She could tell Steve had his hand on Laurie’s knee. His arm moved and Laurie shot him a sharp look. James shot Lacey a wink. She felt a frisson of something in the air. The round ended with Steve ahead.

James offered Irish coffee. There was chit-chat while he was in the kitchen, Steve asking her about school. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, and she blushed. No one else seemed to have noticed the insinuating tone in his voice. Are you getting laid, little girl? He was looking at her intently with a knowing little smile.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said, in an almost-nasty tone. “Or a girlfriend.” Steve sat back, momentarily speechless. Jean and Laurie laughed at his embarrassment. “She told you, didn’t she,” said Laurie, good naturedly. Lacey smiled too, narrowing her eyes.

James handed her a steaming cup and she took a sip. He’d put in a lot of liquor. He wants me drunk, she thought. She pressed her knee against his under the table, and his hand grazed her thigh. She took another sip and felt the alcoholic heat running down into her chest. Don’t drink too much of this. The next round of cards, Lacey won.

The snow was still falling when Jean and Lacey headed for bed, first one and then the other yawning and declaring themselves done for the day. Lacey had made up the guest bed, a task she enjoyed, pulling the fresh smelling sheets tight and smooth. She wished she was sleeping in that clean, empty bedroom, alone on that wide double bed.

“Still up for a walk?” asked James. She pulled on her coat.

“Keep her warm, Jimmy,” Steve called from across the room, lazing on the rug by the fireplace. Jimmy. She hated that name, had always called him James, well, Jam when she was little or still sometimes late at night, JamJam, James. Go put on your jammies, her mother had used to say, and she’d laughed. Keep her warm, was that supposed to mean something? Everything Steve said sounded sordid.

They walked out into the snow, powder covering the tops of her shoes. Her knee socks weren’t much protection, though it wasn’t bitterly cold. James held her hand. She ran a few steps and skidded, pulling him along with her, knocking him off balance. He recovered and they ran forward a few steps together. He stopped suddenly and pulled back on her arm so she slid in a circle and almost fell. She scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at him. He ducked, but most of it scattered harmlessly, anyway. James was flushed and laughing, spontaneous for once, Lacey thought, as they chased each other in circles through the empty, snowy street.

Lacey was shivering as he brushed snow from her back and hung their coats. “Come over by the fire to warm up,” he said, but she she leaned back against him suddenly, so that he staggered back, catching her under the arms. “Carry me,” she said, her head hanging back against his chest, smiling up at him. He remembered something she’d told him about her Akido class – use your opponent’s forward momentum to knock them off balance. Ride the forces or be driven by them. Which of them had the upper hand?

He picked her up like a baby or, he thought as she put her arms around his neck, a bride. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he carried her up the entryway stairs to the living room. It hurt his heart, how much he loved her. This gamine, he thought. Is that the word? He set her down in front of the fireplace, close to Steve, and she sank down gracefully. The firelight turned her skin and hair gold, and he thought of a gilded trophy.

I’m not stupid, she thought, wrapping her arms around herself. The question was did she want to be his prize. Cold, still cold, though the fire was too hot on her legs. Steve rubbed her back briskly. “I told you to keep her warm, Jimmy. Look at her, she’s shivering.” His hands moved to her arms, a little too rough. He had turned to sit half behind her, his chest almost touching her back. He shifted his touch to an inexpert massage. Why was she letting him touch her at all? How far would James let this game go? He’s like a dog, she thought, bringing back a rabbit to his master. One hand slid into the warm place under her hair to rub her neck. It was too intimate. Lacey pulled away.

“It’s actually my feet that are cold,” she lied.

“Oh, poor feet,” Steve said, quickly adapting. “Lay back and let me rub them.” Lacey lay back, suddenly light-headed. James smoothed her hair. She looked up at his warm eyes. He loved her. She was safe with him. Steve had pulled off her snow-dampened socks and was massaging her calves. Jam leaned down and kissed her. Lacey closed her eyes. Soft lips. Jam’s hand on her cheek. Safe.

