English Summer Rain

English Summer Rain

J. Fitzgerald

December 22, 2005

It all began with the ring of that phone.

Groaning, I lazily opened my eyes, willing the phone to shut the hell up. Burrowing further into my covers, I heard the summer rain beating swiftly upon the London streets outside of the window in my loft. At last, my answering machine picked up the call and took the message.

A deep voice ran through the speakers of the answering machine and across the small space I lived in. “June, this is Ty. I’ll swing by to pick you up around four today. It’s going to be a long weekend up north, so make sure you pack warm. We’ll be taking the Bentley.” I smiled broadly at his crisp, Scottish accent and hugged my pillow to my chest.

Excited about the day to come and shocked when I saw it was two-thirty on a nearby wall clock, I willed myself to leave my warm bed. It had been late night with that very same man on the phone. Walking to my tiny cramped bathroom, I turned on the overhead light and it flickered twice before finally lighting the bathroom with a dim yellow light. Glancing into the mirror, I took in my tired face and discovered that my blonde hair was limp from sleep. Turning and exiting the ‘loo,’ I took three steps and was in my tiny kitchen. Opening my rather bare cupboards, I took out a nearly empty box of cereal and dumped it into the last clean bowl. Taking the very last of the milk, I shook my head and sighed.

An entire studio apartment barely furnished with barely any food. This paycheck to paycheck thing really needed to stop sucking.

Turning on the tiny color television I bought from a pawn shop, I set myself down at a table and began to eat my first meal of the day. Flipping from channel to channel, I finally stopped on the CNN—the only American station I somehow received—which read ‘BREAKING NEWS’ in huge, red letters.

“The Bank of England says it has no idea how the robbers were able to discover the location of the Treasury’s vault, nor how they were able to take out two guards and steal over six hundred million dollars in bills, rare coins, and other valuables before more security officials could arrive,” the bubbly brunette said, trying to look as serious as she possibly could. Her facial expressions were forced into seriousness and I felt myself grinning as I spooned the last of my cereal into my mouth.

This girl was fucking horrible at her job.

I hated public speaking and I could have said what she was with more conviction. Flipping the television off, I went to the kitchen sink where I rinsed out my bowl and spoon and returned to the bathroom. I had an hour to get ready to leave and I had to look bloody fantastic for that handsome devil.

Stepping into the grungy shower, I turned the water up full blast and allowed the memories of my shyness and steam take me back to those innocent days some call high school and the first time I actually allowed myself to be a ‘bad’ girl.
I’d never been the bold one. I’d never been the one to cause any ruckus. But when Dylan McNamara suggested one day in my senior high English class nearly six years ago that I sneak into the boys’ locker room during his gym class and steal all the towels, the temptation to be bad was so strong, I just knew I had to do it. Sure, he’d never talked to me before. Sure, he was only doing it to be an asshole. Sure, he was only doing it to test me. But I felt like for the past three years of high school at boring Indian Valley High School, I’d been so quiet, so shy, that I needed to prove this, if not to Dylan, then to myself.

...*...

I could still remember how his rough lips felt against my ear, whispering that suggestion. “Why don’t you stop by the locker room next period while I’m in gym and steal some poor asshole’s clothes, Guinness? No one would ever even know it was you.” His green eyes flashed mischievously as he pulled away from me and walked from the classroom. Not once had he ever whispered a word to me and now here he was, planting that bad seed into my brain.

If I was going to do as he suggested, it wouldn’t be because he was probably the most gorgeous human specimen I’d ever laid eyes on or that I’d lusted over him for the past three years, but because I wanted to prove to myself that for once I could be bad.

Dylan was as ‘bad’ as they came. Girls secretly gazed after him, none of them wanting to actually get involved with the ‘criminal.’ Guys treated him like shit because they all knew they’d never be so badass…and also for the simple fact that all of their girlfriends were secretly wishing to make out with him after school in his car.

I just wanted to do it in order to see if the shy girl in me could get away with it.

Skipping my Stats class, I knew I would be the talk of my small New York town for actually bailing out of math. Hiding in the girl’s restroom next to the gym, I waited for the final late bell to ring and the few girls fixing their make up to actually exit. When I was alone, I still sat as silently as possible. This was the tricky part. When did I know that all the boys had finished changing and that no one was in there? Glancing at my watch, I waited twenty five minutes into the class. I managed to leave the restroom and sneak my way towards the door of the boys’ locker room. Grasping the handle with the sleeve of my hooded sweatshirt, I entered the stinky locker room and was overwhelmed with the scent of male sweat. Taking that same sleeve, I held it to my nose and crept quietly along the inside.

