The Bermudez Triangle Page 3

  All the servers locked arms and began to sing:

  We heard it was your birthday, so we’ve come to make a fuss!

  So happy, happy birthday, to you from all of us!

  Hi-di-hi-di-hi-di-ho

  On this fine day we wish the best to you and all of yours

  The merriest of birthdays, from P.J. Mortimer’s!

  This was followed by a short jig (skipping in circles), with several more hi-di-hos, after which the singers skittered away as quickly as possible, like roaches when the lights come on.

  Back in the safety of the pantry, Avery grabbed a dessert fork and pressed it into Mel’s hand.

  “If I have to do that again,” Avery said, “I want you to kill me with this.”

  “You can do me too,” said a voice behind them.

  Mel and Avery turned. One of the other servers had come in and was slouching against the wall, demonstrating his utter contempt for the official birthday jig. He was tall but had a young-looking face, with a dash of golden freckles over his cheekbones. His very dark brown hair had overgrown a bit, sweeping down over his high forehead in a thick swag that he kept pushing back with his hand. What really stood out, though, were his eyes, which were the same deep brown as his hair and were very intense and bright. They actually glistened a little just at the thought of the jig.

  “Kill me, I mean,” he added, after a moment’s thought on his remark. “I trained nights, and they were even worse. We did the song about a dozen times every shift. I’m not kidding.”

  He leaned forward and stared at the name tag pinned to Mel’s green suspenders.

  “Molly Guinness,” he read.

  “I’m Mel,” Mel said. “This is Avery.”

  He glanced over and looked at Avery’s name tag, which read: Erin Murphy.

  “I like that we all have these fake Irish names that double as beer ads,” he said with a smirk. “It’s good to reinforce the idea that all Irish people are alcoholics. Keep the stereotype alive.”

  Avery leaned forward to read his tag.

  “You’re Shane O’Douls?”

  “I know,” he said. “The nonalcoholic one. I’m Parker.”

  Though he made occasional attempts to turn his head and look in Avery’s direction, Parker’s attention was really on Mel. This was nothing new to Avery. All guys looked at Mel. Mel was candylike, adorable. Guys hung out with Avery and talked about music and maybe hooked up once in a while. They were usually a little intimidated by Nina because she was tall and assertive and she ran everything. They took Nina as a challenge. With Mel, though, guys developed instantaneous, epic crushes—the kind that caused them to want to iron their clothes and listen to the lyrics of slow songs.

  The kitchen bell rang.

  “Thirty-nine up,” yelled a voice from somewhere behind a small opening. Two plates of buffalo wings were thrown down under the heat lamps. Parker pried himself from the wall and got the two plates. He took them over to the prep counter and reached into a large jug of carrot and celery pieces floating in water, snagging a fistful and setting them on the side of the plates. He grabbed a tub from the refrigerated cabinet, unscrewed the lid, and poured some of the contents into two tiny condiment cups. It oozed out in thick milky chunks.

  “Blue cheese dressing is so pretty,” he said, grimacing. “Doesn’t it make you hungry?”

  “I like blue cheese dressing,” Mel said.

  Parker flushed a little over the fact that Mel had chosen to reveal this to him. He seemed to take a more charitable view toward the dressing, replacing the lid with care.

  “She used to eat a lot of paste,” Avery explained.

  When Parker had taken his plates out to the floor, Avery reached over and retrieved her lighter from the front pocket of Mel’s apron.

  “Looks like you have a new one,” she said.

  “A new what?”

  Avery did her best imitation of Parker leaning in and reading Mel’s tag at very close range.

  “Shut up,” Mel said.

  “What? He’s cute. He kind of looks like he’s one of those guys who keeps going in Boy Scouts until he’s legal.”

  “He’s fine. He seems nice.”

  “Oh, you’re not interested.”

  “In … what?”

  “What kind of sign do you need?” Avery said, laughing. She grabbed Mel and wrapped her arms around her, coming in close to her face. “I love you, Melanie Forrest. Can’t you see I love you?”

