deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 19: a day with joey

Joey stood outside of the front door to the admissions office as he awaited for Sam as she filled out the paperwork and had it all coalesce right before her very eyes. That grant was only going to cover most of it and she wondered about the rest of it, especially since she was already concerned about money. Bill walked her through it all, but the whole entire time she shuffled her feet under her seat and she could feel the butterflies whirring up in her stomach.
She leaned back in the hard chair with her hands rested in her lap. Her palms began to sweat even when he told her that since she hailed from out of state, she would have to go in part time at first if she wanted more money and more credits for her degree. It didn't help matters that he stared at her from across the room while he talked through it. He would lift his gaze from the paper every so often and he would shoot her a fine, thin lipped smile in response to her. He ran his fingers through his fine hair and she caught glimpse of a silvery ring on his right pinky finger.
"If you have any questions, you can call me at any time," he finally told her, and he handed her a little eggshell colored card.
"Okay, thank you," she quipped almost under her breath. He then extended his other hand for her.
"Welcome aboard, Miss Shelley," he announced with a creeping smile across his face. Sam returned the favor even with all of the thoughts swimming through her mind. "School starts the ninth of September, the week after Labor Day."
"I'll mark my calender," she vowed as she slung her purse back over her shoulder. She held the card in between two fingers as she made her way back out to the warm afternoon sunshine. Joey's jet black curls glimmered and glowed under the golden yellow light, and he had put his sunglasses back on across his face: she was greeted by that pair of those silver mirrors staring back at her from the bright tapestry behind him.
"I start the second week of September," she told him, and when the words left her lips, her stomach turned.
"Right on!" Joey raised his glass to her; he held onto her empty glass down by his jeans pocket.
"By the way, I can't believe you actually got a couple of glasses from that restaurant," she remarked as they started down the ramp to the right.
"Free glasses," he said. "Literally. The place I went to had bought some new glasses and they were giving out the old ones, and so they gave me a couple of 'em."
They reached the sidewalk once again and they stood under a tree covered in a myriad of fresh new baby greenish yellow leaves.
"You wanna go back to that li'l book shop that Cliff was at?" Joey suggested to her as he took a final sip of his lemonade.
"I dunno if he's still there, though," she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. Indeed, she peered down the block at that book shop. She had no idea if Cliff was in there or if he had left after they had gone down to the school.
He was the man of her dreams, and she needed to be closer to him.
"Let's take a walk," she told Joey.
"Remember when we took a walk?" he cracked.
"Hmmm... how 'bout showing me some more hockey stuff?" she suggested.
"Oh, gladly!" His face lit up at the sound of that. "Maybe I can show you a little drummin' or sump'n, too. Let's see if there's a music shop 'round here... I wanna drum for ya."
They reached the corner of the sidewalk and stood there for a moment in anticipation.
"Yeah, I kinda wanna put on some skates and just raise some hell for ya, Sam I am," he said with a point up the block. She followed his gesture to the long low building behind the sidewalk on the other side of the street.
"What's that? What're you pointing at?"
"I used to go over there before many times with my teammates," he declared, and he turned his head to show her the big goof grin on his face. "I just didn't know your school was this close to it, though."
Joey led her down the sidewalk to the next corner and they crossed the sun bathed pavement to the pale brick building. He reached the glass doors first and she was greeted by the smell of new rubber coupled with new leather. She looked to her left, at the sight of the rows of black and white hockey jerseys on racks and the series of skates up on the wall. She turned her head to the right and she watched him head on over to a shelf for something.
"Is this like just some hockey only store?" she asked him as she sauntered on over to him.
"Kinda," he replied as he took a mesh mask out of the box on the shelf. "It's like a safe haven for hockey players and also for field hockey players. There's a whole section over there dedicated especially to field hockey players. I had a feeling they were still open because like I said, I used to come here all the time with my old semi pro teammates because we could stash our stuff in here whenever we headed out for some games. And they would close at around sundown so as long as someone was down here in the City, we could come in here for something. Wonder if my mask still fits me..."