Soothe her. Steve wouldn’t go too far. They were in the living room for christ’s sake. Maybe he should move them all downstairs. The rec room, they could say they were listening to records.

Lacey looked up at him, anxious when his mouth left hers. Better stay here. She’ll bolt if we shift gears. He trailed his fingers along her cheek and down to her neck. So smooth and fair. He could see her veins faintly blue. “

She lets me do anything I want with her,” he’d bragged to Steve. It hadn’t seemed like bragging then. “I’ve never been with a girl like this, Steve. She’s a wildcat.”

“You should get them both in the bed at once,” Steve had said. “Mother/daughter sex, man, that would be right on.”

Lacey’s lips parted as he ran his finger over them, her tongue sliding up to touch him as gently as he touched her. Her eyes were all pupil in the firelight. His girl. He leaned down to kiss her again, and ran his hand down to cup a breast.

“Getting warmer?” asked Steve. The tone was wrong, overly sweet. “Are you warming up, Lacey?”

James could feel her tensing up. He smiled down at her. “You look like a lioness in this light,” James told her. “Your hair is gold, and your skin…”

Steve’s hands were massaging her thighs with unsubtle enthusiasm. She hated him. Jam’s hand was still on her breast, gently brushing a thumb over her nipple. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his hot breath damply cooling on her ear the next moment. Steve pressed his fingers against the crotch of her panties, finally done pretending his attempts at seduction were innocent. How far would James let this go? Jam’s tongue in her ear, as Steve’s fingers slipped under the side of her underwear to brush clumsily against her private places.

Lacey sat up, pulling her legs away from Steve’s hand, collecting herself into herself. “It’s late,” Lacey said, standing up. “I’m going to bed. I don’t want there to be anything to regret in the morning, for any of us.”

Steve was looking up at her. “Aww, Lacey, we don’t have to do anything. Stay and talk with us.” “

Sit with us a little longer,” said Jam, coaxingly. Lacey straightened her dress.

“I’m going to bed,” she repeated. She felt queasy. She started towards her room.

As she turned into the hall, her mother’s door opened. Jean was in her satin bathrobe. It’s not sexy, Lacey wanted to tell her. It’s too stiff, too bright..

“Are you still up?” asked Jean.

Jesus, ask the obvious, why don’t you, thought Lacey, muttering “Going to bed now,” as she passed. Thank god she didn’t try for a goodnight kiss, she thought with a shudder. Not another touch. Shutting her bedroom door was a relief. She set the flimsy door knob lock and slipped off her dress. The room was cold and dark. Leaving her clothes in a heap, Lacey felt her way to the bed and climbed in to the even colder sheets. It felt good to curl up there, alone, wracked with shivers in the dark. It felt perfect.

“You’ll like her, she’s a little strange, but you know, that’s good,” Jean had said. More like insane, you could see that, shirt sloppily half tucked, lipstick crooked. Spit it out, Lacey, get it over with, you have to. “I want to go on the pill,” she said, and the words came out clearly, not the garbled shame she felt, distaste at being near-naked in front of this grotesquerie of motherliness.

The Doctor stepped back, raised her glasses. “Are you sexually active, young lady?” It was clear she disapproved.

“No,” said Lacey, “but I have a boyfriend and I.. we..” what had the story been?

“The pill is no protection,” said the doctor. “You should be using condoms.” Lacey felt her heart sinking. “Have you talked to your parents about this?” oh god, was she going to call her mother in and talk to her like Lacey was a child?

Lacey shifted again, noticing the sound of the paper crinkling as it wrinkled, refusing to let go of her skin. “She’s fine with it, that’s why she brought me,” Lacey lied. No, no, wrong story, she’ll know it’s not true.

“I don’t like giving the pill to girls your age,” the doctor said. “You shouldn’t be having sex at your age.” If only she knew.

“I just want to be on it in case,” Lacey pleaded. “We probably won’t do anything, we haven’t… I just want to be safe.” The doctor nodded and turned to pick up her prescription pad.

