Page 86 of Absorbed

“I’m so sorry, Gabe.”

“Okay,” he said curtly.

“Are you mad at me?” Stacey asked.

“Am I mad?” Gabe hissed into the phone. “I don’t know, Stace. You’re not who I thought you were.”

Tears fell down Stacey’s cheeks. She laid her head on her pillow and tried not to let the emotion sound in her voice. “I’m the same person. I just…screwed up.”

“Those people you were hanging out with…the things you were saying about what you did with Jessie… The other night you seemed so upset, but last night you acted like you were bragging. And you got completely trashed. To the point that Trent almost…I had to….”

“You’re right,” Stacey said, barely audible.

Gabe let out a sigh. “Listen, I’m gonna go. I just need… I think I need time to cool off or something.”

“Okay.” Stacey’s voice cracked. Tears pooled on her pillowcase. “Will you call me tomorrow?”

“I’m going on this hiking trip with my dad and my brother for a few days. Maybe I’ll call you when I get back.” Gabe hung up without waiting for her to respond.

Stacey let the phone fall from her hand. She curled into her knees, sobbing.

Her mom came in. Without asking what happened, she hung the phone up, then wrapped her body around Stacey’s. Murphy laid across their feet as Stacey cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Centennial Olympic Games were beginning July 19th in Atlanta, and it felt like the whole world was excited. The opening ceremonies were expected to be the most viewed event on television since OJ on the 405 in the white Bronco.

To boost attendance at the pool, the City of Mesa Valley announced “Plunge Olympics” events for every morning and afternoon swim session over the span of the Olympic Games.

During their breaks, Stacey and the other lifeguards glued chocolate gold medal coins to yarn necklaces, and Bob made a makeshift medal podium in front of the guard shack, with an Olympic rings flag as the backdrop. The acting manager would be the official judge, and parents could take photos along with the possibility of some ending up in the Sun News.

On July 19th, Tiffany’s family hosted an opening ceremonies party and invited the crew over to watch as Muhammad Ali lit the Olympic cauldron and Celine Dion and Gladys Knight sang. Bob sat on the couch with Tiffany’s parents as the guards squished onto their living room floor, eating pizza and RedVines. Stacey and Jessie sat on opposite sides of the room. He hadn’t made eye contact with her or Melissa since the party.

Thousands of people danced across the screen in bizarre red, green, yellow, white, and black costumes like monochromatic munchkins with their coordinated oversized drumkits being wheeled around the stadium. Sheets of Olympic-themed fabric, each longer than a football field, were pulled from the top of the stadium over the audience and down onto the field. The spectacle was unlike anything Stacey had ever seen before.

The crew commiserated with the sweating spectators in the stands in Atlanta, andooh’d andaah’d at the giant puppets dancing to Louisiana jazz music. From the couch, Tiffany’s mom sang harmony with the Southern Gospel Choir.

About an hour into the show, Mark joked that he felt like he was on an acid trip—or needed to be—to understand what was happening on screen. Eventually he acted like he was going to the bathroom, but slipped quietly out the back door.

As the procession of each country’s athletes dragged on, Desiree whined, “Is the rest of the ceremony just national songs and flag waving?”

“Pretty much,” Tiffany’s dad said.

“Boring.” Chad chimed in.

“I’m heading out.” Bob stood, looking directly at the guards around the room. “I expect all of you to be on time for your shifts tomorrow. Thank you for having me,” he said, as he shook Tiffany’s dad’s hand. Her mom stood to give Bob a hug.

“Can we turn on the jacuzzi?” Tiffany asked her parents.

“Sure,” her mom said. “Can everyone head home by ten, though?”

“Of course,” Tiffany said, as she led the crew out back.

Mark was seated on the end of the diving board. There were no visible or pungent signs he’d smoked weed, but his face had relaxed into the jolly and sleepy look they all knew too well.

It was almost seven, and Tiffany’s house was high enough on the foothills to watch as the golden glow of the evening sky cast purple shadows over Mesa Valley.

Stacey sat between Melissa and Desiree on the warm concrete with their feet in the jacuzzi. Mark and the other guards made their way over to join them. They sat in a circle, like the glow of the light in the bottom of the swirling water was their crew’s version of a bonfire.

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