  One of the cooks peered through the narrow kitchen window.

  “Nice!” he said. “You guys dating?”

  “You wish,” Avery said over her shoulder. Mel still hung limply in her arms.

  “I do wish.”

  “Tell you what, we’ll kiss for ten bucks.”

  “Ten bucks?”

  Avery nodded. She glanced at Mel, who was looking at Avery with amazing calmness. Usually everything embarrassed her. Waitressing was obviously toughening her up.

  The cook was going through his pockets.

  “I have … six,” he said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” he said, laughing. “I think I can get four more.”

  “Onetime offer,” Avery said sternly.

  “Damn.” He slid over a large club sandwich and a burger. “Forty-six.”

  Avery released Mel, who stood there, seeming a little baffled.

  “I’d better feed my people.” Avery grabbed the two plates. “But you promised, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “No take backs.”

  Avery winked to the cook, who was still peering through the window, his face glowing an eerie red under the heat lamp.

  “Stay back,” she said, nodding at Mel. “She’s mine, and I have claws.”

  4

  That night they were in a yard behind an old house on some back road in Malta, just below Saratoga Lake. Mel had no idea whose house it was—it was one of those party places that just seem permanently empty and that no one claims to own. Angry Maxwell had set up on a patch of dead grass close to the house, right by the three coolers that constituted the bar. The party had only been going for an hour, and already the whole lawn smelled like old beer.

  Angry Maxwell was basically Gaz and Hareth, Avery’s musician friends, whom she always joked she met “this one time, at band camp.” In reality, they all connected during freshman year in Music 101. Hareth was a self-proclaimed Persian rapper (his family was originally from Tehran) who always wore a knitted hat pulled low over his forehead. Gaz, the drummer, was extremely tall, with long, rubbery arms that flailed around behind the drum kit. He had shaggy golden brown hair and always wore the same pleasant half smile. He reminded Mel of a Muppet. There was also a girl with two long braids playing the bass. Mel didn’t know who she was.

  Mel didn’t claim to know a lot about music, but even she knew that Angry Maxwell was not a good band. The girl seemed to be able to play the guitar, Gaz appeared to know what he was doing with his drums, and Hareth was kind of amusing and animated with his rapping—but they weren’t doing any of this stuff together. It was like they were each playing with a totally different band that only existed in their heads. But nobody cared. The crowd was busy drinking up all the good alcohol before it was gone, and the noise that Angry Maxwell made somehow suited this activity.

  Mel usually didn’t drink, but tonight she felt like it. It seemed like the only thing to do here. Avery had enthusiastically gone off to the bar to get them something. Now Mel was just stuck in a loud place, backed up against a wall by a crowd of people and with a very drunk-looking guy heading right for her. Mel scanned the yard for Avery, but she was lost in the crowd somewhere.

  “What’s your name?”

  The guy had made it across the yard and was leaning into Mel’s face.

  “Mel.”

  “Jill?”

  Mel didn’t bother to correct him.

  “Want a drink?” the guy screamed.

  “My friend is
getting me one.”

  “What?”

  At that moment there was a minor miracle. Avery pushed her way back through the crowd with several small paper cups in her hands. Seeing Mel’s plight, she shot her a “do you want to talk to this guy?” look. Mel widened her eyes to show that she didn’t.

  Avery came over and stood next to the guy, fixing him with a hard stare. People didn’t mess with Avery when she had her eyes all smudged up with black liner. She looked very fierce. The guy threw Mel a puzzled look, but Mel was as unable as ever to express her wish to be left alone in actual words. Avery passed some of the cups she had collected over to Mel.

  “Hey,” Avery said, using her free hand to take the guy’s empty cup and toss it over toward the bushes. “Go fetch.”

  The guy stared at Avery, looking like he was trying to gauge how much of a problem she might present, then walked away.

