This Crazy Rich Boy - Chapter 84

Indeed, what in hell was that?

“Maybe we hallucinated,” Miguel says, as the three of them stroll on the main avenue of the amusement park. “Or maybe the light and shadows played tricks on our eyes.”

Gabriel shrugs. “The bottom line is, we were not harmed. Nothing bad happened. We got spooked, that’s all.”

“If that had been a legitimate ghost, then I’d choose to come face to face with that than an actual living, breathing serial killer,” Claire says.

“Fair point,” Miguel says.

If anything, that strange experience in the horror booth was indeed an experience of a lifetime, just what the brochure promised. Gabriel also realizes that Claire’s bodyguards would only be a fair distance away—they were probably in the tunnel, too, and that they were not alone, if that turned out to be a real person.

They are almost at the end of the avenue, and about to enter the short promenade that leads to the exit, when Miguel stops them, sniffing something in the air. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I smell corndogs. What say you we try that out? Just, you know, for nostalgia.”

“I think we’ve had enough of that for a night,” Gabriel says.

“I second the suggestion that we try the corn dogs, though,” Claire says. The childlike smile has never left her face, and she looks even seemingly younger with that big teddy bear in her arms. “I’ve never tried one.”

“Oh, always the ‘virgin’ of everything,” Gabriel says with that grin.

“So?” she snaps. “I’d rather be a vɨrġɨn than be a jaded, cynical washed-up person.” Who couldn’t even properly move on over his fiancée, she would have said, too, but she manages to stop herself.

“Hey, that was a mouthful,” Miguel says, smiling. “I guess someone’s really hungry, now with that temper.”

Claire says nothing. She casts Gabriel a sideward glance, then in an impulse, takes Miguel by the arm, who is only happy to take the lead. “Come on, Miguel, let’s find the purveyor of that corn dog!”

Gabriel scratches his head, and it isn’t even itching. What did he do? He was only kidding. Ah women, and their inscrutable ways. One moment they’re fine, the next moment they’re the red-hot center of bad temper.

Claire and Miguel sally forth toward the corndog hut, while Gabriel trails behind them. The corndog hut is now manned by a different person, not the old lady who used to work the counter and dip the batter-coated sausage-on-a-stick years ago. But it’s the same corndog brand, and it’s probably safe to presume that as far as nostalgic trips of the palate go, this one won’t disappoint.

“Look, they’re now offering different flavors, imagine that,” Miguel says, reading off the laminated list of corndog options.”

“If you want to walk down memory lane, you should only have the classic corndog,” Gabriel says.

“Three classic corndogs, then,” Miguel says to the server.

“No, I want a different one,” Claire says, reading the menu. “One ‘hellish spicy corndog from hell’ for me, please.”

“Are you sure?” Gabriel says. “There are two ‘hells’ in that corndog’s name. I’m pretty sure they’re serious about it being extremely spicy.”

Claire pouts. “Well, if this ‘virgin’ wants an extremely spicy hotdog to enter her mouth, then so be it!”

Gabriel snickers and shakes his head; Claire is so innocent she doesn’t even realize the sėxuȧŀ double-meaning of what she just said. He just shrugs and holds up his hands. “Alright, one corndog from hell for the lady who wants to try it all!”

“Coming right up,” the server says, with that knowing half-grin. He’s probably wondering about the dynamics of these three people. He probably feels the tension. But he’s just here to cook and serve batter-coated sausages, so, like that famous Foster the People song, he just “focuses on his ability.”

In no time, the two classic corndogs are served, while the server takes a bit more time finishing up Claire’s spicy corndog.

Miguel gobbles up his corndog, while Gabriel picks at his serving, trying hard to pretend excitement yet failing dismally at it. He’s not really interested in nostalgia here, as he’s always visiting this amusement park. His mind is on Claire, even when she’s standing almost right next to him, trying to understand what he feels about her. This “date” seems to have taught him a few things, and foremost of it is that Claire knows how to kiss; at least she’s not a hopeless ‘virgin’ as he loves teasing her. Also, and now he’s totally admitting this to himself, he’s probably going crazy—obsessed—about her, yet he tries so hard to maintain distance, to keep things “proper.” Yet he feels that there’s probably a point in the near future when he would just snap and cave in and surrender to his feelings.

“One hellish spicy corndog from hell for you, Miss,” the server says, so courteously handing Claire’s food on a paper plate.

Claire’s face lights up. “Wow!” She gleefully takes it and examines it. “This smells terrific. Thank you, Miguel.”

Miguel nods. “See if you enjoy that spicy sausage, Claire. So that I’d know how to adjust in the future.”

Gabriel throws Miguel a disapproving look—it was a subtle sėx joke, and one that Claire didn’t get because, after all, she’s being Claire. But Gabriel never misses it, and secretly he feels some resentment towards his brother. If Miguel can make jokes like this even now, then maybe he’s making his intentions clear. Maybe he only wants to list Claire as one of his conquests. Gabriel cannot accept that.

Claire has removed the stick from the corndog, and now is stabbing it to “let the air in” and cool it down quickly. She licks her lips; obviously, she’s been hungry. When she thinks the food has cooled down enough, she takes a sizable bite of it. “Oh, my, the flavors are amazing,” she stammers as she chews. “This sausages and the batter, they blend well with the spices. It’s unbelievable.”

The thing with the hellish corndog from hell is that it’s deceptive; the extreme spiciness doesn’t immediately ȧssault the palate. It acts like the flavor version of the Trojan horse, letting you eat a big chunk of it, then like a bomb, all the horrific spiciness suddenly explodes in your mouth.

Which is exactly what happens. Claire suddenly stops chewing, her eyes wide. She mutters, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God, it’s hot!”

Miguel and Gabriel scrambles to get a bottle of drink from the corndog hut’s own cooler, handing Claire a newly popped open bottle both at the same time. In her panic, she takes both and tries to gulp it down, one at a time. The men watch helplessly as Claire tries to “douse the fire” in her mouth. She’s almost teary eyed. “So hot!” she keeps saying in between gulps of drink.

Gabriel panics. He’s always been the knight in shining armor, right? So as he watches Claire trying to quickly wash down the spiciness, in his mind, he thinks of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He doesn’t have time to realize how inappropriate that is in this situation. So he grabs Claire, and with all the wetness of his mouth (he intends to “saturate” the spiciness), gives Claire a long, wet, sucky kiss, right there as they stand. And Claire, so surprised and confused at what’s happening at the same time, shoves Gabriel away.

He kissed her, in full view of Miguel, and in embarrassment and shock, Claire slaps him in the face. “Gabriel, you’ve been kissing me all night long,” she yells, with tears in her eyes. “And not once did you ask me nicely!”

She storms off, leaving both men standing there by the amusement park entrance.

“You were kissing her?” Miguel says. “Why would you even do that, man? She was my date!”

Gabriel gazes at him as he holds the cheek that Claire slapped; he opens his mouth, but no words come out. He also couldn’t explain. Maybe he’s just an ȧsshole trying to take advantage of a vulnerable woman. Maybe he’s just selfish, and he doesn’t want his brother to enjoy his “special employee.” Or maybe, just maybe, he’s just falling madly in love with her.