Pleasure Pier by: Alex Box
I made my way down the Pacific Coast Highway, going about ninety five. That was the only thing I liked about California. Christ, I missed New York. I had no real idea where I was going, but Lucy told me to stop when I saw the pier. What pier? I pulled up to a small lot right off the highway nearly clipping the old wooden sign that read PARKING in giant red block letters. I whipped into a spot and shoved a five dollar bill into the over-priced meter. I got out of the car, and my mood soured as soon as my Burberry wing-tips hit the sand.
I followed along the Pacific until I hit a huge party, only a few hundred feet from the pier. I looked around in the firelight till I saw Lucy. She’s drunk. There she was, laughing herself to tears, sitting in a lawn chair with a red Solo cup in her hand. Seriously? Some guy next to her whispered something in her ear, and she almost fell over laughing. I felt something inside of me burn. I hated feeling possessive or controlling, but she made me move out here, and now she’ll have nothing to do with me. The last four months of our relationship flashed before me as I stood there watching her, halting at specific instances of her neglect. In what world was this okay? I’m here working my ass off so my slut of a girlfriend can get shitfaced non-stop and party with random douchebags she meets in her classes? I decided then that she had only used me to get here. I was the means to her end. My fury all but consumed me.
I stormed over to Lucy, and locked eyes with the guy sitting next to her, willing him to give me a reason to unleash the wrath resting just below the surface. He defensively lifted up both hands, one still holding a beer.
“Woah, bro.”
“Back off.” I barked.
He glared at me for a moment before turning back to the party, ready to pounce on his next drunken victim.
“Get up, Lucy.” She looked up at me and smiled a stupid grin. She then looked down on the watch she was supposed to be wearing, but there was nothing there besides a bad tan line. I can’t believe she lost that watch. Second anniversary present.
“Geez, you’re early, I think.”
“I’m two hours late. I had a deposition. I told you to take a cab if I was more than fifteen minutes late.”
“Well then you’re late!” she shouted at me, trying to stand up straight as an effort to confront me. Half the people around the bonfire were now staring at us. Brilliant.
“Let’s go.” The words slipped out of my mouth in a low grumble. She burped in response to this, reeking of cheap beer and cigarettes.
“I’ll go when I’m ready to go, pal.” She poked me in the chest and stumbled backward. Unable to keep her balance, she flopped back into the lawn chair and then began to chuckle.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her upper arm, trying to pull her up from the flimsy seat.
“I don’t want to go yet!” she screamed at me.
“Lucy, please.”
The drunk surfer guy made a comeback, and came within two inches of my face. He, too, reeked of beer and cigarettes, but his red face and swagger made me think he was looking for a fight.
“Look, bro, if the lady doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to.”
“Look, bro, she’s drunk and needs to sleep this off. Back off.” I was careful not to touch him; if I threw the first punch, then I was liable. He swayed, and I watched him draw a fist. Just as he swung, I dodged. He fell forward, hard, and rolled dangerously close to the fire. Lucy chuckled, then grabbed for my forearm. I pulled her up from the chair, and we made our way back to the car.
Once I got her safely buckled into the passenger’s seat, I slammed her door shut and stalked around the front of the car and into the driver’s seat. I shoved the keys into the ignition but paused before starting the car. I fixed my eyes on Lucy who had her head tiled back ever so slightly, and her eyes closed. I drank in the beautiful, peaceful sight that she was, and felt my temper simmer down.
I loathed what she was wearing because she was always showing too much skin. Part of me felt like she only loved California because it was here that she was allowed to embrace her hippie nature. Her feet were bare save for her butterfly toe-ring and hot pink nail polish. She never brought shoes to the beach. My eyes ran up her tanned, slender legs. Accentuating her small breasts was strapless bikini top covered in brightly colored flowers. She was always a sight for sore eyes, but I hated thinking about all the eyes that soaked her up the way I did.
I could feel the anger begin to bubble again. I reached over and placed a hand on her bare knee, startling her. The waves of her hazelnut hair bounced as her head popped up and her body tensed. I watched her scan her surroundings, relaxing as soon as she landed on me. She leaned her head back against the headrest and gently smiled at me, the haze behind her eyes had started to subside. Two small hands wrapped around the one I had on her knee.
“Hi.” She whispered.
I remained quiet and started up the engine.