If I got caught…the consequences…

Oh the consequences.

The locker room had six rows of deep, tall lockers painted a cold, steel gray color. The overhead lamps were dim and occasionally flickered on and off. The tiles beneath my feet were chipped and moldy…typical of old public school locker rooms.

With my free hand, I dipped to trace along one of the smooth worn benches between the rows. It was dead quiet, except for the muted voices coming from the gymnasium.

Now all I had to decide was which locker I was going to pick and who was going to be the victim of the one prank I was ever going to pull in high school. Wandering from row to row casually, I finally settled upon one. Opening it slowly, it let out a small creak and I found out that I’d hit pay dirt in the locker department.

I’d somehow managed to find Brett Daninger’s locker. Brett Daninger…the captain of the football team. Smiling, I fingered my way through his belongings. A backpack inside held his clothes and his street shoes sat among the bottom in a silent boyish heap. Picking them up, I allowed my eyes to gaze along the inside of the door. There, I didn’t find a half naked picture of his girlfriend, but instead, a ripped photo from a magazine of some swimsuit model who’s breasts could have been used as flotation devices. The image made me laugh.

Unfortunately, I was soon startled as I discovered that I’d taken too long to choose a locker and I heard the door from the gymnasium clatter open and male voices and laughter began to fill the room.

Fuck.

Gathering the backpack, I shoved the shoes inside with the clothes, zipped it quickly, managed to noiselessly close the locker, but it was too late.

There was no way that I would be able to escape now while the boys were in there.

And I was holding a ticking bomb filled with Brett Daninger’s clothes.

Managing to sneak up a few rows before the boys were all in their personal rows, I hid where two sets of lockers met one another and hoped to God no one thought to walk behind them to visit a friend. The doors were located on the opposite side where the lockers I was standing behind were located.

Breathing as silently as I could, I heard dirty jokes being spread around as lockers began to be banged open and belongings dug through. A noise behind me startled me and I nearly dropped the backpack. This scare made me let out a small scream and I closed my mouth quickly. No noises were made, and I thought I was going to get away with everything when it all went down.

A locker slammed shut and a voice boomed, “Who the fuck stole my fucking clothes?”

Oh shit. So Daninger noticed his clothes were gone.

Well of course he had! What had I expected him to wear after gym?!

My muscles were now aching from standing so still when I felt a large, warm hand cover my mouth and pull me down a row of lockers. My eyes went wide and I bit back a scream as I realized that I was alone between a set of lockers with none other than Dylan McNamara himself. Putting a finger to his lips, I followed his code of silence and nodded stiffly. Daninger was still screaming about his clothes, which I was now clutching to me as if the backpack held the Hope Diamond itself.

I soon heard a loud ‘BAM’ as Daninger began hitting lockers…or I pictured that’s what he was doing. He began yelling at all the guys around him. Dylan took the backpack from my arms, silently walked to the end of the row, opened a locker and pitched them inside. Walking back to me, he pointed at his locker and I grew confused. Now wasn’t the time to be showing me his locker and where he stashed his street clothes during gym class. Shooting him a confused look, I shrugged and he grew impatient over something I was lost about.

The banging of metal lockers was getting closer and closer as Dylan literally picked me up and shoved me gracelessly into his locker.

It was a tight squeeze, and if I hadn’t been of a tiny stature, I never would have fit. Dylan looked at me quickly and for the first time, I noticed he was in a towel. Shoving his hand inside the locker, he managed to reach behind me and pry his bag out.

He began to shut the door to the locker, but before it was entirely closed, he stuck his head inside. It was practically dark and I could hardly make him out. Quickly, I heard him say roughly, “You’re such a badass, Guinness. I really didn’t know you had it in ya.” His teeth caught the edge of my earlobe and I caught my breath before the locker door was slammed in my face.

Outside my cramped metal world, I heard muffled voices and a locker at the far end of the row was thrown open, followed by more muffled voices.

