Dreamland City. Larina Lavergne
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spliff from me again.
I turn my head to look at her. I know better than to ask her why she changed the subject.
“What were you expecting?”
That startles her. “Um…you know…you living here… um…” She’s looking at me, her head tilted toward me, and her sentence trails off.
I shake my head and put my finger to her lips. They’re soft and full against my finger. “Shhh. I don’t need to know what you thought.”
“It’s all crap anyway.” She holds out her hand, but I let her keep the spliff. We lie there in silence. I’m getting into a nice mellow state when Reagan speaks up again.
“So, are you and Tommy together or something?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? He’s cute.”
“He’s like a brother. You don’t date your brother even if he’s cute.”
“I saw you guys kissing and I’m pretty sure you’re fucking too,” she says dryly. “Do you fuck all your brothers?”
“We’re not together,” I retort firmly. “Why are you so interested anyway?”
“No reason. I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, right.”
A pause. “Well, he’s kinda hot.”
“And you want to feel his dick fucking you up your ass?” I drawl.
She doesn’t blanche at my language like I thought she would. Her eyes are clear and her expression is carefully blank.
“Yeah, maybe,” she says calmly after a pause. Then, before I can answer, she says, “Will you mind?”
“Not at all,” I say generously. I think Tommy would love a girl like Reagan being interested in him.
She appears to be considering this and doesn’t immediately respond.
“Aren’t you dating some guy at school?” But, I’m really asking, Are you dating David? I haven’t brought it up before.
“Yeah, but it’s not serious. Yet.”
“Does he want it to be serious?”
She shrugs. “Does it matter what he wants?”
The weed is kicking in. She’s laughing, and I laugh as well, and I can’t stop. “Why?” I manage, hiccupping between my laughter.
“Why does it matter or why do I want it to be serious?”
“Both.”
“Dunno.” She bursts out in a fresh gale of laughter.
I jump up to put on some music. As Parisian café music fills the room, we get up and start dancing. Her pupils are completely dilated and her gaze is misty, but even drunk and stoned, Reagan’s a great dancer, swaying with a sexy rhythm that isn’t an accident. She crooks her finger at me and draws me in, holding me tight and spins us around and around until I’m dizzy and fall, but I get up again and we keep on dancing.
+++
When Tommy stops by later, he finds us both lying on the floor, arms wrapped around each other.
“You two are trashed,” he says, stating the obvious.
Reagan bursts out laughing again, but I’ve moved on from being euphoric to just being really, really mellow.
To make things interesting, I pull Tommy down on the floor with us and kiss him.
“Whoa,” he says, as I reach out to pull off his shirt. He’s looking at Reagan, who is staring, wide-eyed, at us.
I ignore his protests and he hushes after a few more kisses. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Reagan is still watching us, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.
Then suddenly, she’s lying on the floor beside us. Her hand on the small of my back, she navigates around me and climbs on top of Tommy before guiding his mouth to hers. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, neither does he object when she straddles his stomach.
I clamber into a sitting position and watch for a few minutes as they get more into it, her hair curtaining over his body like a shining golden waterfall. Then I get up and go to my room, diving headfirst onto my bed and letting the murmured sounds they’re making outside carry me soundly into sleep.
+++
A loud crashing sound wakes me from my stupor. Disoriented, I lie, blinking on my mother’s bed for a few seconds before realizing where I am. When I go out to the living room, I see a broken lamp, Reagan sobbing on the floor, and a very naked Tommy standing over her looking horrified. I know I should be focusing on what’s going on, but all I can think is that between these two friends of mine and my stepfather Beau, we have literally no more lamps left in the living room.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Tommy’s saying to her, over and over again. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been good. I’m about to ask Reagan if she’s OK but she races past me and out of the trailer, slamming the door behind her. The entire trailer shudders with the force of the door banging against its frame.
“What the hell?” I stare at the door.
“Should I go after her?”
“What happened, Tommy?”
He’s shaking his head, looking really confused. “I don’t know, Lil. It was just starting to get good, but then she just freaked out and started screaming and she threw the lamp at me.”
I look at the broken pieces of the cheap lamp on the floor.
“Fuck.”
“That was some weird shit. She was really into it, you know?”
He’s perversely adorable, standing there with his hands covering his privates, a confused expression on his face.
“I’ll go talk to her,” I assure him. “She was probably tweaked out from the pot.”
He nods and looks around for his pants, pulling them on and then buckles his belt.
I go outside, careful not to slam the door, and see Reagan on her hands and knees by the side of her car. She starts when she hears me approaching, but then she seems to calm down when she realizes that it’s me.
“I dropped my keys. Help me find them.”
Her eyes are red from crying and her makeup is smudged, but she still somehow manages to look pure and pristine even when she’s rummaging like a raccoon in the dirt.
I get down on my hands and knees with her and grip her shoulders to stop her frantic movements. She shudders under my hands.
“Reagan, what happened?”
“What do you mean—nothing happened.” She pushes me away. Her eyes are wild, and she’s pawing violently again through the grass.
Shit, these perfect girls are so fucked up.
“Of course something happened. You freaked out and ran out here. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing,” she mumbles. “Here they are!” She stumbles to her feet and opens the car door. I get right in beside her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.
“Sitting in your car,” I reply.
She glares at me. “I’m going home. Get out.”
“Reagan, you’re wasted. You’ll kill yourself.”
“No I’m not.”
“What’s fourteen multiplied by eight?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again.
“Reagan,