Too Late to Turn Back Now (eBook)

Chapter 1
Fall 1988

I suck in the last drag of what has to be my twentieth Marlboro Red of the day so far and flick it out the window as I park. Searching through a pile of junk and papers on the seat next to me, I finally locate my smokes, tuck some matches under the box top and quickly check myself in the rear-view mirror. Keg parties like the one I’m about to walk into are for two things, getting drunk with your friends and more importantly, trying to hook up. I’m 21 years old, my goals are very simple. Lucky me, I get a spot for my big blue Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme right in front of the mailbox. Looking through the passenger side window, I can see a crowd gathered in the driveway, half in and half out of the open garage. A single overhead light illuminates an outline of the partygoers, a haze of cigarette smoke lingering above them.

The fall chill has yet to arrive, so I leave my jacket behind as I exit the car and slowly walk toward the festivities, not particularly excited to see anyone here. Most are from my class of 1985 but in the three years since graduation, gatherings such as this are no longer the norm and I don’t know who is going to show up. Billy Gorman spots me as I get out of the car and is now walking the length of the driveway to identify who I am. This is his house party, so Billy is on high alert, making sure no unwanted guests try to slip in uninvited.

“What’s up Grayhill?! It’s been too long, Brother!” he shouts upon recognizing me, and we share a big but man-acceptable hug. Guy hugs need to be quick, just a pat on the back, any lingering is not good.

“Yeah, it’s been a while Dude, how the fuck are you?”

We were inseparable best friends in high school. His strong athletic frame has gotten a bit lumpy since I last saw him, with a rounder face and darker eyes. Billy’s odometer is going a lot faster than mine, I think he’s been living hard for a while now. Considering we haven’t communicated at all in the past three years, this could have been a little awkward, but his enthusiastic greeting takes us right back to the good old days, not that I’m looking to stay there.

“When did you get back from LA?” Billy asks while slapping me on the shoulder.

“Dude, I’ve been back in Rockland for almost a year. Just been so busy trying to figure shit out,” I lie.

The truth is Billy developed a little coke and whatever else habit by the end of high school and became a real dick, unbearable to be around. So, I stopped being around.

“Oh Man, you should have called me, we could have been hanging this whole time,” he says, then begins yapping about himself. “I dropped out of UCONN after freshman year, too much partying. My Dad said screw it, just come home and run the plumbing business. I’m going to be making some big-time money, Bro!”

Sure you are Billy; all the Roto-Rooter guys drive a Mercedes. He always has to have the most and is always bragging about how great he thinks his life is. It’s a real turn-off.

“Hey man, let’s go get a beer,” I suggest, already tiring of the conversation. “I need to pound a few before the cops come and break this thing up.”

Billy scoffs. “My Dad’s buddies with all the cops, they won’t be bothering us tonight.”

Uh-huh, right, Billy, I forgot you’re the king of Rockland.

I shoot the shit with a dozen other people and finally make it to the beer keg, which is chilling in a big tin bucket filled with ice in front of the garage. As always, it’s a barrel of the cheapest crap you can buy, like Busch or Meister Brau, something heinous like that. I peek in and see Billy’s garage is neatly organized, featuring a speedboat on one half and the other side reserved for motorcycles, tools, and lawn equipment, everything prominently displayed for maximum envy. There is a labeled cubby for each family member; Mom, Dad, and the boys. I’m not familiar with the life being led here at Billy’s, but gun to my head, I’m a little jealous. The only thing nuclear about my family is the way my parents blew it up.

People at these parties are always hanging around the beer keg, it’s like the office water cooler for the pre-employed. I scan the crowd a bit, looking for a place to settle in. After evaluating the female talent at this shindig, I’ve found several candidates that merit my further attention. One of the ladies, Sara Addeo, is scoping me out with some pretty direct eye contact. I’ll have to investigate this further and without delay. Tall and shapely, with black hair and tan skin, Sara Addeo is an Italian goddess who’s at the top of every guy’s most wanted list. I give her a sideways glance so as not to be too obvious and I think of a Meatloaf lyric I sang in the Olds on the ride over here. Sara is tonight’s “Ruby in a Mountain of Rocks.”

