The Kiss of '89

Chapter 2-2

“Hey, Lese!” Lisa’s face fell as Wes approached her with a smile. The girls around her tightened their ranks, some barely hiding their shock. “Hiya! Fancy meeting you here.”

“Wes…” Lisa managed to spit out. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, well. Not much on my schedule these days. Figured I’d swing by.” He glanced at the gaggle of bystanders. “You ladies mind? I’d like a minute.”

“Go kick rocks, Peters,” one particularly sour girl snapped.

Wesley blinked. “Okay, that’s a new one.”

“Girls, it’s okay,” said Lisa quietly. “I’ll meet you inside. Yeah?” Clearly, Lisa’s friends were not in favor of this decision, but left them alone to talk. Lisa tucked her hands behind her back as Wesley mustered his smile back up.

“You look nice,” he said. “Cut your hair?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Wes tapped the toe of his shoe on the dirt. “Your friends didn’t look too happy to see me.”

Lisa shifted. “Debbie’s dad was a customer at First National, so…”

“Ah…I mean, they realize that I had nothing to do with it, right?” Lisa said nothing. Desperate to change the subject, Wes moved on. “Hey, so look. I know we broke up and everything, but…”

“Please don’t.”

“Huh?”

“If you’re going to ask me out again, please don’t.”

“Come on, Lisa…”

“I told you. I don’t blame you for what your dad did, but I can’t…” Her eyes flickered to the party. “A lot of people are really mad right now. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Wesley’s heart plummeted. “So, what, I’m just not supposed to live my life anymore?”

“Wes…” A telling silence punctuated their conversation. Wes stared at his shoes. “Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“How else am I supposed to take it? My dad screwed over a lot of people, and he’s not around, so I take the fall. Right?” Wes shook his head. “Forget it. I’m going inside.” Ignoring any other pleas for the contrary, Wes pushed his way through the front porch and into the house.

The party was thriving. The smell of hairspray was rivaled only by the heavy scent of cigarettes. As expected, eyes followed Wes wherever he walked, but Wes kept his head high. Wes had never been a stranger to attention. One might argue that he thrived off of it. Yet feeling the prickle on the back of his neck tightened his chest and whittled at his confidence. He grabbed a beer from a half melted cooler and popped it open. A trio of party goers stood hovering close by, and watched Wes with disdain. Wes cracked a smile and held his can up in a toast. The three walked off without a word, and Wesley’s smile faded in response. Another guest in a State varsity jacket went to the cooler to grab a drink. Wes returned to his smile and nudged him.

“Great, party huh?”

“What?”

“The party. It’s pretty great.”

The college guy looked him up and down. “I guess.”

“I’m Wes.”

“Wes? As in Wes Peters?”

“Ah, yeah. Have you been to my swim meets or…?”

“f**k off, man.”

Grabbing a beer, the stranger turned about face and left Wes to stew. Wes stared after him. “O…okay. Good talk!” he called. The college guy didn’t bother looking back. Wes took a swig of his beer and scanned the area. There had to be someone there who didn’t hate his family’s guts, right?

A head of curly black hair bobbed through the crowd, and Wes perked up. “Hey, Larry!” He waved, catching the host’s attention. Larry, who had a cute junior on his arm, came to a halt as Wes approached. “Great party man, thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh…you actually came,” Larry mumbled.

Wes shoved down the bitterness in his throat and smiled even harder. “Of course! Saturday night, hot girls, good tunes…I had to come, right?”

“Right.”

The junior girl, whose hairstyle was three times its weight in Aqua Net, turned to Larry with wide eyes. “Larry, isn’t that…?”

“Yeah.”

The junior glared at Wes, and without warning, knocked the beer from his hand and onto the carpet. Wes stood, stunned. “Your dad took my college fund, you asshole. I hope he rots.” She turned on Larry. “I can’t believe you invited him.” Wes stood, open mouthed, as she stomped away. Larry pinched his nose in frustration.

“Whoa…” Wes stared at his empty hand. Shame overpowered him now, and he tried desperately to laugh it off. “Is she on her period or what?”

“Dude…maybe you should go,” said Larry.

“What? But I just got here.”

Larry didn’t have an answer. He glanced down at the beer spill on the carpet, quietly resolving to clean it later. “Just save yourself some pain, yeah? It’d be best for everybody.” Wes watched as Larry followed his date, and then took a look around. The general energy of the party had dwindled to a low roar, with every head within ten feet of him turned and staring. Wes didn’t often have dreams where he was caught in his underwear, but right then, the feeling was comparable. With his last little sliver of pride fading, Wes made a swift exit out of the house and through the back door.

Once his face hit the cool summer air, he gasped for breath. Wes didn’t realize how tense he’d been until he was out of that house. Coming to a chain link fence, he braced against it. His hands were trembling. Weird. He never trembled. His whole body felt sweaty, but cold to the touch. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry or just stop existing all together. The only time he’d ever felt this horrible was when he’d gotten the flu for a week in elementary school. Both times, he felt like vomiting. Was he sick? He must have been.