She took the box for him so he could put it on over his face with both hands.
"Like a glove," he decreed in a muffled voice. Using his right hand, he reached behind his head to latch the mask on all the way. She couldn't see his fingers or the movement of his hand, but within a few seconds, he had the mask on over his face. Like a regular goalie out on the ice.
"I don't have my actual jersey, though," he confessed. Sam turned for one of the jerseys on the racks right behind her. She grabbed one of the black ones and she returned to give it to him.
"Here, try this on," she suggested to him.
"How'd you know my size?" he demanded, shocked.
"I don't. I just guessed. Hence 'try this on.'"
"Oh, I see. Well, let's see here..." He took the jersey for himself and he slipped it on over his head and his mask. The V shaped collar rested over his shirt and the sleeves hung around his upper arms. The body of the jersey clung to his body because of the shirt underneath, but it fit him well.
"Are the jerseys supposed to be loose?" she asked him.
"Well, not very loose," he explained in a muffled voice; he reached up to adjust the mask over his face. "But if it's quite loose on your body, it's ideal. Like you can move around the ice with a great deal o' ease."
He then patted the back of his head.
"You got a spare ponytail holder or sump'n I can tie my hair back with?"
Sam reached into her purse for her white velvet scrunchie, and indeed, she found it right next to her wallet, and she handed it to him.
"Ooh, soft," he noted as he tied back his hair with it.
"I have a couple more of those back at my place," she told him as she closed her purse.
"I'll take care o' this one, though," he promised her, and then he gestured for her to follow him around the wall behind him. Joey adjusted his ponytail as he rounded the corner and she beheld the sight of a small hockey rink set down from the rest of the building. He pushed open the glass door and she was greeted by the cold, frigid feeling brought on by the pearly white sheet of ice stretched out before them. As they came closer to the smooth railing lining the rink, she made out the sight of scratches and grooves all over the surface of the ice.
Sam let her eyes wander over the surface as Joey disappeared behind what appeared to be a wooden shed off to the side.
She gazed up at the walls outside of the ice itself and she pictured a large crowd in there to cheer him on. She pictured Joey and his old team going forth there on the ice and fighting back at the other team, which hadn't a prayer against them. Off to her left stood the fiery red goal posts, complete with the ropey net so as to catch the puck. On the far right side of the rink stood another set of goal posts for the opposing team.
There was a clanking noise inside of the shed and a door at the back swung open. He slid out of there and landed on the ice in skates: he had put on knee pads and those big gloves on his hands. The blades sheered against the surface of the ice. He put one foot forward, followed by the other, and he shot forward with the hockey stick in hand.
He shot forward to the goal posts set off to her left. Right before he reached those goal posts, he extended his right leg out and the blade acted as a brake: a sheet of sheered ice shot up next to his foot.
"Pretend someone overshot it a bit," he called out to her. She nodded her head and he darted forward with the stick extended out before him. She watched him in awe as he wove his way across the ice to catch the imaginary puck down by the wall in front of her. He doubled back to the goal posts when he did it again.
Joey seemed so big, strong, lanky, and strapping even with the pads on his legs and his arms and with the hockey stick in both hands. The way he moved around the ice made her think of a ghost: the jersey drifted off of his body and only added to his movement. He kept his head down towards the scarred but pearly surface of the ice and his black curls remained in place right atop his back. Big and strong, and yet elegant and even delicate.
Sam clutched at the railing before her as he stuck the stick out before him so as to catch the puck for himself.
The blades of the skates made a steady grinding noise upon the ice. She followed the fine white line which formed right underneath the blade's sharp edge, and she thought of the man in her dreams. The black stripe which transformed into a white one and back to a black one. A man of many colors, and another one skated right before her.
The black jersey made her think of velvet tapestry, or ribbons which dangled off of his body, such that she had an inclination to draw him. To draw him again, but in full form that time around. His black jeans and the black jersey made him appear fuller and shadowy than normal: the knee pads made his otherwise spindly legs appear stronger and heartier than before.
