"I was going to tell Ruby. But I was afraid she'd break up with me. Ha!"

"Have you...done anything?"

"I messed around with one guy. He was there, just now."

"It wasn't Chris, was it?" He drops his arm.

"No. Benjamin."

The nail-biter. Of course.

"It didn't mean anything. But, yeah, we messed around a little last summer. I made the move. Before I met Ruby."

"Maybe you'll get to explore this side-"

"It's not a big deal," Calvin says, suddenly brusque. "Everyone's bis.e.xual. I've been reading a lot of theory. Marcuse calls it polymorphous perversity. Everyone in an ideal world would be able to express it. Bis.e.xuality is inherently a critique, because it refuses the dualistic labeling of s.e.xuality."

"Right. Kinsey said we're all on a scale somewhere."

"I'm not saying I'm smack in the middle. I mean, I still like a nice set of t.i.ts."

"Of course."

Robin looks up the block. He's ready to go now, worried that he's been away from Ruby again for too long. George is with her, though. George will take care of things.

Calvin says, "You figured it out? That's what you said, just now."

"The script," Robin says. "Look, I really need to get back to-"

Calvin snaps his fingers. "The best thing that could come out of this is that my script gets a jolt of new energy. I'm thinking I should have Agnetha take off with some other guy, while Carter goes looking for her. Do you think that would work? I mean, based on what you read?"

"It could..."

"Because you get the undertone that runs through it, that Carter's really l.u.s.ting after his friend, right?"

"Oh, yes, that was apparent." Seems even more apparent now, knowing that Bennett in the script comes from Benjamin in life. But, really, Benjamin, that wisea.s.s? The one who was so quick to label Robin gay as soon as he met him, who insulted George with that Mr. T. crack? Calvin seems to lack the capacity for good judgment. "Why don't you let Carter become more aware at the end?"

"You mean in the bathroom? It's supposed to be ambiguous."

"But it's kind of a cliche. The whole thing with the razor."

"It is? Because I'm, like, morally opposed to cliche."

"So don't make the s.e.xually confused guy come off as weak weak. It's not the 1950s, you know." And then he says something he hadn't planned to say, though as soon as he does it seems true. "I'd like to play a character who's more ready to deal with being gay. Or bi. Whatever you want to call it."

"See, this is why I knew you needed to take that role, because you're in tune with the themes and motifs I'm interweaving into this, and the social context of imagery and so forth." Calvin opens the Saab's back door and pulls a notebook off the floor. "I'm going to stay here and write some of these new ideas down."

"Good. I'll take the bag and get Ruby. Do you want me to give her a message?"

"No, f.u.c.k her. Sorry. I mean-tell her if she wants to maintain any sort of friendship she's going to have to make it up to me. I'm serious. I'm not gonna go sniffing after her like some kind of p.u.s.s.ywhipped guy."

"Will do."

Robin gives Calvin another squeeze on the arm. Calvin looks up at him and beams. It's surprising, this genuine affection. But it pa.s.ses soon enough, and he returns his attention to his notebook, his hand looping across the lined pages in a fit of inspiration.

Robin turns and moves back down the street, his sister's case in his grip. The bag is remarkably heavy, as if she had packed for a longer journey.

From the front porch, she calls out to the Deadheads in the lawn chairs, "Did you see a guy come out here-black hair, red T-shirt?" They send her vacant stares and shrugs. She looks up and down the street. Only a few trees. Little shade or shelter. Nowhere to hide, but no sign of Chris.

She can't be sure he hasn't left for good. He knows she lied to him. Then Cicely wouldn't let him in the bathroom. Then Calvin picked a fight and might have hurt him. He could have decided enough was enough. And if she's right-that he got high with Benjamin-he could have followed that buzzing energy anywhere. She takes a few steps into the front yard, a plot of arid ground between the stoop and the sidewalk, more gravel than gra.s.s. There's a wobble to her step, some leftover dizziness. She wonders if that was alcohol poisoning. A hot merciless wind sends a wad of Kleenex sputtering along the sidewalk. The toe of her boot snags on something in the dirt. She reaches down and with one finger pries up what seems to be the lower half of a bikini, a riot of color, coated in filth. At that moment she senses eyes upon her. A woman her mother's age is sweeping the sidewalk a few houses down, scrutinizing her.

"Day and night, nothing but a racket," the woman snarls. "You should be ashamed."