“I’d really rather we talk with your mother,” she said, writing. Lacey waited. The doctor handed her the slip. “See me in 6 months,” she said, and left. No exam, after all. There wasn’t time for a sigh of relief. Lacey got dressed as quickly as she could. Please god let her not be talking to my mother. Jammed feet in sandles, stepping on the back straps so she could hurry out. Please god. She saw the doctor in the hall, talking to a nurse. Jean was reading a novel in the waiting room. Lacey’s breath came back.  “Ready?” she asked, and they left.

“How’d it go?” Jean asked as they crossed the parking lot. Her voice was sympathetic and warm, too intimate. Lacey could just hear her thinking, “My daughter’s first pelvic exam! She’s all grown up!” It disgusted her. “Fine,” she mumbled. “She gave me a prescription for the pill. She said it would help my cramps.”

They sat in a row, Paul’s knees touching her hips, his hand tentative at her shoulders. “Just use your fingertips,” Lacey told him, and he brushed them along her nape, making her shiver. Gretchen sighed.

There was a click of the cassette reversing – when had the music stopped? Electric guitars. They all shifted out of their lasstitude for a moment. Gretchen’s head came up. “Let’s take our shirts off,” she said, not hesitating to hear the others answer. Gretchen had no inhibitions, as far as Lacey knew, unless it was against exposing her own fears.

Lacey still faced Gretchen’s back. The was a freckle on her right shoulderblade, and then smooth contors, no bra, no interruption,just skin, lovely. Lacey was transfixed. She could feel Paul shifting to pull off his shirt, behind her. His hands came back to her shoulders, then tugged playfully at the bottom of her tee shirt. “Come on, Lacey, aren’t you going to take it off?” They’d seen eachother naked before, skinny dipping at the quarry, she shouldn’t care, and she didn’t really, what they saw or didn’t see. It was just – so much skin all together.

“Come on, Lacey,” said Gretchen, laughing, then leaned back against her suddenly, toppling her against Paul so that they fell in a heap. Lacey’s arm was around Gretchen’s waist, they’d fallen sideways, spooning, Paul’s arm over them both.

“Alright, alright,” Lacey said, laughing too, disentangeling herself to sit up again. She pulled off her shirt boy style, a new trick, one hand on the back of the shirt neck. Up from the bottom, arms crossed was seductive, something long haired women in movies did to gracefully expose lace and a perfect tan. She would be bold and careless, yanking her shirt off, forget that her bra was tattered beige, her back pale and thin. No one’s looking. No one cares. Paul is glad to be touching a girl, any girl.

She lay back down and they shifted apart slightly so there was room to start again, tickling, feather touches, Paul unexpectedly adept, Gretchen stretching her back, catlike, to guide Lacey’s fingers wherever she wanted them most at that moment. At the top of Gretchen’s skirt cotton underwear peaked out, childishly flowered. Lacey traced her finger along the line it made, hip, back, spine, back.

Let’s turn over,” Gretchen said, “I’ll do you, Lacey.” Lacey turned. Paul stayed where he was, curled on his side, facing her. His chest was thin, muscles just beginning to form above his ribs. Lacey touched his sternum, where there was a scattering of dark hairs.

“Don’t you want me to tickle your back, Paul?” His eyes were dreamy. Was he looking at her or at nothing? He was beautiful, really, dark hair and light eyes.

“Will you do my chest?” he asked. Inept seduction. Lacey didn’t care. She could feel the warmth radiating from Gretchen’s body, chills as her fingertips ran almost imperceptibly lightly over her shoulders. Lacey floated her flat hand over Paul’s chest, touching only the curls of hair. She bent her bottom arm up to hold his shoulder and closed her eyes. Sinking into something like a dream.

Her hand grazed Paul’s side and he twitched. “That tickles,” he said.

Gretchen laughed. “Lacey likes to tickle, don’t you?” Lacey smiled, keeping her eyes closed. She’d like to stay in this moment forever.