He drifted past her with the stick held down below his waist. She caught a glimpse of his eyes behind the mesh covering of the mask. Even though he was alone, she could make sight of his concentration. He bowed closer to the ice and buckled his knees a bit as he neared the other goal posts on the far side of the ice.
"Yeah, I'm the goalie and I'm not allowed to leave my post," he shouted, and his voice floated up to the rafters overhead.
"I don't think the ghosts care," she called back to him as she glanced about the vacant rink. She then folded her arms across her chest to keep the warmth in her skin.
"The ghosts are cool with a dude like me," he retorted, "I dunno how they'd react if I high stick, though. Like this—" He raised the stick from below his waist and the head smacked against the goal post next to him, and so hard that the metallic clang! echoed throughout the room. He glanced over at her and hunched his shoulders at the sound. She lunged back a bit from it.
"Easy there, big fella," she called out as she shot out her hands before her.
"Guess the ghosts don't kid around after all?" he shouted back with a shrug of his shoulders, and that brought a laugh out of her.
"The ghosts know that we're here," she followed up as he skated his way back to her. Since the ice was set down a bit from the railing, when he stood right before her, the curly crown of his head hung right below her line of sight.
"Speaking of ghosts," she started, but she never said anything more than that.
Joey reached behind his head with his free hand and unfastened the mask. He took it off in one swipe. A soft warm blush crossed his sun tinged face and he showed her his tongue.
"What about it?" he asked her, out of breath.
"God, you are just—elegant out there on the ice," she remarked with a wave of her hand.
"It's like a nice balance of elegance and violence," he declared. "We move about quickly but we work hard, though. And then there's the whole thing with these razor sharp skates." He let out a long low whistle and, even with his hands full, he brought them to his waist.
"I'm getting kinda hungry, you got anything to eat?" he asked her.
"No, but there's plenty to eat back at my place, though," she told him.
"I wouldn't mind havin' dinner back at your place," he replied with that lopsided grin plastered across his face.
"You didn't get to drum for me, though," she reminded him with a shake of her head.
"I can show you tomorrow before Frankie takes me home, though," he pointed out. "Y'know, if Charlie's willin' to let me show you sump'n." He peered about the rink. "You got the time?"
"I don't, no."
"I can't remember what the subway schedule is 'round here—I really couldn't tell you off hand, but... I'll hustle, though, so we can get home quick. I'm really starting to get hungry now that I mention it."
Indeed, Sam stood there at the railing and waited for Joey to remove the pads and take off the skates. She nibbled on her bottom lip, but she trusted him, even as he cursed a little bit upon unlacing the skates. She caught the sound of the metal blades as they scratched on the floor. But within time, he emerged from the shed and the two of them walked at a brisk pace to the front part of the safe spot.
"Hold this for a sec," he quipped as he handed her the mask. But she spotted the box atop the shelf, and she slipped it back in there as he peeled off the jersey and hung it back up.
"Aw, thank you, Sam!" And with that, he held the door for her. Sam and Joey ducked outside to the incoming evening: the tall skyscrapers blocked out the fading sun and in turn cast a cool shadow over them and the rest of the street.
"Do you remember which way it is?" he asked her over the noise of the crowded streets: it was past rush hour, but it was nearing dinner time.
"Um—let's see... there's my school." She pointed across the street to her brand new school. "The book shop's over there, so the subway's like right near here. Follow me, Joey!"
Sam clutched onto the strap of her purse as she led him down the sidewalk, past a new column of steam that billowed out from the storm drain. She bowed her head away from it as she strode past it. Joey lingered right behind her every step of the way.
She recognized the wrought iron fencing around the staircase. It was a nagging feeling, but Sam knew that the train was going to leave soon.
She almost ran down the stairs first to the hard concrete floor, and then she reached the check point. She spotted the train waiting at the platform.