  Mel would never be as cool as Avery. Ever.

  “Brought you a lemon drop,” Avery said. “You’ll like it. It’s sweet. And these are Jell-O shots.” She showed Mel a few cups she had pinched between her fingers.

  “They’re really good,” Mel said, nodding at the band.

  “No, they aren’t,” Avery said, passing Mel one of the Jell-O shots. “It sounds like someone’s screaming bad poetry over a lawn mower.”

  “Then why do you watch them play?”

  “Sometimes you have to look the other way when it comes to your friends,” Avery said with a shrug. “Even if it makes your ears bleed.”

  “You should play with them,” Mel said. “They’d be great then.”

  “I would kill them.”

  “Yeah, but you’re so good.” Avery had natural talent—perfect pitch and an ability to play almost anything she heard. Years of piano lessons had only sharpened her ability.

  Avery shrugged away Mel’s comment. She didn’t like talking about her musical skills, as if admitting her talent would cheapen it or make it go away.

  As the crowd shifted past them, Avery and Mel were pressed flat against the outer wall of the basement.

  “This is going to be fun,” Avery said, trying to get her arm free enough to get her drink to her lips. “I don’t even know who half of these people are.”

  “Hey,” Mel said. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “This afternoon, would you have done it?”

  “What? The thing in the pantry?”

  Mel was glad Avery hadn’t used the word kiss. It would sound way too weird to say out loud.

  “Of course,” Avery said. “Ten bucks? Why not? Guys are ridiculous that way.”

  Mel found herself sinking inside a bit at this response.

  “Would that have freaked you out?” Avery asked.

  “No,” Mel said, trying to smile. “It would have been funny.”

  “Right,” Avery said. She suddenly developed an intense curiosity about her Jell-O shot. She stared deeply into the tiny cup, wiggling it a bit.

  “What do I do with this?” Mel asked, holding up her cup.

  “Just toss it back, like this.” Avery tilted back her cup. Mel did the same. The lump of gelatin was slow moving and seemed to take forever to reach her mouth. It burned with alcohol. She held it on her tongue, trying to absorb as much of the taste as possible.

  “You never know,” Avery said, looking over the crowd. “We could probably get more takers here. More cash, too.”

  Mel gulped down the Jell-O. It tickled as it slithered down her throat. She balled the tiny paper cup in her hand.

  “You always have takers, though,” Avery added.

  “What?”

  “That guy Parker is going to trail you all summer. I can tell.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re really not interested?” Avery asked. “Did you see the puppy dog look? What’s not to like?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

  Avery was looking at her curiously now, trying to figure out what that meant, because Avery always tried to figure out what everything meant.

  Avery did another Jell-O shot and said, “Is it because he looks like Strange Mike?”

  Strange Mike was a guy from their sophomore-year biology class who used to stick his fingernail in the electric socket of his lab station and watch his arm shake.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “So what is it? Why don’t you like him?”

  “I want to do another one of these,” Mel said, holding up the crumpled remnants of her cup.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” Mel said. “We’re here. We might as well drink”

  “See? I told Nina I’d take good care of you,” Avery said, obviously pleased.

  While Avery made another trip over to the bar, Mel sat down on the coiled hose that was attached to the wall. Avery’s questions made her panic. It would have been nice, after all, if she could have explained why she never went out with guys more than once or why they never made much of an impression on her.

  She knew the reason, though she’d never put words to it. It floated up in the back of her consciousness now, buoyed by Jell-O and vodka and the last of the warm evening sun. She found her attention completely focused on the small of Avery’s back, just the little strip between the deep maroon of Ave’s old T-shirt and the low sling of her jeans. The answer seemed to be written there, on that perfect piece of skin.

  Avery had a great back—she’d actually won “best back” when they’d passed judgment when they were ten or eleven. Nina had the best hands. Mel had the best hair. Avery had the best back. Ave had balked at this, saying “best back” was a bogus consolation prize, but she was wrong. Her back was strong, not bony like Mel’s. It was flawless. It was the perfect surface.

