Gorilla Beach (4 page)

Finally, Donna released Fredo, who stumbled backward a few steps and wiped at his skank tank as if he were trying to brush off the hug. Donna gazed at him with pure love and adoration. “My boy. Isn't he handsome?”

Dead silence.

“He's going to the wedding, too,” said Donna. “Maria, didn't you seat him at a table with the girls?”

Maria nodded. “I did, Donna. Right between Gia and Bella.”

“Good,” said Donna. “I heard you girls are both single right now. Fredo can be your date to the wedding. You two should be thrilled.”

“Waaaa,” Gia said. “I mean, yay!”

Bella glanced at Maria. She looked apologetic and silently pleaded with the cousins to go along. Gia read the message in her eyes clearly. Sighing, Gia said, “Great. We'll rock the wedding. Like we're rocking this club. Whoopee.”

Donna beamed. “Wonderful. Fredo, more champagne!”

“You'd think Stanley would
do better by us,” said Gia, looking up at the concrete building at the corner of Hancock and West Central Avenue. It looked like a stack of giant gray bricks with black, square windows. Not many windows, at that.

Bella parked and switched off the Honda's ignition. This was to be their new summer digs? Stanley had made the arrangements for them. The bridegroom owned half the broken-down beach rentals in Seaside and arranged for the cousins to spend their July in “a state-of-the-art two-bedroom condo with a Jacuzzi and ocean views,” as he described it on the phone last week.

“It might rock on the inside,” said Bella.

Gia snorted. “It
is
a rock, inside and out.”

The cousins—still in costume—hauled their luggage up three flights of stairs. Bella used the key Stanley had mailed to them, and they went into their top-story condo.

“State-of-the-art? More like state-of-the-fart,” Gia whined.

“It's clean,” said Bella.

True. But since there were no curtains or carpeting and barely any furniture, what could look messy? There was a Jacuzzi—in the living room—with two legs-up water bugs in it. They must have died from disgust at how scary ugly the place was. Also in the living room: a sticky-hot leather couch patched with gummy duct
tape, a cigarette-burn-scarred coffee table, and a TV bolted to the ceiling like in a prison. The “kitchen” in the corner of the living room had a minifridge, toaster oven, and microwave.

Gia cringed at the sight. Not that she cared about cooking. Bella had grown up stationed in her family's Italian deli on Smith Street and equated “home” with “kitchen.” Making sauce and shaving garlic was how she relaxed. Without a proper oven, stove, and counter, Bella might freak out. Gia would do anything to prevent that. Her cousin had had a rough year, including her mom's cancer diagnosis and her parents' split. Gia, who lived with Bella's family in Brooklyn, had watched the nightmare unfold. Gia's number one goal for this summer? See to it that Bella had a good time. Her number two goal? What else? Find a juice-head gorilla and smush like it was the Mayan apocalypse.

“A toaster oven is just as good as a real oven,” Gia said.

Bella scoffed, “I guess I can make bruschetta.”

“Guys love that! You'll have them eating out of your hand.”

“They'll have to,” said Bella, opening empty cabinets. “No plates.”

They dared to explore the rest of the place.

The bedrooms looked like prison cells with cinder-block walls and concrete floors. One dresser, one small closet, a chair, and a bed covered in plain white sheets and an itchy brown blanket.

“Is it hot in here?” asked Bella.

Even at midnight, with all the windows open, the top floor of the cement building was sweltering. No air-conditioning. Gia's sweat dribbled between her boobs and pooled in her belly button.

It'd been an endless night. They'd hung in there at Maria's party for hours, gamely trying country line dancing and listening to Donna Lupo brag about Fredo, the kid squirming the entire time. The only way Gia got through it was by guzzling champagne and doing shots of amaretto. She even took a turn on the grinding pony. That was the highlight of the party.

The sight of their apartment was sobering. The heat had turned her tongue into sandpaper. Obvy, she needed a margarita ASAP. Gia was just about to suggest going to the boardwalk to a bar when Bella stripped off her stripper gear and flopped down naked on the bed in the small bedroom. “I'm gonna crash.”

Gia could take a hint. She gave Bella her privacy, lugged her suitcase into the bigger bedroom, and remade her bed with her own sheets and her leopard-print bedspread that went everywhere she did. She laid her stuffed animal, Crocadilly, on top. Her bedclothes didn't brighten the depressing space. Gia's heart sank.

