Casual Rex by Eric Garcia

Author:Eric Garcia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780375506666
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2001-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

13

A hangover, I can deal with. A pasty, numb mouth that tastes like I’ve eaten stale carpet—fine, no problem. Ringing in the ears, in the head, jaw aching, body trembling at the 3.0 Richter mark—okey-dokey by me. A nauseated feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, a family of hamsters scurrying around in my intestines—not fun, but acceptable.

It’s the memory loss I could do without.

“You don’t even know if you slept with her?” Ernie is chiding me as we trundle our bags through the marina on the way to the hydrofoil that will take us to the Progressives’ island. We’re a little late—half an hour by my watch—due to my inability to wake up and meet Ernie by noon, and the frantic pace has got me ready to lose what little lunch I was able to shove down on the way out of the Westin Maui’s front door.

A tip: Poi is not appropriate hangover food.

“The act itself? No, no, I don’t remember that.”

“Nice habit you’ve got there, kid.”

“Don’t lecture me, I’ll throw up on you. Look, I remember the foreplay. I remember the aftermath . . . sort of. It’s that middle part that’s a bit hazy.”

All of it’s a bit hazy, actually—the fondling before, the pillow talk afterward—but it’s true that the actual act of sexual congress has completely escaped me for the moment. This has happened before, once or twelve times, mostly after a night of frolic and fun and bingeing. I’m sure there’s a repository in some alternate dimension bursting with all of the things I’ve forgotten over the years, but it’s probably filled more with algebra equations than sexual relations.

“What was she?”

“In what sense?”

“In the only sense,” Ernie says. “Carno, Raptor, what?”

“I . . . I don’t remember.”

“Of course. You tell her why we’re in Hawaii?”

“I’m sure I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?” Ernie checks.

“Sure I’m sure. Sure.” Not in the least. I could have given her my name, rank, serial number, and favorite breakfast foods for all I know. The only thing I’m positive about is that Kala was gone this morning when I woke up. Probably for the best. “Hell of a gal,” I say. “A real firecracker.”

“As far as you remember.”

We make it to dock seventeen only thirty-nine minutes after our scheduled departure time, and the other passengers on board are not exceptionally thrilled with us. Buzz and Wendell, who haven’t changed their clothes since last night—unless, of course, they brought duplicates of those god-awful outfits—make a show of tapping their feet, checking their watches, but the twins are too grateful for our friendship to work up any real negative emotion.

“We made ’em wait,” Buzz informs me as the dockhands gather up the mooring lines and prepare to cast off. “They wanted to go, but we said our friends were coming.”

“That’s what we said, all right. That’s exactly what we said.”

And that’s how the next two hours go, Buzz and Wendell regaling us with tales of their heroic adventure of keeping the hydrofoil in dock.

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