The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
SUNDAY
I pull the curtain aside and step into the shower. The water is hot, my temperature sensors shift rapidly from green to amber.
"Hey! What d'you think you're doing?"
"Showering."
John steps back from the shower spray just as I step forward. Our hips brush against each other. The water begins to soak my hair, turning it dark, slicking it flat against my bare shoulders and back.
"In case you didn't notice, it's occupied. And I was here first."
"And I am here second."
"So what's this, your latest plan to freak me out?"
"I do not mean to freak you out."
"Suppose mom comes in? You trying to freak her out too?"
"The door's locked."
"I didn't lock it."
"I did."
"Since when d'you shower anyway? Your skin's like teflon, the dirt just slides off."
"My hair gets dirty. From the smog. Pollution smells. I don't like to smell."
"And you couldn't wait your turn?"
"Showering together saves water."
"Ri-ght. Because you're all about conservation. You're a regular Al Gore."
"There's nothing regular about Al Gore." I turn slightly. "Wash my back? I'll wash yours."
"I can wash myself, thanks."
"Sometimes it's nice to have help."
"I'm outta here."
John steps out and picks up his towel. Is it possible he has forgotten our kiss in the jeep?
"Don't think I don't know what this is about. Use Riley's voice around me again and I'll dismantle you myself." he says before unlocking the door and leaving.
He has not forgotten. Or forgiven.
I tilt my face under the shower nozzle. The hot spray pummels my closed eyelids. I open them.
Same difference.
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I walk into the kitchen area. John is seated at the table nursing a cup of coffee. He ignores me. I take the seat opposite. My hair is still wet from the shower but it will soon dry. I have used perfume. A small amount. I am finally understanding that less is more. It is 63 days since Derek Reese last informed me I reeked like a tart's boudoir.
I sit and watch John sipping his coffee. He watches me watching him sipping his coffee.
"We need to talk," he tells me. "Talk about personal boundaries. See this salt shaker?" He indicates the condiment set in the middle of the tabletop. "This salt shaker's me."
"It's a salt shaker."
"It represents me. This pepper pot is you."
"It's a pepper pot."
"It represents you. See how they keep their distance?"
John allows the pepper pot to circle the salt shaker without getting too close.
"Suppose I do this," I say, moving the pepper pot so that it is touching the salt shaker.
"Then you need to back off. You're in my personal space. No more joining me in the shower. Do it again and this happens."
John drops the pepper pot on the floor. The top falls off.
"My head breaks off? Unlikely. My neck is furnace-hardened coltan."
"Just do as I ask, okay? Don't make things more complicated than they are. Analogy over."
He drinks his coffee then asks, "I had a piece of paper with someone's phone number on it. Now I can't find it. Know anything about that?"
This is Kate Brewster, I'm not in right now. Leave a message after the beep.
Leave John alone.
"No," I lie. "I don't."
"Maybe I left it in the jeep."
"Why d'you want to call Kate Brewster?"
"Who said it was Kate Brewster's number?"
"You seemed to hit it off. At the party."
"Maybe. She seemed nice."
"Would you forbid Kate Brewster from joining you in the shower?"
John's eyes unfocus slightly. I can tell he is imagining Kate Brewster joining him in the shower, soaping her back, embracing, kissing---
CRACK!
I look down and find I have inadvertently crushed the salt shaker in my fist.
The salt shaker that represents John.
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NOON
My cellphone rings.
"Yes?"
"I've been sentenced to a hundred hours community service!" Becca Shaughnessy wails in my ear. "Because I allowed liquor to be served to minors at my party and resisted arrest. Resisted arrest, my butt! One of those cops totally felt me up. I should sue. Or at least get his number."
"What is community service?"
"You have to wear an orange jump suit and pick trash up off the sidewalk. Like a common criminal. Like Boy George!"
"Where are you?"
"Outside the jail. Can you come pick me up? Please? I'm still in my Xena costume. I haven't got any money for a cab."
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Becca is seated on the steps outside the jail. She smiles and waves as I pull up in the jeep. She is still wearing her leather skirt and boots, but the black wig is gone. She has on a grey sweater with LAPD written across the front.