“Keep it together, man,” he told himself. He focused on taking long, drawn out breaths. His racing heart jumped in all manner of uncomfortable ways, and he crouched down in the grass. He felt like if he didn’t have an anchor point to the ground, he’d go floating off into space. Maybe he was just losing his marbles? Probably.

A car engine momentarily distracted him, and he looked up through the fence. A cherry-red hot rod had pulled up to the curb behind the house. From it, Wes saw more Colorado State varsity jackets as their wearers emerged. There were three of them in total, and Wes could detect the gait and shoulders of football players. In fact, Wes could have sworn he’d seen the driver somewhere before. Possibly at a college game. He was tall and lean, with long legs in tight, fashionable jeans. The shirt collar beneath his jacket was popped, framing a sharp jaw and a rather handsome face. His mop of bright blond hair was swept to one side in a way that reminded Wes of a movie star.

Wes pushed himself from the fence after regaining his balance. Behind him, the party had picked back up, and he could hear the distinct cackle of drunken laughter inside. He eyed the back door helplessly. Maybe Larry was right? Maybe it would be best for everyone—himself included—if he just wasn’t there?

“There’s my girl.” Once again, Wes’s attention was pulled back to the hot rod. The blond beef-cake had an arm around a girl, giving her a forehead kiss in greeting. But not just any old girl. Wesley’s old girl. With that old, awkward smile, Lisa stood dutifully under the college boy’s arm, and they walked in together. That was the final knife to the back. With his heart low, he looked for an exit through the backyard, only to realize that there was none. He kept his eyes on the ground while he maneuvered his way back into the house. Hopefully, he could get out without demanding much notice from the rest of the crowd. It was a hope that lasted about two minutes before he got to the front door and immediately walked face-first into Lisa’s new boy toy.

“Hey, watch it,” the football player snapped. Wes took a half step back, trying to keep his eyes averted. Lisa’s face fell upon seeing him, giving that knife one hell of a twist.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let me just—” He moved to dodge around the group, only to be stopped by a wide, flat hand on his chest. Wes looked up. The football player, who was a good half head taller than him, narrowed his eyes.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Don’t I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Wes.

“Yeah…Yeah, I do. You were in the paper.” A twisted grin spread over his lips. Wes would give anything for a kind of James Bond self-ejector button right about then. “Peters, right?”

“Ian,” Lisa muttered. “Let’s just go inside.”

“In a sec, babe.” The college jock—now Ian—put a hand on Wesley’s shoulder and twisted him slightly, as if to get a better look. “Yup, that’s Peters all right. You know, your family is all over the news. Not every day we got a home-grown Barry Minkow. Pretty ballsy, your dad stealing from most of the town for, what, five? Six years?”

“I don’t know,” Wes finally said. “I never did.”

“Sure, Peters, sure.”

Lisa tried intervening again. “Ian, come on. He’s not worth your time. Let’s just go have fun, yeah?”

Ian c****d an eyebrow at Lisa and lowered his hand to her hip. Wes saw those fingers tighten in a way that made his brows knit. “The men are talking, sweetie,” he said. “I promise, we’ll have our fun in a second.” Lisa shrunk and gripped her arm at the elbow. Ian turned back to Wes with a smirk. “I wonder how it feels to be the most hated guy in town. Can’t imagine it’s easy to live with.” Wes tightened his jaw. Ian took half a step forward, looming over Wes as his smile faded. “You know, my granny lost about half her life savings, thanks to your dad. I wonder what that paid for? Nice car? Family vacation?”

“I’m sorry,” Wes offered. “I really am. Believe me when I tell you that I didn’t know about any of it. Ever.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” With that, Ian shoulder checked Wes into the coat rack as he walked inside. His friends followed suit. Only Lisa, dragged along by Ian’s strong arm, passed Wes a solitary glance of pity before the party swallowed them whole. Wes said nothing as he picked himself up and wandered out into the night.

Wes walked for hours. He knew the neighborhood well enough that he didn’t need to pay attention to his feet. It was, after all, his old stomping grounds before he and Betty had to move. Every street corner held a memory. Like that one horribly hot summer where the neighborhood kids busted the fire hydrant to stay cool. Or that Christmas where the whole block had a blackout, and so every house had to have dinner by candle light. Wes remembered a storm that nearly toppled over three different trees, and one year when it snowed so hard that they didn’t have school for a month. Wes wondered how many of those memories were made while Henry Peters ran his scams? How many vacations, Christmas presents, birthday parties were thrown on the dime of innocent people? Had his whole life been funded by stolen money? It was a very real possibility, and if he was being honest, he couldn’t blame his former friends for hating him. Wes was starting to hate himself, too. At least the music was nice.