Becca’s icon, a headshot of the gorgeous Number Six Cylon from Battlestar Galactica, showed that she was signed on to Skype, but that didn’t mean she would answer. I clicked on the video call button and let it ring. No answer.
That gave me time to think about tonight. I didn’t want to call it a date, didn’t want to think about the attachment and attention and commitment that came with having a boyfriend. I needed all of that for Becca, not some guy I only knew in my dreams until last week. So far it had been easy enough, fun even, and definitely fulfilling in certain areas. That’s where I wanted it to stay.
I decided not to change clothes.
In ten minutes, I’d leave to pick Leo up at his house, a house I’d driven by dozens of time with Becca riding shotgun when I first got my license, in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. I liked those glimpses. Nothing serious about a glimpse. I didn’t need any more serious.
Just as I was about to leave my room, my Skype rang. I thought it might be Aunt Judy checking in, but happily it was Becca. My view of her was skewed, her laptop on her stomach as she lay awkwardly on her bed with her neck propped up. I forgot for a minute that she had no hair, and her skin was almost chartreuse.
“Hey! How are you?” I asked like a dumbass.
“Gurgle,” was all she said, not the sound but the actual word. “I have a puke bucket next to my bed. A bucket of puke,” she slurred. I didn’t know if she was tired or pumped full of drugs or both.
“Speaking of buckets,” I tried to sound cheery, “I’ve been working on your list. I draw the line at wearing two different shoes, though.”
She attempted a smile but could barely hold up her head.
“And I’m going to wait until you’re better so we can hop a train like a hobo together.”
Was Becca asleep?
“I better let you go. I’m going to see Bruce Campbell tonight with Leo Dietz. Wish it was you, though.” Did I really, or did I feel obligated to add that? God, she looked like shit.
After Becca didn’t answer, I started to say, “Well, bye. I’ll talk to you—”
“Alex. Alex.” B came back to life and spoke urgently. “You gotta do something for me,” she breathed.
“What? Anything.” I meant it, too.
“Find out if he’s circumcised.” And then she definitely was asleep.
Even sick as fuck and pumped with meds, Becca was a complete pervert. She better not die on me.
CHAPTER 16
LEO WAITED OUTSIDE for me on his front porch. His house had fancy landscaping with brightly colored window boxes and rounded bushes. A huge American flag flew from a post.
He slid into my dad’s car wearing a pair of jeans spotted with oil and a dark green t-shirt. I couldn’t remember if it was the same outfit he wore earlier. He smelled minty. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I agreed, and we drove off.
I had NPR on the radio, a story about Damien Echols, a Southerner wrongly sent to prison for a sick crime he didn’t commit just because he was an all-black-wearing metalhead and the town needed a scapegoat. We listened intently, finishing the show as we parked at the Orpheum. A line snaked around the block.
“Good call on getting here early,” I commended him. He placed his hand on my back to guide me toward the end of the line. It was an odd feeling. Boyfriendish, almost, and unnecessary. I scooted ahead of him to find our spot in the queue.
Most of the people waiting were in some kind of costume: fake blood, wigs, one guy even had a disembodied hand gripping onto his shoulder. There was enough people-watching to keep us talking and laughing. I even managed to accomplish one of Becca’s early Fuck-It List items—number 3: Chew 10 pieces of gum at once and blow a quadruple bubble. It was rather hilarious to observe Leo as he watched me polish off an entire pack of his Dessert Delight gum. “This apple-pie gum is fucking gross,” I spat through strained chomps of the massive wad in my mouth.
“Not nearly as gross as watching you chew it.”
I spat out several double bubbles but never made it close to the coveted quadruple.
At seven, the line began to move, and we made our way to our seats. “Do you mind if we sit on the aisle?” I requested. “I like to have an exit route.”
“In case of a zombie attack, I’m assuming.” I nodded. Once we were in our seats, Leo asked, “Do you want any snacks?”
“Dots, if they have them,” I said, and fished a few dollars out of my pocket.
“That’s okay.” He wouldn’t take the money. “You can pay for coffee later.” Leo stood up and rubbed past my knees on his way out of the row. Standing next to him outside in line did nothing for me, but that small act of connecting with my knees made my stomach tingle.
I texted Becca while Leo was away.
About to see Bruce! I’ll tell him u say hi
As the lights dimmed for the start of the movie, Leo returned and slid past me once again. I tried to ignore my libido’s feelings to retain the reverence of the Evil Dead films. Leo handed me the box of Dots, while he munched from a tub of popcorn. I attempted to remove the clear wrap from around the yellow box in a movie- appropriate manner, but it took me forever to find a weak spot to open the plastic. By the time I was in full crinkle, characters were talking and some people in front of me turned around to glare. I popped a Dot in my mouth and sneered back.
“Ew.” I spit the Dot into my hand.
“What’s wrong?” Leo leaned over and whispered into my ear. He smelled all buttery.
“I ate a green one,” I whispered back. The warmth of his cheek near my mouth begged for a kiss, but I restrained myself.
“Here.” He handed me a napkin from under his tub, and I rubbed the sticky mess from my hand into it.
Each time I pulled a new Dot out of the box, I held it up to the screen in hopes of discovering its color in the darkness, lest it be green again.
“Do you want some popcorn?” Leo whispered midway through the film.
“No thank you. Want a Dot?”
“Are there only green ones left?”
“Yep,” I told him, and he kissed me one, two, three times on the mouth. I wished there weren’t so many people around us.
We watched the rest of the movie as members of an audience, reacting together with laughter and disgust at the appropriate intervals. When the film ended, Bruce Campbell, the lead actor in the Evil Dead trilogy, as well as a cult god, walked out on the stage. He looked paunchier and older than in the films, but still had that great movie star butt chin I admired on him. The audience took several minutes to calm down from our enthusiastic standing ovation, and when we did Leo immediately took my hand in his.
I never was much for holding hands. Most people were so clammy, or our fingers fit together wrong. There was nothing worse than intertwined fingers as a gesture of romance only to realize that the boy’s hands were stumpy and there was barely enough room to lace our fingers together. Leo didn’t weave our fingers, but held my hand on his lap with a grip that tightened every time he laughed at something brilliant Bruce said. Leo’s hand was much larger than mine, with prominent veins. At times, no matter how funny or engaging Bruce was, I was distracted by the force with which Leo would jerk my hand with a laugh. Not a bad distraction, but I wanted to focus on Bruce, maybe learn something for my own movies.
I fished my hand away from Leo’s and pretended to dig something out of my back pocket. He didn’t seem to notice. I spent the rest of the show wondering why Leo didn’t try to hold my hand again.
Bruce was selling and signing copies of his books, posters, shirts, and any other weird artifact people brought to him. When it was time for me and Leo to greet him, I told Bruce, “You are a legend.”
He thanked me and offered to sign an Army of Darkness poster I brought along. “Gimme some sugar, Baby,” he wrote, a classic line. One of my favorites. I asked Leo to take a picture of me and Bruce with my phone, and he