"Wait up, Sam!" Joey called out and his voice echoed throughout the terminal, but she kept going to the closest entrance of the train. She wove past a small family and caught the sliding door first. She held onto the silver metal support pole with her free hand. Joey skidded into the car right before the door squeaked shut. He joined her at the pole and breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Yeah!" Joey proclaimed and he ran his fingers through his black curls. He stopped himself when he realized he still wore her scrunchie. He took it out of his hair and his black curls sprawled over his shoulders like the tentacles of an octopus, and he handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said in a hoarse voice, and she slipped it back into her purse. Despite having drank down that lemonade, the back of her throat felt dry and parched.
"Ah, shit," he blurted out.
"What's up?" She raised her eyebrows at him.
"When I put that mask on, I put those glasses up on that shelf. Forgot they were there."
"Yeah, I forgot about them, too," she consoled him. "It's okay—I have glasses. But they were nice, though."
"And they were free, too! Oh, well." He fetched up another sigh.
Even though she was used to the trip from the other side of town at that point, it felt as though it lasted much longer, much like her very first trip down to Manhattan from her place. It didn't help matters that Joey set his hand upon his slender svelte belly at one moment. When they reached Grand Central, he began to rub his stomach a bit.
"It's okay, Joey, we're almost there," she assured him, even though she knew they were still well away from the Bronx. She began to feel quite hungry herself, and she wished for a big glass of iced tea right before her. Joey let out a long low whistle at one point and he ran his fingers through his black curls.
"I don't feel so good," he confessed to her in a low voice. He turned his head and he sank down right next to her on the hard ugly orange seats.
"You're not gonna puke, are ya?" a man behind them asked him.
"He's hungry," she told him. "Poor guy needs food in his belly."
"We're goin' all the way up to the Bronx, too," Joey chimed in. "The train swayin' doesn't help matters, either."
"Ah, man, try to think of something good," said the man.
"What do you wanna eat when we get home?" Sam asked Joey.
"I dunno—I'm really wantin' pasta," he confessed.
"Pasta with bits of steak," the man behind them followed up.
"Oh, yeah!" Joey laughed. "With a li'l bitta sauce and some garlic bread on the side... ah, man."
"I kinda want that now," Sam joined in.
They fell back into silence for a little bit longer when the smell of garlic and pizza caught Sam's attention at the next stop.
"Oh my god, that smells so good," she declared as the doors slid open again.
"That's my dinner, kids!" the man behind them said.
"So jealous!" Joey called over him, and he laughed out loud as he stepped off the subway.
"We're almost there," she assured him again, "almost there."
"God, this is killin' me," he moaned.
Every minute felt double that, but within time, Sam recognized the stops before her neighborhood. Joey stood to his feet and he hung right before her with one hand on the pole. He let out another whistle from the feeling: the brown tinge in his skin had washed out with the intense hunger within him.
They came to the stop and once the doors slid open, his knees buckled, and thus Sam almost dragged him onto the platform. Joey staggered forth and caught himself on her shoulder.
"At least I'm not drunk," he pointed out.
"True," she agreed with him.
She put her arm around him as they ascended the stairs and reached the street. The apartment was within their range, but it seemed so much further away than normal.
Joey had to stop to catch his breath at the base of the stairs inside of the building.
"I'll carry you up the stairs if I have to," she suggested.
"Nah," he begged her with a wave of his hand. "Nah, nah, nah, nah... you don't haveta do that." He lifted himself upright and whistled yet again. Sam led him up the stairs to her front door: once she had unlocked the door and stepped inside, Joey collapsed on the couch, flat on his side.
"I'm gonna whip something so quick," she vowed to him as he pushed his black curls out of his face. She hung her purse up on the hook next to the door and she kicked off her shoes. Even though she didn't do much for herself, it felt like such a long day.
She had a large box of farfalle in the cupboard, but no steak. It would have to do: she made a big pot of pasta just for the both of them, complete with some tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese. Joey had two large helpings of the pasta, the first of which he wolfed down as if he was starving to death.
He set the fork down on the edge of his plate and he rested a hand on his stomach.
"Feel better?" she asked him with a little smile.
"Very much so," he replied to her as he sank down in the cushion.