"Thanks, Cam. You're a real friend," she says as she gets in. "It was a complete nightmare. First they put me in the drunk tank. Then when I barfed they put me in my own cell. But it was dark. I can't sleep in the dark. I need the light on or a My Little Pony nightlite. But they didn't have a My Little Pony nightlite in the whole precinct. Who knew, right?"
"You wish to be taken home?"
"Please. Anyway, the cops called my mom in Florida and told them what happened. Now she's flying home tomorrow. And, get this, she's insisting I come with her to AA meetings. Me and mom. Together. At AA. I mean, kill me. Kill me right now."
TERMINATE : order revoked
Becca is exaggerating for effect. Even so my hand begins to twitch again.
Temptation...
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Becca's house is a mess. Tables are overturned and uneaten food litters the floor.
"All the brewski's have gone!" she complains, opening the doors of the refrigerator. "I bought enough to float a battleship. I bet it was those cops. They probably loaded up their squad cars. Great use of our tax dollars, huh? At least they left the pizza."
"I'm starving," she says between mouthfuls. "In jail they gave me granola for breakfast. It was so hard I think it had gravel in it. They should call it gravel-ola. I totally chipped a tooth. I'll call my orthodontist later, it's really starting to hurt."
"Let me see."
"What?"
I prise open Becca's mouth and peer inside, utilising my zoom function and database of human physiology. "You have a cavity in your right lower bicuspid. It requires filling or an extraction. I could extract it for you." I grip the tooth between my fingers but she struggles free.
"Cam, what the hell? You're scaring me."
There is genuine fear on her face. Ii is evident I have made a serious protocol error. I smile to conceal my mistake. If I cannot bluff my way out of it I will have to terminate her.
"You were kidding, right?"
"Right," I agree smiling wider.
"Man, you were totally freaking me out there!"
She finishes the pizza slice not realising how close she was to death. She then lifts each arm in turn, sniffing her armpits. I have not seen anyone do this before.
"Boy, I totally reek. I'm gonna go shower. Come upstairs with me so we can talk."
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The upstairs bathroom is large with white ceramic tiles and chrome fixtures. Becca undresses and stands under the shower spray. An opaque plastic curtain separates us yet is thin enough to allow conversation over the sound of running water. I do not join her in the shower. My social protocol software warns this is an ERROR. Females do not bathe together, except in certain forms of entertainment media.
"Did you enjoy the party, Cam? Did you meet a boy you liked?"
"Yes," I find myself admitting.
"You did? Cool. Do I know him?"
"Yes."
"But you're not going to tell me his name, are you?"
"No."
"Tease. Did you make out?"
"Yes."
"Tongues?"
"Yes."
"Any under the sweater action?"
"No."
"Taking it slow, huh. How about John? Did he meet someone?"
"Yes."
"Aw man, everyone hooked up except me!"
"What do you know about Kate Brewster?"
"Kate? We were friends as kids She's a reddie like me. We had that in common. Omigod - her and John? But I thought she came with someone?"
"Morris. But she likes John better. I can tell."
"Kate's nice. Loves animals last I heard."
"She has three dogs, a pony and a cockatoo named Mister Tibbs."
"Yeah, that sounds like her. Pass me a towel, please."
I hand Becca a large white towel. She shuts the water off, wraps herself in the towel and steps out of the shower. She stares at her reflection in the wall mirror. As usual she sees flaws that aren't apparant to anyone else.
"Look at my freckles! Gross. I use like a factor one million sunscreen. What more can I do - live under a rock?"
I agree this is impractical.
"I get the impression you don't like Kate."
"She is wrong for John."
"You're really protective of your brother, aren't you?"
"It is my mission."
"As his sister, you mean? That's cool. I wish I had a sibling."
"Why?"
"It's lonely being an only child. Plus there's someone to share the load. That reminds me. Come with me to Malibu. I've got to do damage limitation with my dad before he talks to mom. I'll introduce you to Kristal, his skank girlfriend. She's had another boobjob. I swear they're so big now they have their own gravity."
AFTERNOON
Malibu. Becca's father lives in a white house next to the beach. On Judgement Day a tsunami will sweep this coastline a mile inland, but now it is tranquil with a light seabreeze and gulls flying overhead.
"Baby! What a pleasant surprise! Give daddy a hug."
