Tricks

  and forth before I can finish

  the word. “Okay, then. But

  where will I go? I have no job,

  no money. How will I live?”

  Still facing away from me,

  he reaches for his wallet.

  Extracts two twenties. Tosses

  them to the floor. Best I can do.

  You’ll figure something out.

  Time

  It will take time for him to

  accept this. Right? I am still

  his son. No way he can quit

  being my father. Quit loving

  me. Not because of this. Right?

  Loren’s letter is still in my

  hand. I fold it carefully,

  slide it into my back pocket,

  along with the forty dollars

  I retrieve from the linoleum.

  My room is still my room.

  Isn’t it? This has always been

  my haven. My sanctuary. How

  do I leave it, especially knowing

  it may no longer be mine to

  return to? Because I am who

  I am? I don’t understand.

  Nothing is different. Not one

  damn thing, except there’s

  no reason to hide anymore.

  I am not an abomination.

  In fact, I could easily argue

  that God wanted me this

  way. Dad will come around.

  All it will take is time. Right?

  Meanwhile, I’ve Been Banished

  Damn you, Loren. This is

  all your fault, and you’re

  not even around to give

  me a place to stay. I put

  in a call to Carl. He’s not

  home, but I leave a brief

  message, asking if I can

  spend a day or two at his

  place. Hopefully he’ll say

  okay. Not sure what else to do.

  On my way out of town,

  I stop by the cemetery.

  Might be a while before

  I can get back for a visit.

  “Hey, Mom. How’re things

  Up There, anyway?” I kneel

  beside her grave, yank

  the weeds that have grown

  around her headstone. “Guess

  you know what’s going on

  here. I’d appreciate it if you

  could maybe send a message

  Dad’s way. A little intercession?

  You’re not mad at me, are you?

  I mean because of …” A fresh

  storm of tears erupts.

  “You still love me, right?”

  A little breeze picks up

  suddenly, lifts my hair like

  fingers. I’ll take that as a sign.

  I sit in the cool grass, as close

  to Mom as I can get, at least

  for now. I take Loren’s letter

  from my pocket, begin to read,

  dunking myself in loneliness.

  Dearest Seth, he begins. No

  wonder Dad kept reading.

  Sorry I haven’t written

  sooner. You probably think

  I’ve forgotten you. Never!

  Your touch, your taste,

  your scent, are etched

  in my brain forever. …

  Why did he write these

  things to me now? Every

  sentence brings the pain

  of missing him so alive.

  I read until the letter ends:

  Our time together will always

  remain a treasured memory.

  Ba-bump!

  Not that I didn’t already

  suspect his leaving meant

  he was dumping me for

  good. But to have it put

  so succinctly, long distance,

  is a two-fisted gut punch.

  And to have a Dear John

  letter be the one to bring

  me so completely down

  is more like chopping me

  in two, midsection. Why

  write at all? Just to make

  damn sure I knew that he

  was never coming back?

  A low throb begins in my

  temples, and my eyes glaze

  red with anger. That son

  of a bitch! If he were here,

  I’d rearrange his face.

  Not that I’m one hundred

  percent sure how you go

  about doing such a thing.

  It’s a whole new, horrible

  thought for me. Hell, maybe

  I’m a real man after all.

  I Contemplate the Meaning

  Of “real man” all the way

  to Louisville. I cruise

  slowly—I have nothing

  to hurry for—and by

  the time I reach the city

  limits, I’ve decided if

  being a real man means

  smashing someone

  in the face or turning

  your back on a person

  because of their sexuality,

  I’ll just stay a girl. Guess

  my dad is a real man

  because he’s decided

  I’m not. Oh damn well.

  I arrive at Carl’s door,

  determined not to break

  down. But the minute

  I see his face, hear his

  mellow-voiced welcome,

  it all comes pouring from

  my mouth. What is it about

  Carl and confessions? He

  fixes strong drinks, listens

  patiently. Finally he touches

  my cheek gently. I’m sorry.

  I never dared come out

  to my parents. They both

  went to their graves without

  knowing. I’ve regretted that.

  He thinks for a minute.

  Finally he says, I have so

  enjoyed your company.

  You have been a balm for

  this lonely old man. You may

  stay for now, and I’d ask

  you to stay longer, but

  only yesterday I received

  news that my company

  has landed a big contract

  in Las Vegas. I have to move

  to Nevada as soon as I can

  put it together on this end.

  I’ll be there at least a year,

  maybe many more, with luck.

