cab.

Very slowly and with great care, Alex slipped out from under the sheet and out of bed. His eyes were dark-adapted, but it was still a challenge to find all his clothing. Crawling on his hands and knees around the bed, he managed to find his shirt and socks. He buttoned his shirt and started to pull on the first sock, but he lost his balance and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

Heather woke up.

“Alex..?”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“Whuddayuhdoon..?”

Her sleep-fuzzed voice was endearing. Alex felt a pang of guilt. “I can’t sleep. It’s okay.”

She turned on the nightstand lamp and squinted at him. She held the blankets tight at her neck.

Alex was very aware that he was naked between his waist and shins. He grinned sheepishly. He spotted his underwear and scooped them up.

Heather frowned. “Where are you going..?”

“I’m sorry… I just can’t sleep.”

She shrugged. Alex saw her smile quiver slightly. “We don’t have to sleep. I don’t have to sleep. We can do whatever. Watch TV…”

Alex’s heart clenched. “I — I was just gonna head home.”

She turned her head. “Oh.” She frowned. “Um… how?”

He found his pants and pulled them up. A quick pat of the pockets assured him that his keys and wallet hadn’t fallen out.

“I… uh… I was going to call a cab,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. It’s really okay.” He smiled and hoped it didn’t look like mercy. “You sleep.”

Her smile came back, stronger. “It’s a crappy bed. I’ve been meaning to buy a bigger one. Now I have a reason.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he laughed quickly and bent to kiss her. She made that a little more of a production than he had wanted. He didn’t resist, but he was the one to break away first.

“Just hang on,” she said. “I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t –”

“Alex, please let me take you home. I’d feel stupid if you took a cab.” She looked uncertain again. “Did you have fun tonight? Did you… was it…”

“I had a great night.”

…to be continued!

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I’m putting the future episodes on hiatus until January 4, 2010. This will give me the chance to:

1. Finish the preparation for, and publish, “The Sovereign Era: Year One”
2. Get two or three installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” written ahead of time (maybe more?)

Finishing and publishing “The Sovereign Era: Year One” is the main reason. I have two creative obligations this autumn: the first was to prepare and package “Anyman: The John Smith E.P.” for sale and distribution through CD Baby.com. That’s all set — the album should be available for purchase as a CD or as MP3s pretty much everywhere at the beginning of December.

The second is “The Sovereign Era: Year One.” I have a few more edits to run through, and page layout to figure out, and then getting a proof back, etc. I’m committed to having all of that done before the end of Autumn, which gives me about a month.

So “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is going to take a back seat for the moment. We’ll have to wait to see just what it was that Crystal saw when she opened that door… but who doesn’t love a good cliffhanger?

“The Party, Part Two”
Seeing Eric crouching by the stereo with Ian and Tammy, Lina realized with jarring clarity that she didn’t want to talk to him. A breath before she could look away, he raised his hand and motioned her to come over.

Lina turned to Carson. Just tell me to go with you, wherever you’re about to go, make a decision to take three steps away from the stereo, drag me with you, c’mon, Car…

Some loadie called to Car from the kitchen and Car turned in his direction. Lina touched his arm lightly.

Car turned; she smiled at him. Before she could grab hold of his sleeve, he gave her an apologetic grin and started to turn for the kitchen.

In the time it took for Car to slip out of reach, Lina decided she was being a little girl. Loadie-doofus was obviously some old buddy of Carson’s, and hell, she had called Eric Wednesday specifically to make sure he’d here so they could straighten things out. Time to make like a grown-up.

She went over to Eric, Ian and Tammy. Ian’s pupils were huge; he was already well on his way tonight. Tammy had a hand on his shoulder and a bored expression on her face. Eric stood up and offered Lina a hug.

She let him, but kept one arm at her side. Eric smelled like pomade, cigarettes and beer. When they broke their hug she put a finger under her nose to stifle a sneeze.

“Are you catching a cold..?”

His sideburns and pompadour somehow made his concerned expression… what? Lina couldn’t find the word. “No… don’t worry about it.”

Creepy?

Tammy stood and helped Ian to his feet. Ian spoke carefully. “We are going outside.”

Eric put his hands on Ian’s shoulders. He smiled and mocked Ian’s attempt to not sound wasted. “All right, Ian. You go outside.”

Ian shook his head, grinning. He looked at Lina as Tammy guided him past. He giggled at her, and it was absolutely more of a laughing-at than laughing-with kind of thing.

What the fuck?

Lina looked back to Eric, who had a beer in each hand. He offered one to her.

She took the bottle; it was already open and still cold. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He clinked their bottles together. “Cheers to ya.” He lifted his bottle to his lips and drank. His eyes stayed open. His eyes stayed on her.

For Lina, this was a little too much like the trailer. Except, thankfully, they were in Preston VanHart’s living room, Carson was a few feet away being assaulted by good will from the doofus, and there were fifteen or twenty other people all over the house.

If she was going to talk to Eric, she needed this drink. She drank. Eric smiled.

“All right,” he said. “So… you promised me you would call.”

“I did call.”

“That was Wednesday.” He wagged his index finger at her. “You told me in the car — you remember, when I came and picked you up after you walked out on me — that you’d call me the next day. Which would have been Tuesday.” He took a swig, swallowed, and grinned, triumphant and… what else? What was she seeing in him tonight she hadn’t seen before?

Oh, right. Eric was a dick.

Claire was right.

Everybody was right.

Lina was a loser, dating a loser.

Fuck.

She grinned right back. “You didn’t seem to care when I called you on Wednesday. Why bring it up now?”

“Hell,” he laughed. “You barely kept me on the phone long enough to bring it up. You just made sure I was coming here, and then you were all excuses to get off the phone.” He shook his head. “Seriously, Lina.”

“I was at Claire’s. It was, like, her phone.”

He laughed, short and ugly, and studied his beer. “Oh, I know. I could hear her in the background, making gagging noises like a ten year old.” He looked at Lina. “Like a bitch.”

Lina didn’t like looking at him. That was weird, because it was new. She took a long pull off the beer to hide it.

“How’s the beer?” Eric asked.

“Fine.”

In fact, it was hitting her hard. “Look, Eric…” She gritted her teeth; her throat felt tight and her equilibrium was going sideways. “Look, we need to talk.”

He nodded, smiling again. “Ah, right. The talk. Sure. C’mon.”

He went across the living room and toward the hallway with long, quick strides. “Hey!” Lina had to follow him. Her feet felt funny. She held on to the beer.

Eric opened the door at the end of the hall. “After you.”

Lina managed to slip past without touching him, but couldn’t avoid bumping hard against the door frame. She should have had more for dinner. She licked her lips, thirsty despite herself. A small sip wouldn’t do that much worse to her. Car was in the next room. House full of people.

She was in the master bedroom; Preston’s mother’s room, probably. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and grabbed the spread with one hand to keep a wave of dizziness from fucking with her.

“So.” Eric shut the door behind him. They were alone. “Give it to me, Lina.”

“Give you… what..?” Crap, how did she get so drunk? One beer! Her ears roared.

“The talk.” He took a step toward her. “Or did you bring me in here to give me something else?”

She didn’t bring him in here! He made her… she followed..!

Lina opened her mouth, ready to give him hell. Just as soon as she could make her head work. Make her head make the letters make words out of sharp squeaky sticks she couldn’t put together. Here they were…

Words.

Coming together.

Any second now.

Crystal tired of her post at the front door. She spotted potential relief. “Brad!”

Brad Krueger bobbed his head in acknowledgment and crossed the living room to her. “Hey, Crystal.” He was almost a foot and a half taller than Crystal and kept his chin down to talk to her. “Cool hat.”

“Thanks. Look, somebody’s gotta play doorman for a while. Preston doesn’t want those kids across the street to crash the party. I have to pee. And I want a beer. Can you…”

Brad nodded vigorously. “No problem, Crystal! Hey — do I get to wear the hat?”

Crystal took the pork-pie hat off her head and pushed it over Brad’s haphazard ball of curly brown hair. “You get to wear the hat.”

Brad grinned. “Nice.”

“Thanks!” Crystal decided to go for the beer before the bathroom. It would give her a chance to check in with Preston and see if he’d done his acid yet. That could go either way. She didn’t want to have to babysit him all night; she wanted to have fun.

She passed through the kitchen and went into the back yard. A few people were hanging out there; she nodded to Star Bell (girl belonged in a forties movie with a name like that, she thought for the millionth time…) and exchange a hug-and-hello with Dennis Vale. That was fun, if only because it made Dennis’ Barbie-doll majorette fiance Isabel stiffen with jealousy. Bitch.

No one was in the little one-room back house because Preston hadn’t yet turned on the hundreds of purple Christmas lights. That was the deal with a party at the House of Back — the level of fun / inebriation / wastedness needed to rise a little before the back house opened for business and people gravitated to its tight confines. Preston thought he was playing with the crowd; Crystal enjoyed the experiment but knew it wasn’t worth much when, let’s face it, there was no control group among their friends.

The back house was also where she and Preston had stashed a cooler of the good beer earlier this afternoon. Crystal went inside, found the cooler in the dim light and grabbed an Elephant. The bottle was wet from soaking in half-melted ice, which made it easy to scrape off the label. It wouldn’t do for people to wonder where or how she got something better than Corona and Miller Genuine Draft. She popped the cap with the bottle opener on her key chain and half-sneaked back to the main house.

So. No Preston in the living room, back yard, or back house. His room, then. She went down the hall and opened the door. Several expectant faces looked up through a cloying haze, including Ian Pinchley and Jeff Hargis. Jeff waved at her, his smile stiff from holding in the smoke from the toke he’d just inhaled.

Crystal let the sweet-smelling fumes come and go through her lungs, taking advantage of the contact high. “You guys seen Preston?”

Jeff croaked, “Nope,” and exhaled.

“Thanks.” Crystal stepped back into the hallway and closed the door. Might as well go to the bathroom.

She was reaching for the bathroom door when it opened. Crystal automatically took a step back.

Gail nearly bumped into her coming out, anyway. “Oh! Hi!”

Tall Skinny Gail. She wore a black sequined flapper dress that fell off her shoulders like a rectangle, accentuating her long, angular body. Her hair, waist-length and thick and honey-blonde and just about the only thing Crystal was genuinely envious of, was out of sorts. Her make-up was all fucked up.

Gail closed the door behind her.

Crystal sneered at her. “What are you doing here?” For that matter, when had the bitch slipped past her?

“I… oh, you know.” Gail tried to smile sweetly, but it was a soap-opera maneuver; both women hated each other’s guts. “Just hanging out.”

Gail brushed past her toward the living room. “You got nothing there to hang out, Tall Skinny Gail,” Crystal muttered. She reached for the bathroom door knob and stopped.

The light was still on in there.

Gail’s make-up was a mess. Why would she leave the bathroom without fixing herself up?

Her hair was disheveled. You’d have to work pretty hard to put hair that heavy out of place.

Where the fuck was Preston?

All these thoughts passed though Crystal’s mind in a fraction of a second. Furious, she opened the bathroom door.

Preston leaned against the sink. He grinned sheepishly. “Hi.”

The narrow, curling line of smoke rising from a little cone of incense on the sink counter hadn’t overpowered the sticky smell of sex. It was as thick as the pot smoke in Preston’s bedroom. Crystal hung on the door and swayed, momentarily paralyzed with rage.

Her voice came low from her throat. “You piece of shit.” Her lungs took in air heavy with incense and pheromones and that powered volume that notched louder with every subsequent word: “You mother fucking dick!”

“Crystal, hey, it not–”

Preston took a step toward her. She didn’t hesitate. She pushed him with both hands. It sounded like he fell back against the sink. but Crystal had already turned around, was already moving down the hall, forcing herself not to run, forcing herself not to cry.

In fact, fuck crying. She wanted to kill him. If she didn’t get away from him, she’d do it. And fuck him if he was going to make her have a scene in front of everyone here.

Half these assholes probably knew what was going on, anyway. Guaranteed everyone in Preston’s bedroom did. Had he smoked out Gail, too, before he fucked her over the goddamn toilet?

She needed to be away from everybody for five minutes before she could move through the house, get her shit and go home. If she saw that fucking bitch on the way, she didn’t care who else was around; she’d fucking clock her.

She needed five minutes. Five minutes to breathe, to put the wall back up, to not look like a fool. Get her stupid hat back from Brad.

She whipped open Preston’s mother’s bedroom door.

What she saw there did not improve her mood.

…to be continued!

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This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

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New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Heads up, people: This installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” contains explicit written depictions of sexual acts. It is not suggested for readers under the age of majority, or for anyone offended by sexual content.

“The Party, Part One”
It was well past nine o’clock by the time Carson drove up to Abbeque Valley to pick up Lina, spent a few minutes making small talk with her folks and little brother, drove back down to San Clemente and finally reached Preston VanHart’s house. It took another ten minutes to find a place to park.

“I’m gonna have to circle around.” Car chuckled; it was self-evident. “Obviously.”

“Yeppers.” Lina looked out the window at the parked cars.

Carson grinned. “Looking for someone?”

Lina sat back in her seat and sighed. “Not really.” She brushed imagined hair away from her forehead. “More like looking to see who’s not here.”

“Same diff.” Car found a spot about eight houses down the street, almost at the corner. He was glad for his little Volkswagen Bug as he slipped into the tiny space between the red curb and a pickup truck’s front bumper. “Are you gonna–”

“I don’t know.” Lina sounded impatient. “Okay?”

They’d been friends for a long time. Carson knew when to back off. “Okay.” He made a point of waiting until she looked at him, and then he smiled. “Really… okay.”

She looked grateful. “Thanks.”

They got out of the car and walked up the slight incline. Carson was surprised at the relatively low level of noise leaking out of Preston’s house. He could hear laughter and voices and an undercurrent of music, but nothing to give the neighbors cause to call the cops just yet. It figured – Preston wasn’t really one to blast his music. It was more important it be unique and uber-cool; it didn’t need to be loud to make you want to plug your ears.

The front door opened as they walked up. Crystal Dubois tipped the gray porkpie hat on her head. Pale makeup accentuated her dark eyes and red lips. She affected a carnival barker’s nasal tone. “Carson Meunetti, plus one!” She reached out her hand and Lina shook it.

“Hi. I’m Lina.”

“Crystal.” She gave Car a quick hug and whispered “kinda young…” in his ear. Her breath smelled of clove cigarettes.

He gave her a friendly leer, which she returned as she ushered them both inside with a wave of her arm. “C’mon, awreddy, yer lettin’ all the noise out.”

Inside, the lights were low. From the glowing stereo came a whine of feedback before the speakers screamed, “There’s a time to fuck and a time to pray but the Shah sleeps in Lee Harvey’s grave,” between machine gun splashes of percussion and guitars. Car saw that a few people lingered just inside the door and in the living room, but most seemed to be in the kitchen and out back. If Car knew this crowd, a few people would be in Preston’s room getting smoked out.

Ah, and there was Eric Finn, clustered near the stereo with Ian and Tammy. Finn raised his hand and beckoned; this confused Carson before he realized the wave was intended for Lina.

Behind him, someone hollered, “Hey! Carson fucking Meunetti! Dude!”

Carson automatically turned toward the kitchen and the source of the call. Lina touched his arm. He glanced back to return her quick, uncertain smile before she crossed the room to Eric.

“Dude!”

Much closer now, the owner of that voice punched Carson on the forearm.

“Hey!” Carson turned toward him. “Jim — dude, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

They clasped hands. “Yeah, I came down with Brett Flannery; you know him?”

“No, I don’t think so…” Car checked on Lina one more time. Was it cool to leave her? Was she okay?

Jim grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Let’s get beered up and caught up, dude. How’s it going? Fuck! Fucking Carson Meunetti!”

Car let himself be led. “I know, huh? I haven’t seen you since… uh… junior high.”

“Totally,” Jim nodded. “Fuckin’ gnarly. So, like, how was high school and stuff, right?” He laughed, and just to be perfectly clear, said, “Hardy har, yuk yuk!”

Carson flinched a little when he saw Cary O’Dell, the short, musclebound guitarist from the Donny Zombie Murder Show, turn from the refrigerator with a beer in his hand. Cary saw Carson, turned to the guy next to him, and mumbled something Car couldn’t catch.

Cary’s friend laughed and looked at Car. Cary’s eyes and lips were narrow and smirking. “Hey, bro. Awesome practice the other day.”

As soon as Heather’s car stopped moving, Alex popped onto the driveway and jogged around to open her door for her.

“A gentleman.” Heather smiled.

“I aim to please.”

“Hm…” Heather rented a room in a house in Tustin. “Back here.” She walked him to the door and led him inside.

“It’s not much.” She flipped the wall switch near the door and a lamp next to her bed illuminated the room with soft light. “It’s a place to sleep.”

Alex put his arms around her. “Or not sleep.”

“Or not sleep,” she mumbled.

As they kissed, her tongue small and strong and slick, he ran his hands from the nape of her neck to the rise of her ass and back up her ribs, just grazing the side of her breast. She untucked his shirt, slipped her own hands underneath and grazed his back with her fingernails from his shoulders to the waistline of his pants. Her hands were cool… or his skin burned.

He walked Heather backwards to the foot of the bed and they half-tumbled onto the quilted spread. Alex kissed just below her ear, eliciting a quick inhalation, and tickled under her sweater across her belly. He resisted moving his hands higher. For the moment.

“Hold on,” she breathed. She bit lightly at his throat.

Too much? Alex withdrew his hand. “Oh… sorry…”

Heather laughed. “Not even.” She leaned across the bed… stretching deliciously… and turned off the little bedside lamp. Outside ambient light through the tightly closed window blinds barely kept the room from total darkness. Alex blinked and laid back.

He heard the soft rustle of cloth on cloth and the click of something brushing against the side of the nightstand. Then, Heather was on him. The delicious swaying pressure of her breasts against the front of his shirt told him she had removed her sweater and bra. Her mouth covered his and he put his hands on her smooth, bare back.

He wanted to touch her breasts, but Heather had other plans. She unbuttoned his shirt, kissing the his chest as she exposed it. With tongue and teeth she lingered on his nipples in a way that made him squirm. She kept moving, hands working deftly. He bent his knees and arched his back to oblige her intention to remove his slacks and underwear, and sighed when her hair brushed his groin and inner thighs.

He bucked involuntarily when she put her mouth around him, making her laugh deep in her throat. She bobbed her head and sucked while her tongue moved. Alex groaned, torn between allowing himself to be pinned and wanting to touch and explore her body in return. Heather’s head moved with methodical precision.

