The Guest, page 17
Alex settled on the couch. She didn’t notice the rat-faced boy until he sat beside her.
“What’s up?” he said. “You good? You need anything?”
He was being solicitous but his energy was aggressive.
“I’m good,” Alex said. “Thanks.”
He was peering at her face. Too closely.
“What,” he said, “is your name again?”
“Alex.”
“Yeah. I’m Max.” He smiled, his arm on the back of the couch. “How do you know Jack?”
“Just from the beach. Same day I met you.”
“Oh shit, really? I thought you guys knew each other from before.”
“Nope. Just from out here.” Alex had crossed her arms without noticing: she uncrossed them.
“But you’re not from the city, right? I can tell.” He grinned. A little unkindly.
She didn’t respond but it didn’t slow him down.
“Neither am I. I’m from here. Like, actually live out here. Not like them,” he said, nodding at the scrum in the kitchen. “They all grew up in basically a five-block radius from each other.”
With this new information, Max clicked a few more degrees into focus. He did seem different from the others, his presence edgy and unsettled. Curious that he had identified her as another outsider—she didn’t like it.
Before Alex could say anything, Jack joined them, the cracks in his lips already red from wine.
“My friend,” Max said. “I was just hearing your love story.”
Jack winced. “Come on.”
“I’m teasing,” Max said. “You should have texted earlier, I would’ve driven with you. I thought you were on lockdown.”
“I wasn’t sure what we were doing yet,” Jack said.
“Your dad’s fine with you being out?” Max said. “Daddy Robert doesn’t mind?”
Jack squirmed away from Max. “It’s fine.”
Max shrugged, looking amused, glancing between Alex and Jack.
A small dog was scrambling around the house, nails clicking along the hardwood. A girl bent to pick up the dog, to hold the animal to her cheek. She made kissing noises in the air and the dog licked her on the lips. The girl didn’t appear to care.
“I’m going to get a cigarette,” Alex said.
Jack and Max were lost in their own talk: neither of them responded.
Alex pushed open the sliding doors. Around the side of the house, she found the pool. Smaller than she’d expected, looking out over blackness, the jagged line of the cliff and the sky choked with stars. It took a second before she saw the pool was occupied: a girl in underwear and no bra sitting on the edge, a boy leaning back in the water and sipping a glass of wine.
Alex turned in the other direction.
A slope of lawn, a wooden fence, the ocean beyond, which you could see only if you got close to the fence. Some kids had gone to the other side and sat on the ground with their legs dangling. She could hear them talking, the darkness punctuated with their laughter. One of the boys called out to Alex, something she didn’t catch.
“Sorry?”
“I said, do you want help getting over the fence?”
“I’m good back here,” Alex said. “Can I bum one of those?”
Even getting close enough to accept a cigarette and a book of matches made Alex dizzy: the drop was sudden, the silent shapes of rocks below. So many possible avenues for bad luck. For unhappy endings. No one else looked frightened at all, the danger barely seeming to register. They kicked their legs in the air, the backs of their sneakers scuffing against the cliff face.
She didn’t even want a cigarette, but now she was glad for it, something concrete to do with her hands. A time-waster, perfectly contained. When she exhaled, the breeze carried the smoke away, and if she didn’t look down, she felt better.
There was a joke rippling through the group: Alex only heard the tail end of it.
“And why,” the boy was saying, “do we even like Max?” Alex handed the matches back and he accepted them without acknowledging her.
There was a burst of laughter, quickly controlled.
“Seriously.” The boy looked around, earnest. “I mean, someone tell me. I mean, I just want to be reminded.”
“Oh, come on,” a girl said. “Be nice.”
“I’m just teasing. Jesus fucking Christ,” the boy said, peacefully. He lit a match and flicked it over the edge of the cliff: it burned out almost instantly.
“Stop,” a girl said, but her voice was flat.
The boy did it again, a quick flare snapping to darkness. And again. Alex got the sense he would do this all night.
* * *
—
Back inside, one of the girls was lying on the floor of the living room with the tiny dog up on her stomach. She lifted one of his front paws, as if they were dancing, while smoking from a vape she held with her other hand. After an inhale, she reared up on her elbows to blow the smoke in the dog’s face.
Another girl filmed the whole thing on her phone.
“Wait,” she said, “wait, do it again.”
The other girl obliged, a fresh exhale of smoke shrouding the dog’s tiny head.
“Where’d you go?” Jack said. He put his arm around Alex, just for a moment. Surprising, the gesture, but he seemed like he was already drunk, his eyes going unfocused, his smile taking a minute to catch up. “I missed you.”
“Just had a cigarette,” Alex said.
The party had doubled in size. A boy wearing a captain’s hat was filling a row of glasses. The tall Germanic boy clicked a remote at a TV screen and cycled through movie titles. He tried to enter letters manually with the remote, then finally pressed a button and spoke:
“Scarface.”
The screen registered words—the boy seemed unhappy with the results.