  Vegas. Hot. Dry. Fifteen hundred

  miles away, give or take. Forty

  bucks won’t cover a ticket. But

  maybe I can convince Carl

  I’m worth buying a ticket for.

  A Poem by Whitney Lang

  Worth

  How much would you pay

  to stay alive? I mean,

  if you could somehow

  get the money?

  What

  is your life worth?

  Ten thousand? A mil?

  How do you measure

  something like that?

  Is

  your life more dear

  than a homeless person’s?

  Or a mercenary’s—who

  kills innocents for money?

  My life

  might seem valuable

  to a kidnapper or a life

  insurance agent.

  But what, really, is it

  worth?

  Whitney

  Screw Lucas

  Who needs the a-hole anyway?

  I hope he and Skylar are totally

  miserable together. And, no

  doubt, they totally are. But

  even if they’re totally in love,

  I am too, and with someone

  so much better than Lucas

  could ever pretend to be.

  On a scale of one to ten, Lucas

  might rate an eight point five.

  Bryn is an eleven—classically

  handsome, so smart it’s almost
r />   scary. Yes, he’s a few years

  older, but nothing wrong

  with maturity. He knows what

  he wants, where he’s going.

  And unlike Lucas, who is a

  world-class bullshitter, Bryn, I know

  in my heart, would never lie

  to me. I trust him with my life.

  That Night After Lucas’s Party

  Just as he promised, it took

  twenty minutes (okay, maybe

  twenty-five) for Bryn to collect

  me, buzzed and brokenhearted.

  While I waited, several people,

  some of whom I’ve known

  for years, walked on by me

  without a word, despite

  the steady rivulets of tears

  ruining my makeup, streaking

  my face. Too much drama,

  I guess. And yet, here came

  this complete stranger, in his

  midnight blue BMW. He pulled

  over, double-parked, came around

  to open the passenger door for me.

  Come on, sweetheart. Everything

  will be okay. He settled me

  into the seat, buckled me in,

  as if I were a little child. Where to?

  I shrugged. “I don’t care,

  as long as it’s away from here.”

  Away from there. Away from

  him. Away from friends,

  not really friends at all,

  if it meant you or some guy.

  I stared out the window,

  watching the procession

  of streetlights, begging myself

  not to get sick. “Thank you

  for coming to get me. I didn’t

  know who else to call.”

  Really? Already driving slowly,

  he took his foot completely off

  the gas pedal. What about your

  parents? Or, uh, your boyfriend?

  I snorted. “My dad is hardly

  ever home. And all my mom

  cares about is my sister. And

  as for my boyfriend …”

  I wasn’t sure how much to say.

  But whatever. “That party was

  at my ex-boyfriend’s house.”

  There. Complete confession.

  Well, not quite complete. Bryn

  called me on the rest. Ex, huh?

  Then why were you at his party?

  Want to tell me what happened?

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?

  I know I shouldn’t ask. I’m sure you

  have better things to do.” I could hardly

  believe it when he said, Not really.

  We Drove Down to the Beach

  By the time we parked, got out,

  and walked a little way, barefoot

  in the cool, damp sand near the water’s

  edge, I had mostly sobered up.

  I sat, combing the sand with my

  toes, as I told him pretty much

  everything about my pitiful life.

  When I talked about Kyra and Mom,

  he kept nodding. Turns out he,

  his brother, and father have a similar

  relationship. Like Dad, Shane is

  a high-priced criminal attorney.

  And me? Well, I’m just a lowly

  photographer. Never mind

  that I’ve shot most of the top

  modeling talent in this country.

  Which explained the company name

  on his business card: Perfect Poses.

  “So what are you doing in Santa

  Cruz? Why not L.A. or New York?”

  He exhaled deeply. My dad lives

  in Los Angeles. But my mom

  hated the city. She lived here …

  until she died a few weeks ago.

  “Oh wow. I’m so sorry. I hope

  I didn’t …” I couldn’t finish.

  I had sure stuck my big ol’

  foot in my even bigger mouth.

  No. It’s okay. I came here

  to help settle the estate. She left

  her house to me. So I really don’t

  know many people here yet.

  Which explained why he wasn’t

  busy that night. In need of a subject

  change, I moved on to Lucas. “Not

  everyone here is worth knowing. …”

  I told the whole virgin thing. When

  I finished, he responded with a hand,

  placed gently on my knee. What an

  idiot. Does he not recognize

  what a gift you gave him, what

  an amazing opportunity you are?

  You’ve lost not a thing, lovely

  lady. You’ve lost not one thing.