Of course it felt good, but the unvaried consistency of her technique soon decided things for him. He took hold of her upper arms and pulled her up, delighting in the hard trace of her nipples along his body. She kissed him and he rolled her over.

It was too dark to make out much more than the vaguest shadows of her body, so he let his mouth and hands explore, much as she had. He found the zipper of her skirt along her hip and slid it down, followed by the skirt itself and her panties. Heather sighed happily.

Alex straddled her hips. Heather’s legs parted slightly and her pubic hair tickled his balls. He ran his hands from her thighs to her ribs to her breasts, which proved to be full and firm in his palms. He bent down and found a nipple, which he circled with his tongue before nipping lightly. She whispered, “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

He lingered there before attending similarly to the opposite breast. Her hands played in his hair. Her hips rotated under him. He slid down, kissing and licking and biting at her warm, smooth skin as he went. He wanted to taste her.

“Just…” Her voice was a clear whisper. “c’mon… put it in me…”

Change of plans, and a direction Alex could hardly object to. He slid back up. “Okay… need to get…” He fumbled in the dark, his dick deliciously brushing the warmth between her legs, and laughed. “Where’d you put my pants..?”

She giggled. “Lemme…” He shifted over her so she could move. She reached out and dragged his pants to his hand.

“Thanks…” He found his wallet and the just-in-case condom he kept there.

“Here… gimme.” She took the condom, pushed him on his back and rolled the rubber down his shaft. As soon as Alex felt the constriction of the condom around the base of his dick, he pulled her to him again. They kissed, hard and sloppy. Her skin was soft and cool and electric everywhere it touched his. He rolled her onto her back again and reached down to guide himself in.

They didn’t break their kiss until he slid inside her and started to move. She stiffened, slightly, momentarily, and relaxed again.

He wished he could see her face. This was an important thing, an important moment in whatever came next, whatever they were becoming. He wished he could see her face.

Alex lifted himself on his palms and slid in and out with smooth strokes, shifting his angle and depth to see what would feel best for her.

Heather’s hands rested lightly on his waist. Her breath came as half-sighs. Her body took his thrusts placidly. Maybe she wasn’t enjoying it? He leaned down and she turned her head to make it easier for him to kiss his way from her clavicle to an earlobe.

“Is this okay..?”

“Yeah…” She stroked his left side. “Yeah…”

Alex kept at it, still doing most of the work. In the dark, barely able to see her, her body softly bouncing with his efforts, it was starting to feel… off. Why did she want the lights off? Was she enjoying this? Her hand still moved along his side with little variation, almost like the unwavering precision she had used when giving him head. Alex twisted slightly; Heather’s hand stopped moving and settled back to a light grip on his ribs.

Alex realized he was distracted. He fought against it; tried to focus on the feel of her wet warmth surrounding him. He was having sex! With Heather! He pushed harder into her and picked up the pace.

She lay beneath him. Her little sighs didn’t change.

After a minute or so, she said, “Are you close..?”

He wasn’t. “Are you?” He panted.

She moved her hands to his ass, squeezing and kneading. “Don’t worry about me.” Her fingers teased between his rectum and his balls. “I want you to come.”

It sure wasn’t going to happen this way. He was frustrated and worried and his arousal was fading. “What about you..?”

“I want you to come,” she said again.

If he didn’t come; if he just wound down until they lay unmoving and sweaty… that would be an even bigger let-down than the sex was turning out to be. What was going on with them? Monday had been so awesome… he felt like he’d been deeper inside her just talking into the night than he did right now, fucking her. Maybe she would come when he did… maybe that got her off…

He got up on his knees and pulled her legs up, putting her ankles against his shoulders. She felt tighter around him, and that felt good. He knew it would be good enough. He picked up the pace, slapping against her.

He felt orgasm hanging inside him like a tight spring that wouldn’t uncoil. Distantly, he heard her sighs escalate to short, breathy grunts. He kept pounding.

It wasn’t happening; wouldn’t let go.

He tried to focus on the sensation, her little noises.

Instead, his mind presented him with an image of Angel Jenner beneath him, her eyes wide, her large breasts shaking.

That did it.

Away he went.

…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

“What You Wish For”
Carson didn’t want to be there, not today; not particularly. On the other hand, he wanted his books and Stiff Little Fingers record back. So.

He sat on a metal chair in front of a metal table, both painted white and designed to look like they were actually made of wicker, but no one was likely to be fooled. Car could feel the cool metal through the seat of his Chinos, so he stood up and paced around the patio outside the Hotel San Clemente until he caught sight of Tess.

Her frizzy hair was mostly contained by an Angels baseball cap and a scrunchy, but a few long strands burned a warm red in the afternoon sun.

She wore a blue tee-shirt tucked into shorts. Between her thighs and her low sneakers was all smooth tanned skin.

Car liked that skin. He liked that hair.

He ran a hand through his spiky hair and shook his head. “Nope. Nope.”

She walked up to him with stiff, quick strides. A wrinkled orange Pinnacle Records bag swung from her arm. She squinted, and Car knew that was as much due to the sun as to tension.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

It was their first time meeting in person since she broke up with him (over the phone!) Monday night. The last time they’d seen each other — and every other time before that for the better part of a year — they’d met lips first. Today they stood three feet apart. Carson made a conscious effort to keep his arms at his sides no matter how much he wanted to reach for her.

“Thanks for getting my stuff,” he said. “I’m gonna be busy…”

“Oh, me too.” Even as she said it, Tess looked uncomfortable. “I mean… I guess…”

Car’s lips twisted. “Yeah.”

She handed him the bag, which he took hold of well away from her fingers. His desire to avoid contact bordered on oppositional. He just didn’t want to risk touching her. If this was going to be finished, it might as well be finished, sooner rather than later. That’s what she wanted, after all, and Car had always done what Tess wanted. Right up to the way they ended.

He glanced inside the bag and saw his copies of “Nausea” and “Down and Out in Paris and London” as well as the Stiff Little Fingers Record. That was it; every tangible item that connected the two of them. Of course, he also had a bunch of pictures… he’d find a box and dark place and forget them.

“I…” Tess seemed to realize she still had her hand held out in front of her. She let it drop into the other; her fingers twisted. “I didn’t realize George Orwell could be funny.”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“Look, Carson… I was thinking.”

“Hm?”

“I was… maybe I was unfair.”

Confusion washed through him. Was she having second thoughts about cutting their last summer short? Did he want to hear what she was almost certainly about to say? Why the hell wouldn’t he?

“I guess I just thought it was better than dragging it out…”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“But…” She pointed a sheepish smile at the cracked mosaic tiles at their feet. “That was stupid. Why shouldn’t we make the most of… make the most of it?”

There it was.

He should feel relieved. Glad. Excited. Hopeful.

He bit his lip and felt none of those things.

He realized he was staring at nothing.

“I… what do you think?” she said.

This was the chance to have what he’d wanted for them: a slow, gentle fade across the summer as their different life paths moved them from lovers to good friends, with the always-maybe hint that one day, some day, the possibility of becoming lovers again wasn’t out of the question.

“Um… what do I think?”

She looked disappointed. “I thought you’d be… happier.”

“I…” Carson sighed. “Tess, what changed your mind?”

She shrugged and smiled. “I was lonely.”

“You were.” He put the emphasis on “you.” “So…” He stopped himself.

She mistook his restraint for an invitation to continue.

“So I know you didn’t expect what I said the other day. I know we talked about stuff, and I made a… my own decisions.” She took a step toward him; Carson didn’t move an inch forward or back. “So we can have our summer, after all.”

“Because that’s what you want.”

“It’s what you want, too.”

Car shook his head. He did step back, then. “Y’know… I think…” He drew in a breath to fill his chest and exhaled quickly. “I think no, Tess. No.”

She looked worse than shocked. She looked offended.

“What?”

“Sorry. I think I got used to the idea. I think… I think I need to move on. It’s… hard to go back, in my head…”

“But this is what you wanted! It’s what we planned! Why would you go back on that?”

Car gaped at her. “Why would I..? Tess, you already did! Over the phone, for chrissake!”

“So you’re going to pass up our last summer together just out of spite? Seriously?”

“No.” He cut the air between them with the flat of his hand. “You don’t… Tess, just let it go. Don’t make this a fight.”

She was ready for one. Her tiny body was tight, leaning forward. “But I want–”

Car held up his hand. “That’s it. Right there. You decided you wanted to cut us short. You decided you want to have the summer after all. You know what I decided, Tess?” In fact, he hadn’t realized he’d decided anything, at least not until the words spilled out of him mouth.

“I decided it’s always you making the decisions. Even if we talk about it, even if we discuss it, whatever it is… you decide. You. When it should be us. Or, just once in a fucking while, me.”

She looked at him.

Car took it as license to go on. “Monday feels like a long time ago, Tess.” He deflated a little; he didn’t want to be angry with her. He really did want to end well. It was probably too late for that, but still. “Everything was worked out Monday morning. By Monday night, everything was different.”

“But we can make it the same…”

“But I’m living in different, now, Tess! It’s where I am.”

She was softening to the point of tears. “Don’t you still love me?”

He held out his hands; the Pinnacle Records bag swung from his right wrist. “Hell yeah, I love you, Tess.” She put her tiny hands in his. Her skin was cool. “We’re going to be friends forever, you and I. We’ve got a great foundation.”

He wanted that to be true, but the words felt shallow and After School Special-fake in his ears. He felt a door closing between them.

She pulled her hands away. The door closed, not with a slam that shook the frame but with a click.

“I guess that’s what I get,” she said.

“It’s not like that.” It was totally like that, but Car had no ambitions to be a dick.

Tess laughed, sad and bitter. “Okay.”

The clock high above the Hotel San Clemente chimed. Car glanced up automatically.

“I…”

“You have to go.”

“I have to get my folks to the airport.”

“Oh, right. Costa Rica.” She smiled weakly. It hurt Car to see her eyes glistening. “What are going to do with yourself?”

Car had all kinds of ideas. “I’ll manage,” he said. He held out his arms.

They hugged. Tess breathed into his shoulder. “Ah, Carson…”

Car sniffed and blinked tears. “Make sure you call me when you get to New York, okay?”

He felt her nose bob against his tee-shirt. “I will.”

Car kissed her on the top of her head. They let each other go.

When Car got back home, he found his folks building a small collection of suitcases just outside the front door.

“You guys must be in some kind of hurry.”

One of the suitcases threatened to topple. Carson’s father laid a light hand on it. “Change of plans, champ. Your mother’s boss shelled out for a shuttle.”

“Oh… so… you don’t need me to take you to the airport?”

His mother laid a small carry-on on top of a duffel. “Nope! Once Carrie made the offer, I figured it just made sense. This way we don’t have to worry about coordinating with you when we come back… and you don’t have to plan around it.”

“Well… thanks!”

Car followed them into the house. His mother pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “I didn’t think you had it, so I put Uncle Mick’s phone number on the fridge. If you need anything, or if you get tossed in jail or burn the house down or something, you can call him. I have no idea how easy it’ll be to get in touch with us, so he’s your guy.”

Car counted on his fingers. “Jail. House fire. Uncle Mick. Got it.”

His father said, “I’m not going to give you the ‘no wild parties’ speech, kiddo, since I know I don’t have to. Right?”

“I think you just gave me the ‘no wild parties’ speech, dad.”

“Hm. So I did.” He grabbed his wife around the waist, pulled her close, and grinned. “Y’know, Carson, you mother and I have decided that you not coming with us is… just fine.”

Car smiled, rolled his eyes and made gagging motions with his finger in his mouth. His parents laughed.

A horn sounded outside. Carson helped his folks load their bags, hugged his father, hugged and kissed his mother, and stood in the driveway until the shuttle took his parents up the street and out of sight.

A little thrill passed through him. Home alone!

He went inside, got a can of Doctor Pepper soda from the fridge (hi, Uncle Mick), threw himself on the couch in the living room and turned on the television.

Two weeks. Now what?

Well, first up, he had a party to go to.

Alex looked at the plate of ravioli and marinara sauce on the table in front of him and was glad he had chosen a dark shirt for the evening. Note to self: Italian food equals bad choice for first date.

Heather said, “Is it all right?”

He raised his eyes and took her in. Her thick, long strawberry blond hair glowed in the dim light of the restaurant. Her blue eyes shined above her smile.

“No, yeah, it looks fantastic.” He grinned. “I was just thinking I’m glad I didn’t wear white.”

She chuckled. “Oh, so you’re a sloppy eater?”

“I don’t think so…” Alex held up his fork and inspected it. “What is this thing, and how do I use it..?”

“I guess if it’s too complicated, you could just tip the plate up and let the ravioli slide into you mouth..?” She expertly deployed her own utensils to spin spaghetti onto her fork. Alex admired how she didn’t overload the fork; he had never quite mastered the fork-spoon method with spaghetti. Minimizing the chance of a food faux paus was one of the reasons he had ordered the ravioli.

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I can learn to use this thing… all the other cavemen are doing it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They laughed.

“So.” Heather tore a dainty piece from the bread in the basket. “Tell me about your interview.”

“Oh, right! It seemed to go okay… I guess. He didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t have a whole lot of experience. I had to take this test.”

“Like what?”

“Basically a multiple-choice thing on music and movies.”

“How’d you do?”

“Aced it. Music’s no problem, and we’ve had Showtime on cable for, like, forever, so I’ve seen a lot of stuff.”

“Great! Did he give you any clues about..?”

Alex shook his head. “Nah. Told me he’d call me by Wednesday one way or another. I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

“Pinnacle Records would be so much better than Hagar’s.”

“Totally. But it’s not really the record store — it’s the video department.”

“Still!”

“Absolutely.” Alex rolled his eyes. “I’d rather clean the bathrooms at Pinnacle than sling fast food at Hagar’s, any day.”

“Well, I hope you get it. Sounds cool.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

They both ate a few bites. Alex felt like he should keep the conversation going. Things just weren’t as smooth between them as on the night they met, and that worried him a little.

“So… tell me about your work.”

She laughed. “Please. It’s a bank.”

“Well, still. I’ve never worked in a bank. Do you like it?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I don’t really think about it, you know? It’s just a job; someplace to make money to pay bills.”

Alex remembered something from their marathon conversation. “A step toward the child psychology thing?”

“Well, I guess.” She dabbed her bread in marinara sauce. Alex thought she looked a little uncomfortable. “I guess a real first step would be going back to school.”

“What’s keeping you?”

“You get a job so you can move out and live on your own… then you have to work to keep your apartment… and I don’t want my whole life to just be work and school, you know? I still want to hang out with my friends, go out with a nice guy…” She smiled and Alex grinned back at her.

“Well. I don’t want to keep you from your career path or anything.” He laughed.

“Don’t sweat it, believe me.” She met his eyes. “I’m right where I want to be.”

“Likewise.”

Except that wasn’t quite right. There was something off about this whole night; the whole date, and Alex couldn’t figure out what it was. It was distressing. What if their one night of full-on emotional connection was just a fluke?

He could tell she was feeling it, too… or, rather, not feeling it. She seemed tense. Probably because he was tense. Maybe it was all in his head; maybe he was trying to force the whole thing into something it wasn’t, or at least wasn’t yet.

It was too complicated, and it didn’t need to be. Shouldn’t be.

“Earth to Alex,” Heather said. “Where’d you go?”

He laughed, ashamed to be caught. “Sorry. I… look, are you nervous? Because I am.”

Her eyes widened with relief. “I am totally nervous.” They both laughed. “I mean… Monday night was so awesome…”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to top, I guess.” Thank God she felt it, too. Just knowing helped him relax a little.

“I bet we will,” she said. Her smile was sly.

Alex loosened up and went with it. “I bet we will.” His watch beeped at him. “We better get over to the movie theater. Probably be a line…” He signaled for the check.

They paid and walked to Heather’s red Honda Civic. Heather stopped before walking around to unlock the driver’s side door.

“Alex.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t really want to go to the movie.”

“Oh!” This was it. Dinner proved their connection Monday night was just a fluke.

“No… I mean…”

She stepped close to him, put her hand on the back of his neck, and pulled him down to her. Her lips were soft and warm; her tongue was firm and electric and tasted just slightly like garlic. Alex wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. He felt his dick stiffen. Heather put her free hand on the small of his back and pulled him closer still.

It was a pretty awesome kiss.

When they broke, Alex said, “Hi…”

“Hi.” He could feel her breathing against his chest; he was acutely conscious of the pressure of her breasts beneath her bulky sweater. “Listen…”

“Yeah?” He was having a hard time pulling breath into his lungs.

“All I want to do… all I’ve wanted to do since Monday night…”

She paused; he took the opportunity to satisfy the urge to kiss her again. She moaned, the sound traveling directly from her throat to his. He pulled back and let her finish her sentence.

“All I want to do is take you home.”
…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

What happens in the middle of September? I’m taking another temporary position with the U.S Department of Commerce Census Bureau –a four to six week stint that promises to be forty hours or more per week, plus driving all over San Bernardino County. There won’t be time for much else!

So thanks for your patience… episode nine of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights: How It All Got Started” will be here before you know it. What do you have to look forward to? Well… Alex and Heather’s first date doesn’t turn out they way Alex expects, and Carson’s ex-girlfriend visits with a surprise to go along with the records she borrowed. It’s all in advance of the party at Preston’s house that will go down as a landmark in many people’s lives…

If you’re not reading “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” just yet… now’s the perfect time to catch up! It’s a free ongoing episodic serial featuring the life and times of several friends living in Southern California in the middle of the eighties. Start with the first installment, “First Monday of Summer, First Monday of Forever,” and be ready for the latest chapter early next week.

“Boy / Girl”
Lina Porter and Claire Glick lay on on the floor in Claire’s living room, propped up on their elbows, their respective high schools yearbooks open between them.

“What about this guy?” Lina followed Claire’s finger to a color picture of a senior (all the senior pictures were in color; everyone else rated only black and white.) He wore a suit on picture day, which Lina thought was a little presumptuous. His skin was pale beneath side-parted dark hair, brown eyes and bushy black eyebrows.

“You think he’s cute..?”

“Well… I don’t know.” Claire’s lips twisted. “He’s got nice eyes.”

“Nice suit, too,” Lina teased.

“Yeah… I know,” Claire conceded. “Your turn.”
“Okay.” Lina flipped through the yearbook. There were reasons she ended up with someone who didn’t go to O’Neil High; someone who had already graduated. These boys…

“Lemme see…”

Claire bumped Lina’s shoulder with her own. “Eric’s not in there, loser.”