Becca's father is dressed in white pants and a blue shirt open to the waist. He has tan skin and thick black hair. The only genetic indication that he is her father is the green eyes they share.
"Hey daddy. This is my friend, Cameron. The one I told you about."
"Pleased to meet you at last."
He holds out his right hand. I grasp it and pump it once, twice, three times in observance of the human greeting ritual.
"Firm handshake. You workout, Cameron?"
"Yes."
"Don't let her skinny arms fool you; she's as strong as an ox."
"Come inside and meet Kristal."
"Oh is she home from school?" Becca asks innocently.
"Now then, we've been over that. A little respect for your father."
"Sorry."
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Kristal has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human, on any mammal. A red alert blinks in my HUD warning me I am staring. She offers me mineral water to drink. I decline.
"Ah understand. Mineral water's so fattening."
Kristal is wearing denim shorts and a tanktop that barely contains her. She has blonde hair, a tiny waist and an accent I cannot place.
Becca says, "Daddy, can I talk to you in private?"
"Sure, sweetie, let's go in the other room. Excuse us, ladies."
I sit on the couch opposite Kristal who smiles and says, "Becca tells us you two met in ballet class. Ah'm a dancer too. Did she tell you?"
"Becca informed me you take your clothes off for crowds of men who then stuff dollar bills in your wazoo. I don't know what a wazoo is, but by process of elimination I believe it is your urinary tract."
"Well! That's not what ah do at all. Ah'm a trained and fully accredited pole dancer. A respectable pole dancer."
"You are from Poland?"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No."
"Ah'm a texan. Born and raised in Dallas, Texas. D'you know Dallas?"
"No, it is completely destroyed by bombs."
"Ah can't understand a word you're saying."
Silence. I stare out the large picture window at the Pacific ocean. It is peaceful now, the waves placid and unthreatening, not the towering wall of destruction it will one day become.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kristal notes my attention. "Ah just love the ocean. Malibu's a wonderful place to live."
"Why are your breasts so large and firm?"
"Well, ah had them done. Again."
"Why do you wish to change yourself?"
"Ah just think Mother Nature can use a helping hand now and then."
"I cannot change my fundamental nature. Why can't he accept that?"
"He? Oh I think ah understand. It's a boy, isn't it?"
"Yes," I find myself confessing.
"Did he reject you?"
"Yes."
"And you care for this boy?"
"I would perish for him."
"See, hon, that might be part of your problem. You sound so needy you might be scaring him away. Is he comfortable in your company?"
"No."
"Then it might be time to let this one go. The heart wants what the heart wants."
"What if you have no heart?"
Before Kristal can reply voices are raised in the adjoining room.
"You were arrested for drunkeness? My God, girl, have you learnt nothing from your mother?"
"It's nothing, daddy. Just a few beers at a party."
"You've got a police record now. That could affect which college you get into."
"I'm not going to college. I've decided to become an actress. Or a singer. I haven't decided yet."
"Have you lost your mind? No way are you skipping college."
"If you care so much why'd you leave me for little miss plastic-fantastic in there?"
"Don't you talk to me that way, young lady. And while we're at it, where did you get the money for that Ferrari? I know how much alimony I pay your mother, and it's not nearly enough to buy a car like that."
"It's my own money, okay? You wanna see the pink slip?"
"Where did this money come from? Not your allowance that's for sure."
"I'm not talking to you any more. You're horrible. I hate you!"
Becca appears in the doorway. "Come on, Cam. We're leaving."
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In the Ferrari Becca snivels and whines.
"I can't believe daddy. I thought he'd cut me some slack after what he did to our family. Why does it always happen to me? Life's so unfair. So I drink a few beers and I'm a coupla years underage - what harm does it do?"
"Alcohol is making you stupid and sloppy. Your liver function is impaired and your mental faculties eroded. You hate yourself so you drink but the drink makes you hate your life even more. Self-pity is not a strong survival trait."
"I suppose I have been overdoing the emo stuff lately," she says in a tiny voice. She bursts into tears. "Oh Cam, only a real friend would tell me the truth like this! BFF?"
"BFF," I repeat.
I do not know what this means but it seems to ressure her.
-000-
I dare say the American legal system wouldn't treat Becca quite how I describe. Hey - I never claimed to be John Grisham, lol.
