High School Honey

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 13: Nick

Honey and Shirley saw the attack on Floater through the front window of the restaurant and ran out to help. Flea raced up from the park across the street. Floater was curled up in a ball on the ground holding his groin. Honey knelt beside him.

“Are you OK?”

“Just gimme a minute,” gasped Floater.

Honey gently brushed the hair from his brow. His color was bad, all drained and flushed, like all his blood was rushing down to his crotch to repair the damage.

“Maybe we should call an ambulance?” said Honey.

“No, I’ll be all right,” Floater groaned.

Jack the Bear ran up on foot and radioed for a squad car.

“OK, what happened?”

No one answered.

“Come on. Somebody must have seen it.”

“It happened too fast,” said Shirley.

“Who hit you?” Jack asked Floater.

“I didn’t get a good look at him.”

The squad car pulled up and Jack helped Floater to his feet.

“We better run you down to the hospital and let a doctor have a look at you. They may want to take an x-ray.”

“No. I’m all right. It’s nothin’.”

“If you change your mind and want to file a complaint...”

“Ahh, what for?”

Jack pursed his lips and shook his heads. “Well, I’ll have to make out a report.” He walked off to continue his beat, and the squad car pulled away.

Mr. Vecchio was standing in the doorway of the restaurant. “Honey! Shirley! Back to work, please! There are customers waiting. Let’s move it.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Honey said softly to Floater, and turned to go back into the restaurant.

“Yeah,” said Shirley, “it really stinks.” She whispered to Flea, “You oughta kick the crap outa Nick for that.”

“That’s the basic plan,” said Flea, and no one doubted that he meant it.

“Shirl, please,” said Honey, ”don’t make it worse than it already is.”

After work, Honey dropped Shirley off and drove home along Brookbank Avenue. When she turned onto her street, she saw Nick’s car parked in front of her house. She felt a wave of anxiety but kept it in check as she pulled into her driveway.

Nick got out of his car and walked over to her in a kind of stroll that brought back to Honey the memory of their first meeting.

* * *

It was at a party. When was it? Two weeks ago? It seemed like ages. She had just stopped in at what’s-her-name’s, not meaning to stay long, just to check it out. But there was nobody there. Everyone was just sitting around in the living room staring at the walls and waiting to see who else would show up. Nobody was dancing. If something drastic didn’t happen soon, people would start leaving.

The hostess made a big fuss when Honey arrived, dragging her into the kitchen and pouring her a big drink that would take at least a half hour to finish. Honey had already decided to make a quiet exit at the first opportunity.

Then the doorbell rang and a tall, good looking boy came in, changing the whole picture.

“Hi-i, Nick!” the hostess shouted and ran to Nick from across the room. “Hi-i! I’m so glad you could make it! C’mon in, I’ll get you a drink!”

“Don’t worry. I know where the booze is.” He crossed the living room and walked into the kitchen where Honey was standing. Nick poured himself a rum and coke with some Myers 150 dark rum, and checked her out.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“Honey.” She sipped her drink.

“I’m Nick. Nice to meet you. Havin’ fun?” He looked around the party, as if for the first time. “Or is this a bore?”

“It sort of was, but it’s getting more interesting.” Honey sipped her drink again and smiled. A warm glow was spreading through her limbs.

Honey took another sip, and the first wave of bold and elevating relaxation, the first promise of euphoria, swept over her as alcohol seeped into her blood stream.

“What are you drinking there?” asked Nick.

“Uhh, vodka and oranjuice.” Honey’s speech was a little slurred. She sipped again, not a quick shallow sip of bitter liquid, as it had seemed at first, but now a long, easy swallow tasting only of the sweet juice and not of the astringent vodka, her throat now having been anesthetized. Nick put his finger under the bottom of Honey’s glass, raising it slowly as she drank.

“Good girl. Now let’s see you finish this and I’ll mix you something better.”

Honey obediently took the last swallow and gasped for air.

“I feel a little dizzy.” She smacked her lips and sighed.