“SCAR-FACE!” he shouted into the remote. “Scar-FACE.” He threw the remote on the couch. “Piece of shit.”
The rat-faced boy, Max, was on the other side of the room, talking to a blond girl, but he spotted Alex and Jack and looked like he was heading toward them.
“Your friend’s coming over,” Alex said.
Jack darkened.
“I kinda can’t handle him right now. He’s being so annoying tonight. He already pissed a bunch of people off.”
“Is there someplace quieter?” Alex said. “Wanna go upstairs or something?”
Jack raised his eyebrows. Starting to smile but stopping himself.
“Sure. Yeah, it’s too loud.” He drained his glass. How many glasses was that? “You want more wine or anything?”
“I’m good.”
And she was good: one cigarette, one glass of wine, the house full of people. The Dana interlude already seemed like a hallucination. Jack was chewing his wine-soaked lips: he was a nice boy. Not nice, that was the wrong word. But there was nothing in him that meant any harm.
* * *
—
They sat on a bed in the room upstairs where people had stashed their bags. A few backpacks humped on the floor, a pair of swim trunks drying on the desk chair. If Alex was alone, she would have looked through the bags. But that impulse suddenly lacked urgency, didn’t make sense here—because everything was fine. Being around Jack calmed certain urges, or deadened them, anyway. What bad things could ever befall him, this blond son?
“You having fun?” Jack’s eyes were heavy. Up close, she could smell the baking soda of his deodorant.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “Lots.”
Probably they could spend the night here, in some bed in this house. Probably they would wake up in the morning to breakfast. You assumed kids like these, kids like the host, didn’t know how to cook, but, strangely, they usually did, trained by parents who fetishized the lifestyle of Europeans. Alex lay back, aware that Jack noticed how her shirt had ridden up to show her stomach. She put her arms behind her head, which exposed more skin.
“Come here.” She patted the bed.
Jack lay down awkwardly. He seemed to not know what to do with his hands, finally folding them on his chest.
“Hi,” Alex said.
He stayed still, only his eyes sliding to hers.
“Hi,” he said. He smiled, involuntarily, the glint of his braces flashing on his bottom teeth before he covered his mouth with his hand.
“Why do you do that?” she said. “Put your hand up when you smile?”
“My braces.”
“You can barely see them,” Alex said. “It’s just your bottom teeth.”
She reached out to touch his lips with a finger—he froze.
“When you do that, cover something up, it makes people look harder,” she said. “It makes it obvious you’re hiding something. And you shouldn’t worry. You’re cute.”
He smiled again. This time he didn’t cover his mouth. “You’re really nice.”
“Nice.” She smirked a little.
“Seriously. I like you.”
“I like you, too,” she said.
“Really?”
“Of course,” Alex said. “Do you think I’d hang out with you if I didn’t like you?”
His mouth opened, an exhale escaping when she tilted his chin toward hers.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” Alex said. “Yeah?”
He blinked, nodding, and she felt some thrill, the boy prone beneath her, waiting for her to act.
When Alex kissed Jack, his lips were slack. But then she felt his tongue, a tiny peep darting onto hers, and the metal of his braces behind that. She rolled on top, his mouth tasting like the wine, hers, she realized, like cigarettes. He didn’t seem to mind.
When Alex pulled away, Jack was breathing hard.
She smiled but felt that the smile wasn’t reaching her eyes.
He held one of her hands. His palm was sweaty, sliding around hers. He closed his eyes and moved toward her, and she kissed him back, idly. His hips strained up. She could see the shape of his dick through his basketball shorts. She put a hand on his crotch, barely applying any pressure, but even so, his eyes flew open. He made a noise deep in his throat. He was looking at the ceiling. She had started to pull down his waistband, sat up on her knees to work his shorts down farther, but the music from the living room cut out and in its abrupt absence there were raised voices. Alex and Jack both paused.
The voices kept going, gaining volume.
“What the fuck,” Jack muttered, but only stopped kissing her when there was a knock on the door. A girl hesitated in the door frame, her eyes darting between Jack and Alex before studiously staring up at the ceiling fan.
“Um, Jack?” the girl said. “Your friend? Is, like, freaking out? You better come?”
She glanced at Alex again, then snapped her attention back up to the fan.
* * *
—
Downstairs the crowd had gathered in a flustered pack in the kitchen, the energy fractured and jittery. Only Max sat on the floor, his head leaned back against the island.
“What happened?”
The boy, Noah, had, they said, punched Max, but why? Something about the sister: Alex guessed the sister was the one presently crying on the broad white couch, being comforted by a cluster of girls.
“Why did you call the cops,” the girl kept incanting. “Why did you call the cops.”
“Someone called the cops?” Alex said.
“No way did anyone call the cops,” Jack said.
She was sure they hadn’t: these kids were too smart for that. Certainly. They would not believe in an authority beyond their own families, would not have any allegiance to a higher power—and probably they were correct.
Noah was pacing, his hands in fists, aiming some unintelligible vitriol at Max. Nobody bothered to step in. Were they waiting for Jack to do it?