Lina laughed. “Thanks, bitch. I totally didn’t know.” She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out. “Fine.” She jabbed a picture with her finger. “What about him?”

Lina chose a kid whose wardrobe choice for picture day was a rumpled striped dress shirt with most of the buttons undone. His blonde hair was sloppily spiked, he wore eyeliner and his smile was completely confident.

Lina saw her friend’s eyes widen. “That is totally unfair.”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember him from junior high? Fuck me sideways.” Lina smiled at her friend’s latest favorite curse as Claire shook her head. “I bet he doesn’t drag that backpack full of Dungeons and Dragons books around any more, does he?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so. I forgot about that. You think he’s cute?”

“Totally unfair. Totally unfair. Does he like you?”

Lina chuckled. “We don’t really hang out.”

“Lame! I mean, he’s right there…”

“Your turn.” Lina yanked her yearbook out from under Claire’s nose. “You’re getting it all drooly.”

“Fine.” It didn’t take Claire long to find the next candidate. “This one’s totally unfair, too. Mega.”

Lina looked. Long straight dark hair that flowed past the shoulders of a light tee-shirt. Gentle eyes. Full lips hinting at an uncertain smile.

“You confuse me,” she said. “This is your next choice after mister suit?”

“That was just a warm up. This… this is the real deal.”

Still not really Lina’s thing, but she could see the appeal. This guy looked like he was actually really nice, and maybe a little bit like he needed someone to take care of him. “So… why’s it unfair? Does he have girlfriend?”

Claire sighed. “He never will. That’s what’s so wrong.”

“You mean..?”

Claire probably didn’t know she was making goo-goo eyes at the picture. She sighed again. “Totally, totally gay.”

Lina giggled. “Aw, honey…”

“Yeah. I’m a lost cause.”

“Well… at least he’ll never break your heart.”

“He’s alive and he will never, ever, ever go out with me,” Claire moaned with exaggerated drama. “He breaks my heart every minute of every day.” She dropped her forehead to the book and jerked her shoulders. “Waaaaah!”

“Lemme guess,” Lina drawled. “You guys met in drama class.”

Claire’s head popped up. “Well, duh.” She resumed flipping; performance over.

Lina stopped her. “Who’s that?”

“These are the freshmen, Lina. As if.”

“No, seriously… what’s up with that one?”

“You mean the way he looks? Some bone thing he was born with. He hangs out with my friend Mel; they’re nerdy to the max, but they’re cool.” Claire closed her yearbook firmly and sat up. “I don’t think we’re going to find you a new boyfriend this way.”

The tiny picture of the strange boy lingered in Lina’s mind. She focused.

“Wait. Is that what we’re doing? Besides, don’t I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, do you?” Claire frowned. “He’s creepy, Lina; I swear to god. And you told your parents you broke up with him, anyway.”

“I only did that so I wouldn’t be grounded.”

Claire pointed a finger. “But he is creepy! You don’t deny it! Ha!”

“He’s not creepy.”

“He worships the devil.”

“He does not!”

“He tried to get you drunk so you would suck his cock.”

Lina couldn’t deny that, but the sight of Claire nodding her head and saying, “Yep. Yep. Uh huh! Yep,” was too irritating for life.

“I wanted to get drunk! Besides, he didn’t force me, or anything.”

“Ugh!” Claire made an “L” with index finger and thumb and put it over Lina’s forehead. “He’s a Looo-zer, Lina. You could totally do better.”

“Oh, like falling for someone who doesn’t even like girls?”

Claire’s eyes narrowed over her smile and she shook her head slowly. “Oh, you are so gonna pay for that, bitch.”

Lina closed her own yearbook and sat up. She sighed. “So how could I do better, miss advice columnist?”

Claire got serious. “First things first. Break up with Eric Finn for reals and for true.”

“Why do you want me to break up with him so bad?”

“Honey, everyone wants you to break up with him. Wake up! Why isn’t he going with someone his own age? Why’s he have to go with a high school girl? L – O – S – E – R!”

Lina was so tired of everyone picking on Eric. Doubt nagged. Was that why she went out with him in the first place; because he was kind of an underdog? Or just to piss everyone off?

Damn it, she knew he was a dick. But…

Claire was doing the nodding thing again. “You know I’m right.” She got up and walked over to the telephone. “Do it. Be strong, woman! Rarrr!”

“No way. I’m totally not breaking up with him over the phone.”

“Ah ha! But you are breaking up with him!”

“I dunno…” Lina stood up. “I should see him. Talk to him. I don’t want to be a bitch.”

“Aren’t you going to that party thing on Friday with Car? Who you totally should be with, by the way. Duh.”

“Car? We’re just friends.” Lina couldn’t help but think of the very brief time in eighth grade when that was not quite the whole story. She shook her head. “We’re good friends. That’s it. Are you going?”

“Bizzaro girl,” Claire muttered, then said, “I can’t. I promised my sister I’d go see… gag… Pink Floyd with her. Whatever. See if devil-boy’s going to be there. You can tell him then.”

Whether or not she broke up with Eric, the party would be the perfect excuse to see him without her parents knowing about it. And if she did go through with it, they wouldn’t be alone.

The fact that she automatically took that into account confused and frustrated her. She crossed the living room to Claire.

“Fine. Give me the phone.”

Alex slept in. Alex lounged around. Alex worked on his painting. Alex watched daytime television. Alex noodled on his guitar. Alex read.

In other words, Alex spent the third day of summer like it really was summer vacation. He could do this and his father could say nothing. Alex had a job.

Granted, the idea of working at Hagar’s made him cringe every time he thought about it and the countdown to his first day felt like a walk down death row. But it was a job, and it didn’t have to be his last job. Once he had a little money, his driver’s license and the car in the driveway was officially his, he would find something… anything… else.

Eight days to go… eight days until polyester shirts and a hair net.

It would be worth it.

The phone rang. Alex lurched off of the sofa and picked it up. “Yeah-lo.”

“Is this Alex?”

He’d never heard this voice over the phone before, but he recognized it instantly. “Heather?” He grinned.

“Yeah! Hi! I hope you don’t mind that I called. I was just on my break and…”

“God, no, I don’t mind! I was gonna try you tonight; figured you’d be at work…” Did she think he wasn’t interested because she had to call first? He could have at least left a message… crap…

“No, that’s totally okay; I am at work,” she laughed, “so you figured right. I’m just on my ten minutes and so…”

“And so you called me! I’m glad. How are you?”

She had a throaty laugh, with a lot of breath behind it. “Rested, finally. I went to bed as soon as I got home from work yesterday; slept straight through to this morning.”

“Wow. Sorry if yesterday was rough for you…”

“Not even. I… it was totally worth it.”

That gave him a little thrill. “For me, too. That was… it was totally new for me.”

“Me too.”

They found themselves in a little eddy of uncomfortable silence. Alex shooed his butterflies and said, “So… we should, um, have a real date.”

“Yes!”

“Um… What about Friday?”

“Yes again.” Laughter.

“Damn, you’re too easy!” Alex winced. “I mean, not easy… I mean…”

“I know, I know! Are you… nervous?”

Hell yes. “I guess so. A little. I mean, we spent a whole night baring our souls to each other, but talking on the phone, it seems…”

“I know. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.”

Another silence threatened. This time Heather beat it off. “So let’s go see a movie.”

“That works!”

“How about that one with the guys from Saturday Night Live; the one with the blobby things..?”

Recognition clicked for Alex. “Ghostbusters? Yeah, I think it opens that day. That sounds like fun.”

“Fun is good.”

“Fun is good. See that? We’re in sync.”

Heather chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Before Alex could explore the subtext there, the phone clicked.

“Damn… I’ve got a call coming through. Do you…”

“Oh, it’s cool… I should probably get back to work, anyway. Call me on Friday afternoon with the times and stuff… I mean, you can call me before, if you want, but…”

“I will! Hey!”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you called!”

“Me too!”

They said their goodbyes and Alex tapped the hook to switch over to the other line. “Hello?”

“Alex! Hey!”

Alex was surprised at how quickly his up mood flattened at the sound of Angel’s voice. “Oh… hey.”

“I haven’t heard a peep from you since you came by Monday, my friend.” She sounded cheery. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Talking with Angel was like a conversation with the anti-Heather. He should have ignored the call waiting, even if Heather did have to go back to work.

He could tell Angel picked up the vibe. “Oh. I just haven’t heard from you…”

“I’ve been busy. Trying to find a job.”

“How’s that going? Any luck?”

“I got one.”

“Um… okay. You gonna make me play twenty questions?”

Alex blurted one of his own. “How’s Mike?”

Angel’s voice was level. “Okay. He’s kind of a trip.”

“Really.”

“Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just busy.”

Angel didn’t say anything. Unlike the silences with Heather a few minutes before, this wasn’t awkward for Alex. On the contrary, it was coldly satisfying to know Angel was floundering.

“Hello…?” she said.

“Yeah. I’m still here.”

“I… I guess I thought you’d tell me what was keeping you busy.” She sounded hurt and confused. “You know. Like a friend does.”

“Sorry. I probably should go.”

“Yeah.” Full-on irritation now. “You should. Talk to you whenever, Alex.”

“Later.”

Alex hung up. He realized he was seething.

He also recognized that Angel probably thought he was a full-on asshole. If she didn’t understand…

Alex shook his head. If she didn’t understand, she was blind. How obvious could he be, riding his bike all the way to her freaking house just to see her? When had he ever done that before? Didn’t she get that it meant something?

Whatever. He had a date with Heather, a girl he’d known for a cumulative total of less than twelve hours that felt like twelve years. Let Angel have her surfer jock. Alex knew it wouldn’t last.

The phone rang again. Angel..?

“Hello?”

A man’s voice; relaxed, with a slight drawl. “Hi, can I talk to Alex Kent?”

“This is Alex.”

“Alex, this is Sam Martin, manager of the video department at Pinnacle Records. Do you think you could come in for an interview this week?”
…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

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When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

Alex knew there wasn’t much to look at, since he’d never had a job before. What was taking the guy so long?

“Hm. So…” The manager pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and tapped the application. “Just out of school, eh? First job?”

“Well, I hope so.” Alex smiled through the lie.

The manager put the application down and covered it with plump, white fingers. “Why do you want to work for Hagar’s, Alex?”

Dear sweet God in Heaven, the last thing Alex wanted was to work at Hagar’s. He was tempted to tell the truth and shut the whole thing down… but he needed a job. Any job.

“Well… I have friends who worked at fast food jobs.” And they hated it, and got the hell out as soon as they could. “I think it would be a good experience.”

The manager — Alex had already forgot his name and didn’t want to seem rude by glancing at the name tag pinned to the guy’s left breast — nodded slowly.

“What do you think your duties would be on an average day?”

The question seemed so obvious, Alex was momentarily confused. He covered by putting on a thoughtful expression. He imagined a day in the life of a wage slave. He pictured himself in the maroon polyester shirt, the cap, the brown slacks, sweating behind the counter. He felt like a cornered animal.

“Well, I guess… taking orders, making the food, cleaning up, helping customers… re… re-stocking..?”

“That’s about right,” the manager agreed. “It’s hard work, but it’s a good feeling to get people what they want. That’s the best part of the job.”

“I bet it is,” Alex said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. This made the manager smile.

“Oh, it is. And there’s a lot of room for advancement, if you decide you’d like to stay with the Hagar’s team for the long haul. It only took me six weeks to make manager, for example!”

“Really?” Alex looked impressed. “That’s… just another reason to hope I get the job, then!”

The manager laughed. “Well, Alex, your prayers are answered. I’d like you to start next Friday, if that’s okay with you.”

Alex flinched. “Really..?”

The manager seemed to interpret his dismay as surprise. “I know you probably weren’t expecting such a fast decision, but that’s how I like to run this ship, you know? Go with my gut.”

“Yeah…” Alex nodded. It didn’t have to be forever. It didn’t have to be forever. “Okay, thanks!”

“So you accept?”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

The manager held out his hand for Alex to shake. The flesh was warm and moist.

They stood up. “You get two shirts,” the manager said. “You have to provide your own slacks. Any dark brown shade is fine. Oh, and shoes, which should be black dress shoes.”

Alex was going to go into debt before he even started the job. Totally awesome. Maybe he could get his mother to spring for the clothes.

The manager squeezed behind the counter. “I’ll get your shirts.” He went into the back, leaving Alex alone with the kid manning the cash register.

Alex nodded to him. “I’m Alex. I guess I’ll be working here next Friday.”

“Bill,” the counter jock said. “Good luck, man. I’ll be outta here by then.”

“Oh… well, good luck to you, then, too…”

Bill laughed and moved off to take an order from the take-out window.

The manager came back with two shirts shrink-wrapped in plastic. “Here you go, Alex. These are Hagar’s property, so if you lose them or get them messed up, you’ll have to buy the next ones, okay?”

“Sure.” Alex took the shirts. “Thanks.”

“Welcome to the Hagar’s family,” the manager grinned. “See you next Friday!”

Alex left Hagar’s for the relative warmth of the mid-day June sun and walked to where his bike was chained to a lamp post.

Well. He had a job.

Whoopee.

Hagar’s was the third place he’d filled out a job application and the only one to interview him on the spot. Just his luck. There was a chance the toy store or movie theater might call him for an interview before next Friday, though. He didn’t need to abandon all hope.

“Fuck.”

He just didn’t want to work at a fast food joint. It was embarrassing.

There wasn’t much point in anything but to head back home. Still, no trip to Belltower Plaza was complete without going into Pinnacle Records. He didn’t really want to walk in there holding the plastic-wrapped Hagar’s shirts, though. He’d look like a dork.

Fate intervened in the form of a ratty but still serviceable Fargello’s grocery bag the breeze had stuck on the corner of a nearby parked car’s bumper. Alex appropriated it and shoved the shirts inside before he pushed through the doors of Pinnacle Records.

The record store was a kind of sanctuary for Alex. It was the size of a supermarket, with row after row of vinyl, a huge cassette section… even a classical music section in its own glass-walled room. One side of the store had been dedicated to tee-shirts, posters and “smoking paraphernalia,” but that had been replaced with a video department since Alex had last visited.

The booming, store-wide sound system blared what sounded like the Tubes’ “White Punks on Dope” sung in German by a harsh-voiced woman. Alex had no idea what he was hearing, and that was part of what was so freakin’ cool about Pinnacle Records.

He didn’t have any money, of course, so he browsed the aisles and admired the huge murals on the walls. He could tell all the art was custom-made; air-brushed stuff mounted on huge squares of foam core. He wondered if the artist was on-staff, or if they commissioned the pieces.

In the imports aisle, Alex checked to see if any new U2 or Alarm 12-inch singles had arrived.

“You like U2, you should check out the Virgin Prunes, man.”

Alex turned to see a tall, broad guy with a ruddy face and black flat-top haircut standing behind him. A Pinnacle name badge hanging from a lanyard around the employee’s neck told Alex he was being addressed by Frank.

“Oh… thanks. I hadn’t heard of them.”

Frank raised an eyebrow but nodded with no apparent surprise. “Yeah, both bands go way back. In fact,” he pulled a record out of the stacks and tapped one of the blurry figures on the cover, “it was this guy who gave Bono Vox his nickname.”

“Huh!”

“And this guy,” another tap, “is the Edge’s brother.”

“No kidding?”

“Of course,” Frank shrugged, “they don’t sound anything like your U2.” Alex picked up a little good-natured criticism there. “So you might not be that into them. It’s a lot more dark.”

Alex smiled. “I’m just browsing today, anyway… but thanks for letting me know. I’m gonna check them out.”

Frank carefully put the album back in it’s proper place in the stacks. “My pleasure.” He held out a big hand. “I’m Frank.”

Alex shook his hand. “Alex.”

“Nice to meetcha, Alex.” He pointed a finger at him. “Tell you what. Swing by next week, look for me. I’ll put together a tape of some Prunes stuff for you.”

Alex smiled. This place was built out of cool and the people who worked there were totally boss. “That’s — that’s really great. You want me to bring you a blank tape?”

Frank waved his hand. “Pshah. I work in a record store. Don’t worry about it.” He nodded. “I gotta get back to it. Catch you around, Alex.”

“Thanks again, Frank.”

Too fucking cool.

Alex resumed meandering through the store. He was a little surprised to see a “now hiring” sign hanging near the TicketMaster booth near the entrance of the new video section. If he hadn’t wandered over to that side of the store, he never would have seen it.

He realized he had never even seriously considered working at Pinnacle. Part of him assumed the store was fully formed, all one thing, and that the people who worked there had come included with the walls and floor and ceiling, built into the whole Pinnacle Records thing.

Of course, that was ridiculous… but would they ever hire someone like him? It didn’t seem likely.

How badly was he looking forward to wearing maroon polyester and a hair net?

Alex strode into the video department. He stopped short when he saw the woman behind the counter.

She looked like the daughter of Little Steven and a carnival fortune teller. Long strands of fuchsia, white, green and black hair flowed from the tight scarf that covered the top of her head. Her green eyes were framed with carefully drawn, over-the-top eyeliner that seemed inspired by Cleopatra. Her cheekbones were high; her face graceful and almost elfin. Huge, slender hoops dangled from her ears. The light, patterned shawl over her shoulders barely concealed the black leotard and the curves of her upper body.

Alex didn’t know where to look and where not to look.

“Um… do you… can I get…”

She favored him with a languid smile. “You want an application?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She handed him the sheet of paper and a pen. “You can fill it out here if you want. It’s slow enough. Just let me know if anyone comes around, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” What had happened to the rest of his vocabulary?

She went to the far end of the counter and left him to it. The application was pretty straightforward, especially since he didn’t have any previous experience. Under “Hobbies and Interests” — a section the Hagar’s application had not included — he put down that he was a guitarist, singer and painter. That couldn’t hurt, right?

After a few minutes, the woman came back. This time she was on his side of the counter. Alex tried not to stare at the sway of her black spandex and silk scarf-clad hips as she approached.

She held out a thin hand, fingers covered with rings of chrome skulls and flowers. “All set?”

Alex handed her the application. She gave it a quick look. “Hi, Alex. I’m K.C.”

They shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She turned and sashayed toward the rear of the store. She looked over her shoulder and waved. “Good luck!”

“Thanks…”

Screw maroon polyester.

To hell with that.

He really, really wanted to work at Pinnacle Records. Oh yeah.

Carson Meunetti loaded his bass and little Fender amp into the back seat of his Bug and made for the address Don Zensaulstein had provided, which turned out to be a house at the south end of town. The garage door had a regular door cut into it; this opened before Car was halfway out of the car.

