Jill Barnett - The Days of Summer

In under an hour, the place had swelled with people until the noise level measured many decibels. Jud sipped the foam off a new beer, trying to shut out the obnoxious noise from a nearby table, where a group of college guys from University of California at San Diego were slamming back shooters and singing their college fight song in a key that didn’t exist. They acted as if the world was theirs. That kind of partying had lost its appeal before his third year of college. He felt suddenly old. Today he’d hounded after a young girl who was jailbait, and he’d managed to convince his grandfather he was a first-class fuckup. This morning he’d thought the world was his. Now he felt like the world had him by the balls.

Right after he’d left the company offices with his crushed pride and his tail between his legs, he’d wondered bitterly if what happened this morning was another way for his grandfather to manipulate him. Victor was happiest when he stirred up trouble. But now, when he wasn’t angry anymore, Jud knew Victor didn’t play games with his business deals.

Earlier, Jud had called his connections and scheduled a lunch for the next week, but he felt skittish about it. As much as he’d hated to hear the truth from his grandfather’s mouth, those men would not have welcomed him into their business ventures. He had been so full of himself, so glad to be accepted, he couldn’t see their motive anymore than he could see that that girl today was under twenty. Seventeen? Could have been real trouble there.

He stared into the bottom of his beer glass, still chewing over the mysteries of Victor versus Marvetti until he decided none of it was going to solve itself tonight. He scanned the place. Bars never seemed to change much, still smoky, still smelly, still one of the few places on earth where you could be in a crowd and feel completely alone. The empty summer house on the cove held more appeal for him than a smoke-filled bar, where too many college kids on spring break needed to let loose. He downed his beer, paid, and went outside, where he could breathe again.

It was dark and cool in the shadow of the door, and the air tasted salty with the water just a hundred feet away. Neon light from the beer signs in the front window fell onto the bricked street like brightly colored snakes. Along the beach, palm trees cast shadows that looked like giant forearms with splayed hands, and beyond, the water was cavern black out into the harbor, until the running lights flickered in a staggered chain from where the weekend boat traffic moored. The smell of the tide made it seem like summer, and it was warm for April, maybe sixty-five degrees.

There were no cars about, only the occasional electric hum of a golf cart or the clicking spokes of a bicycle. On a bench next to the sand, a couple made out. Jud lit a cigarette, took a drag, then remembered he was going to quit. He took another hit then crushed it out with his foot.

At the north point, where the street ended with the old casino, people spilled out from the movie theater. Ahead of the crowd, a girl walked faster than most, wearing a car coat, her hands shoved deep in the pockets. She had great legs. A group of kids sped past in two golf carts, shouting and waving as they passed by her. She waved and watched them disappear, then she shoved her hands back in her coat pockets and walked on, staring down at the ground as she passed under a streetlamp.

In the warm light, her brown hair brushed her shoulders; her face was distinct and familiar, because she looked so much like Jacqueline Bisset. It was Jailbait, and this was his chance to apologize, but he hesitated. The bar door swung open and almost clipped him, forcing him back and into the shadows. Jukebox music blared into the night and the UCSD guys stumbled out like a family of apes, laughing loudly and shoving one another around.

They began to giggle and took him back to those times when he acted like an asshole for fun. In a haze of mind-numbing tequila they turned and immediately zeroed in on Jailbait. She kept walking, sidestepping away from them and nearer the sand. To her credit she looked straight ahead as they surrounded her. “Excuse me,” she said too brightly and squeezed between two of them.

“Hey, there, sweet thing.” The group tightened their circle around her.

“Please. You’re drunk.” She tried to push through them.

“Come here.” One who looked like a linebacker roughly pulled her against him. His friends whistled and cheered.

“Stop it!” She pushed at his chest as the huge jerk tried to kiss her.

Jud stepped away from the building. “Let her go.”

“Please stop. Please … Don’t!” She sounded terrified.

Jud gripped the guy’s shoulder. “You. Now . Leave the girl alone.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure thing, asshole.”

Jud grabbed his arm and jerked it away from her. She stumbled backward, out of the guy’s reach, and fell down.

Jud spun around … right into the guy’s fist.

“Get him.” His friends chanted. “Get him!” They formed a circle around Jud, who ducked a punch and looked for Jailbait. He threw wild punches and twisted out of their grip twice, then one of them pinned his arms back. “I got him! I got him!” It took two of them to keep him pinned while they punched him. Jud could taste the blood in his mouth. His eye hurt. He blinked, trying to see her, but the edges of his vision blurred. The linebacker walked straight toward him, laughing, fists up, and beat the hell out of him.

CHAPTER 8

Laurel sank down next to her dreamboat as he lay unconscious on the pavement. One eye was already swelling. He had a cut on his cheek, and both his nose and mouth were bleeding. “Please wake up. Please.” The streets were empty, but she could hear the distant footsteps of the bullies, who ran away down a side street after she’d screamed for them to stop, then screamed over and over.

“Help! Someone help! Please …” She lifted his head off the hard brick into her lap. “Please wake up. Can’t you hear me?” Where was everyone? The doors to the bar were closed. They probably didn’t even know there had been a fight. It was eerie, such silence in the aftermath of something so terribly violent.

He groaned, then winced and slowly opened his eyes.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Can you move? How badly are you hurt? What can I do?” Her words all came out in a rush.

He grunted something she couldn’t understand, swore, then rolled out of her lap onto his hands and knees. Silent, his breathing labored, he shook his head and tried to get up.

“Here. Let me help you.”

“No!” He jerked his arm away from her and stumbled to his feet, weaving slightly. “No.”

“Please. You’re hurt because you tried to help me.”

His face was beaten and flushed and he looked like he might fall down. “I’m fine.” He spit blood, then swiped at his mouth and stared down at the blood on his hand with a disgusted look.

“You need a doctor.”

“What?” He looked up again, scowling at her from the one eye that wasn’t swelling.

“I’ll call a doctor.”

He turned away like someone embarrassed. There were leaves and dirt on his back, so she brushed off his shoulder. “Jesus,” he scowled at her. “Just go home. You shouldn’t be out walking around town this late. You’re asking for trouble.”

“I was walking home.”

He pressed his hand to the cut on his mouth and stepped away from her. “Then go home.”

“This wasn’t my fault. You can’t blame me.”

“Go—home.”

She didn’t move.

“Go home where you belong,” he yelled at her. “Go home, little girl, and leave me the hell alone!”

His harsh expression turned blurry from her tears, and she ran—her face hot and flaming—around the corner and down the street into the small plaza by her mother’s studio and pottery shop. Laurel stood there, directionless. In front of her was the dark shop with its Closed sign hanging in the door. That sign seemed to say everything. One word that defined her life: closed. She sat down on the edge of a tiled fountain, where water spilled into a shallow pool.