“This is sort of dark,” Alex said. Jack didn’t respond. “Do you wanna check on your friend?”
Jack seemed reluctant, but made his way over and squatted by Max. Jack had a hand on Max’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Max appeared to ignore him. Then handed Jack something in a closed fist—Jack pocketed it in his sweatshirt. Finally, Max looked up, eyes locking on Jack for a second. Whatever he said made Jack visibly recoil. Jack returned to Alex with a hard expression.
“Forget it,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“What just happened?”
“I didn’t even fucking invite him,” Noah said. He was addressing his tirade to Jack now. “Would I ever fucking invite him anywhere?”
Jack’s hands were up. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t actually think you would even come,” Noah said. “And you bring this fuck. Aren’t you not supposed to drink and shit?”
“It’s fine,” Jack said.
“It’s not fucking fine,” Noah said. “That guy’s fucking psycho. Lily’s fourteen.”
“He didn’t mean it,” Jack said.
“He’s not a good guy. Everyone hates him but you.”
“Noah,” the crying girl was saying. “Stop.”
“Seriously!” Noah said. “He just doesn’t get it,” he said to Jack, “do you? You really are fucking crazy, aren’t you?”
The other guests watched this exchange as if from a great distance.
Jack looked blinkered and young.
“Let’s go,” Alex said, pulling Jack’s arm.
* * *
—
For a moment, Alex had not understood how to get off the property and back to where they had parked. The gate was automatic, triggered by cars but not by Alex and Jack, and she considered the problem. Could they climb over, or squeeze through the sides? Maybe someone from the house was watching their departure: the gate suddenly swung open.
Jack’s face was set in a grimace, his gait unsteady.
“What was that about?” Alex said
“Nothing,” he said. “People hate Max. I don’t know. He got drugs for Lily but she asked him to, so it’s not really his fault. Noah’s being a dick.”
She followed him to the car. Alex had assumed they would sleep here, at this party.
“Is there a place we can go?” she said. “Maybe we can sleep at yours?”
Jack looked genuinely distressed by this suggestion, genuinely disoriented.
“My dad’s home. My dad and my stepmom. I don’t wanna go there.”
“Okay,” Alex said. “So. Is there a place that’s not your dad’s house? Like, somewhere else?”
He had to lean back against the car for support. “What about your friend’s house?” he said. “Where I picked you up?”
“I can’t stay there,” Alex said. “I’m kind of fighting,” she said. “With my friend.”
He was too drunk to ask any follow-up questions.
“Let me just think,” he said. “I dunno, there’s probably, like, a hotel?”
“There’s a hotel around here?”
It was not an area where there were many hotels: this was not a place for visitors, as had been made abundantly clear.
“I’m not fucking going to my dad’s house,” Jack said, suddenly incensed.
“Relax,” Alex said, “relax, I didn’t say we had to go there. Why don’t I drive?” she said. “I’ll just drive us in that direction.”
She had to adjust the driver’s seat. It was like driving a tank, being up this high. When she turned on the ignition, the music was on so loud that she startled, but Jack didn’t react: his sweatshirt hood was up, his body slumped in the passenger seat. He opened a pill bottle and deposited a small plastic bag inside—the drugs from Max—and now he was turning the pill bottle around in his hands, picking at the label with a fingernail, his feet braced against the dashboard.
“Maybe I know a place,” he finally said.
“I’m just gonna drive, okay?” Alex said. “You tell me where to go.”
* * *
—
Alex had to turn the car around twice, Jack forgetting to tell her when to veer left, Jack not knowing the actual names of roads.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Jack said. “There’s a house on the corner before the turn.”
When Alex reversed, the backup camera came to life, showing video feed of the asphalt. It was disorienting.
She drove back the way they’d come.
“How come you don’t tell me anything?” Jack said suddenly.
Alex focused on the road. “What kind of things?”
“Anything. Like, I don’t know where you’re from. That’s weird, right?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s boring.” They had already gone down this stretch of road once: she strained to see whether the gas station was familiar or not, the shuttered farm stand and a field cut into rows, covered with plastic netting.
“Not weird like bad,” Jack said. “I just wanna know. Where you’re from.”
“Oh. Upstate.” She had said this at dinner, hadn’t she? She glanced at him—would he be too drunk to even remember this conversation in the morning?
“And now,” he said, “you live in the city. And you went to college—”
“In the city, too. I’m boring,” she said.
“No.” He sat up straighter in the passenger seat. “You’re not.” He burped softly, swallowed it.
They could park at the beach, she was thinking, if it came down to it, and sleep in the back of the car. That would be fine, and she had resigned herself to this when Jack suddenly tapped his window.
“Here,” he said, “take a right here. Turn there.”
They glided down a residential road. “Where are we going?”
“This one,” Jack said, in front of a black gate, hedges on either side. “Yeah, turn in here.”
“There’s a gate.”
“Yeah, I know the code.”
