Chapter 9: Rescue
Jason already felt like a fool, crouched in the row of hedges, naked and smelling of piss. Beside him, Cathy rocked unsteady on the ball of her feet. Her hair was stiff and stringy and reeked of urine, but he could still smell traces of cheap beer on her. Her eyes were glassy, too. She looked drunk. The beers had been tall--Jason thought they were called forties? And she had done what she usually did, even stripped nude: she had given in to group pressure and had chugged that shit.
At least the police cruiser had driven away; no cop would believe they weren't out here fucking and drinking and pissing on each other, if they were caught out in the open like this. That had been the plan, no doubt. Carrey and his friends were assholes, but creative assholes. Jason still didn't know what he was going to say to Evan, how he was going to explain their circumstances.
But that decision was taken from him. As soon as they saw the headlights approaching, Cathy seemed to recognize the vehicle, and she rolled to her feet in a lurch. Then she stumbled into the parking lot, waving both arms overhead, like somehow Evan might miss the naked woman if she didn't flail. The truck’s brakes squealed as it lurched to a stop. Its headlights painted every curve and goosebump of her body in brutal detail.
From the hedges, Jason watched her stand, completely exposed. It was almost like she did not care that her ex was seeing her, totally naked in the night, her nipples puffing up in the air as she waved. Almost like she was enjoying the attention. She was grinning. Sure, maybe she was just relieved to be rescued from the circumstances.
That's what Jason told himself. His jealousy was silly.
"Evan, over here," Cathy called.
Reluctantly, Jason stood.
She was already trotting toward the truck, which had parked facing the car. He held his hands over his groin and awkwardly ambled behind her. Evan was her ex, and she was already tipsy. It would be a lot easier to just let her fill in the blanks. He was silent as she piled into the truck and snatched the t-shirt that Evan held out to her.
Cathy squeezed in the middle, pulling on the large black shirt; it said Hells Bells on it in white print; Jason sat next to her, against the window, still covering himself uncomfortably with his hand, staring out at the night. He did his best not to look at Evan. Inside the cab, the smell of piss and beer had nowhere else to go and nothing to do but percolate.
"Jesus Christ. What happened to you guys?" was the first thing he said.
Jason had no response. He couldn't. He just couldn't explain what had happened. It was too goddamn humiliating. But Cathy had plenty to say.
"We ran out of gas," Cathy said. "And these guys, they pranked us hard," she added. "They were so mean, Evan--you have no idea. They took all our stuff, too, and threw it in the dumpster."
In the end, she told him everything. Not the part about the movie theater, or getting her tits out during the movie. And she definitely didn't mention sucking off the security guy to get them out of trouble. She left out all of that--in her telling it, it sounded like they just run into some random bullies in the alley where they had parked.
"That's crazy," Evan mused. "That's fucking kidnapping, and assault. You're fucking lucky they didn't like, murder you guys. You just let them fucking take your clothes?"
Jason couldn't help but feel that the question was aimed at him, personally. Like he had failed in the most basic boyfriend task, of protection. It was hard not to disagree, sitting in the passenger seat of Evan's truck, hiding his little cock in his fist and smelling of piss. He didn't say anything. He looked out the window and tried to figure out where they were.
The park where Carrey and the others had abandoned them wasn't actually that far from town. From the look of it, the park wasn't even really a park. It was more like a remote field, where people could play soccer, or throw a kegger. And there were bathrooms, too, which they hadn't seen, on the other side of the field, in another lot; Jason spotted them as they rolled away. They could have hidden there, maybe. If the doors were unlocked at this hour.
He stayed silent, but chatty Cathy filled handsome Evan in on all the little details that Jason wished she would keep to herself--like getting pissed on by all three of them, or getting egged on into having drinks with the men who had torn off all their clothing and tossed them in the iHop dumpster. The way she told it, it sounded awful. It was awful, he realized.
"If you'd told me you were out of gas, I could have have brought gas," Evan lamented as they passed a gas station. "In fact, if you want, they might have one of those extra cans inside for sale. We could fill it up and drive back out to your car?"