Making my way closer to her, I mumble “‘Sup Sara,” while lighting a Marlboro and tossing the match.

“Hey, Bryan Grayhill,” she says with a glow. “You’re looking all grown up these days!”

I wasn’t even sure she knew my name so this is off to a good start. Sara is older than me, always was out of my league and frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with her before right now. My beer full, I dump half into her empty cup and then raise mine in salute. Smooth move, I think proudly to myself, as she cheers me back and we both take a gulp.

“Good to see you, Sara, how’s it going? What brings you to our youngster party?”

“Nice to see you too, Bry,” she replies with a mischievous grin. “I actually came with my little sister Cara. She’s class of ‘86.”

Yeah everybody knows Sara and Cara Addeo, no need to clarify, they are like the hottest sisters in the history of Rockland High School. There is an older Addeo girl as well, named Tara, also a beauty.

“Oh yeah, I know Cara, kinda.”

“How’s your sister Lauren?” Sara asks. “She used to hang out with Tara all the time in high school but I haven’t really seen her since they graduated.”

“Lauren’s good,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to waste time talking about my sister. “So anyway, what have you been up to these last few years?”

“I graduated from Penn State this year and I’m back with my parents now in Congers, not really in a rush to go job hunting yet, just kinda hanging out you know? I’ve been waitressing a little and working at Jack Lalane’s teaching aerobics once in a while, but that’s about it.”

“Okay, that’s cool. Let’s get physical!” I say like a moron while dropping my cigarette butt into the bath of ice water cooling the keg. This chick is gorgeous, a college graduate (something I’ll never be), and for some reason locking in on me; an interesting situation is starting to develop here.

Just then my fat friend Pat Byrne appears in my face. He’s the size of Mean Joe Green and I feel like I’m witnessing a solar eclipse as Sara disappears from my view. Nice timing Patty, can’t you see I’ve got a big fish on the line here? We all call him Patty Funk because he’s always sweating and has a little stink to him. He is our school’s version of Pigpen.

“Five in a row, Yankees can’t win for shit. Even Mattingly sucks this year,” Funk chirps with a snicker. Pat is a notorious Mets die-hard, which used to be an embarrassment for him, but sadly The Mets have taken over New York in the last few years, so their fans are all pumped up.

“Shut your face, Patty. Boston choked in ‘86 and gave you the Series on a silver platter. Same platter Gooden is snorting his coke off now. Your Boys ain’t winning shit this year either.” This is a lame retort, but it’s the best I can come up with. The Mets own the city right now, definitely a hard pill for us Yankee fans to swallow. Anyway, I’m too worried about losing my place in line with Sara to care about baseball right now.

I give Pat a look that says “Get the fuck outta here,” and shift the focus back to more pressing matters, returning all my attention to Sara before I lose this chance. I lean into her ear and suggest “Hey, let’s take a walk,” which she agrees to without hesitation. We shuffle off to a rock wall about 10 feet away and sit down. So much for walking.

“Last I heard about you, you were moving to California. How’d that turn out? When did you get back?” Sara asks.

“Yeah, high school was so screwed up for me I was just like, I need to get as far away from here as possible. I had an Uncle in Cali so I just went for it. I’m hoping to open my own restaurant one day so I was wanting to get some big-time experience but it didn’t really pan out. I was out there for two years doing not too much. Lots of work, little school, and mostly just bored, to be honest. I’ve been back for a while now.”

“Still pretty cool that you were in LA. I don’t know anybody that went that far after school. Did you see any movie stars?”

“Not really. Danny Devito was shooting a movie on Venice Beach once but that’s about it.”

We continue on chatting like this for a half hour or so about our lives and whatever else came up. I can barely concentrate on what she is saying. Smitten with her good looks, I still can’t believe that she is at all interested in me.

Her sister Cara, also tall, tan, and gorgeous, approaches. “Sara, we gotta book,” she interrupts, without acknowledging me. “I have work at 8 tomorrow.”

“You...