A tall guy, with a shock of loose curls above his dark-complexioned narrow face, walked down the driveway. He wore a white tank top and big surfer’s swim trunks. His flip-flops slapped against the cement.

“Carson?”

“Hi — you’re Don?”

They shook hands. “Yeah. Glad you could make it.”

“Totally,” Car said. “Thanks for giving me a shot.”

Two others emerged from the darkness of the open door. Don indicated a pale guy with waist-length blond hair and slightly darker muttonchops. “This is Zane; he’s the drummer.”

Carson and Zane exchanged nods. Don put his hand on the shoulder of the diminutive, buff guy with the shaved head next to him. “Cary plays guitar. This is Carson.”

Cary stepped forward and shook Carson’s hand. “S’up.”

“S’up,” Carson replied.

Don started back up the driveway and motioned to the others. “C’mon in; we’ll talk for a little bit.”

Carson followed Zane and Cary through the door-within-the-door and into the garage. Inside, the garage was completely given over to practice and recording space for the Donny Zombie Murder Show. Carpet covered the floor, walls and ceiling. In the corners, egg-crate foam hung suspended in wooden frames.

There was a low riser for Zane’s drum kit against one wall. A man-sized stack of speaker cabinets topped with softly glowing electronics loomed to the left of the drums. In front of everything, Don’s microphone, an old-fashioned thing that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Ed Sullivan Show, perched atop a black stand. A wedge-shaped monitor sat just in front of that.

Opposite the band’s set-up, PA speakers hung from the ceiling. Wires and cables, carefully contained by well-worn duct tape, snaked from all the speakers and amps and into a tiny, glass-enclosed room in the far corner.

Jesus, these guys were totally pro. Car tried to hide how impressed he was.

Don indicated an old couch and a couple of folding chairs near the sound booth. He and his band mates took the couch; Car sat in one of the chairs.

“So,” Don said. “Tell us about yourself. How long have you been playing bass?”

“Well… not that long, honestly.” Car’s leg bounced with nerves. His put his hand on his knee and locked the impulse down. “A few months.”

Don shrugged. “That’s not that bad. It’s what you’ve learned in that time, right?”

“Hope so,” Car laughed. He glanced at the others; Cary was picking at his nails and Zane, who regarded Car directly, wore a nearly blank expression. “I… uh… I’m self-taught.”

Cary looked up. “How?”

“Playing along with the radio, mostly.”

Cary grunted and nodded.

Don smiled and carried on with his officiating. “How old are you, Car?”

“I’ll be eighteen in a couple weeks.”

Don frowned slightly. “Hm… that might be a little bit of an issue, since we play a lot of twenty one-and-over places.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Too early to worry about that. You’re out of school, though, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Zane spoke up. “Why us? Have you ever seen us play?”

“I haven’t, no… sorry.”

“So why us?”

“I know what kind of music you guys do,” Car said. “I’m into it.”

Zane looked at Don. “He’s into it.”

Don gave Zane a sideways grin with a hint of warning. “Whatever. We’re all into it.” He stood up. “Let’s get to it. We’ll get set up; Car, you want to bring in your rig? I didn’t see your amp…”

“Oh, it’s in the car.” Car stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Zane’s flat statement, “Cool,” revealed just how much he seemed to be looking forward to that.

Car went to his car, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the dimness of the practice room, and retrieved his bass case and amp. He suppressed the growing nervousness in his gut.

He went back in, bass case handle in his right hand and amp handle in his left. “Where should I plug in…?”

From behind his drum kit, the now-shirtless Zane stared. Cary looked up from fiddling with the knobs on his guitar and shook his head slowly. Don, a perplexed smile playing on his lips, scratched the side of his head.

“Dude,” Zane said, “are you fucking joking with us?”

Car wondered if Zane was the reason the last bass player left. “What..?”

Cary laughed. “Next!”

Don said, “Carson… do you have… ah… is that just the amp you use to practice with?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So… you have another rig, right?”

“A real one?” Zane added.

Car looked at the massive stack of speaker cabinets behind Cary. He flexed his grip on the little boxy amp hanging from his left hand.

Oh, shit.

I’m an idiot.

“No… I mean, this is it.” He tried to sound sure of himself. “This is what I have.”

Zane got out from behind his drums and put his shirt back on. “When’s the next guy coming in, Don? Do I have time to take a shit?”

Don looked at Car. “Yeah. You do.”

Zane walked out as if Car was already gone. Cary turned off his amp and effects rack and unstrapped his guitar. He placed it carefully on a guitar stand and followed Zane out.

Don looked at the floor and shook his head slightly. “Car… dude, this is totally my fault.”

Car hoped the interior of the practice space was dim enough to hide his burning face. “No… I should have… it’s cool. Thanks for having me down.” He turned and went out, back down the driveway and to his
car. Thankfully, Cary and Zane were nowhere to be found.

Stupid!

He put the bass case and practice amp back onto the back seat of the Bug and walked around to the front driver’s side door. He looked up to see Don coming down the driveway.

“Hey, Carson…”

“I’m sorry for wasting you guys’ time…”

Don laughed gently. “Yeah, well… whatever. Now you know, I guess…”

Carson laughed bitterly. “Yeah, right.”

“Dude, it’s cool.” Don looked at Carson over the roof of the Bug. “You want to play bass, play bass. Everybody fucks up, especially when you’re really into something, right?” He laughed again. “Shit, you do not even want to know about my first band…” He shook his head. “Anyway, you had balls to come down here.”

“Thanks.” Car opened the car door. “Better luck with the next guy.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” Don laughed without malice, and Car had to laugh as well.

“Tell the other guys I’m sorry for wasting their time.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Don said. “But… well, this is a pretty small scene. You probably haven’t heard the last of this, if you know what I mean.”

Car did. “Awesome.”

Don started back up the driveway. “Hey, it’s a character builder. Keep in touch, dude. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Car drove home in the blackest of moods. He hadn’t even been playing long enough to really built up his callouses yet; he barely knew how to play. Who was he kidding? He should have auditioned for that cover band… they sucked enough to be more on his level than Donny fucking Zombie. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

He got home to an empty house. His parents would be putting in some long hours before they left for Costa Rica on Friday. That suited Car just fine. He needed room to brood.

The answering machine blinked at him. He pressed the play button.

“Hey, um, Carson. Preston,” the machine’s ancient micro-cassette warbled. “I think I told you about the party at my place. Friday night, bring your own whatever, etcetera, blah-da-blah. See you there. Later.”
…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

The “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” fiction-by-subscription experiment can be thought of as a kind of literary start-up. In the world of start-ups, a great rule of thumb is “release early, release often.” That means, basically, that you throw your little fledgling ideas out of the nest and see which ones fly… and if you run out of babies, you make more. Making babies (or at least practicing same) is fun, so that’s okay!

My audacious goal on May 1st, 2009 was to have 1,000 paying subscribers to “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” within six months time. How did I arrive at such a figure? There was no market research… there was no comparison with similar websites. No one else was doing what I was doing.

So I reached into thin air and pulled out a number that looked pretty. 1,000 subscribers before the end of October… that was crazy! It got people talking. It got people thinking. Would a thousand people actually pay Selznick to read his little eighties soap opera?

By the way… in order to hit 1,000 paying subscribers in six months, at least six people would have to subscribe every single day, without fail, for 184 days. No skipping.

What Actually Happened?

In three months, the site acquired eighty paying subscribers.

At that rate, after 184 days, there would be…

One hundred and sixty two members.

Which means: at the current rate of growth, the site would hit 1,000 paying members in the summer of 2012. They tell me that’s right before the calendar stops having days on it at all… if you believe that sort of thing. Me, I don’t…. but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to wait.

Eighty People Wonder If I’m Quitting On Them

Hell no! I’ve simply come to my senses, is all.

See, apart from the mercenary reason, my other motivations for creating “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” included getting back to the serial fiction format and, above all else… to tell these stories. Lina, Carson, Alex and Crystal have been pacing back and forth in my skull for decades. Do you think I’m gonna shove ‘em back in there just because the website is hilariously short of its membership goal?

Wrong-o. I want readers? I’ll get readers… and in the process, I’m returning to a core principle that has served me, and many others, very well.

Give It Away Now

Effective retroactively with the release of installment number seven, “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is now available to all, for free. On August 1st, when you visit http://www.hazydaysandcloudynights.com, it will take you to a section of my primary site, http://www.mattselznick.com. That’s where the serial will live into the future… get a sneak peek if you want one! It’s just one part of a big site redesign going on in fits and starts over there.

What About Getting Compensated For Your Art?

I’m all about it.

In fact, by opening “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” to the eyes of the entire world, paying or not, I’m actually increasing my chances.

See, right now, as I write this, there are eighty wonderful people paying for the privilege of reading the serial. That’s eighty out of a possible… well, eighty… on a slow mission of accretion for the next three years I mentioned earlier.

On the other hand, in the same time that “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” has existed, almost 4,000 individual people visited mattselznick.com. If not even 5% of those people decide “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is good enough to compensate, that’s almost twice the number of generous folks doing so now. And there’s no real future upper limit.

When the serial moves over to mattselznick.com, you’ll see I’m encouraging people to contribute as patrons of my creative endeavors — endeavors that are not limited to “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights.” Folks that want to directly support my work on “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” can make a one-time contribution, or sign on to contribute automatically every month. More importantly, they can make those one-time or monthly contributions in whatever amount they choose.

No more set subscription rates. Is it worth $0.99 per installment to you? Is it worth $.025 per installment? Is it worth $5.00 per installment? $1.49 per month? $10.00 per month? The reader can decide. Maybe they really, really like a particular installment… they can contribute whatever they like on a one-time basis.

And, of course, they can pay nothing at all. That’s cool — in fact, I expect most people who read it not to compensate me for the experience. See, if thousands of people are reading it, I can afford that. If eighty people are the only ones in the room… not so much.

You Punk, What About MY SUBSCRIPTION?

Don’t be like that, Hazydazer. I love you.

On July 31st, 2009, I’m canceling all current subscriptions. Naturally, if you’ve signed on at the six month rate or the annual rate, it’s my hope you’ll consider the $9.99 or $14.99 a forward-thinking contribution toward your continued patronage of my creative endeavors.

If not, I’ll cheerfully issue a refund back to you via PayPal for the balance of your subscription. You must notify me at mwselznick@gmail.com before August 15, 2009 in order to get your refund! Did you get that? I’m serious.

When you write, try to use the same e-mail account you used when you signed up for your membership. If you know your hazydaysandcloudynights.com username, that’s very helpful, too. Want to make it really simple? Just forward me your PayPal subscription receipt!

If you decide you want a refund, here’s how it will work:

Please note that PayPal deducts a small service fee from all funds received.

I say again: If you want any kind of refund at all, I must hear from you at mwselznick@gmail.com before August 15, 2009.

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Thanks For Your Support!

This first round of the “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” experiment has been, frankly, amazing to me.

The amount of feedback and discussion in the comments threads for each episode to date has been downright thrilling to witness and take part in… and all those comments have been copied over to the serial’s new home, so our conversations are preserved and can continue!

To the eighty people who put down their money and to the more intimate group who participated so actively in the comments thread: thank you so much! You have made the first three months of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” a success. I can’t wait to see you over at mattselznick.com… I have many, many more stories to tell you!

Behind the wheel, Heather engaged the parking break. Alex turned to look at her. Her thick strawberry blond hair was in disarray and her makeup was smudged. She looked as tired as he felt, but her smile was as strong as his own.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said. They both laughed.

“Nice to meet you, too.” She studied him. Her eyes were pale blue. “Sorry I have to go to work.”

“I hope you’re not late.”

Her eyebrows went up and she sighed. “I’m not worried about that… I’m worried about being there on… on…”

Alex shrugged. “Two hours of sleep?”

“If I’m lucky.”

A moment stretched between them. Alex wasn’t sure if he was supposed to kiss her. He was too tired to know anything. He saw Heather’s smile falter a moment.

“You need to go to bed.”

“Yeah.” He unlatched the car door. “Maybe we can do something. Go on a real date.”

She nodded vigorously. “That would be good! I’m not sure if we have anything left to talk about, though, after last night.”

Alex laughed again. “That was really great,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“So… we’ll see a movie or something. Okay?”

“Soon.”

“Yes.” He pulled himself out of the car. His head swam a little. Sleep… “Yes. Soon.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Drive safe, okay?”

“I will. Autopilot.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye!”

He closed the door and watched her pull away.

Wow.

That was something.

Not long after Heather and Mindy arrived at Grant’s place last night, Grant allowed Mindy to drag him into the bedroom. That left Heather and Alex alone with the awkward knowledge that their friends would soon be making like bunnies on the other side of a thin apartment wall. Alex turned up the stereo and the two of them got acquainted.

Things were a little forced at first. Gradually, with the help of the beer and maybe (in Alex’s case, at least) just a little spurred on by the knowledge that the other people in the place were having sex, their conversation became easier. After an hour or two, Alex and Heather were completely engrossed in each other. Mindy’s periodic little yelps of ecstasy from the next room became something to laugh over and eventually ignore.

They talked for most of the night. When Alex saw that Heather was getting tired, he invited her to lean against him on the couch. He held her around her waist and she put her hand over his. Alex had been alarmed that the pressure of her body gave him an erection. If Heather noticed, she didn’t comment or act on it, and Alex found he didn’t really want that, anyway.

She was cute and felt good in his arms, but simply connecting with her as a person felt even better.

The latest hours of the night gave way to the earliest hours of the morning and Alex and Heather passed them in a limbo of talking and dozing. They shared a lot; it was easy when there was no history, no previous dynamic between them. They were new, unopened books.

Neither one had ever experienced anything like it. Both agreed it was something special. Unsaid was the understanding that their new connection had to be explored further.

Wow.

Alex unlocked the front door of his house and stumbled to his bedroom. He pulled off his shoes, socks and jeans, dragged the bedspread down from his bed and fell onto the sheets. His nightstand clock read 5:52. His mind churned with fragments of Heather that quickly dissolved into thick, indistinct dreams.

He jolted awake when something slapped at the bottom of his bare feet.

“What?”

He father’s voice was cheerful and smirky. “Time to get up. Early bird catches the job. And don’t forget to take down the trash.”

A rush of helpless anger pushed through Alex’s exhausted mind. “Why do you do that?”

“It works, doesn’t it?” His father was already leaving the room. “Get up. When I get home tonight, I want to know where you applied.”

Alex looked at the clock. 6:58. Barely an hour of sleep. He could try staying in bed until his father left for work.

No. For on thing, the foot-slap alarm clock put him in the most foul mood possible. It was the worst of his father’s “clever” tricks. It divided sleep from wakefulness the way a guillotine blade separated head from neck. There was no fixing the result. He was angry, he was awake and the bed was made of wrong sides.

Anyway, getting a job meant getting money and eventually the car that would give him some freedom. Freedom to… take Heather out?

Thinking of their long night sluiced most of the anger from his mind. He remembered the feel of her body against his. He tried to imagine what she was like under those baggy clothes. He felt so close to her — like they had compressed a month or two of relationship time in the space of a night — Alex was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before he found out.

Summer was going to be awesome.

Crystal Dubois pulled her 1974 Chevy Nova into the driveway behind Preston’s 280ZX. She was pleased to notice his mother’s car was absent. Sheila was okay, but Crystal wasn’t really in the mood to play the son’s sweet girlfriend. She’d been up since four in the morning.

It seemed like a good idea to take the opening shift at the bakery for the summer, but it was the second day and her body still wasn’t used to it. She just couldn’t get to sleep early enough. She was exhausted and irritable.

She glanced at herself in the rear view mirror. She hadn’t bothered with makeup since leaving the bakery, but at least there wasn’t any flour in her bobbed black hair. Good enough. She grabbed her purse and got out of the car.

The front door of Preston’s house was locked, but Crystal had a key — something Sheila didn’t know and wouldn’t necessarily approve of. Crystal let herself in.

Preston was on the phone.

“Yes. Right.” He looked up at her and smiled. His eyes were wide. He held up the index finger of his free hand. He spoke into the phone. “I know. “I — look, I’ve got company; I should go.”

Crystal hung her purse on the back of one of the dining room table chairs. She watched Preston, who spun to unwrap himself from telephone cord.

“Yes. That’s why I should go. Okay? Okay. I know. Bye.”

He hung up and blew air through pursed lips. “Sorry,” he said to Crystal. “Hi.”

Preston was naturally high-strung. He was a leg-bouncer; a nail-biter. He seemed even more jumpy than usual. Crystal squinted at him.

“Who was that?”

Preston’s thumb went to his mouth. He talked around the gnawing. “My cousin.” He pulled his hand free and shoved it in his pocket. “It’s good news, though. My mother’s staying with them this weekend. We can move the party to the main house.”

“Your cousin? Which one?”

“Bill. I don’t think you guys ever met. Unless it was last year, at the family Fourth of July thing..?”

Crystal remembered Cousin Ted, Cousin Carl, and Cousin Ursula. That day at the beach had been a long one.

“You don’t have a cousin Bill, Preston.” Crystal was too tired to put much energy into the accusation.

She was, however, alert enough to notice he didn’t deny it. “Well, then, who was it?”

Crystal could think of a couple of little teenyboppers, hangers-on who had wasted a lot of time waiting for Preston to break up with her. That tall skinny bitch Gail, or the one with the birthmark on her arm…

“You tell me.”

He gaped at her. “I did tell you. I can’t force you to believe it. That’s your choice.”

She shook her head. “I got three hours of sleep last night. I’m too tired to give a shit. Just… just… don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His voice rose with indignation. “I was talking on the phone, Crystal. Jesus fucking Christ…”

“You know what,” she said. She strode to the living room, turned on the television and threw herself on the couch. “Battle of the Planets” was on. Crystal watch dully while Preston hovered behind her.

“Well…” he said.

She kept her eyes on the television. Giant cartoon robot animals attacked a blocky city. G-Force zoomed in, rockets blasting.

“Well…” Preston said again. “You’re worrying about nothing. I’m the one who should wonder.”

Crystal whirled on the couch, her lips curling in irritation. “Um, what?”

“You’ve had your… dalliances, too, after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Um, what?” Preston’s mimicry was almost perfect. “Yvonne?”

Crystal laughed. “That was nothing, much to your disappointment.” She pointed at him and her smile became more loose. “You loved that.” She got off the couch and stood in front of him. Her perfect scornful expression was the result of a lot of practice. “No… you encouraged it. You wanted me to fuck her.”