Indeed, later on that evening, when he lay down on the couch, he was quick to fall asleep. Even though it was still somewhat early, and given it was a Friday night, Sam figured it would be best to turn in herself. She changed into a gray camisole and a little pair of shorts before she climbed into bed. She switched off the light and lay her head down on her pillow.
It felt as though she had just fallen asleep when something jarred her awake. She lifted her head and glanced about the darkness, and it took her a second to realize that it was the phone ringing. Sam climbed out of bed and she hurried into the kitchen. She caught Joey's faint silhouette as he rose from the couch. He shuffled about the floor in front of him and he almost fell off of the cushions.
"I've got it, Joey," she advised him. "I've got it. Go back to sleep."
Joey grunted in his throat as he sank back down on the dark couch. She continued on to the kitchen, where she slid her hand over the light switch on the wall. She snapped her eyes closed against the sudden bright white light but she fondled the wall for the phone and she nearly knocked it onto the floor. But she caught it in both hands and brought the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?" Her voice broke with sleep.
"Sam?"
She fluttered her eyes open and held still right there.
"Who's this?" She tried to keep her voice from rising with fear.
"It's Cliff."
"Oh, hi!" she greeted him once she had cleared her throat.
"Is this a bad time?" he asked her.
"Well, it's one in the morning," she started.
"Ah, shit—I had a feeling that it was too late," he confessed. "It's still only ten back here in the Bay Area. I kept my promise with you, though."
"True, true." She paused. "Wait. You're already home?"
"Took the red eye," he explained, "and I like just got home, too. Anyways, the other reason I'm calling you is I wanna ask you a question."
"Go on," she said in a low voice. She stood on the other side of the corner with the phone pressed to her ear.
"When we were in the bookstore, I wanted to ask you out."
"You can still ask me out now," she pointed out.
"I dunno..." Cliff's voice trailed off.
"What's the matter?" she asked him as she brought her free arm closer to her chest.
"There's just something about doing that in person," he confessed. "And in daylight, too."
"But it's night, though," she pointed out, "it's kinda—"
"Kinda?" he echoed her. "Kinda what?"
"—sexy," she finished in a near whisper.
"Oh, yeah?" Cliff cleared his throat.
"Yeah. I mean—it's one in the morning here, I'm in my jammies, I'm in the kitchen—"
He cleared his throat again.
"Okay," he concluded in a gentle voice. "Do you wanna go with me to the Legacy show next week?"
Sam peered around the corner to the dark living room right behind her. Joey's slow, heavy breathing rose and fell in steady rhythm in the room right next to her. He asked her out to the Legacy show, so she had to think of something fast. It was one in the morning and her bed beckoned her back until the sunrise.
She closed her eyes and she hoped something would happen to Joey so she could justify a date with Cliff.
"Yes, I'd love to," she answered almost without even thinking. "I live in the Bronx so if you'd like to pick me up the day of, I'll be waiting here for you."
"I'm not gonna have a car, though," he confessed. "James, Lars, Kirk, and I are just gonna fly back East and Jon and Marsha'll be taking us there."
"Okay! So—I'll meet you there?"
"Yeah. Seven o'clock. We'll be waitin' for ya."
"Okay." She couldn't resist the smile from crossing her face.
"You know, I was thinking," he started again, with another clearing of his throat.
"Thinking about what?" she filled in for him.
"Thinking about the way you looked when you tracked down Joey and you stood under the light right in front of me. You looked..." He stopped right in his tracks.
"I looked what?"
"...really beautiful." She stopped right in her tracks and her heart skipped a beat at the sound of that. "Which leads me to this—do you have any nicer tops you could wear to the show?"
"I think I do," she recalled, "I'll dig something out of my closet if I have to."
"'Cause—you know. I wanna see you."
"Sure, sure. As long as you dress your best for me in return."
"Of course! I've got these big cowboy boots right next to my bed, and I'll wear those for you."
"Will you have that big floppy hat with you?"
"Maybe. Or I just might surprise you."
"I can't wait to see you," she whispered to him.
"And I can't wait to see you, either. Anyways, don't stay up too late. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay. You, too, Cliff."