“Fuck it.” Barging back into Bella's room, she said, “We're not staying here.”

Bella sighed. “Should we sleep on the street?”

“We stay here until after the wedding tomorrow. As soon as it's over, I'll get on Stanley to find us a better place.”

“Aren't they going on a honeymoon?”

Gia shook her head. “Stanley refused to leave town before Labor Day. Too many summer rentals to deal with. I bet he's just putting it off to avoid paying for a trip.” They snickered over their landlord's epic cheapness. “Okay, the condo sucks. But we're in Seaside. It's Friday night. Let's destroy this place!”

“We'd need a wrecking ball to destroy this place,” said Bella, rapping on the concrete floor with her knuckles.

Gia was on a mission to wipe the mope off Bella's face. The girl needed to shake off her winter blues
now
. “The place sucks, but the location isn't horrible. We're a few blocks from the boardwalk. I can smell the corn dogs from here.”

Bella sat up. “Are you going to annoy me until I say yes?”

Gia nodded and clapped her hands. “One drink, I swear!”

Before Bella could change her mind, Gia hurried her to throw on the first thing they grabbed out of their suitcases. Bella pulled out a purple cotton jersey T-shirt dress with peephole slashes low enough to show a hint of her tramp stamp. Gia yanked free
a black tube dress with a wide pink belt. To give their feet a break after the Bangin' Bride stilettos, they wore rhinestone-covered flip-flops. Gia pulled Bella out the door before they lost an hour redoing their hair and makeup. They might look like sloppy wrecks, but so would everyone else out there.

“Inca?” suggested Gia as they hit the boardwalk.

“Really?” asked Bella. “We're going skank?”

“Is tonight different from all other nights?”

The Inca Bar was a dank hole. Rusted water marks on the ceiling. Puke stains on the floor. The walls were crawling with mold and dark specks that Gia didn't want to think about. As gross as the place was, Gia had memories there—some fun, some funky. At this very bar, last summer, Gia nearly lost her shit—literally. Two nasty pieces of work, frenemies from her high school days in Toms River, fed her laxative-spiked Jell-O shots. Gia eventually got her revenge, sweeter than Nutella smeared on a fried Oreo. Just thinking about that victory made her almost unbearably happy.

Tonight at the Inca, the mold smell wasn't so strong. The DJ was spinning house music. A sweaty, packed crowd of dancers jumped up and down in a solid mass of humanity. Gia sneaked a peek at Bella, to see if she was soaking up the energy and good vibes. Sure enough, Bella was swaying, her graceful hands dancing away in front of her. Gia smiled. Yes! Her best bitch was back.

Barreling to the bar like a bowling ball, Gia yelled, “Emergency! Tequila shots!
Stat!
”

The cousins raised their glasses to each other. Gia said, “To summer!” They clinked, shot, and slammed their glasses on the bar.

“You drive,” said Bella,
too hungover to open her eyes. Their one “Welcome to Seaside” tequila shot at the Inca had turned into two. Three bennies from Staten Island convinced them to try “the Verrazano,” equal parts Patrón, Red Bull, and Frangelico. Gia and Bella had one. Then three. They crawled back to the Prison Condo at four in the morning. Bella woke up with red, white, and blue Manic Panic streaks in her hair.

Gia had them, too. “You don't remember? When we got home last night, we decided to do it. For the wedding and July Fourth.”

As shocked as Bella was, she liked how her hair looked tie-dyed in “I heart America” colors. It matched their flashy bridesmaid dresses. The top part was covered with silver and red beading. The A-line skirt part was made entirely of red emu feathers. Legs bare, they had matching red patent-leather peeptoe pumps.

So Bella's hair and outfit were bangin'. So was her head, unfortunately. By the time they finished dressing and went down to the Honda, Bella was in serious pain. As a general rule, Bella drove. The Honda was sensitive and Gia drove the way she danced. All over the place.

Grabbing an opportunity to get behind the wheel, Gia took the keys from Bella's shaking hand. “Love to! I know the way. I went to about a dozen sweet-sixteen parties at this place.” The wedding
would be at Neptune's Hideaway, a catering hall in Toms River, only a ten-minute drive from Seaside Heights.