Preston smiled down at her. “Yeah, okay.” He took hold of her hands. “It wasn’t cousin Bill,” he confessed. She tried to pull away, but he held on. “It was Tammy.”

Crystal relaxed. “Why didn’t you say so?” She knew Preston wouldn’t try anything with Ian’s girlfriend. Not only would it be bad form (you waited until your friends broke up before you made any moves), Ian would kick Preston’s ass.

Preston looked embarrassed. “You walked in; I’m on the phone with a girl. I automatically felt guilty.”

“Figures.” Crystal decided she believed him. This time. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to know if she should bring anything on Friday; if it was a dinner thing or a party thing. I told her it was a party thing.”

Crystal made a disgusted noise. “That means she won’t bring anything and Ian will keep all of his shit to himself unless somebody asks him.”

“Pretty much.”

Crystal scowled. “You think Ian will bring Mr. Wizard with him?”

“Eric? Probably.”

“That should be good for a laugh.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t approve.”

“Tch. He’s comedy. Total poseur. All that black magic bullshit.”

Preston shrugged. “He’s harmless.”

“Oh, you would think so.” Crystal shook his head. “He’s an asshole.”

“Well…” Preston tapped the side of his face with a finger. “It’s even better that we’ll have the whole house on Friday. You can ignore him.”

“Hm. So that part was true? Your mom won’t be here?”

“All weekend.”

“Good. If I have to spend two minutes alone with that asshole, I’ll kick him in the nuts.”

Preston laughed. “Okay…”

“I’m not kidding.”

He frowned. “What’s the deal? He never…”

She shook her head and waved her hand. “Not a chance. He’s just a creep, and he doesn’t think anybody knows it. Everything he says to me is, like, ‘oh, and we should go to bed together.’”

Preston’s eyes were wide and his mouth turned up. “He said that?”

“Not literally. But it’s there.”

“Wow.” He seemed more amused than troubled.

“Lay that territory down,” Crystal muttered. A little possessiveness, a little jealousy from Preston, now and then. Would it kill him?

Preston laughed. “I don’t need to. It’s obvious he’s not a threat.”

“Damn straight.” She moved past him and went to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. “I need to eat or sleep. Or eat and then sleep. Something. I’m in a rotten mood.” She found a package of hot dogs and a bag of buns. “Why is it the number of hot dogs never matches the number of hot dog buns?”

“Evil plot,” Preston said. He sat at the table while she microwaved a wiener.

“My favorite,” Crystal said.

“No one ever heard of a good mastermind,” Preston mused. “They’re always evil.”

Crystal put together her hot dog and sat across the table from him. “So what’s the evil plan for Friday?”

“Apart from keeping you away from Eric?”

Crystal grinned savagely as she bit off the tip of the wiener. Ketchup stained her lips.

“Bring it on.”
…to be continued!

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Thing was, she was feeling some of that dread. It would totally suck — no, it would be beyond suckage — if she was grounded on the first day of summer. The way her dad had been clamping down lately, though, she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

There were three soft, perfectly spaced knocks on her door. Lina knew it was her little brother.

“Come in, Tim.”

The door opened and Tim shuffled in, head down and to the left. His lips turned up in a very quick smile. “Lina.” He closed the door behind him.

She straightened her spine and put some cheer in her voice. “How’s it going today, big guy?”

Tim sat down on the edge of her bed and she joined him. He leaned in so their shoulders touched slightly. Lina gently pushed against him.

“Did you do something bad?”

Lina sighed. “Mom and dad think so.”

Tim shook his head. “You shouldn’t do bad things, Lina.” She felt him tense. “Bad things are bad.”

Tim didn’t react well to stress in the house. He was especially sensitive when it came to his big sister. Lina felt lousy.

“I know,” she said. “Sometimes…” How to explain this to him? He was just two years younger than Lina, but emotionally he was like a little kid. His brain didn’t work anything like most. He was an amazing little guy and Lina loved him more than anything else in the world, which made this all worse. She didn’t want to upset him.

She took a breath. “Sometimes it’s hard to know you’re doing something bad.”

This must have surprised him. He looked right at her. “It is?”

“Sometimes.”

His head went back down. “Wow.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

“Yes.” He pointed at the bedroom door. “Are you waiting for dad?”

“Yep.”

“Uh oh!” His micro-smile shined like the sun for Lina.

“We’ll see, big guy.” She had a hunch and walked over to her bedroom window. Her father’s Mercedes was just pulling into the driveway below. “Go butter him up for me, huh?”

Tim seemed to think that was really funny. He chuckled. “Okay, Lina.” He stood up, crossed to Lina to give her a light tap on her shoulder (his version of a big hug), and went downstairs to meet their father.

Lina waited until she heard Tim walk back up the stairs, past her door and into his own room before she abandoned the safety of her bedroom and went to face her parents. They waited for her in the living room.

Her mother had apparently filled in her father. He was barely through the door and got right to it. He didn’t even loosen his tie.

“Where were you today, Lina?”

She tried for a semi-truth first. “This girl, Tammy. I hung out with her and her boyfriend.”

“Where?”

“Ian’s place.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “And that is where?”

“San Juan,” she said. “That mobile home park. Y’know?”

Her mother was on the couch. “Why did you lie about what you were doing?”

“I dunno…”

Her father said, “Look at me.”

Lina met her father’s eyes. It wasn’t easy.

“Was Eric there, Lina?”

The reply was a mental flinch, automatic and feeble. “No.”

He shook his head. “We’ve got a lot of practice with you, Lina. Try again.”

It was no use.

“Yeah.”

Despite the fact they had both apparently already figured this out, Lina’s mother and father sighed and put on their best “very disappointed” faces.

Her mother sounded terribly sad and exhausted. “Lina…”

She didn’t say anything.

Her father’s face was stony. “This is the last time, Lina. We’ve told you how we feel about him.” He glanced at her mother, who nodded and looked at the rings on her hands. “You’re grounded.”

And there it was. Lina bit her lip.

“How… long?”

“I don’t know,” her father said. “Until we decide we can trust you again.” He looked at her mother. “How long will that take?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“But…” This was unacceptable. Not now. Not for the summer! She thought fast. “But… don’t you want to know why?”

Her father sat down next to her mother and finally loosened his tie. “We’re listening.”

“I… I broke up with him.” They didn’t say anything. She pressed on. “I hadn’t planned on it, but… when we got to Ian’s place…” She thought about the dishes, the bed, the bong, the general mess of Ian’s little trailer. “…he’s such a slob, and, and there was… there were drugs there…”

“Drugs?” Her mother paled. “Lina, this is exactly –”

“I know!” She nodded quickly. “I know! I just… I guess I had to see it all for myself. I… I just kinda…” She realized she was fumbling. She skipped ahead in the story she was playing out in her head. She thought about the vodka; what Eric had tried to get her to do…

The day had been emotional enough that she was able to channel that into her speech. “I broke up with him on the drive back to the mall. Told him I just wasn’t into that stuff.” At that moment, she believed it.

That probably helped. Her father looked at her mother. Some unseen parental telepathy thing happened, and he said, “I’m glad you came to you senses.”

She shrugged. “It sucked.” She cringed at the unintentional pun only she could understand.

“But you’re done with him?” Her mother asked.

“Yeah.” Was she?

“That’s good.”

Lina put her hands together, pleading. “I’m sorry I lied. I am. I’m — I can’t help pushing back sometimes… it’s a teenager thing; it’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” She smiled weakly. “It’s in all the movies..?”

They stared at her. Tough room.

“I’m sorry. But if I hadn’t seen him today, I wouldn’t have figured it out. Right?”

Her father nodded. “Go on.”

“So please, please, please… don’t ground me. Please. It’s… it’s summer.” It didn’t take any acting to bring the moisture to her eyes. She really, really didn’t want to miss summer. “Please?”

More parental mind-talk. Lina stood there, helpless.

Her mother said, “We’ll think about it. Go to your room until it’s time for dinner.”

On the way home, Carson made one quick stop at a convenience store to pick up Stuff and Things, a free weekly classified ads magazine. He zipped past his parents, reading quietly in the living room, and bolted up the stairs to his room.

He turned on his stereo. It was still tuned to the classical station, so he whirled the dial all the way to the right and found KNAC, the new wave station that seemed to have a better variety than its competition, KROQ. The Replacements’ “Color Me Impressed” filled the room.

Car threw himself on his bed and flipped rapidly through Stuff and Things. He found what he was looking for about three quarters of the way through. “Bands Seeking Musicians.” Car looked specifically for the ads seeking bassists.

He frowned. That wasn’t him. Looks? Maybe. Big hair? Not even close. Songs meant a lot, sure… but he’d never written one. Could you write on a bass guitar? Car wasn’t sure he was that much of a singer, and it seemed weird to write something for someone else to sing.

Chops a must. That settled that. Car knew he wasn’t that good. Not yet.

The idea of going on tour was exciting, but Car knew he was a long way from that. He’d only just decided and hour ago to find a band that would take him. Might be a good idea to actually play a little before he thought about how cool a tour would be. Driving around, seeing the country, meeting people (girls!), staying in hotels… it would be awesome, when it finally happened.

He made a mental note to check out Jaco Pastorius, whoever that was.

Car thought about this one. He’d heard the Cramps and the Misfits, and he liked that stuff well enough. He thought he could handle that. He called the number.

A clear male voice answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

“Hi… I’m calling in response to the Stuff and Things ad for a bassist?”

“Oh, right. What’s your name?”

“Carson. Carson Meunetti.”

“Hey, Carson. I’m Don. So what are you into?”

Car shrugged. “Just about anything.”

“S’cool. You ever see us? The Donny Zombie Murder Show?”

Car had seen their flyers around town, that was for sure. They were the biggest local band around. Pinnacle Records even sold their 7″ single. He smiled.

“Never seen you guys, but I know who you are.”

“Cool. So, you think you’d be into our kind of stuff?”

Car hadn’t heard their music. One of their flyers came to mind: a pen-and-ink sketch of a skeletal, rotting corpse with a flaming pompadour and a leather jacket bent over an old-time microphone. Dripping, horror-movie lettering.

Car shrugged again. What did he have to lose?

“Sure.”

“All right, then. We’re practicing tomorrow night. Swing by, and bring some beer if you want, ‘kay?”

Car suppressed Christmas morning excitement. “Okay! I’ll be there.”

Dan gave him directions — it was in town — and they hung up.

Car stared at the phone. Was it that easy?

“Hee hee..!”

On the radio, Sid Vicious’ cover of “My Way” started up. Car leaped for his bass, switched on his little amp, and hunted for the bassline. A couple minutes later he was satisfied that he was at least as good as Sid, so that was something. Would it be good enough for Donny Zombie?

The phone rang. Car immediately assumed it would be Tess, then bitterly swallowed that down. Dammit, Tess…

“Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been all day, Carson Meunetti?”

Car grinned. “Hello to you, too, Lina Porter.”

“Oh my god, you will not believe the day I’ve had.”

He laughed. “No, you will not believe the day I have had.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

“How’d it end up?”

“Well, I’m not jumping off any buildings, I guess. Tomorrow will be better… maybe really great, actually. You?”

“I came two inches away from being grounded for the… wait for it… entire summer.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Top that!”

“I’ll see you your ‘almost grounded’ and raise you a ‘Tess broke up with me.’”

“What!”

“Yeah.” Car told Lina about his afternoon.

“So you… wait, you passed up a trip to Costa freakin’ Rica so you could be with her, and she…” Lina groaned. “Car… that girl..!”

“Yeah.” His stomach hurt, thinking about it. “I know.”

“So what are you gonna do? Are you going?”

“Nope.” He smiled. “I’m gonna join a band.”

Quick and deadpan: “Don’t you need to play an instrument first?”

“Oh, hah hah. Clever. I’m getting better. Good enough, I think.” He told her about the lousy but earnest and inspiring garage band he’d heard, and the appointment to audition for the Donny Zombie Murder Show.

“Christ,” Lina said. “Eric loves those guys. He’s buddies with the drummer. Zane somebody or other.”

“Oh, yeah?” Car couldn’t keep his tone free of his general dislike of Eric Finn.

“Yeah… anyway, good luck and stuff. Do you want to hear about my day, speaking of Eric?”

“Sure.”

Lina told him an edited version of the day’s events. She’d known Car since forever, but she wasn’t about to go into certain details. She said she and Eric had a fight and skipped over the reason.

Car listened. “So… you’re not grounded, which is good. Are you really through with Eric?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Probably. I dunno.”

“Well…”

“I know, you think he’s an asshole.” Lina paused. “He kinda is. But that’s not the whole picture, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“Besides,” Lina said, “You’re all hot to go be in his favorite band!”

Car had to laugh. “Ya got me.”

Lina used a beat of silence to shift the subject. “So are you really going to do that?”

“What?”

“Audition for Donny Zombie.”

“Totally.”

“Okay…”

Car heard the skepticism. “What?”

“I’m just checking that this isn’t one of your trademarked things you do, a thing you get into for, like, a week.”

Car bristled, but had to give it to her. He tended to jump from one thing to another. For a while he was going to be a journalist. A poet. When Lina got into ceramics, Car started drawing. Everything kind of petered out.

“I really like playing bass.”

“Are you gonna tell those guys you’re going to school in the fall?”

“Yeah, why not? I can do both.”

“Okay…”

He laughed, defensively. “I can!”

“Okay, okay! I hope it works out, Car. Seriously. Maybe you’ll dump the whole law school thing and go be a rock star.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. My parents would probably keel over.”

“Can’t have that,” Lina said.

He loved her, but she was being a buzzkill. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re not grounded. Summer wouldn’t be any fun if we couldn’t hang out.”

“Oh my god, I know. Speaking of which, when are we?”

“Soon!” Car thought about it. “I saw Preston. He mentioned something about a party. If it’s happening, I’ll let you know.”

“Cool!”

They said their goodbyes. Car fought off the nagging doubt Lina unintentionally planted in him.

This wasn’t one of his things. He could do both. He could be in Donny Zombie and go to school; keep his parents happy and live a little bit of his own life.

He totally could.

“Save It For Later” by the English Beat rolled out of the stereo speakers. Car picked up his bass and dove in.
…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

She fought the smile that came to her lips. He came for her. He told Ian he’d take care of it.

Eric stuck his head out the open passenger-side window. “Need a ride, bobby-socks?”

The car, the music, Eric himself… she couldn’t deny the little thrill she got from the whole package. Lina reminded herself to be pissed off. She crossed her arms on her chest.

“You got something to say first?”

He grinned ruefully. “C’mon, get in. We can talk on the way. Clock’s running.”

That was very true. She put on her best pout and got in the car.

Eric pulled out of the gas station as soon as Lina closed her door. He turned down the cassette player.

“I guess I pushed it a little.” He kept his eyes on the road.

Lina looked at his profile. His lips lacked the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“A little.”

He nodded. “I got carried away.” Now he did smile, just a little. “You… you get me really hot, Lina.”

She felt herself flush. She put her hands in her lap and looked away from him, out the window. She didn’t know what to say to that at first.

“Thanks…” She sighed. “I just…”

“No, no.” Eric’s voice was soft and earnest and didn’t sound like him at all. Lina turned to look at him again. “It’s all right. We’ll take it slow.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “After all, anticipation is a kind of experience too, right?”

He looked at her and laid his open hand on the console between their seats. Lina wished she could see his eyes behind the sunglasses.

She put her hand in his.

“I guess so.”

Anticipation implied that something would eventually happen. She sighed again and looked out the windshield at the back of an Alpha Beta supermarket semi-truck ahead of them on the freeway. She thought about touching Eric, about what he had wanted her to do, and where that was supposed to lead. Was that what she wanted? Did she want that moment connected to Eric her whole life?

Maybe. Maybe it didn’t matter, the first time.

They were pretty quiet the rest of the way to the mall, but they continued to hold hands. Eric eventually pulled the Charger up to Sears, gave her hand a squeeze, and let go. He didn’t lean in for a kiss, and that was okay with Lina.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“Better not.” Lina thought about her parents. “I’ll… I’ll call you. Tomorrow.”

He looked a little hurt; uncertain. “Will you..?”

She smiled and got out of the car. “I will, hon. Promise.”

“Okay. Later.”

“‘Bye.”

He pulled out, cranking the volume on the tape deck as he did. “She’s My Angel” mingled with the rumble of the Charger’s engine.

Lina didn’t hang around to watch him leave the parking lot. She had to high-tail it to the other end of the Laguna Hills Mall, to where her mother was probably already waiting. She was totally late — not by much, but probably enough.

Lina slowed down as she went through the doors to the opposite parking lot. She didn’t want to act like anything was wrong. She could say her watch slowed down, or something, if her mother called her on it.

Her mother’s Oldsmobile slid up to the curb. Lina got right in.

Her mother glanced at Lina. “I’ve been driving around the parking lot, waiting for you.”

“Oh! Sorry! I guess my watch is a little off.”

Her mother nodded. “Did you have fun? How’s Claire?”

“Oh, sure, I guess. Claire’s… Claire.”

Her mother nodded again. They were out on El Toro Road now, which was heavy with late-afternoon commuters coming off the freeway. “I did some shopping myself, today. I needed to go to Ten East, but they’re only over at the Abbeque Valley Mall.”

Lina tensed.

Her mother continued. “Guess who I saw while I was there?”

Oh, shit.

“Mom…”

“Claire’s done her hair up differently since the last time she was over to the house, hasn’t she?”

“Mom…”

“Not now.” Her mother’s voice was hard-edged. “We’ll talk about it at home. After you father gets home.”

Carson sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes after Tess hung up. He was confused by the fact that he didn’t seem to have it in him to cry. He expected to be sad, to be heartbroken. There just wasn’t room for it. Frustration crowded his skull.

He’d had the rug pulled out from under his feet twice in one day. Hell, in one afternoon. At least with his folks, he’d managed to assert some control. He wasn’t going on their forced vacation / career-building opportunity to Costa Rica at the end of the week. His father had actually listened to him.

But Tess… that was a mind-blower. They had made plans. They had it all worked out, together… but she had tossed that aside for what she wanted.

He felt like he was all sharp angles and the air was made of tissue paper. His room felt small. He went into the hall; it felt small. He strode into the living room; it felt small. Everything around him, all the familiar surroundings of the house he’d grown up in, it all represented the perfectly defined regiment of his life, and it was making him crazy.

He heard his mother come up behind him.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said. “Your father filled me in.”

Carson turned around. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got a stubborn streak, which I appreciate, since you get it from me.” She opened her arms. “Come here.”