“It’s okay. Trust me,” said Nick, as he perused the selection of bottles on the kitchen counter. He took two fresh glasses and filled them both with ice cubes. He poured a huge shot of Southern Comfort into each glass, then shots of Sloe gin, then orange juice. Pleased with his work, he handed a glass to Honey and smiled.

“This, my dear, is a Slow Comfortable Screw.” They touched glasses and both drank, Honey’s glass again encouragingly elevated by means of Nick’s index finger. She saw Nick’s handsome smile, but could not see the predatory glint in his eyes as he watched her take the bait.

Honey began to feel woozy. Nick put his arm around her to help her stand, slipped the bottle of Southern Comfort into his coat pocket, and helped her across the living room to the front door, saying, “Come on with me, babe. Let’s get some fresh air.”

The party was picking up steam. The hostess put on some loud music as more people arrived, and no one paid much attention to Honey and Nick slipping out.

In the front yard, Honey leaned against Nick.

“Uhhh, I don’t feel so good,” she moaned.

Nick supported her and held the bottle to her lips.

“You’ll be fine. C’mon, have another swig.”

Honey felt her mouth fill with the sweet harsh liquid and swallowed reflexively.

“Good girl,” coaxed Nick, as he led her to his car parked on a quiet side street. He helped her, half-conscious, into the back seat, and got in behind her.

“Mmmm, baby, this is gonna be so ni-ice,” he crooned as he unbuckled his belt.

Honey was almost unconscious, sprawled in the back seat like a broken doll, her miniskirt pushed up around her waist, her white panties shining like a beacon in the stormy night as Nick made for shore. He pulled his pants down and fumbled with a rubber...

You can imagine Mrs. Miller’s growing concern as 1:00 a.m. passed and Honey was still not home and hadn’t called. God forbid something had happened to her baby! It was with mixed anger and relief that Mrs. Miller heard a car pull up out front. She opened the door to find Honey swaying unsteadily on her feet and groping in her handbag as a car pulled away from the curb.

Honey giggled and tried to focus her eyes on her mother.

“I can’ fin’ my keys mom, ha ha.”

Honey’s hair was a mess, her blouse and skirt wrinkled and stained, her lipstick smeared. She gave up the search through her handbag, forgetting what it was she was looking for. She took an unsteady step forward, but groaned and turned to the rhododendron bush that grew beside the front stoop and puked her guts out as her mother held her to keep her from falling.

Honey woke, or more exactly, regained consciousness to the bright light of mid-day. Her mouth was dry, her head was throbbing, and she was horribly nauseous. She was also wickedly thirsty, but quite sure if she drank one little drop of anything, she would immediately throw up. Disjointed fragments of images flashed through her frazzled mind: drinking at the party; the back seat of Nick’s car; Nick on top of her pulling her panties down. “Oh my God!” she thought, and cringed at the partial memory.

Honey’s bedroom door opened and her mother’s face appeared.

“How you feelin’, Hon?” her mother asked tenderly.

“Like I’m going to throw up any second.” Honey groaned and rolled over. “I just want to die and have this over with.”

Mrs. Miller came into the room with a glass of red liquid and sat on the side of her daughter’s bed.

“Here. Take these aspirin and see if you can hold this down.”

“What is it?”

“Tomato juice with a little pepper and lemon.”

“Yuck!”

“Try it.”

Honey sat up and swallowed the aspirin with two sips of tomato juice.

“We overdid it a bit last night, didn’t we?”

Honey groaned and lay back down. Her mother rose from the bed, pulled the sheet up over Honey’s shoulders, and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

* * *

“Hey, baby.” Nick's voice broke Honey's reverie. She came back to the present. Nick was leaning against the side of her car. She was still behind the wheel.

Nick reached toward her through the window. “You see how I kicked that sucker in the balls! Ha ha... oww!” He laughed through his bandaged nose and then winced from the pain.

“Very brave. You deserve a medal.”

“What’sa matter? You still mad? Listen, forget it. Nothing’s changed. I’m still crazy about you.”

He tried to put his hand on her. She shrugged him off. “I’m sorry, Nick, but you’ve got the wrong idea. There’s nothing between us.”

“Don’t gimme that. You can’t change things so easy.”

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