  Stop thinking, Mel told herself, digging around in her crumpled cup for remnants of Jell-O. Just stop.

  5

  Later that night Avery leaned against a post of Mel’s white canopy bed and watched as she drunkenly reached for the chest of drawers and missed by several inches.

  “You want somethin’ to sleep in?” Mel asked. “I got lots of pajamas.”

  After several attempts she finally hooked her fingers onto a drawer handle and pulled out a handful of clothing. She then grandly waved Avery toward the remaining heap of cotton and fleece sleepwear. While hardly hefty, Avery didn’t have the pixie blood that seemed to run through Mel’s veins; fortunately, Mel liked oversized pajamas. Avery pawed through the offerings for something suitable while Mel got herself tangled in her own tank top. She’d only removed it halfway before attempting to pull on the T-shirt she planned on sleeping in.

  “You need help with that, Mel?” Avery asked.

  “No. I got it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  Mel’s confusion with her tank top was growing. She was utterly baffled, with two shirts around her neck and one arm in each one.

  “Take them both off and start over, Mel.”

  “Okay.”

  Mel carefully freed herself from the tank top, got the T-shirt on (backward, but who cared?), and squirmed out of her denim skirt. Then she tried to put both legs into a single leg space of a pair of pajama pants. It took a few tries, but she eventually managed to get them on correctly and then fall face-first onto the bed.

  “See this, Ave?” she said conspiratorially, holding up a patch-work stuffed flounder that she drew from the folds. “This is the sleepy rainbow fish. He swims you to sleepland.”

  “Drink your water, Mel.”

  “You sleep here,” Mel said, slapping at the empty spot next to her. “Okay?”

  “I’m serious. Drink that water.”

  “Know what I really want right now?” Mel asked.

  “What?”

  “Fritos.”

  “Uh-huh.” Looking back into the drawer, Avery decided against the pajama bottoms with the smiling M&M’s and opted instead for a more subdued plain violet pair. “I�
�m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

  “We don’t have to get a big bag,” Mel said, pulling her hair into a lopsided orange geyser smack on the top of her head. “We could get one of those medium bags—the big single bags. Or two of those. One or two, whatever you want. Or Doritos.”

  “The water, Mel.”

  “Oh my God—or Krispy Kremes!”

  Having pulled on the pajama bottoms, Avery now found that the only shirt that looked like it would really fit was a white tank top with the word Princess written in gold sparkles across the chest. If her own shirt (a very fine T-shirt from Fat Ernie’s Laundromat in Ann Arbor, Michigan) hadn’t reeked so badly of smoke, she would have kept it on. Alas, the very fibers were carcinogenic now. Off it went and on went the embarrassing replacement.

  “Wanna go to the grocery store and get a seedless watermelon?” Mel said, with wide, bloodshot eyes.

  “No.”

  “Come on. It has water in it!”

  Avery walked over and handed Mel the large red plastic cup and stood there until Mel took several large swigs. The hydration seemed to tap out Mel’s energy completely, and she rested her head down against the pillow. Avery walked over to switch off the light. In the ambient light from the streetlamps and a few illegal firecrackers, Mel’s white furniture took on an ethereal glow. The canopy over the bed seemed buoyant, as if it were floating on a gentle, steady current of air.

  To make space for herself on the bed, Avery was forced to jettison an entire squad of stuffed animals that were hidden under the sheets. Along with some normal stuffed animals (bears, kit-tens, and a monkey) Mel had the rest of the ark in there. There were a lobster, an owl, an anteater, an elephant, a cobra (where do you even get a stuffed cobra?), a beanie stingray, and a bat. There were also nonanimals, like the stuffed happy face and the pink fur ball with eyes.

  As Avery sank down under the fluff of the comforter, Mel flipped over, threw an arm over Avery’s waist, and pressed her face into her friend’s shoulder.