His mother gave him a hug, which always reminded him that he was so much taller than her. It didn’t match his mental image; he’d spent most of his life looking up at her.

“Thanks, mom.”

She lightly slapped his chest when they broke the hug. “Live your life, Carson — at least as often as life allows, that is.”

He laughed ruefully. “How often is that?”

“Up to you, I guess.” She turned for the kitchen. “I’m getting dinner together.”

Carson bit his lip. “Um… do you mind if I skip this one? I was gonna…” He had no agenda, no idea what he wanted to do, just that he didn’t want to be in the house for a while. “I was gonna go out.”

“Give ‘em an inch..!” His mother smiled.

Car drove a white 1971 Volkswagen Beetle that had been his uncle Mic’s. The car had seen better days, but Car liked it. It was his own little space. He was slowly covering the narrow dashboard with band stickers.

He headed up El Camino Real and hung a left on Avenida del Mar. He found a parking spot on Santa Ana lane and walked down toward the pier.

The sun was still a couple of hours from setting. A perfect breeze caressed Car as he trotted across Avenida Victoria and stepped onto the sand north of the pier. He sat on his haunches and watched surfers cross back and forth across the low waves.

The ocean attracted Carson. It seemed endless, and while the pulse of the waves was consistent and even predictable in general, the actual details were absolutely unrestrained. Only the sea knew the sea, and it didn’t appear inclined to self-inspection. It gave Car great peace.

First day of summer, almost over.

The intense frustration that drove him from his house gave way to melancholy. He shook his head. Very quietly, he said, “Tess. Fuck.”

He sighed and stood up, pushing against his knees. He meandered a little closer to the tide line and noticed two people he knew sitting in the sand. He waved when they saw him approach.

“Hey.”

Preston VanHart had shared a few classes with Carson and they’d partied now and then. He was a bud, if not a close friend. He pulled his sunglasses below his eyes for a moment. “Hey, Car. What’s up?”

“Chicken butt,” Car said automatically. “Hey, Crystal.”

Crystal and Preston had been going out at least as long as Car and Tess had. She put a hand over her brow and squinted. “Hey, Carson.”

Carson dropped on the sand next to Preston. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothin’,” Crystal said.

“Just hanging out,” Preston said.

Car wished he’d caught the lack of invitation in their tone before he’d sat down. He didn’t take it personally; these two just wanted to be left alone. Oops.

He adjusted his position on the sand as an intermediate move to standing he hoped seemed less awkward than just getting back up again.

“That’s cool. I’m just wandering around; saw you guys, thought I’d say hi.”

“Cool.” Preston’s smile warmed a little; he got that Car got it.

Car stood up. “Anything going on this week?”

Crystal shrugged and looked down. Preston said, “I’m thinking of doing something at the House of Back, maybe this weekend. I’ll call you.” No one could really say when the trend of naming their houses and other hang-outs started. In this case, Preston meant the small second unit in his back yard.

“Cool.” Carson looked back up toward the street like he had somewhere to go. “Take it easy, dude.” He nodded at Crystal. “See ya, Crys.”

“Later.” They said it more or less simultaneously.

Car wandered back toward his car. Those two were set, probably. He realized he’d be a third wheel around them from here on out. Truly, they had never warmed to Tess anyway, who they probably thought was not quite cool enough.

That was a little unfair. Tess was all business, at least if you didn’t know her that well. Preston and Crystal would be surprised if they knew Tess had taken to some of the music Car had shared with her.

He really wanted that record back. Was it the only one Tess had? He’d have to check when he got home.

He dug his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans. He was about to unlock the Bug when music drifted down the street, like someone was playing their stereo through open windows.

It was that Modern English song, except it sounded… wrong. Something about it made Car walk down the sidewalk, intrigued and inexplicably compelled.

He stopped short of standing in front of a narrow house; two stories stacked over a garage. The garage door was open slightly, hanging just six inches or so above the cracked concrete of the driveway.

There were people playing music inside that garage. A band, practicing.

How cool was that?

He couldn’t see anyone, but he could hear it all right. The whole street could hear it, but no one had come out to complain, apparently. That was a surprise, since this band was obviously still learning.

Car wasn’t judging. He was woefully aware of his own shortcomings on the bass guitar. In fact, he had to give whoever was behind that garage door some credit. Their missed notes and uneven beats were utterly exposed, even if their faces weren’t.

It sounded like there was a drummer, a bassist and an electric guitarist. Now and then a keyboard player tapped out the melody the lead guitar handled in the real version of “Melt With You.” Maybe that was beyond the garage guitarist.

No one sang. They just worked their way through, plowing past mistakes and missteps.

The Modern English version of the song ended with a fade out. These guys didn’t seem to quite know what to do about that. One by one, they each stopped playing until only the drummer was left to pound away with abandon. The almost-steady beat deteriorated into a cymbals-heavy drum solo until Car heard a boyish voice yell, “Enough with the Neal Peart bullshit!”

The drummer wrapped up with a brave if flawed flourish and there was laughter. Car grinned.

“All right, let’s do it again.”

The drummer clicked time on his sticks and they went at it again. The guitar was out of tune. The bass was too loud. The keyboard player was tentative. The drummer’s ambition outpaced his ability. All the same, Car stood there, unknown and anonymous, while chills ran down his back and goose flesh raised the hair on his arms.

Carson listened to the kids stumble through “Melt the World” four more times before he went back to his car with quick steps, grinning like a madman, eyes bright and wide. Plans caromed around in his head, gaining momentum and strength with every ricochet off the inside of his skull.

Alex and Grant played guitars together. They hoped to form a semi-acoustic group, maybe like the Violent Femmes or their favorite band, the Alarm. So far, it was just the two of them cutting their teeth on covers and a few things Grant had written.

Grant was two years older than Alex. A few months ago, he’d found a tiny one bedroom apartment not far from the boardwalk in Huntington Beach. The place was a grungy shoebox Grant treated like a palace. Alex was grateful his friend had a place that gave him a little taste of the independence he wanted for himself.

Another great thing about Grant was his fake ID and his refrigerator. Alex drank a Corona; Grant had a Heineken to pull from when he didn’t have a clove cigarette hanging from his lips.

They sat cross-legged on the floor with their songbooks between them and hammered out the Alarm’s “We Are the Light.” Alex didn’t think of himself as much of a vocalist, but it felt good to strum simple chords and sing simple words. Crap disappeared from his mind when he played, and to his ears he and Grant made pretty good music.

They finished up. Light applause and the sound of two female voices whooping it up came through the closed front door. Alex looked at Grant.

“Company?”

Grant sucked on his clove. The tip crackled and glowed. “Mindy.” He stood up and gently laid his guitar strings-down on the thin carpet. “I didn’t know she was coming by.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased.

Grant opened the door and his girlfriend leaned into him for a hug as she came in. Mindy was Alex’s age, just out of high school. She took what puberty had given her and used it to good effect, favoring tight jeans and sweaters. A few weeks ago Grant, with considerable pride, told Alex that Mindy had taken to sex like a duck takes to water. Alex had been mildly appalled at his friend’s attitude… and not a little envious. In all the time he and Eve had been together, she had treated sex like a necessary evil or a weapon. It would be nice to just do it for fun.

Mindy’s friend came in behind her. She had a round face and thick, straight strawberry blond hair. Her own sweater was as baggy and loose as Mindy’s was clinging. She smiled at Alex, who nodded to her.

Mindy said, “Heather, Alex.”

Alex nodded again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi.”

Mindy ran her fingertips across Grant’s chest as she moved past him toward the tiny kitchen. “Any beer left?”

Grant looked at Alex and rolled his eyes, but he had a smile on his face. “Yep.”

“Heather?”

“Sure, thanks.” She looked around. Other than the floor, the only place to sit in the small main room was a small couch occupied by Alex’ open guitar case.

He stood up. “Here, let me make you some room.” He closed the case and put it on the floor near Grant’s stereo cabinet.

“Thanks.” Heather sat down and smoothed her skirt. Alex thought she looked a little at sea, but to be fair it might be hard to do anything but tread water in Mindy’s wake.

Mindy came back from the kitchen holding two bottles of Corona. She sat next to Heather and handed her one. “Somebody was too busy playing rock star to do the dishes,” she winked at Grant, “so you’ll have to drink out of the bottle.”

“That’s okay,” Heather said.

Grant gave Mindy a crooked smile. “Somebody didn’t know he was going to be entertaining tonight, either.”

“I just can’t stay away, lover.” Alex watched Mindy put her lips around the mouth of her beer bottle. Heather lowered her head and shook it, ever so slightly. He caught her eye when she looked back up and they shared a very quick “can you believe it?” moment.

Heather said, “You guys sounded really good.”

“Yeah,” Grant said. “We sound great through doors and walls. The more the better.”

“Dude,” Alex said. “Take a compliment.” He raised his beer to Heather. “Thanks.”

Mindy leaned forward, pressed her breasts between her arms and looked at Grant. “Were you guys finished? What do you want to do?”

Grant looked at Alex, defeat in his eyes. Alex shrugged.

Grant tapped ash into an empty beer bottle. “Whatever!”

Alex tilted his head and took a drink. He brought his head back down. Heather smiled at him.

“Whatever!” Alex agreed.

…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

“Dad… it’s the first day of summer vacation. I’ll look for a job. I just wanted to take a few days to relax.”

“Start looking tomorrow,” his father said. “You’re going to be eighteen — an adult.” He was using his no-nonsense fatherly voice, a flat tone with the slightest edge and just a touch louder than necessary. “I expect all the adults in this house to chip in and pay their way.”

Alex bit his lip. He turned toward his father. “I know that, dad. You’ve said it before.”

His father nodded. “We’ll figure out how much you can contribute once we know what you’re bringing home.” He glanced at Alex’ painting and frowned. “Getting a job is your first priority. Got it?”

Alex’ mother came up behind her husband. “Oh.” She sounded disgusted. “It’s the job thing again.”

“Yes.” His father glared at her. “Some of us have to work.”

This was well-tread ground. Alex saw his mother’s eyes narrow. “Bringing in a paycheck isn’t the only thing that keeps things running around here. Alex can help in other ways.” She gestured at her son. “And what about college? He needs time to go to school.”

His father smiled thinly and said to Alex, “The only way you’re gonna get to college is if you pay for it yourself. So you might as well get a job.” His face opened up, apparently pleased this logic also perfectly matched his demands. “You can go to class when you’re not working, so long as you keep up on your responsibilities around the house.” He shrugged cheerfully. “Don’t like it? Move out and see if it’s any better. That’s real life.”

His mother shook her head. “Dinner’s ready.” She turned away, back down the hall. “Cash only, in advance.”

Alex’ father rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Alex. Starting tomorrow, early, hit the pavement.”

“Right.”

With a short nod, his father left.

Alex sighed. What a totally awesome first day of summer.

He cleaned his brushes. His father had introduced the “get a job, you bum” speech two years ago, when Alex turned sixteen, but it hadn’t had any traction because Alex was still in high school and couldn’t drive. The school thing was out of the way, and part of his father’s deal was that Alex could have the old Ford Pinto wagon sitting in the driveway… once he found a job, that is.

Alex could not wait to finally be mobile. It would change everything. All he had to do was avoid being rear-ended in the stupid car, which supposedly tended to explode. That was an acceptable risk if it meant getting the hell away from his father whenever he wanted.

His mother called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s getting cold!”

The phone rang, which provided much better motivation to go to the front of the house than having dinner with his parents. He got to the receiver before his mother.

“Hello?”

“Hey dude. What’s going on?”

Alex felt a thin hope that his day might at least end on a high note. “Grant, hey. Nothing much. What’s up?”

“Let’s hang out. I’m over at my parents; I can be there in ten minutes.”

Alex saw his father saunter down the hallway. His mother stood next to the stove, face tense and eyes dark.

“Thank you,” Alex said.

Grant snickered. “Another fun day at the homestead?”

“Oh, totally. Fun all around, all day long. It’s been totally jewel.”

Grant drew out a long, “Great,” and chuckled. “Pack up your guitar, dude. I’m on my way.”

Lina felt exposed and conspicuous stomping along on the shoulder of the road down the hill from the trailer park. Cars flew by. What if one of them was her mother?

She knew that was ridiculous. The chances of her mother driving on that particular road at that particular time were next to nothing, but she still fought the urge to cringe with every car that passed.

“Get a grip, Lina,” she muttered. “Just walkin’ down the street.” She bristled. “You’re not a little girl.” She raised her voice above the whine and rumble of the traffic. “You hear that, Eric Finn, you asshole?”

After trudging through the dirt, weeds and trash for ten minutes or so and getting her shoes totally scuffed and the hem of her skirt filthy, she came to a gas station. Thankfully, she correctly remembered the phone booth there. Even better, she discovered it actually had a working phone in it, and the trash on the floor wasn’t too disgusting.

Lina had all of three nickels and a dime in her tiny purse. Enough for one phone call. She bit her lip and thought about it. Who had the best chance of being home?

“Carson.” She nodded her head firmly, dropped the coins in, and dialed his number.

It rang. She let it ring. Six times. The answering machine should have picked up. He must be on the line, which was fine… he’d hear the “call waiting” beep and click over.

Ten rings. “C’mon, dammit…” Fifteen rings. She watched an old Chevy Nova pull in, a cool-looking chick with bobbed straight black hair get out, go into the station convenience store, come back out, pump her gas, go back in for her change, come back out, get back in her car, and leave.

Lina lost track of how many times the phone had rung.

She groaned and hung up. Her coins jingled into the coin return and she scooped them out. “Thanks, Carson. Not an important call at all. Feel free to ignore it.” She rolled the coins in her palm. “Hey, awesome, I’m totally talking to myself. Neat.”

She thought about who else to call. Clair was out, since Lina was supposed to be with her, at the Abbeque Valley Mall. Who would be home on a Monday afternoon on the first day of summer vacation?

Rhonda.

She dropped the coins back in and dialed. The phone rang three times.

“Hello?”

“Uh…” Lina was thrown. The voice sounded old, fragile, far from Rhonda’s brassy tone. She thought she was screwed, but pushed on. “Um, is Rhonda there?”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Definitely old lady voice. “There’s no one here by that name.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I dialed the wrong number…”

“That’s all right, dear. You have a lovely day.”

Click.

She stared at the receiver. “You too.”

And that was it for her change. No more phone calls.

She stepped out of the phone booth and crossed her arms on her chest. This was totally fucked up.

A motorcycle growled into the gas station. She knew that sound.

Sure enough, there was Ian Pinchley with Tammy Uchio holding on behind him. They pulled up next to a pump. Ian shut down the bike and he and Tammy dismounted.

Lina called out as she walked over. “Hey, wow, small world.”

Tammy, who had shaved her head since Lina had last seen her, stared at her for a moment before recognition kicked in. Even then, her expression didn’t change all that much. Ian smiled and shook his head.

“Eric send you out for snacks?” He laughed.

“No, I walked out on his ass,” Lina said.

Tammy squinted at her. “You had a fight.”

“Yep.” She looked at Ian. “Look, I really don’t want to have to deal with him, but I’ve got to get back to the mall—”

Tammy’s eyebrows went up. “The mall.”

Lina knew the drill. Tammy was laying down her territory by being just slightly condescending. She ignored the older girl as much as she could, but knew the rest of her sentence would only give Tammy more to play with.

“— before my… mother’s there to pick me up.”

Ian kept grinning. He was enjoying this. “Your mother.”

Lina sighed. “C’mon, Ian. Gimme a break.”

Ian handed Tammy some cash.

Tammy shook her head. Lina stared at her bare skull. It was actually a good look; she had to give her that. “You go,” Tammy said.

Ian shrugged, still smiling. His blue eyes glittered. “You go, I pump. I go, you pump.”

Tammy glanced at Lina, then glared at Ian. “Jesus.” She snatched the money out of Ian’s hand and crushed it in her fist. She strode over to the gas station’s cashier window.

If Lina hadn’t been so stressed, she would have enjoyed the fact that Tammy seemed to consider her a threat. That was something to tuck away for later. Right now…

“So? Can you give me a ride?”

Ian’s grin twisted a little. “There’s only room for two on the bike. I’ll have to drop Tammy off at the trailer and come back.”

Lina didn’t mind hanging out at the gas station a little while longer. “But you’ll do it?” She looked over at Tammy, who finished up with the cashier and was headed back.

Ian started pumping gas. “Just chill here for a while.” He finished up and got back on the bike. Tammy got behind him without a word. “Just hang out.”

He started the bike. “Okay,” Lina hollered. “Thanks!”

She watched them drive away. Ian was a sarcastic asshole, but he was probably all right.

Lina walked back over to the phone booth. She decided her outfit was too messed up for her to care. She leaned against the dirty glass.

Depending on boys sucked.

Carson sat up on the bed. “Excellent! Let’s talk. How was your day?”

He imagined Tess on her own bed, tangling a finger in her frizzy auburn curls. She said, “Fine, I guess.”

“Mine was cool… until my parents hit me with this thing,” he said. “They wanted me to take off and go on a business trip with them — totally tried to hijack my summer. I convinced my dad it was more important that I stay here.”

“But why? Where was the trip?”

“Costa Rica.”

“You passed up a trip to Costa Rica?” He heard her click her tongue. “Why would you do that?”

Car was confused. “Well… part of the reason was I didn’t like being told. Not asked.” He sat up straight. “Plus, I wanted more time with you, before… you know.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t say anything else. Carson swung his legs around so that he sat on the edge of the bed. Confusion was beginning to turn to something worse, like yellowing on the edge of a photograph.

“Oh?”

She sighed. “You should have gone, Car. When are you gonna get another chance to travel like that? I would have done it.”

“You would have? What about… you wouldn’t have stayed?” He didn’t say what he was thinking: You wouldn’t choose hanging out with me for a little while longer?

Another beat of silence.

“Are you there?”

Tess said, “This is why we need to talk, Carson.”

Car found he was on his feet. He turned to untwist the phone cord from around his waist. “What?”

“Well… I mean, we’re going to be really busy this summer, getting ready for the fall. There’s so much to do before we both leave.”

“I guess…”

She sighed again, short and sharp. “I think we should break up.”

Car knew they’d have to break up at the end of the summer, when fortune took them to different coasts and different colleges. He had envisioned a bittersweet couple of months, the slow farewell, driving her to the airport, letters and phone calls to blunt the edge from the inevitable until finally their high school romance became a life-long adult friendship.

Tess wasn’t following the plan.

“What? I don’t — why now? We’ve got all summer!”