"No, I'm not part of this-" Ruby begins and then stops, because the woman's accusatory expression doesn't change, and really, why would it? To her, Ruby is just one more troublemaker here for the weekend, blazing a path of destruction in the name of partying. And anyway, Ruby is is part of this. She's smack in the middle of it. part of this. She's smack in the middle of it.

The soiled bikini bottom dangles from her finger. In a flash she remembers a preposterous thought that soared across her mind as she leaned over the porcelain bowl and emptied herself out-the idea that throwing up would somehow protect her from pregnancy. That the violence of the act would-what? Loosen any fertilized egg that wanted to attach itself inside of her? She feels a repulsive shudder travel down her back. She flicks the bikini to the ground again. The woman with the broom, still watching, lets out a disapproving grunt. Ruby drags the cloth with her boot toward the porch steps, as if this might make a difference. What if she is pregnant and she never sees him again? What if he kills himself-would she have to keep the baby, to keep him alive?

"Hey, Ruby-over here."

She recognizes his voice before she sees him-already she knows what her name sounds like coming from his mouth-and then there he is, just a little ways down, sitting on the hood of a car, exactly as he'd done outside the club. Sitting and waiting. Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you, G.o.d. She has the strong impulse to run to him, grab his hand, and drag him away. To disappear together once more and not tell anyone. Wasn't everything fine until they came back here? The room at the Island Beach Motor Lodge is paid for. She can go home tomorrow, after another night with Chris. She can visit Jackson's grave tomorrow, too. A day late, yes, but she can memorialize his She has the strong impulse to run to him, grab his hand, and drag him away. To disappear together once more and not tell anyone. Wasn't everything fine until they came back here? The room at the Island Beach Motor Lodge is paid for. She can go home tomorrow, after another night with Chris. She can visit Jackson's grave tomorrow, too. A day late, yes, but she can memorialize his birthweek. birthweek. She walks slowly to him, her steps controlled. She walks slowly to him, her steps controlled.

Chris's face is puffy on one side. There's a bright red patch where his jaw meets his neck-is that from Calvin? It nearly mirrors the scratch Dorian gave her last night. It repulses her, all this fighting. They're supposed to be adults, but they're as primitive as wild animals.

"You and me," he says. "That's all I care about." He slides off the hood and reaches for her hand. He wants to take her away. Already she can read his intention in a single gesture. The desire apparent in his body language. There's something so powerful in that knowledge. But she stops short. Because it's not last night anymore, and now there are too many questions.

"Did you?" she asks.

"What?"

"Did you do c.o.ke with Benjamin? Just before, in the house?"

"Benjamin's always got c.o.ke. f.u.c.king Scarface."

She press her lips together, waiting.

He hunches his shoulders guiltily. "I did one little half-line. I was just trying to slow him down."

"Slow him down?"

He drops his head, looks at his hands. "I was confused. He was talking all kinds of s.h.i.t. About you. That you weren't really-"

"What? A virgin?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind."

"That's what he said, right?"

"Is it true?"

Now she finds herself looking away, trying to come up with the words. "It has nothing to do with you."

A grunt, the sound of pain being absorbed, releases from his throat. "Just tell me it wasn't Calvin."

"It wasn't."

"Because for all you know he has AIDS."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because he's got h.o.m.o tendencies! Everyone knows that."

He's clearly still wired, his mind unsettled, his thoughts spinning like a boardwalk wheel of fortune, round and round he goes and where he'll land n.o.body knows. In the periphery of her vision Ruby sees the woman with the broom standing still, taking all of this in. Ruby steps closer to him and deliberately lowers her voice. "You were the one who didn't want to keep the condom on. So don't talk to me about AIDS."

"At least I'm not a liar. You let me think you were-that you hadn't-"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"You said I was the first." He really does sound upset-she understands why. She let him believe it.

But her anger is strong, too. "You're just mad that you didn't get to screw a virgin. You'd say anything to get in my pants, wouldn't you? You probably didn't even plan to kill yourself."

"How can you say these things to me?"

"Because I don't know you!"

There's a clang from across the street, the metal lid of a garbage can banging into place. The woman there yells, "I'll call the cops on you!"

"f.u.c.k you," Ruby screams. "You're not my mother!"

The woman drags the back of her hand up her throat, flicking out a f.u.c.k-you, and then she scurries off into her house. Maybe she will call the cops. Maybe they'll be here any minute.

Chris is staring at her through his droopy bangs, and what she can see in his eyes is pure pain. She thinks she should take back the words she just shouted at him, but she can't. It doesn't work that way.