Gretchen moved closer, her breasts against Lacey’s back, fingers gliding over Lacey’s stomach, making her jump. “Sorry, sorry,” Gretchen said, petting her now, instead, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Even if you deserved it.” Lacey opened her eyes again, and saw Paul looking back. He’d straightened his body and moved closer. Gray blue eyes. Flushed lips slightly parted. Don’t look at his lips, can’t look at his eyes. She closed her eyes again.

Gretchen’s arm was resting across Lacey’s side, touching Paul, now. Lacey lay still, surrounded. Should she be doing something? But Gretchen was murmering in her ear, “Lacey sandwich, do you like it?” Yes, she liked it, wrapped between her friends, folded up safe while they carressed each other. Paul’s nose touched her cheek and she turned her head a little to meet his lips, letting him kiss her, doing nothing but feel. Resiliance, warm breath, moisture, his tongue sliding against her lips. Gretchen pressed close, Lacey aware of every place they touched. Gretchen’s hand moved back from Paul’s hip to Lacey’s, then in between them. She felt Paul hard against her leg, Gretchen’s hand grasping for him. Lacey sat up, dislodging them both, crossing her arms over her bra.

“Laurie conks out after a couple glasses of wine,” Steve had told him. “She’ll be in bed by 10, even if we are on vacation.” Jean was the same way. She made a virtue of it, like an old lady. “I don’t have the stamina I used to have,” she’d say, and he’d nod inside while kissing her goodnight. Free time. That was the prize for a married man. Free, unsupervised time. He had nothing to complain about.

He looked at Lacey again. She was wearing the dress he’d bought her, dark green like her eyes, a clingy knit turtleneck with a high waist like she’d outgrown it. He couldn’t see the skirt under the table but he could picture it, falling in loose pleats over her thighs and revealing knobby, childish knees. She’d worn knee socks and mary janes tonight, the perfect schoolgirl outfit. Look away. “It’s started to snow,” said Lacey, and his eyes focused where they’d been resting at random, big flakes outside the window, grey against black where the porch light hit them. “Maybe we can go for a walk after dinner,” he said to the table at large. Lacey kicked his foot in secret agreement while the woman protested that were too full to move an inch, then started talking about dessert.

Shit. He DID look like a fish. This was the worst part. The acid coming on. Not for the first time, Lacey felt the dread of knowing there was no escape. Why had she agreed to this? Six hours, at least. A lifetime. If she was lucky, it wouldn’t make her teeth clench and her bones ache like last time. Strychnine, Gretchen had told her, old acid turns into strychnine, don’t save it up next time.

Gretchen was sitting up now, trying to embrace her, doing her protective mother act. “It’s too late,” Lacey told her.

“Too late for what, sweetie?”

“I’m sorry, Gretch, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come over tonight.” Lacey reached for her shirt. The cotton seemed to leap into her hand.

“No, Lacey, I’m glad you’re here, it’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.” Gretchen’s arms around her felt octopus-y, wriggling and constricting. Lacey struggled for calm, ordinary words. For some reason it seemed important not to show how much the drug was affecting her.

“I want to put my shirt on,” she said, and Gretchen withdrew, with more apologies and endearments. Lacey’s shirt clung to her hands, then pressed against her face as she pulled it over her head. It seemed to stick to everything. There were wrinkles bunching under her arms. She couldn’t seem to get it to lay flat.

Paul was still gazing up at her, pupils vast in his blue eyes. Lacey looked away. Don’t stare too long at anything human, that was a rule she’d learned for acid trips. Gretchen took her hand again. Lacey hadn’t realized she was cold, but Gretchen’s hand felt hot against her. Their palms met.

“Gretchen, it feels like your hand’s inside my hand,” Lacey said, the words coming back to her from a distance.

“Maybe they’re the same hand,” Gretchen said, and held them both up in the air. Lacey glanced quickly. No, still two hands, brown and gold in the lamplight. The sky outside the window was pearly dark grey. It was early evening, she remembered. They’d be down by 11, for sure.