“I know… but it just doesn’t make sense to draw it out, honey. It’s, like, taking off a Band-Aide, y’know?”

Car shook his head. “No, I… what? That would make us, like, some kind of scab, or something. Is that how you see it?”

“No. Of course not.” She sounded a little exasperated. “I thought you’d get this. It’s the practical thing to do.”

“Screw practical, Tess! We love each other!”

They’d said it before in the ten months or so they’d been together. Carson had never felt it as strongly as he did now that it was being discarded.

“I know we do,” said Tess. “That’s… that’s why I think this is best. It’s less painful for both of us.”

The phone clicked. Someone was calling on the other line. Too bad. This was way more important than anything else right now.

“Less painful?” He barked a tight laugh. “Seriously?”

“Look,” she said. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m not gonna have any time for stuff like this. You’d just get pissed at me.”

He shook his head. “We never talked about this. In fact, we talked about all the things we were going to do, our last summer.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The call waiting clicked again and again. Give it up!

“Car?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you okay with this? I think it’s the right thing to do…”

“You think so? What about me? What about what I think? What about what I want, Tess? Does it matter? Does what I want make any fucking difference?”

“Car…”

“Jesus! Last week… you remember? We sat on the grass and planned it all out. We had the summer all figured out, Tess — we did it together. Remember? We did it together.”

“I know… but I started to think about it…”

“But you didn’t tell me! I had no clue!” Alone in his room, he didn’t care so much when the tears blurred his eyes. He refused to let it reflect in his voice. “I just passed up a totally cool gift from my parents so I could have more time with you — so we could stick to the plan!”

The other line went on clicking.

“Is it too late for you to go..? I really think you should go, Car.”

“Yeah, I guess you would think that. Thanks for deciding that for me, too.”

“Damn it, Car!” She didn’t mind letting her own tears drain into her tone. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Right on target. Car melted. “I don’t hate you, Tess.” He sniffed. “How could I hate you? But we’re going to be right here, in the same town, just like always, for another three months, practically… why shouldn’t we, just, do what we planned?”

“I’m not going to be around, Car… I’m sorry. It’s not as simple as you — you’re just going up the freeway. I’ve got to figure out a whole new life, in New York, too… how different is that gonna be? I’ve got a lot to figure out, a lot to plan.” She sniffled as well. “I won’t have time for us. I wish I did.”

Car sighed and wiped his nose. He couldn’t believe it. He was already resigned to it, though. What choice did he have?

What choice did he ever have?

“You there?” She sounded small.

“I’m here.” She was small. Petite and smooth and perfect and… shit. “So… will we see each other at all before you go?”

“I — yeah, we’ll have to…”

“Don’t make it sound like a hassle,” Car snapped. He immediately regretted it. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got some of your books. And that Stiff Little Fingers record…”

“Oh, yeah.” He wanted that record, but it would probably be a while before he felt like listening to it, now. He tried to be okay. “So… what’d you think of it?”

“I liked “Gotta Gettaway,” she said.

So did he.

Damn it.

“That’s a good one.”

“Yeah.”

More silence. Whoever had been trying to call gave up.

Carson listened to Tess breathing.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I guess we can figure that out, eventually.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Another twenty seconds of nothing later, Tess whispered, “Good-bye, Carson,” and hung up.

…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.

Music, Books and Movies From This Installment

When you purchase the books, movies or music mentioned in this installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” from Amazon.com, I receive a very small commission (about 4% in most cases) that does not affect the price of the item. In fact, I will benefit from any purchase you make when you visit Amazon.com from the links below, so feel free to have a shopping spree to support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights!”

Alex reacted to such things by pushing back. He went for it. “You,” he said to Angel. “We were talking about you.”

“Really?” Angel set the tray on the porch. She bent down and handed Alex a glass of iced tea. “Should I be flattered?”

Alex found it difficult to meet her big, dark brown eyes. “Yeah. Probably, I guess.” He took the glass and saw her smirk.

“Probably?” She pivoted and bent at the knees to get Mike’s glass and her own. Alex caught himself checking out her narrow hips. He focused on his drink.

Angel turned to Mike. “What about it, Mike?”

Mike took his iced tea. “Thank you, Angel.” He shot his flat smile at Alex. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“You don’t say.” Angel turned and looked at Alex, one eyebrow raised and a hand on her waist.
“That’s not what I –”

“Uh huh.” Angel’s expression didn’t change. She nodded slightly.

“I said we look out for each other.” Alex shrugged. “Like friends do.”

Angel sat down on the swing next to Mike and said to him, “Alex is my best friend.” Alex felt a rush of validation and an out-of-nowhere, stomach-clenching rush of alien hope that was as surprising as it was embarrassing. “He does look out for me.”

Alex raised his glass in a little salute. He quickly moved the glass to his mouth to cover the fact that his lips were quivering. It was a nervous reaction that had plagued him since childhood. He hated it.

“I guess you can’t knock a guy for that,” Mike said.

Mouth tight and under control, Alex lowered his glass and took in the two of them.

As expected, Mike managed to get his arm on the back of the swing, not touching Angel but claiming her just the same. Angel’s body twisted just slightly toward him. Her right knee touched his left leg. She didn’t pull away.

That about did it. Alex took another quick sip of his tea, sat the glass back on the tray, and stood up.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” he said in a rush. “Long ride back.”

Angel’s “Oh, you have to?” was automatic.

Before Alex could answer, Mike casually raised his hand behind Angel. “Later, ‘gator.”

“Yeah, I have to,” Alex said to Angel. “You’ve got company.” He was already off the porch and getting on his bike. “Call me later if you want, if you feel like it.”

“Totally,” she said.

“Later.”

Alex got off that yard and down that street and out of Angel’s neighborhood.

Stupid waste of time. Stupid. Stupid.

Alex was the guy the girls confided in. He was not the one they wanted to do anything with, not unless they were so damn needy and screwed up that being with him was a by-product of his taking care of their problems.

That had sure as hell been the story with Eve, his girlfriend from his sophomore year right up to the beginning of this year. His role had been to keep her comforted and confident and as close to sane as she could be. The many times they briefly broke up, she quickly found someone hotter than him to throw in his face until she came back around… and he always, always took her back. If her parents hadn’t moved across the country, Alex was sure he’d still be running that maze.

Angel had been his shoulder through that whole mess, and he had been there for her own various soap operas. To think they were supposed to be anything else… could be anything else…

Stupid.

Alex got home, gave his mother a quick hello nod where she puttered in the front yard, and retreated to his bedroom. He paced in the small space between the foot of his bed and his closet. The long ride had not drained his irritated, frustrated energy. He felt like his nerves were pushing along the underside of his skin: hard, stiff coils of aimless rage.

Back and forth. On the left, a half-finished oil painting waited for him on its wooden easel. On the right, his Fender acoustic-electric guitar sat propped against a small bookcase.

He snatched up the guitar, fell back to sit on the edge of his bed, and swung the instrument onto his lap. His left hand, restless and nomadic, formed quick chords against the neck. He tapped the strings above the soundhole with his right hand, rhythmic and tense.

Alex sighed quickly. The guitar went back against the bookcase. He was in a real rut with that thing. Everything he pulled out of the instrument felt boring and simplistic and dead. He couldn’t pick it up without over-thinking. Right now he didn’t want to think.

He stood in front of the painting. It was a collection of loose, open swirls of red and blue. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to.

That would do. Get lost in doing nothing for a while. Put the day’s misguided expectations into the canvas and turn everything else right the fuck off.

This worked to relax him for a while. He barely registered the activity in the rest of the house as his mother moved around and his father came home from work. He just moved paint from tube to palette to canvas.

Then his dad opened the bedroom door — he never, ever, ever knocked — and said, “Hey. How many job interviews did you go on today?”

Car looked at his mother and father in turn. His mother’s face was tight with irritation. His father’s grin was freeze-dried by the ultimatum.

Car felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Friday morning? You’re cutting my time with Tess from three months to three days?

His father shrugged. “Look, I’m not telling you to break up with her before you leave. That’s up to you.”

Car jabbed his index finger, raw and stained from bass practice, at his father. “But you are telling me I’ve got less time with my girlfriend just because you decided I have to go with you.”

His mother’s voice was cold. “This trip is meant to be a gift to you, Carson. Show some gratitude.”

Car jerked to his feet. “Gratitude? Are you…” Frustration threatened to overwhelm him. He retreated to his room with quick, stiff steps. His limbs felt like they were made of steel rods.

His father’s hand slapped against the bedroom door and pushed it open.

“Carson.”

Car backed away from the door to let his father in. Ted Meunetti stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Car retreated another step and the back of his legs met the edge of his bed. He crossed his arms on his chest and glared at the floor.

“Carson.” His dad placed slight emphasis on the first syllable.

“What.”

“This isn’t how we thought you’d take this. I’m confused.”

“Yeah?” Car kept his gaze on the carpet. He willed himself to force a shutdown on the cycle of anger and frustration that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He would not cry like a fucking kid. He would not.

“Yeah,” his father mimicked without cruelty. “If I’d had an opportunity like this when I was you age, I’d be packing my bags right now. Counting down the hours.”

That was it. That was motherfucking it, right there. Car’s jaw clenched. He pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth until mouth opened. He took a deep breath. Then, he could speak.

“You are not me, dad.” He looked at his father.

“Of course not. But I — your mother and I both — we’re trying to give you every possible opportunity, every leg up we can, so you have everything you need to succeed. This trip is part of that!” His father spread his arms. “Just the people you could meet — my God, Car, these are the type of people you could work for after college. Think of that.”

Car snorted. “Beach babes?”

His father pursed his lips and tilted his head. “You know it won’t all be that — you’ll want to meet some people, folks who can help you later on. It’s called networking, Carson.”

“Help me with what? My career? I’ve been out of high school for, what, seventy two hours, and you’re writing my resume for me?”

The words pushed out from his heart, flowed up his throat and filled his mouth. He let them out. “I don’t want help with everything, dad. I don’t want it all planned out. I don’t want the push. I don’t want…”

He turned away; bit his lip.

He felt his father behind him, silent for a half a minute. Car focused on the dust on the corners of the blinds hanging from his bedroom window.

Finally, his father said softly, “What don’t you want, Car?”

Car closed his eyes briefly, let out a long breath, turned back to his dad and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Look,” he said. His father sat down on the bed next to him. “I — I am grateful. I know you guys have expectations. I mean, I want to go to school, I want to study law…” He looked at his hands; felt the hard-earned ache in his fingers from practicing the bass all day.

“Right…” His father prompted gently.

“I’m gonna do all that,” Car said. “It’s a given. I’m going to do everything you guys expect of me.”

Which meant going to his parents’ school, following his parents’ career path… none of which was entirely against his will. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to change the world, and he believed he would.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” his father said.

Carson smiled slightly. “Yeah. ‘But’ you guys make me feel like… I dunno… like you have everything mapped out so well, there’s nothing left for me to find on my own.”

Saying it all brought Car great release and great dread.

His father nodded. “Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re so damn smart, kiddo. You’re like an arrow, and the bow’s been pulled back as far as it can go.”

Car frowned. “No pressure, dad. Thanks.”

His father grunted, a short laugh, a small concession. “Okay. I think your mother and I worry about that arrow hitting its target once it’s in the air.”

“Does it matter where it lands?” Carson shook his head; carrying the metaphor felt silly and forced. Sometimes his father couldn’t help but talk like this. Car played along. “I’m gonna make a mark, no matter what.”

He was. Fuckin’ aye, he was. Car had no doubt about this.

His father put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it,” he said. “So… why not Costa Rica? It’s two weeks, Car. You’ll remember those two weeks the rest of you life. You will.”

“It’s not Costa Rica, dad.”

His father met his eyes. Nodded. “It’s not having a choice,” he said. “Right?”

“Kinda. I feel like a slot car.” Great. Now he was doing it. He was his father’s son, lucky him. He smiled at himself.

His father smiled, too. “Nice one.”

“Not really.”

They laughed.

“I just want this summer to just… be,” Carson said. “Y’know?”

“Yeah.” His father clapped his hand against the back of Car’s head and mussed his hair a little. He stood up.

“Okay.”

Car looked up at his dad. “Okay?”

Disappointment was still there, but his father shrugged and smiled again. “Yep. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Car looked at the door. “What about…”

“I’ll talk to your mother.”

Carson nodded, a little dazed. “Thanks, dad.”

His father sighed. He opened the door. “Have your summer.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Car made fists despite the pain in his hands. He raised them above his head and let out a restrained, “Yes!”

He rolled across his bed to the telephone on his nightstand. He dialed Tess.

“Hello?” She had a high voice that matched her diminutive frame. It made him smile.

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

Car turned on his back and stretched. He felt tremendous. Free. “Let’s do something tonight.”

“Aw…” Regret in her tone brought Car down a notch. “I can’t, tonight. But… I’m glad you called, Car.”

“Well, that’s good! I’m glad you answered.” He laughed.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have some time? We need to talk.”

Lina looked at Eric carefully. She felt a distinct separation from herself, as if her awareness was a fraction of an inch removed from her body and her thoughts a split-second behind her actions. She felt compulsively precise.

She was drunk.

She laughed.

“I’m gonna help you?”

Eric smiled. He had thin lips. His dark eyes gleamed. Lina focused on the laugh lines that spread from the outside corners of his lids. “If you want,” he drawled.

“I’m confused,” she said.

“That’s understandable,” he said.

She wagged a finger at him. “I’m not done!” She picked up her Road Runner glass, swirled the ice around, put it back down. “Why should you be the one who gets to make the laws? How would I help… and… why should I, anyway?”

Eric extended an index finger from a loose fist. “First: because experience is power, and you need the experience.” His thumb unfurled. “Second: you do it just by being what you are.”

She liked that. She closed what little distance there was between them on the narrow bench. “Oh yeah? What am I?”

He pointed his finger at her and dropped his thumb: bang. “You’re new. Young. Inexperienced.”

Lina’s eyes widened with half-feigned indignation. “Inexperienced!”

Eric leaned back against the bench. “Obviously.”

“I’ll show you inexperienced, Mister Finn.”

Lina leaned forward and kissed him. His narrow goatee tickled her lower lip. His tongue slipped into her mouth. It was a pointed, crowding, welcome invasion, though the sensation was blunted somewhat by the numbing effects of the vodka.

The sensation of distance made making out a little like a wanna-be out of body experience. The idea of being her own voyeur was exciting.

Eric broke the kiss and moved his tongue along her jaw. He nipped at her neck. His tongue traced circles around the contours of her ear, sending a line of hot intensity straight into her belly and lower still.

Her throat surprised her when it released a little low groan. The spontaneity of her own body’s reactions fed her excitement. She strained to get closer to Eric, but the space between the table and the bench made everything awkward.

Lina figured Eric felt the same frustration, because he pulled away from her. They were so in sync!

He looked at her. His eyes were hooded and dark. “You want power?” His voice was husky. “You want the experience?”

She wanted a lot of things. She nodded.

He slid out of the bench, cleared a space on the table, and leaned back against it. “Come out here.” He motioned to Lina and guided her until she stood in front of him. “Better.”

He put one hand on her ass, another behind her neck, and pulled her toward him. They kissed again. Lina loved the feel of the stiff mystery in his pants and ground against him playfully.

The hand on her ass moved up to the short hair at the back of her neck. HIs other hand found its way between them. What was he..?

He broke their kiss and pushed himself up to sit on the table, which creaked but held. “Time for experience,” he whispered.

Lina looked down. There was Eric. No more mystery.

She had only ever seen pictures. The real thing was gross and fascinating and strange and compelling all at once.

He took her hand and guided it toward him. She resisted automatically.

“Wait.”

He let go. She was almost touching it. She stared. He was… twitching, or… bobbing?

“Are you…” She almost giggled. “Are you doing that?”

“Not deliberately.” He shifted on the table. “Touch it.”

“For the experience?” The distance was back. She wanted another drink, but her glass was on the table behind Eric. It was mostly melted ice by now, anyway.

“Sure.”

She brushed, barely, against the head with the tips of her fingers. It was very smooth. Her stomach quivered.

She looked at Eric. His eyes were closed. He exhaled.

“That feels good?”

He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on her hand. “It feels like it’s going to feel good.”

She watched his face and wrapped her hand around him. He was warm; simultaneously firm and slightly yielding. Her mind tried to relate the feeling to something else and failed.

She squeezed slightly. His hips bucked and he slid in her grip. He grunted. Surprised, Lina let go.

“Kneel down,” he said. “Kiss me.”

That didn’t make sense to her at first, but then she got it. She was both irritated at her brief confusion and suddenly scared.

She let out a nervous laugh. “Whoa, cowboy. I…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if I’m…”

Lina glanced down quickly. His dick twitched. It was purple, alien… angry? She moved her gaze to his face and kept it there.

“I mean… Ian and Tammy, they’ll be coming back…”

Eric’s face clouded. “We’d hear him coming. That’s not it.”

Lina flinched. “Why…”

“This is the way it works, Lina. You want to experience things?”

“I do, Eric, but…”

“Look.” He smiled, but she knew it was too late. He was pissed. “You wanna be a little girl, all safe and sheltered like your daddy wants?” The smile flattened. “Or, maybe you want to grow the fuck up? I don’t need to hang out with a child, Lina. Is that what you are?”

The vodka was past being fun and well on its way to upsetting her stomach, which was tight from the threat in Eric’s words. She felt dizzy.

“No, Eric… I’m just not… I didn’t want it to be…”

“To be what? It’s all experience, Lina.” He snorted. “What, you want a big bed with rose petals on the sheets? You think it’s like in some stupid video?”

Automatically, images from Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” played in her head. Comparing what she wanted to that stupid song… it made her mad enough to be strong.

“No! But…” She cast her arms around the squalor of Ian’s trailer. “This?”

He glanced down at his flagging dick and back up at her. He shook his head, shaming. “If you’re not willing to grow up, you can find your own way home.”

“Are you serious?”

His expression was a mix of challenge and contempt, ready to tip all the way in either direction.

Her fists balled at her sides. “Jesus! Fuck you, then!”

She was out of there, gone from the trailer park and halfway down the street before the mixed fuel of anger and the necessity of making a scene burned out.

How in the fuck would she get back to the mall in time for her mother to pick her up?

…to be continued!

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They did their best to live and love and grow across the epic, unprecedented years at the end of the twentieth century.

If you ask Car or Lina, Alex or Crystal or any of their friends, lovers, rivals and peers, they’ll say their story began in the middle of the eighties, in those hazy days and cloudy nights in San Clemente, Laguna Beach, Dana Cove, Abbeque Valley and all those little beach cities and planned communities in south Orange County, California.