Jason realized Evan was talking to him. He sighed. "I don't have any cash," he said. "I appreciate you driving out in the middle of the night, though. Could you just drop us off at our place?"
But Cathy had a better idea.
“Our phones are in that dumpster, Evan. My purse, my ID, everything,” Cathy said, the words tumbling out in a slurry rush as she turned in the cramped seat. “We should to go back to the iHop right now, before the garbage trucks come. Will you drive us? Please?”
Jason stared fixedly at the passing streetlights, desperately wishing she would just shut up and let Evan take them home to the shower, and the dark, and a chance to forget this whole night.
Evan glanced at Cathy’s pleading face in the rearview, then sighed, a sharp, frustrated sound. “Fine. You're right. But you owe me,” he muttered, swinging the wheel hard to make a U-turn. “But Christ, you both reek like a urinal,” he added, his nose wrinkling as he accelerated back toward the downtown glow. He cracked his window slightly. The cool fresh night air rushed in as a relief, and he turned on the radio softly, letting a generic alt-rock song fill the silence.
Jason, pressed against the passenger door, noticed how Cathy was sandwiched comfortably against Evan, her bare leg brushing his thigh. Evan seemed very comfortable pressed up against her, one hand relaxed on the wheel, his gaze occasionally dropping to her exposed skin. In that moment, Jason wondered if he should feel jealous rather than relieved that the other man was so distracted by Cathy's bare legs; but he was relieved--relieved that Cathy's bare skin was distracting from his own bare nudity. At least Evan wasn't making little comments about little genitals.
At least Evan wasn't making little comments about little genitals. The truck slowed as they approached the familiar parking lots near the theater, and then the iHop building with the alley and its bins“This it?” Evan asked, his voice tight as the headlights swept over the overflowing green dumpster.
“Yeah, right there,” Cathy said, pointing a shaky finger.
Evan put the truck in park but didn’t turn it off, the engine idling with a rough growl. He turned in his seat, his face hard in the dashboard’s glow. “You’re lucky they just pissed on you, Cath. You know that? This is exactly the kind of shit I’m talking about. You don’t think, you just do crazy stuff, and you especially don’t know when to say no to a drink.” His words were sharp, an old frustration cutting through. “You can’t hold your liquor. You never could. You know better.”
Cathy blinked, her tipsy bravado faltering under a reprimand that sounded practiced, intimate. “It wasn’t like I planned—”
“You never plan it,” Evan cut her off, his gaze dropping to the ‘Hells Bells’ logo draped like heavy curtains across her tiny chest. “That’s the whole problem.”
“That’s the whole problem.” Evan let the words hang, his eyes still on Cathy like she was a project he’d abandoned half-finished. Then he shifted, the truck seat creaking, and fixed his stare on Jason. The sudden attention felt like a spotlight switching on. “Alright, champ. Go get your stuff..”
Jason’s throat tightened. He hadn’t moved, hunched against the door with his hand clamped over his groin. The idea of stepping out into the open, under the orange glow of the security light above the dumpster, made his skin prickle. “Maybe we should just come back later? With clothes?”
Evan snorted, a short, dismissive sound. “And let the trash get hauled? Your wallet’s in there, man. Your keys. Your life.” He gestured with his chin toward the alley. “It’ll take two minutes. Stop being a baby and go fish your shit out.”
Cathy touched Jason’s arm, her fingers cold. “Just be quick, Jace. Please?” Her voice was thin, pleading.
Jason swallowed. The air in the truck was stale with their shared stink and Evan’s cheap cologne. He nodded, a stiff little jerk of his head. “Fine.”
He pushed the passenger door open, the interior light blaring on, exposing every detail of his crouched form. The cool night air hit him like a slap. He unfolded himself from the seat, keeping his back to the truck as he stood. His feet gritted against the asphalt, littered with cigarette butts. At least there was no broken glass on the ground. Every cell in his body screamed to cover up, to shrink. He could feel the weight of two gazes on his back.
