never2late2write

CHAPTER 4A: ADAM—NO WAY, JANUARY 10, 1991

I just finished working graveyard shift. I got some coffee at King Hall Cafeteria so I could stay up for a few more hours.

Kai strutted into the cafeteria. Shit! What does she want? Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor. She plopped herself next to me.

“Good morning, Adam.”

Her tone frightened me. “Uh, Good morning, Kai.”

I grabbed my back pack and stood up. “Sorry, but I need to get going.”

She yanked my arm and pulled me back into my chair. “Oh no you don’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t leave until we’re done talking.” She flicked her red mane over her shoulders. “Remember Christmas Eve?”

“Uh, yeah.” How could I forget?

She glared into my eyes. “I’m pregnant, Adam.”

Adrenaline coursed through my veins. “No,” I stammered. It felt like someone throttled my neck. I couldn’t breathe.  ”That’s not possible.”

“We screwed, didn’t we?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Oh now you’re Mr. Goody-Goody?” she taunted.

“Kai stop bullshitting me.”

“I’m having this baby whether you like it or not.” She rubbed her abdomen.

“Kai, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

  “Look Kai, I can’t have a child with you.” Sweat drenched my face and arm pits. I could never marry her–or any foreigner. “I’ll pay for the abortion.”

She slapped my face. In front everyone.

The 25 or so students eating their breakfast gaped at us.

“Jerk,” she snarled. “You should have thought about the consequences before.”

A lump stuck in my throat. My eyes started to tear up from the sting of her slap. “We can’t have a baby. Not now.”

“I’m not killing our child because you’re afraid to man-up to your responsibilities.”

Rage overtook fear. “Give me proof you’re pregnant. Then I’ll man-up.” I hawked a loogie into a napkin. “God knows who else you’ve been screwing.”

She started to slap me again, but I blocked her hand.

“Do not ever touch me again,” I said evenly.

I grabbed my backpack and left Kai and the gaping people behind.

I was bored. I don’t have to many Christian friends. No Christmas plans this year. No chance of getting together with Stevie. She was out of the country right now. I decided to call Kai.

A breathy voice answered the phone. “Hello.”

“Kai, it’s me.”

“Hi Adam. You need company?”

“No,” I said too quickly. She knew I was lying.

“You only call me when you want sex.”

“That’s not true.” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t we grab a quick bite at the Korean grill by ‘SC?”

 “Adam, It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I just called the restaurant. They close at eight tonight.”

“Humph.” She exhaled into the receiver.

Pause.

She said, “Where’s your Stevie girl?”

“She’s not my girl.”

“So now you’re into blonds. What’s next Adam, 50 year old cougars?”

I didn’t answer her question. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

***

She lived in an all female residence. Several co-eds lived in a Victorian House. Men weren’t  permitted to go inside, except in the living room area during certain times of the day.

Kai stepped outside. Her statuesque legs, framed in textured black tights shot out from her black leather mini skirt; topped of by a tight black sweater, revealing her ample breasts. Her black leather over-the-knee boots accentuated her legginess.

She opened the passenger side door leading with a long leg, followed by her tightly clad body, followed by her other leg.

***

Kai took a swig of beer. “Adam, why did you really dump me?”

“Look Kai,” I said patiently. “I told you up front I don’t marry foreigners. Things were getting too serious between us.” How many times did I have to tell her this?

She blinked her eyes several times. “I know.”

Kai’s almond shaped eyes made me crazy. She looked sad. Vulnerable. I took her hand and kissed it. “We can still be friends.”

She looked down at her lap. “Friends,”  she whispered. A tear splashed onto the table.

Not even five minutes later, Kai reached underneath the table and went after my crotch.

“Stop it,” I said.

“Make me Adam,” she cooed.

I didn’t. Why was she torturing me?

She finally stopped when the waiter came by with the bill.

The sun warmed the air in Southern California. Mostly late 80’s and some 1990 models of Mercedes, BMW’s and other fashionable cars parked on the university streets at the University of Southern California (USC) Wealth surrounded me in this little Mecca.

People affectionately called USC,  University of Spoiled Children. However, I wasn’t one of them. As a poor student, I tried to look like I belonged there. I wore one of my favorite USC tee shirts, matching shorts and Nike Ari sneakers—probably purchased with my student credit card. My pale blond hair in an early 90’s (a duplicate of  Demi Moore’s style in  the movie Ghost). It resembled pale locks cut off in a bowl cut with a point reaching down my nape of my neck.  I looked like a boy with breasts and long acrylic nails. I wasn’t Greek; they were the wealthy kids who could afford beauty and status at any cost.