With clarity and perspective earned through time and experience, each would point to their own particular moments when childhood at last began to blend into tentative, stumbling adulthood and their lives got going.

There’s a lot that came before, but this is how it all got started.

Alex Kent woke up on his first post-high school Monday morning knowing exactly what he wanted to do with his day.

He wanted to see Angel.

He saw her Friday, the last day of school, forever (for him; for the summer for her.) He talked to her on the phone for a bit on Saturday, like they often did. There was little risk of losing touch with her over the summer. She was his closest female friend.

Not a girlfriend. Just a friend who was a girl.

And yet…

Lately, Alex had a vague sense of something shifting when it came to Angel. Today, for whatever reason, the shift felt more like a fast slide, heels first, ass bumping fast on the grass.

Huh.

Eleven days away from his eighteenth birthday and still frustratingly without a car or a license, Alex got on his twelve-speed bike and pedaled. And thought.

Maybe it was the graduation thing. Granted, it still felt to Alex like just another summer vacation, but he knew it was not. There was no more school, not unless he wanted it, and with his grades and lackluster attendance that meant junior college for a year or two. His father’s half-serious prodding for him to get a job escalated to a dedicated assault from the moment they got home from commencement ceremony. Life was about to begin. Adulthood beckoned. Or threatened.

Or something… bottom line was, it was in sight.

Maybe it was just Angel. They could talk for hours. He had stacks of her letters and notes from the last two years. He smiled and felt a little quiver in his belly that was not unpleasant. There was no denying she was stacked to the ceiling… and she had those big, dark eyes.

Alex pedaled down the Abbeque Valley Parkway bike lane and thought. The miles slid by. He turned down her street and braked in front of her house.

Angel was on the covered porch. Someone was with her.

“Alex!” Angel stood up and walked across the small yard to meet him. “What are you doing here?”

At school, they hugged with the same frequency his friends gave each other high-fives, or the finger. There was no hug vibe today.

“I was in the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, right!”

“Well, I was once I rode here. How’s it going?”

The other person on the porch stood up and was revealed to be some dude Alex didn’t know. A big dude. He had at least a foot on Alex, which made him a foot and a half taller than Angel. His sleeveless sweatshirt was a broad square of gray cotton across his chest. He was blond, like Alex, but this guy’s hair was sun-dyed yellow-white.

Angel made introductions. “Alex, meet Mike Dante. Mike, this is Alex, who is, like, only one of my best friends in the world.”

Alex shook hands with Mike Dante. Mike applied a touch more pressure than absolutely necessary, just long enough to send a message. He wore a friendly, empty smile.

“How’s it going.”

Mike’s eyes carried the same confident challenge Alex had seen on so many jock-ass bullying fucks. “It’s been going great,” Alex said. Silently, added, “until you showed up.”

Alex met Angel’s eyes when she looked from one guy to the other. She squinted and smiled, both ever so slightly.

“So are you on your way somewhere?”

“Nope. First day of summer — first day of everything. Thought I’d come see you.” Unsaid: it’s the first day of the rest of my life and I chose to get on my bike and haul ass halfway across town to see you.

“Well, I’m honored, Mr. Kent.” Her voice was light. A little confusion leaked through her smile.

Alex was a little confused, himself. What brought him here, again? Who was this guy?

“So… how do you two know each other?”

Mike said, “Angel and I go to the same church.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Mike nodded. “Where do you go to church, Alan?”

“It’s Alex.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry.” Another smile-challenge. “So, where?”

“I don’t, really.”

“Oh.” Two letters, one vowel, one consonant, one syllable and about a ton of subtle judgement.

Angel said, “I tried to get Alex to come to mine…”

“Kinda far.” Alex reckoned it was almost twice as far from his house as the distance to Angel’s house.

Where he had ridden his bike today.

To see her.

Mike tossed a few strands of straw-hair off his forehead. “But you’re a Christian, right?”

“Sure.”

Alex and Angel exchanged a small smile. Alex remembered praying with her for their friend Rod, who everyone thought was under attack from a couple of witches at the school. It was one of those super-dramatic times that bring people together, even if it had all been in their over-active, hormonally-charged imaginations. Probably.

Mike put himself slightly between Angel and Alex. “That’s cool,” he said. “Just not much for church, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s cool.”

Some uncomfortable silence in the front yard, then.

Angel bounced toward the house. “The iced tea should be ready. I’ll bring some out. You guys, like, get acquainted.”

Pretty much at the same time, Mike enthused, “Awesome!” and Alex jauntily said, “You got it!”

Angel went into the darkness of the house. Mike and Alex stared at each other.

“Let’s go sit down,” Alex said.

“You’re probably tired from riding your bicycle.” Mike’s condescention was so precise, he might have said “tricycle.”

“Not really,” Alex said. Lame!

They sat. Alex ended up on a ratty folding chair. Mike claimed one side of the porch swing. The open space to his left was the only place for Angel to sit when she returned.

Alex felt stupid and small and increasingly pissed off. Again: why did he come here?

Mike glanced toward the house. Angel made noise in the kitchen. Mike nodded at Alex.

“You remind me of… what’s that thing, the wire with the fuzzy stuff on it?”

Alex shook his head. He knew this asshole was trying, really hard, to insult him. “I don’t know.”

Mike shot a thick arm at him, index finger first, and snapped his fingers. “I got it! A pipe cleaner! You remind me of a pipe cleaner.”

Less than two weeks from being the age when he could vote and get drafted and be tried for bloody murder as an adult, and Alex was being insulted — poorly — by a stupid cross between a surfer and a jock. He might as well be a freshman again.

Was that what post-high school meant? You start over, back at the bottom, only now the entire world is ahead of you?

His number one defense mechanism activated. Alex smiled. “A pipe cleaner,” he repeated evenly.

“Yeah. A pipe cleaner.” Mike nodded. He had his own smile in place, that cheerless, menacing, territory-grabbing smirk. “You guys are just friends, you and Angel. Right?”

“She’s my best friend,” Alex said. He hoped his tone carried a warning. He doubted it would penetrate.

“Well, then, you’d be happy for her if she got together with a nice guy.” Mike stretched his arms across the back of the porch swing, poised to encompass Angel’s narrow shoulders when she inevitably sat down.

“All she has to do is find one,” Alex said.

Alex heard Angel coming out. Surprisingly, Mike’s arms shot down and his hands folded in his lap. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he came across. Jerks like him never were.

Alex smiled at Angel. She carried a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses on a tray. She glanced at both boys and Alex was sure she had the score.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Carson Meunetti’s ears were getting smarter.

The first time he tried to tune his bass guitar, he used the cheap pitch pipe that came with it and tried to do what he read in a Mel Bay instructional book. He was baffled.

The pitch pipe’s lowest note was a bland honk that bore no resemblance to the smooth but undoubtedly off-tune note that came out of the little practice amp when he plucked the “E” string on the bass.

He kept turning the tuning key, blowing through the pitch pipe, turning, blowing… until the damn string snapped like a coiled metal whip.

For a while after that, Carson settled on tuning the bass to itself. E-string, fifth fret equals open A-string, fifth fret on the A equals open D and so on. He was sure it was off, but bass strings were expensive and besides, he didn’t want to risk losing an eye or getting sliced up by another broken string.

The breakthrough came when he bought some sheet music for U2′s “New Year’s Day.” He had the record, “War,” so there was finally a frame of reference, even if the band tuned their instruments a half-step off. Car adjusted.

The first Monday of summer, Car sat crouched on the edge of his bed and practiced tuning his bass and training his ears to know a low “E” when he heard it. He was almost there… no pitch pipe required. No more over-tuned, suddenly snapping, life-threatening metal cables, thank you very much.

Next step? Get the bleeding blisters on his fingers to harden into callouses. The only way Car knew to do that was to keep playing. His fingers were stained green. The strings of the bass were stained red.

Car gritted his teeth and played along with the radio. When a commercial came on, he tuned in a different station and tried to keep up with whatever was playing. The music didn’t matter.

This is why he was hopelessly fumbling around in a futile search for a bass part to some long, unknown classical piece when his mother knocked on his door.

“Yeah,” Car called. He hadn’t heard her come home. He glanced at the digital clock radio on his nightstand. It was just after one o’clock. Early.

She cracked the door and stuck her head in. “Hey, kid. Making progress?”

Carson sucked on his fingers and spoke with mouth full. “Kinda.” He pulled his fingers out, shook his hand and grimaced. “I’m getting that whole pain-gain concept.”

“That’s how that works,” his mother agreed. “Take a break. Your dad and I have a proposition for you.” She nodded briskly and disappeared.

Car found both his parents in the living room, sitting on the couch.

“Didn’t expect you guys for a few more hours. What’s up?”

“Sit down, Car,” His father smiled and beckoned to the opposite couch.

Car did so with a half-smile of his own. “You guys are scheming.”

“That we are, kiddo,” his mother said. “That we are.”

His dad, still grinning, leaned forward and put his elbows on the knees of his slacks. “So here’s the thing. Your mother and I have been asked to attend a conference in Costa Rica. It’s pretty short notice, but we can’t pass it up.”

Car’s parents were lawyers who worked on behalf of human rights groups. International travel was nothing new. “Cool. When do you guys leave?”

His mother beamed. “How about, ‘when do we all leave?’”

Carson’s fingers throbbed. “Huh?”

“We felt bad,” his father said. “You’ll be headed off to college before we know it… we thought this would be a great way to sneak in some world travel before you have to buckle down again. Call it a graduation present.” His eyes sparkled like it was the bestest idea ever. What kid wouldn’t want the chance to visit a tropical country?

His mother said, “You won’t have to do the conference — don’t worry about that. You can play tourist while we’re trapped in the hotel doing our thing.”

“Unless you want to,” his dad said. “See what all the world-savers do, and all that. Good practice, eh?”

“Yeah…”

“Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Well…”

His parents exchanged a tired look. “You don’t sound overly grateful,” his father said.

“No, it’s… it’s awesome.”

“But…”

“Well… like you said, I’ll be headed off to school in a couple of months. This is pretty much the only break I’m gonna have for the next, like, forever…” Car looked at his hands. He felt like he was in a kindness trap.

“Going to one of the most beautiful places on earth isn’t how you wanted to spend you summer vacation?” His dad’s voice was still mostly light, but familiar exasperation was a shark cutting tight circles just below the surface.

“I just…” Car sighed. “It wasn’t what I had planned. I don’t mean to seem like I’m not grateful, but…”

“You made plans?” His mother jumped right from ebullient to irritated. “This is something new for you. What’s the plan? Sit in you room and play guitar for three months?”

“Bass,” Car corrected automatically, scowling. “Some, yeah. Plus, Tess is leaving for Fordham in the fall. This… this is probably it for us, this summer.” That totally sucked, too, but for the son of Ted and June Meunetti, Fordham was not a serious educational choice.

His mother looked at his father, who frowned. “Look, kiddo,” he said, “I hate to pull experience on you, but you said it yourself. You and Tess had a high school thing. High school is over, you’re both moving on, going to college, starting the next phase of your lives. For you, that includes two weeks in Costa Rica — beaches, rain forests…” He looked quickly at June. “…hot Costa Rican bikini babes…”

“Nice, Ted.” June’s lip twisted wryly.

He grinned without taking his gaze off his son. “So you have two fewer weeks to draw things out with your girlfriend. What’s two weeks next to a life-changing opportunity? You don’t want to pass this up, Car. We’re on a plane Friday morning, champ.”

It was such a classic trick, Lina Porter was a little surprised she’d pulled it off. Her mother, who had just dropped her off at the Laguna Hills Mall on this first Monday of summer vacation, believed Lina was meeting Clair Glick for a day of window shopping and boy watching. If that was really the case, Lina would totally not choose this old-folks mall. She’d meet Clair at the newer Abbeque Valley Mall… which was actually where her best friend was right now, with her sister.

Lina’s heavy black leather platform boots clunked on the tile and her black ankle-length skirt swished as she strode to the other side of the mall. The reason for her misdirection (okay, lie) would be waiting to pick her up in his cherry 1968 Dodge Charger just outside of Sears. Lina didn’t want to be late.

She pushed through the doors and emerged into bright sunlight. Eric Finn’s car was right there on the curb, engine running, windows rolled down and speakers blasting the Cramps’ “Goo Goo Muck.” Lina did a little involuntary skip before she pulled open the passenger door and slipped in.

“Hey,” Eric nodded to her. He dropped the car into gear and pealed out.

Lina giggled. “Hey there.” She reached out and tickled the back of his neck right below his ducktail. He squirmed a little and rewarded her with a smirk.

Lina looked at him. His hair was jet black — she knew he’d done a fresh dye job a few days before — and piled in a high pompadour. His sideburns went all the way to the edge of his sharp jaw and made his cheekbones seem even higher and more perfect. He wore black Ray-Ban sunglasses and had a pencil-thin line of beard running from just below his thick lower lip to the cleft in his chin.

Eric Finn was nineteen years old, he drove a bad-ass car, he was into psychobilly and some spooky-cool shit, and Lina’s parents absolutely forbade her from seeing him. He was perfect.

“How long’ve you got?”

She smiled and leaned back in the seat. “The gullible Mrs. Porter thinks I’m hanging out with Clair at the blue hair mall. I told her I’d call her when I needed picking up.”

“I didn’t ask that,” Eric said. “I asked how long have you got?”

She shrank a little. “Sorry. I… guess I should be back at the mall by five. Sorry.” She hated making Eric mad. He was way too intense.

Eric nodded. “We’re going to Ian’s place. Watch a movie and stuff.”

“Okay, cool.” She watched him. He didn’t seem angry. “Sorry, hon.”

He nodded slightly. “S’cool. Just answer the question, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eric drove them down the five freeway and south to a trailer park in San Juan Capistrano. They pulled up next to Ian’s little camper in less than twenty minutes.

Ian — long skinny muscles twisting under pale skin, ratty Adolescents tee shirt (sans sleeves), black sunglasses and a two foot green mohawk currently hanging down the left side of his stubbly skull — met them coming out the door. He grinned and half-saluted Eric.

“Don’t burn the place down. I’m goin’ to get Tammy.”

“Burn the place down. Good idea.” Eric punched him in the shoulder as they passed each other.

“Fucker.” Ian shot a cheerful bird as he walked to his motorcycle.

Lina thought Ian could have been a real close second choice if Eric hadn’t taken a shine to her, but it wouldn’t be too smart to show it. “Hello to you too, Ian.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian kicked the bike to life, turned it around and left, gravel spitting in his wake.

Lina followed Eric into the stubby trailer. It was her first time there. It reminded her of Carson’s bedroom when he was in Create-o-matic mode and let everything go… but worse. Clothes were piled on the narrow bed, which was an unmade tangle of sheets, blankets, and sleeping bags. Ashtrays (full) and a two-foot tall bong (stinky) shared limited counter space with notebooks, cassette tapes and a few books. Finally, a small television and a VCR were balanced on a corner near the tight dining area — a stained and peeling plastic table framed by an L-shaped vinyl bench.

Lina didn’t look in the bathroom. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. “Dang,” she muttered. At least Eric was neat.

Eric didn’t hear her or didn’t care that she’d spoken. He went directly to the tiny fridge / freezer and pulled out a frosted bottle of blue stripe vodka and a mini tray of ice cubes. “Pig doesn’t have a clean glass anywhere,” Eric said.

“You want me to wash one for you?”

“Wash two,” Eric said.

Lina smiled. “Yeppers.”

She found two ancient former jelly jars, decorated with Warner Brothers cartoon characters, among the filthy, crusted dishes in the trailer’s plastic sink. She didn’t find any dish washing soap, and no sponge.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do this with.”

Eric looked carefully at the seat of the bench before he sat down. He put the bottle and the ice cube tray on the table and looked at Lina. “You’ve never washed dishes before? Maid always do it?”

Lina scoffed. “We don’t have a maid. Ian’s the one who never washed a dish in his life. There’s, like, nothing to clean with.”

Eric nodded and shrugged. “Hot water and fingers.” He tapped the bottle. “This’ll kill any germs, anyway.”

She washed the glasses best as she could, shook the water off of them and brought them to the table. She sat next to Eric.

Eric dropped some ice into each glass and covered it with vodka. He tapped Lina’s glass (the Road Runner) with his (Porky Pig) and drank.

Lina sipped. She’d snuck alcohol from her parents’ liquor cabinet before. She didn’t really like vodka all that much, but super-cold like this it wasn’t too bad. She swallowed quickly. Looking forward to the buzz and whatever else she and Eric might get into before Ian and Tammy got back, she took another sip.

Eric twisted around and picked up one of Ian’s books. “Heh! Crowley!”

Lina read the title. “The Book of the Law.” She drank. “Which one is Crowley?”

“The Great Beast,” Eric said with a smile. He flipped the pages like a hungry man unsure of where to start on the restaurant menu. “This book, it’s supposed to be the word of this… angel, demon, entity, thing, whatever. Crowley just wrote it all down. It’s interesting stuff.”

Lina took another mouthful of vodka. Ice cubes bumped against her lips. Her buzz was coming on. It made her feel cool. Older. She leaned into Eric. “Like what?”

“Like how knowing yourself is the only way to really be powerful. And to know yourself, you gotta do everything, try everything.”

“Like what?” She said again. She liked when he taught her things.

He licked his lips and drank. “Like everything, no matter what the world or the law or anything says is right or wrong.”

“But what if you get caught?” Lina thought about what her father would do if he found out where she was today.

“That’d just be another experience, right? But it’d probably be better to not get caught.” Lina had to agree.

Eric read aloud, musing. “‘Love is the law, love under will.’”

“‘Love is the law.’ I like that,” Lina said.

“Under will,” Eric stressed. “Under will.”

“Whose will?”

Eric gave her a dark look. “It’s not somebody’s name, Lina.” He shook his head. “This is serious shit. C’mon.”

“Not ‘who is Will,’ Eric.” Lina laughed. “Jesus. I’m not a total idiot. Whose will is the law gonna be under?”

“Oh.” She could tell he didn’t quite believe her. “Whoever has the most experience. The most power.” He put down the book and ran his fingers down the cover, slowly. Lina wanted him to do that to her.

“You know who that’s gonna be?” Eric asked.

She drank. The trailer baked in the sun. The place smelled like stale clothes, old pot and cigarettes. Definitely buzzed now. Her ears felt warm.

“Nope.”

“Me. And you’re gonna help me get there.”

…to be continued!

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