“I thought you wanted help cooking,” said Lacey. “I’ll make the salad and then go change.” She was suddenly aware of  torn tee shirt, the feeling of her unwashed hair against her scalp. She’d forgotten about their weekend guests. What would they be like, she wondered, as she washed the carrots and cucumber and set to making neat slices. James had told her almost nothing about them. Or, rather, he had told her a thousand stories about their college days, Jimmy and Steve, sneaking into the chem lab late at night for illicit experiments involving cocaine,  campus legends for stealing exams and seducing girls. According to his stories, there was nothing the two of them couldn’t have pulled off together. But now James had a potbelly and thought of college as his glory days. Lacey felt sorry for him. These would not be her glory days, the best times of her life. It wasn’t only that high-school kind of sucked. She was just certain she wouldn’t stop having adventures at 20. She rinsed the lettuce and spun it dry.

James said that Steve was always the babe magnet in school. He’d bring back two girls to their dorm room and if James was lucky, one would end up in his bed. Otherwise, he’d be trying to sleep while Steve had them both, giggling and cooing and moaning. “Did you watch?” Lacey had asked. “Of course,” James told her, “But I pretended not to. My desk kind of blocked my view, so I could only see when the girls were sitting up, riding him.” He’d had a hard-on, telling her about it. Was it even a true story? She put the thought out of her mind and arranged the last of the vegetables in a ring on top of the lettuce. A shower. And something nice to wear at dinner. Who knows what kind of stories James had been telling Steve about her.

“Do you think you could keep them safe?” Lacey asked, and turned away as tears began running down Jean’s face. She had to be cruel. She had to use a knife sharp enough to remove this cancerous love. There were boxes to carry.

“There’s no way I’m getting out of here in one piece” she wrote Gretchen. It was too late to turn back. The earth had trembled, smoke rose, and she’d run towards the conflagration instead of away. Pull apart the burning rubble to look for survivors, or simply watch it quake and fall, these were her choices now.

Then it was time for dinner.

James and Jean talked about lab equipment and tenure applicants while Lacey daydreamed about drawings, taking automatic bites of pasta and vegetables. Her mother laughed, and Lacey tuned back in. James was funny, sometimes. "What’d I miss?" she asked.

"Oh, it was just a miscommunication James had with the equipment sales-rep," Jean explained. "Half of them don’t have any idea what they’re selling"

James gave her an apologetic smile. "Boring, I know," she read in his eyes. He wishes they could talk about something other than work, Lacey thought. He’d rather be alone with me. She felt a flare of heat in her chest. It was uncanny the way they read each other’s minds.

“Did I smell something chocolate when i came in earlier?” James asked.

"Not chocolate," Lacey answered. "You must have smelled the almonds. I tried to make biscotti, but I’m not sure they came out right." Baking was her other spring-break activity. Precision in measuring, said her cookbooks, was the key to success. She leveled her measures with military discipline. Still, things failed. Fell. Curdled. Burnt. The biscotti were crumbly rather than crisp. "I control my reality," Amanda had told her. All Lacey’s care was not enough. Maybe Amanda’s reality was more tractable.

Jean suggested decaf, to dip the cookies. “It doesn’t matter if they’re crumbly. You’re supposed to dip them anyway,” she said. James declared them delicious and ate three. Lacey nibbled hers, after discovering dunking left an unpleasant sludge in her cup. There was silence. Lacey gave a sigh of relief when Jean went downstairs to work at her desk. James gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she got up to help him clear the dishes.

His hand grasped her wrist as she reached for his plate. Lacey looked up at him, into his brown eyes. "Tiger’s eye" she thought, as he pressed her back into the wall behind her, kissing her intensely, one hand almost painful on her wrist, the other soothing against the back of her neck. His kisses were deliberate, despite the seeming spontaneity ot the maneuver. She was certain he’d planned this moment. In the seconds before she lost herself in sensation, she wished he would come with her, into that chaos of desire.

I write into the dark. Sometimes I forget my way back again. This is me unreeling a line as I wander through the chilly air.