The “true” Greeks were the slender, perky breasted sorority girls and the muscled (but often with proud beer bellies) fraternity boys. Almost all Greeks on campus had fake-bake tans from the local tanning salon. Interestingly, the Greek girls would never move for anyone on the sidewalks and made the others walk out into the streets. Scholarly, gray-haired professors made their presence known on campus. They were gods in their own right. The foreign population exploded at USC. They came from every corner of the world.  USC wasn’t a melting pot; it was more like oil and water just shaken in a bottle.

***

I reported to work at King Hall Computer Center that afternoon. As I walked in, my eyes riveted on the Middle Eastern looking dude. This lean, long legged god with a compact butt stood behind the check in/out counter.  Three eager coeds were chatting with him in French. His olive complexion and mop of glorious black curls brought out his angelic brown eyes. “Where did you come from?” I said under my breath.

During the lulls, Mr. Stud asked me questions like: Do you play tennis? Do you normally work at the Taper Hall? And, do you like the Pet Shop Boys?

I answered his questions with: Yes, but I suck at it. Yes I usually work at Taper Hall.  And,  yes I like the Pet Shop Boys.

We finished our shift for the day walked outside together. A crisp breeze brushed against my face lifting my bowlish blond hair up into the air.  He was definitely a Middle Easterner. What country he was from?

As we passed by the Taper Hall residential dining area, across the student fitness club, he said, “I know you from somewhere.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Where did I meet you?” He inquired.

My mind raced. I didn’t remember meeting him unless I danced with him at a disco or met him at a party. I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know.” I hoped that I had not done something foolish in the past and forgotten about it.

He said, “My name is Adam.”

“Hi Adam, I’m Stevie.”

“Your parents actually named you Stevie?”

Not funny, I thought. “No. My real name is Stephanie. But Stephanie is too stuffy. I prefer Stevie.” I point to myself. “Stevie’s more adventurous.”

“Adventurous. Wow. I thought maybe you were in show biz.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” We stopped walking. “How long have you been at USC?” I asked.

“Too long,” he replied.

This was becoming awkward. I looked down at my watch. “Well Adam, I gotta run. Nice working with you today.”

“You too.”

I needed to walk home before it was dark. The neighborhoods around USC weren’t very safe; especially after sunset.

As I was leaving the campus, I heard footsteps running up behind me. I turned around and saw Adam.

He smiled. “You should take the tram instead of walking. I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay. I only live three blocks away.” I was still walking.

“One step outside this campus is a jungle.”

“You’re right.” I stopped walking.  “I live at Troy Hall. Is that too far for you?”

Adam responded, “Not at all. Let’s get you home safely.”

PROLOGUE—STEPHANIE “STEVIE” RUSH, EARLY JUNE 1992

I answered the phone. White noise washed through my ears. An empty but familiar voice said, “Hi Stevie.  How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you Adam?” I gripped the phone handle tightly

“Stevie, I have bad news.”

I sensed hesitation and dread in his voice. Something was wrong. “What is it?” My eyes and chest pounded.

The white noise sounded again for several seconds.

“Stevie, you have to cancel your plane ticket. My parents are not ready to meet you.”

“Okay.” I paused for few seconds.  “When will I see you again?” My head was about to burst.

The inter-continental whoosh sounded for several seconds.

“Soon. Just cancel the trip for now.”

It was so like him, not being able to give me a firm answer on the spot. Adam never lied to me, but he never gave definite answers either. He provided vague but optimistic responses.

My mind was spinning “Can’t you come back here? I can help you get your green card.”

“I can’t Stevie.  I need more time.”

“Why not?” Just come back and get your green card, then I can meet your parents.”

“This isn’t about getting a green card.  It’s about us.  I need to win my parents’ blessing too.”

White noise again. Was Adam still there? Then I heard a hollow trembling voice.

“Stevie, I have to go now. I’ll call you soon.”

“Okay,” I stammered. “Bye.”

The international line fromNorth Africableeped into nothingness.  It felt as if someone had told me that Adam went into a coma and no one would know when or if he’d snap out of it.  But it was Adam telling me to cancel my plane ticket to Morocco.  Nausea socked me in the gut.  How would I go on?  How could I have fallen for this?

I knew deep down that I never had a chance. Some how I knew he’d dump me. I was American and he was Moroccan. He was Muslim. I was Christian. I grew up in working class family. He was born into a wealthy family. The list could go on. Adam would never marry a Christian girl. But he had a history of dating American women.

Did all foreign men dispose their American girlfriends  like that?

This unlikely tangled mess all started in 1990 at the University of Southern California.

I’ve decided to take the plunge. . .

Join me on my journey as I write my first novel. I’ll be posting excerpts as I progress.

Current working title is INTRIGUE

  Essaouiria, Morocco Credit: telegraph.co.uk