Evan didn’t look away. Jason could sense it, a palpable pressure between his shoulder blades. He imagined Evan’s eyes cataloging the soft roll of flesh above his hips, the pale dimples on his lower back, the way his ass looked too broad and undefined without clothes to shape it. He’d lost a little weight, but it didn’t matter here, naked under judgment. He was a flabby, naked guy in a dirty alley.
Jason took a hesitant step. Then another. He moved on the balls of his feet, a ridiculous, tip-toeing gait meant to be quiet but which only made him feel more grotesque, like a pathetic cartoon character sneaking. His arms hung stiff at his sides, hands half-curled, unsure whether to shield his front or his back. The security light buzzed overhead, painting everything in a sickly sodium-orange hue. His distended shadow stretched long and misshapen ahead of him.
The dumpster seemed to loom, a massive green metal box reeking of old syrup, stale grease, and rot. He could see crumpled napkins and empty pancake batter bags spilling over the top. He stopped a foot away, the stench overwhelming. This was where Carrey had tossed their dignity, with a laugh. Jason’s entire person was exposed, from the knobs of his spine to the backs of his knees. He knew Evan was watching, probably leaning forward in the driver’s seat for a better view.
He forced himself to lean forward, placing his hands on the cold, grimy rim of the dumpster. The metal was sticky. He peered in, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. The interior was a chaos of black garbage bags, cardboard containers, and scattered debris. He scanned for the familiar shape of Cathy’s purse or the neon case of her phone. His ass was in the air, completely vulnerable, a full moon offered up to the alley and to Evan’s silent critique. He could almost hear the man’s thoughts: Look at that. No wonder she was looking for a thrill.
His eyes raked over the soggy cardboard and burst trash bags, finding only coffee grounds and congealed syrup where their clothes should have been. There was no sign of his things, at least not from where he was standing. From the truck’s open window, Evan’s low chuckle mixed with Cathy’s higher, tipsier voice, a familiar duet that tightened his scalp. Jason’s fingers dug into the dumpster’s gritty rim, the orange light making his naked ass feel like a museum exhibit.
He abandoned the search, the chill air raising gooseflesh on his thighs as he turned. Again Jason covered his groin with his hand and walked back to the truck, each step feeling longer than the last. He leaned close to the driver’s window, speaking through the narrow crack he dared to open.
“I can’t see our stuff,” he muttered, his breath fogging the glass. "It's not there."
"Look harder, champ." Evan handed him his phone, pressing a button to turn on the flashlight at the top. "Time for some good, old fashioned dumpster diving."
The phone was cold and sleek in Jason’s palm. He stared at the beam of light cutting into the dumpster’s gloom. Evan’s expectant silence from the truck was worse than any command. He walked back, the light bouncing erratically over cracked asphalt.
He placed the phone on the dumpster’s rim, beam pointed inward. He couldn’t just look. He had to go in.
Gripping the cold, grimy metal, he hauled one leg up, hissing as the edge bit into his thigh. He levered himself over, his stomach scraping against the lip. For one terrible second, he was suspended, bent over the abyss, his entire backside and the undersized, vulnerable sac of his genitals completely exposed to the alley and the idling truck. He felt the tickle of a breeze against his skin right before he tumbled in.
The landing was soft and disgusting. His feet sank into a give of half-solid garbage. The smell intensified, a solid wall of sour milk, rotting fruit, and chemical lemon. He brandished the light of Evan's phone, finding nothing. He paused to wipe syrup off on his own thigh.
“Find it?” Evan’s voice floated, detached.
“Not yet!” Jason called back, his voice muffled by the bags of refuse. He needed his keys, his wallet. He started digging, hands sinking into wet, unidentifiable softness. He moved a clump of coffee grounds, shifted a sack of kitchen trash. His fingers brushed something hard and rectangular. His wallet? No. The corner of a ripped cardboard box. He pulled it out, slick with something he didn’t want to identify.
He paused, listening to his own breath. He was standing in garbage, naked, desperate for success. There should be some sign of their clothes. His torn shirt. Her skirt. Something from that night, something Carrey and his friends and scooped up and tossed in.
But there was nothing. It was like their things had vanished into the void.