The noise outside continued for a few more minutes, then fell silent. The last thing I heard was the door of the locker room slamming shut one more time and the bell signaling class change ring. Seconds later, the locker room was flooded with noise again, this coming from a different class of guys for gym. Wondering how long I’d be stuck inside the locker, I thanked God that no one shared gym lockers…

Otherwise, I would have given someone quite the surprise.

Thirty minutes must have passed since I’d entered that locker room and I had plenty of time to think about what I’d just done. Despite skipping class and knowing I’d face consequences, despite nearly getting caught red handed, and despite the fact that I was now trapped in Dylan McNamara’s locker, I was extremely proud of myself. I didn’t know I had it in me.

Dylan’s deep words kept ringing through my head. “You’re such a badass, Guinness.” I could just picture those bright, deep green eyes flashing in amusement. “I really didn’t know you had it in ya.”

As soon as silence grew again, I waited only a few minutes before the door to my metal cage was thrown open and Dylan stood in front of me, arms crossed, amused smile spread across his lips. Somehow managing to untangle myself from that cramped space, I was able to stretch my muscles.

Giving McNamara one of those ‘eat-your-heart-out’ smiles (I was feeling especially confident), I turned my back and went to leave the locker room.

“You know,” he called out behind me, “you didn’t technically finish up. You didn’t get out of here with the clothes before Deninger returned.”

“Maybe,” I said, tossing my hair over one shoulder and looking at him, “but I didn’t manage to get caught either, did I?”

...*...

Smiling softly at the memory, I finished up my shower. Blowing my hair dry and then brushing my teeth, I managed to look like a normal person again…and less like the living dead. Walking into my bedroom, I put on my favorite worn jeans and t-shirt, and then finished up my make up. Grabbing my suitcase from the closet, I threw the few personal items from the loft and threw them into it. Amongst clothes and shoes and make up and toiletries, were the answering machine, my one bowl and spoon, a picture of my family from the night stand, and the warm blankets from the bed. When everything was crammed inside, I sat the case by the door and returned to the tiny TV where the uncomfortable brunette was still standing outside of the Bank of England.

The “Breaking News” banner was yet again rolling across the screen.

“Law enforcement managed to lift out a few foreign fingerprints and identify a few suspects thought to be responsible for the break-in at the Treasury of the Bank of England. Amongst them are an old German jewel thief and the President of the bank himself.” I watched as the screen went from the brunette to disgruntled photos of the accused. My cell phone chirped by my side and I picked it up.

“I’m outside, love,” the deep male voice said and I promptly hung up. Turning off the cheap television, I stood from the couch and wrapped myself up in my winter coat.

Picking up the heavy case next to the door, I exited my loft for the last time and climbed into the black non-descript car outside. I tossed my case into the backseat. Kissing the stubbly cheek of my handsome driver, I ran over each of the details in my head, including the answering machine message left earlier. “June, this is Ty. I’ll swing by to pick you up around four today. It’s going to be a long weekend up north, so make sure you pack warm. We’ll be taking the Bentley.”

Ty was his chosen name this time around.

Long weekend up north meant that this was it for us…the end of the road.

North meant we were heading to the deep tropics where no one knew us or how we had earned our keep…for good.

Packing warm meant I was to pack everything that could trace anyone to my true identity.

The Bentley was code for this non-descript black car.

And the entire message as a whole?

The entire message as a whole meant that we’d actually gotten away with it. We had successfully thrown their scent off of us. In the course of one hour the previous night, we had managed to take out two Treasure guards at the Bank of England and steal well over six hundred million dollars. We won’t even get into the millions we’d stolen from some of the largest banks internationally.

“I’m thinking about going brunette for awhile,” I told the man next to me.

Grinning, “Ty” turned to me and kissed me thoroughly, but this time it wasn’t on my cheek or my earlobe, but successfully on the lips. “I love you, doll,” he said, voice devoid of the pretend Scottish accent, bright green eyes flashing mischievously like they had all those years ago.

Smiling, I buckled my seat belt and gave him a devilish grin. “I don’t know how I do it,” I explained innocently.

He let out a low laugh, started the car, and finally pulled into traffic. Lacing his large fingers through mine, he gave my hand a squeeze and simply said, “You’re such a badass, Guinness.”

“That’s McNamara now, you fool,” I corrected, relaxing further into my seat and my satisfaction.