Bella climbed into the suicide seat (quake) and closed her eyes. Gia had some trouble getting the Honda started. “No worries!” she said, which naturally terrified Bella.

Gia pulled onto Route 37, no problem. Bella dared to peek at the road. Their exit was coming up soon. Gia was in the far left lane, booming down the highway, humming a Rihanna tune.

“Exit on the right,” said Bella.

“I'm on the right.”

“The other right! Hurry up! We're going to miss it.”

Gia switched lanes, looking over her shoulder, pouring on the gas, then stomping on the brake when she nearly hit a passing car. She swerved, righted the car, and managed to get in the right lane. Bella's heart was pounding as hard as her head.

“Ya see? I can do this.” Gia put on the blinker to exit, slowed down, and turned to blow Bella a kiss. In that split second, Gia overshot the exit ramp, pulled hard on the wheel, and wound up crashing into the yellow plastic barrels at the corner of the exit ramp. The water inside the barrels exploded out of the tops and drenched the Honda like a dirty ocean wave. When the water sloshed off the windshield, Bella saw smoke rising from the Honda's hood.

Bella turned to Gia, whose hands were gripping the wheel for dear life. “Are you okay?” Thank God they were wearing seat belts.

“I'm fine. I'm like a rubber meatball. I bounce. You don't look too hot.”

Bella checked herself for damage. Since they were going slowly when they hit the safety barrels, Bella hadn't felt much of an impact. No air bags in the Honda (yeah, it was that old). If Bella looked bad, it was because she was worried about Gia's being hurt.

Slowly, carefully, Bella opened the passenger-side door. She was shaking when she checked the car. The front bumper had fallen off, and the engine was pouring smoke.

Gia was out of the car, too. At the sight of the mangled bumper, she covered her cheeks with her hands. “Did I do that?” she asked, shocked. “It's not my fault! The exit came up so fast, and then I turned too sharp, and … I'm so sorry, Bells!”

“We have to call someone.” Bella wasn't going to dissect what happened right now, although it was obviously Gia's friggin' fault.
Stay focused,
she told herself. In a crisis, Bella's mind turned into a practical, logical machine. “Call Stanley,” she said, already back in the car, looking in the glove compartment for her insurance info or a roadside-assistance hotline number.

“I kind of lost my phone,” said Gia. “Um, can I borrow yours?”

“Fuck!”
said Bella, exasperated.

“I'm sorry! I'm a walking disaster area. There should be orange highway cones surrounding me at all times. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me forever.”

“I don't hate you.”

“Maria will if we don't get to Neptune's Hideaway in the next five minutes. Maybe we should've let Fredo Lupo drive us.”

“No service. Friggin' AT and T,” said Bella, trying her cell.

“We could walk. It's only a mile away.”

“And leave the car?”

Gia said, “See the upside. Maybe it'll get stolen, and you can collect insurance.”

“Oh, yeah, that's the upside of crashing my car and stranding us on the highway? Maybe my car will get stolen?” The Honda was a piece of crap. But it was Bella's piece of crap. She bought it (used) when she was seventeen. She and the Honda had been through a lot together. Another loss. She bit her lip. She was not going to let herself cry.

Gia looked concerned. “I'll buy you a new car. I swear.”

Right. Like
that
was gonna happen. Bella closed her eyes and counted to ten. Friggin'
one
. Friggin'
two
. Friggin'
three.
…

A red pickup truck pulled to a stop on the shoulder in front of
the exit ramp. The driver, in a gray suit, climbed out of the front, waited for traffic, then jogged over to them.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Always coming to the rescue,” said Gia to Frank Rossi, her ex, a local firefighter. Last summer, he loved nothing more than throwing Gia over his shoulder in the fireman's carry to take her to the safety of his bed.

And here he was, doing his hero act again. Gia said, “You look good in a suit. Where're you going? Firemen's Ball?”

“What the hell happened?” he asked, assessing the Honda's damage.

“We're fine,” said Bella. “But we need a tow.”

It was like she hadn't spoken. Frank was on Gia now, checking her for breaks, squeezing and prodding her body. “Watch the dress,” squealed Gia. A few of the feathers came off, flew into the highway, and got run over by a beer truck.