“Like… go home?” Brow furrowed.

He wants to hug her, kiss away the pain in her eyes. “No. Hell no. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel.”

She laughs, relieved, confused. “Really?”

“I’ve never done it.” He stands, put out his hand. She takes it. “Come on, let’s go see what’s at the top.”

4

JEREMIAH ISN’T FEELING so good. His heat is up. The women… my god, the women tonight.

It isn’t even high summer. Not yet. Early June. Traces of spring still in the air before the heat of August and September. In Los Angeles, there are no winter months. There are hot months, warm months, cool months, and some weeks when it rains. The warm months are March through June. Heat kicks in at the end of July. Really gets cooking, then. Stays that way through November, typically. If residents are lucky, it’ll cool down for December and January, but no promises. If they are incredibly lucky, it’ll rain a few weeks around that same time. Off and on, if you please. Just enough to avoid the perennial drought, to keep the reservoirs and basins full, to keep the hills green. To wash away the pollution, the smog, the filth on the streets. Push it all back into the massive sea, the all-consuming sea. The great devourer.

No, June isn’t too hot. But it’s a warm night. Jeremiah wipes sweat from his brow, despite the encroaching night. Normally, he can contain the urges – the intensity – of his desires. But the way they dress! In all the nights Jeremiah has worked the pier, he has never seen a parade such as this. Beautiful young women, lined up in butt-clinging, thigh-grabbing shorts. Sheer tops, for the love of Christ. So much flesh, so much flesh! he thinks. In you go, dear, in you go, watch your head, my god your thigh right there and he restrains his own hand from reaching out, from touching a barely-covered breast, an ass. Rub his fingers along a long bare leg. Torture.

Jeremiah keeps loading them in, loading them in. His heart beats fast, his brow leaks tendrils of salty sweat from under his ballcap. His neck wet, his crotch swampy and hot. “Okay, miss, in you go.” He’s trying not to do anything stupid. That last one’s boyfriend, the tough guy with the tattoos and permanent scowl? He saw Jeremiah’s lust. The men often do. Hard to hide lust from another man, especially when it’s directed toward a girl that man is with. Sixth sense. Primitive radar. But Jeremiah only nods and smiles, latches them in. Up they go, up and away until the next girl comes up, and he fights the battle all over again.

And now this one. Oh sweet lord! Look at this one. So pious, so innocent. Sweet tangerine. Twenty-two, twenty-three? An angel.

“You two are next. Uh, tickets please.”

The young man with her, a bit of a model type himself. Fit and athletic, but not dumb, no, not stupid. But innocent like her. Naïve like she most assuredly is. Jeremiah takes the tickets from the young man, studies the girl more closely.

No. Wait a second, now… maybe not so innocent. But for him, yes, for him she would be. He tries to rein in the rabid stallions of his desire. Sure, he thinks, leering at the young couple, I’ll tame that gorgeous thing.

“HOW LONG IS the ride?” Mary asks the sweaty guy running the wheel, who she is already thinking of as “the old pervert who works at the pier.” I mean, look at him. Gross. She clutches Rob’s hand, steps closer to him.

“OH, AH, USUALLY around five minutes. I like to give everyone a few times around.”

Rob barely hears Mary and the worker guy. His heart thumps in his ears. The ring in his pocket burns against his leg. It’s so damn hot. A lot of people. Too close. Crowding him. He takes a deep breath. Feels Mary’s hand clutch his.

For the millionth time that night, he jams his free hand into his pocket. He’s been so paranoid about losing the ring. That morning he’d turned the jeans inside-out, studied the pocket lining to be sure there was no hole, no loose thread that could become a hole. But now he feels the prick of the small rock at the bottom. There. It’s there, waiting. Chill, dude, he thinks. Tries to relax. The gondolas or whatever they’re called are spinning around, around. He and Mary will be put on next. Red, green, yellow, blue. Each bears a faded number. Roofs like umbrellas. Open-air. A waist-high tub keeping the riders safely inside. The lights are frying his eyes. The music too loud. The crowd…

“Okay!” the man says, and Rob snaps his attention back. Sees the rotation of the massive wheel has slowed to a crawl. “When this group gets out of, let’s see, number nine, you two hop in.”

Nine?Is that a good number? A lucky number? Rob doesn’t know. He’s panicked. Okay, ride stopped. Four girls jump out, giggling. A waft of marijuana slams into his face. They were smoking up there. They’re laughing and the old guy is smiling at them and Mary is pulling his hand, leading him forward, forward. The old guy opens the door, turns to help Mary in…

Mary steps in, then stops. What’s happened? She spins, red fury. She slaps the old guy – hard – across the face. What the fuck is going on?

JEREMIAH CAN’T HELP himself. He opens the door, turns. The girl, holding her boyfriend’s hand. It’s safe, dear, of course it’s safe. He lightly places a hand on her elbow, guides her inside. He’s breathing heavy. My god, the smell of her. His dick so hard. Fucking hell. He slips a hand to her hip, as if to steady her. The other hand quickly to her other hip, slightly lower. Just a little boost. His hands are shaking. She puts a foot into the tub and, without his brain’s consent, without his even fucking thinking about it, both hands slide up, over her breasts, lightning-quick, then away! A slip of the hand! An accident! She won’t say anything, she’ll be too confused… but she’s turning. Shit shit shit. He smiles, starts to put his hands up, as if saying, an accident, miss, an accident!

No go. She smacks him a good one.

Damn.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Mary screams, her eyes furious. She looks from the old man to Rob, who looks more confused than upset.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeremiah says. “I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry young lady.”

Rob now. Up close. Between them. Crowd in line paying attention. A couple cell phones out, aimed at the trio. At the drama. Someone yells down from one of the gondolas, angry at being stopped for so long. Rob turns to Mary.

“What happened?”

Mary looks into Rob’s eyes. Sees the concern there, the fear, the potential madness that comes with loving someone. She looks over his shoulder at the old pervert, hands still up, shaking his gray head. Her eyes narrow. Back to Rob, who’s put a hand on her shoulder, asking what’s wrong. She wants to push his hand off. She wants to tell him what the fucker did.

No.

There it comes. Unbidden. Something… something deep inside her. A whisper. A warning.

No.

She doesn’t want to listen. She wants to tell Rob that the creep copped a feel. Wants to have Rob kick his old tired ass up and down the pier. And he would, she knows he would. He’d beat the guy senseless.

Then what? Police. A scene. Their date night spent in a squad car, giving a statement. A complaint. Future trial, maybe. The night ruined. An ugly blemish on their lives. Something they’ll remember forever. That night at the pier, when the old man grabbed you. The fight. The police. How it dragged on.

Yes, they’ll think how horrible it was. How horrible the man was. How stained. And that stain would rub off. Just a little bit, onto them. It would become part of them. Part of who they were. Their lives. He’d be a piece of their puzzle. Somewhere down in a shadowy corner, a small piece tying their young lives together, a part of the tapestry that would be them.

No.

She drops her eyes, puts her hands on Rob’s chest.

“Can we go?”

To her surprise, Rob does not acquiesce. Does not immediately take her hand, lead her away. Does not soothe her, kiss her, protect her. He only looks at her stupidly, mouth hanging open. His eyes wide, scared. No, not scared. Panicked.

“Go?” he says.