  Okay, His Syntax

  Can be a bit elevated. Overeducated,

  maybe, like having a PhD in poetry,

  which should come from the heart,

  not from some cardboard rulebook.

  But hey, nobody’s perfect. And Bryn

  comes just about as close as a guy

  can come. Since that night, we’ve

  seen each other almost every day.

  It hasn’t been that long—only

  a couple of weeks. But day by

  day, I tumble deeper and deeper

  in love with him. Yeah, it was fast.

  Can falling in love be too fast?

  I don’t think so, and neither

  does Bryn. Best of all, he isn’t

  afraid to tell me he loves me.

  The First Time He Told Me

  Was the same time as our first

  kiss. It was only a few days

  after we started seeing each other.

  He said he wanted to wait,

  thinking I wasn’t quite ready for

  someone new. I wanted you

  to be sure. Rebound things can

  be incredible letdowns. So stop

  me if you don’t want to hear

  this, okay? I don’t know how you

  feel about love at first sight,

  but that day in the mall, I knew

  right away that you were unique,

  a girl who stood out in the crowd.

  And when I saw you sitting there

  on the curb, crying over someone

  who didn’t deserve your broken

  heart, I wanted to make everything

  right again for you. I’ve never

  fallen for anyone so fast!

  We were at our favorite beach

  hideaway, listening to the symphony

  of the waves as the sun set,

  tangerine, on the horizon.

  Bryn pulled me into his lap,

  leaned his forehead against mine,

  kissed me softly. This is so odd

  for me, Whitney. I’ve photographed

  many beautiful girls. Had flings

  with a few. But I never felt for any

  of them what I already feel for you,

  and we barely know each other.

  You are more than a pretty face.

  You are beautiful inside, and that

  beauty radiates, shines like a star.

  I know it’s wrong—I am a few

  years older than you—but you have

  filled an empty place inside me.

  He turned to look me in the eye.

  I love you, Whitney. I really do.

  Then he kissed me, and though

  I found hunger there, I also found

  the love that he professed. And now

  I experience that love every day.

  We Haven’t Made Love Yet

  He says he wants me to be very,

  very sure I want to, because

  he treasures me for more than just

  my body. I’m pretty sure I’m ready,

  but that isn’t quite “very, very sure.”

  Still, maybe today will be the day.

  Yes or no, first h
e’s going to take

  some pics of me. I want to show you

  just how beautiful you are, he said.

  Then he took me shopping for what

  he wants me to wear—a long, flowing

  skirt and gauzy off-the-shoulder blouse.

  Both white. A celebration of virginity,

  was his explanation. We’ll send

  a couple to your old boyfriend.

  He meant that last part too.

  It’s an incredible day—seventy

  degrees, nonintrusive breeze.

  Just enough to rile your hair,

  carry scents of summer blossoms.

  I feel pretty, all decked out in white,

  with just enough makeup to enhance

  my features, not make them obvious,

  as per Bryn’s request. Virginal.

  We’ll Do the Shoot

  Where else? At the beach.

  But down the coast, away

  from town. As we S-curve

  along serpentine Highway 101,

  I can’t help but think about

  Lucas and our first time together.

  Driving this same stretch of road.

  Getting high. “You don’t happen

  to have any pot, do you?” Bryn

  has never offered to get high

  with me. Come to think of it,

  we’ve never even discussed it.

  He doesn’t slow down. Afraid not.

  I haven’t smoked marijuana in years.

  I do have some Valium, if you’re

  a little nervous. In there. He points

  at the center console. Valium?

  Why not? “I’m not exactly

  nervous. But a good buzz never

  hurt anyone, right?” I pop one,

  wait for it to kick in, watching

  the ocean’s heave. By the time

  we reach Bryn’s chosen location,

  I’m feeling pretty darn fine.

  We walk down the deserted

  beach until he finds a nice stretch

  of undisturbed sand. This will do.

  He unpacks his gear, then checks

  me out, all up and down. Take

  off the bra and panties, okay?

  We want a glimpse—a hint—

  of what’s under all that white.

  I do as instructed, allow Bryn

  to position me exactly the way

  he wants. He sits me, skirt tucked

  provocatively between my bent

  legs, and when he goes to move

  my arms, his hand brushes against

  the fabric covering my breasts.

  My nipples go hard immediately.

  Lovely, he says, assessing.

  Exactly what I’m after. Then

  he kisses me sweetly. Exactly

  what I’m after. He makes me

  feel like a real model—beautiful,

  every man’s desire. When he’s