Page 45 of Paging Dr. Hart
Rafe just grunts when he sees the money. “It’s a bad idea. She doesn’t belong.”
His attitude is getting under my skin, so I speak up. “The ‘she’ you keep referring to is standing right here. I can go anywhere I like. Last time I checked, this is a free country.”
Green eyes shift to pierce me. “This is what you want?” he demands. “To be out here letting strangers grope you?”
“No one’s groped me tonight.” Except for a drunk bachelor, but I keep that to myself. “Even if they did, I can handle it,” I add with more bravado than I feel.
A disbelieving laugh from Rafe. “Yeah. Right.” His eyes move up and down my body, evaluating me, but not in a sexy way like the other men from this evening. He looks at me like he’s looking for weakness, for my flaws. Whatever he sees must displease him because he frowns and turns away, dismissing me.
“It’s late. You should go,” Rafe gruffly tells Shelly.
“We were just packing it in anyway. Come on, Tiffany.” Shelly throws her backpack over one shoulder and tucks her jacket under her arm.
We walk silently to her car. Rafe follows us from a distance. He watches until we get safely into our seats and lock the doors. Then he disappears, dissolving into the shadows.
Back at my apartment, Shelly gives me half of the money. It’s almost $500, mostly in $10s and $20s. I clutch the thick stack of bills tightly in my hand, the paper crinkling from my grip, and sigh in relief.
38
We put on our angel and devil show-girl outfits and go down to the Strip as often as we can. The money and the flexibility of going whenever we want are too good to stop. Soon, we stake out our own block just outside of the New York–New York hotel and casino. A miniature Lady Liberty casts her shadow over us as we work, making the perfect backdrop for tourists eager to snap a picture. The happy screams of roller-coaster riders echo over our heads.
I jokingly refer to this slice of sidewalk as our “office.” At school, I’ll ask Shelly if we are going into the “office” that night. It’s a secret word between us, a code we can use without announcing our intentions to anyone else.
It’s been nice to reconnect with Shelly. We’re spending so many nights together that it’s like the clock hands have moved backward. Back to the time when we were sisters in every way except by blood.
Rafe makes frequent appearances on the Strip. Sometimes I spot him far down the street, talking to people or lounging around. He’s different every time I see him, changing his hair and clothing the way a snake sheds its skin. I admire that about him, how he doesn’t cling to tradition or routine.
I’m not like that. I get nervous when my mom cuts my hair at our scarred kitchen table. “Just a little trim, Mama. Not too much.”
Often, Rafe wanders down to us. He talks about school or makes sarcastic comments about the tourists who walk by. Rafe and Shelly have mutual friends, kids from Shelly’s apartment complex that she moved into after her mom got married. People I don’t know. Sometimes they talk about these friends. It makes me feel left out, how they have things in common I can never be a part of.
Quite a few kids from my high school haunt the Strip like street waifsfrom a Dickens novel. Some are there to kill time, some to buy drugs, some to sell them, and some, particularly the girls, are there to do things I don’t want to think about.
I get further proof that Rafe is selling drugs. He does a lot of extended handshakes paired with meaningful eye contact. It’s awfully suspicious. When he’s down at our end of the Strip, he glowers at the men who come to take pictures with us. Eventually, Shelly demands he leave and stop scaring our customers away.
•••
One Friday night, Shelly and I are walking back to the car when we see Rafe heading in the same direction. Shelly calls out his name.
The air has grown chilly. Shelly and I wear oversized jackets to keep warm and hide our skimpy bikinis. The feathers and gaudier parts of our costumes are put away in backpacks that bounce against our backs as we walk. Clutching our jackets tighter, we quicken our pace.
Rafe silently waits for us to catch up.
“Where’re you going?” asks Shelly.
I’m still uncertain around Rafe, so I stay quiet.
“The Starlight. They’re having a party.” He gives us an appraising look and hesitates. “Do you want to come? A ton of people will be there.”
“I don’t think—” Shelly begins to say, but I cut her off.
“We can go.” I ignore the shock on Shelly’s face. She’s always asking if I want to get food or ice cream on the way home from the Strip. I tell her no, citing reasons like homework and wanting to be with my mom.
The difference between those times and this one is thatRafeis going to the party. I’m tired of watching him from a distance. I want to get a closer look, maybe spend some time with him. It bothers me that he doesn’t like me, and I need to know why. In my fantasies, I still see myself breaking down his walls. Like he has built himself a fortress, and I will be the sledgehammer to smash it into pieces.
Shelly’s been dyeing her hair different colors. Today it’s a purple-blue.Twirling her midnight-colored hair on a finger, she regards me with suspicion. “Are you sure, Tiffany? Don’t you have a biology test on Monday?”
I do have a test on Monday. A big one. But how often am I going to have this opportunity? I’m tired of always being so responsible, of putting my mom and my academics first. The kids at that party aren’t worrying about getting into college. They’re out having fun and living in the moment.