At last, he says, "OK, maybe I did a little tiny line, like that long and that wide." He holds two fingers together, a sliver of air between them. "But I'm not like Benjamin, I'm not a f.u.c.king c.o.kehead. I'll stop. I'll never do it again if you don't want me to. I didn't know it would bother you." He drops his head in his hands, whimpering, "I'll totally stop, if you'll be my girlfriend. If you wanted me to never do c.o.ke, or any other drug, ever again, and that meant we could spend all our time together-that I could be your boyfriend, boyfriend, for real-I would stop." for real-I would stop."

"I don't need a boyfriend, I need a lover." For a split second she isn't sure if she's said these words aloud or simply thought them. But then he shakes his head and without warning begins to walk away. She doesn't want to chase after him but she can't let him leave like this. "Chris-wait! I just meant-"

Over his shoulder, he says, "No, I get it now. You're not a sign. You're a temptation I was supposed to resist."

She rushes to him, grabs him by the arm, halts his retreat.

"You can pretend this never happened," he says, voice drained of emotion. "Pretend you're a virgin and find another stupid guy to fall in love with you."

His face is a mask, is stone, but even in his impa.s.sivity she sees the face she fell in love with last night-she did fall in love, didn't she? What else could she call it? Would they be tearing each other apart if it was anything else?

"Listen, Robin wants me to go with him."

"I thought I was taking you-"

"I can't get in the car with you. Not if you're high."

He drops to the sidewalk. Just crumples so that he's sitting on the curb, his head in his hands. From above, she watches as he begins shaking. "Who's going to take care of me? I don't have anyone."

"Ruby!"

She raises her eyes and sees her brother, standing at the curb, with George nearby. She'd been so intent on Chris she'd forgotten that all of this was in view of Alice's house. And she hadn't realized that the rest of them were there, too, the whole sordid gang-Alice, Benjamin, Dorian, Cicely, Nick-gathered on the porch like they're posing for a yearbook photo. The Wasted Club. Mean Kids of America. The Young and the Useless. All of them, taking in the show. Captivated. At least Calvin is not among them-a small blessing. Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you, G.o.d.

Robin marches toward her, carrying her overnight bag. "It's time," he says. "I just put in a call to Clark."

"You did?"

"He said thanks for making his Father's Day so special."

She scowls, certain that this isn't true. Clark isn't sarcastic like that. She wants Robin to understand what she's been through. "OK, OK, we'll go. But you haven't met Chris yet, have you?"

Robin looks down at Chris, slumped beneath them. "We met," he says, icily.

Chris's smooth, pale face is now damp with tears. "I was hoping Ruby could stay," he mutters. He lifts his arm to Ruby, as if to keep from sinking.

George is there, next to Robin. Always at his side. Why is George George here, anyway? Why did Robin have to bring him? George, however, does something remarkable. He crouches down next to Chris and very gently but clearly says, "Hey, brother, listen. It's just not the right time, OK?" here, anyway? Why did Robin have to bring him? George, however, does something remarkable. He crouches down next to Chris and very gently but clearly says, "Hey, brother, listen. It's just not the right time, OK?"

Chris flicks his head toward George. He casts his sad eyes upon them all. "Guys, you don't know me, so maybe you won't believe me, but-I'm in love with Ruby."

So it is true. He's feeling what she's feeling. He's going to forgive her.

"That's great," Robin says, not very convincingly. "But how about some perspective, OK? If you love somebody, set them free, right?"

"Right," George adds. "Love is patient. Love conquers all."

Ruby tightens her hand around Chris's. "Why are you guys being such jerks?"

Robin begins to back away, but he keeps his eyes on her. "I'm giving you one more minute. One One."

She can see that she really has to go.

"What are you going to do?" she asks Chris.

"Go back to the motel, I guess. The sheets still have you in them."

She leans in for one more kiss, taking his face in her hands. His mouth responds desperately. They sink into each other. At the same time she feels herself carried up and away from the lies and the angry words, from the pain. She is free again, free from doubt, as she'd been last night, when she put her trust in him. This has all been a test-this kiss is the proof that they have pa.s.sed. Are the others still watching? Let them. Let them see there's something strong here, stronger than what any of them have ever known. Let them witness this. True love should have a witness.

"d.a.m.n, that scene was white white," George says as the three of them move down the sidewalk, "White people, white music, white drugs."