by Ina Carter
When I was little, Kevin used to tell me that my smile was so big that it made his lips stretch too when he saw my grin. I guess that’s why my father never smiled - god forbid he made people happy. I decided he could go to hell with his orders.
I can’t do this. Sticking with Bianca and her friends for even a few hours was too much. I picked up my phone and dialed Marina. She picked up right away.
“What’s up, girl?” she cheered. My friend still had a Russian accent. She was 14 when her parents immigrated to the US. We met when we were both sixteen. She learned English really fast, but the accent was still noticeable.
“Mari, do you want to come with me to some stupid college baseball game?” I suggested.
“Who’s playing?” Marina sounded interested.
“I have no idea. Stanford against some local college, I guess.”
“USC. They are playing at Dedeaux field today at five,” she informed me instead.
“Since when do you follow college sports?” I was surprised by her knowledge.
“Since I met this guy Trevor. He is a big baseball fan. Goes to all Pac 12 home games and watches the others on TV. He invited me to go today, but I said no… It was a date, and I am not ready to take that step with him yet.”
“Trevor, ha? Is it serious?” I probed a little.
“Can be… He is cute and reads books, not just sports blogs. Oh, and he goes down the dictionary on my vagina, not just the alphabet.”
I choked, coughing my next words. Marina had no filter, and she blurted things out like that. It’s truly educating listening to her detailed recollection of her dating life. She was not a slut. As a matter of fact, this was the second boyfriend I had heard about. She dated one guy in high school, but he broke up with her before graduation, since he was going to Oregon State, and she was staying in California. Marina was a really pretty girl, tall with a slim waifish figure, stunning facial features, and huge blue eyes. She could have been a model, but she was too unassuming about her looks. Her sharp wit and impenitent language were in complete contrast with her appearance, and I was sure there was a line of guys after her now that she was in college.
“TMI, Marina,” I shrieked. I could hear her laugh over the phone.
“Lauren, babe, you are still too innocent, my friend. You need to hook up with someone, just for the experience at least,” she offered.
“I am incarcerated if you don’t remember. Where am I supposed to find a normal guy to hook up with? I go to school with snobby trustafeterians whose big egos cover for their tiny penises.”
Marina snorted. She was not going to join my pity party.
“Gosh Lauren, there is always a way. Hook up with the janitor for fuck’s sake.”
“Ha, ha. This is not Step Up 5, Mari, and the janitor in my school is not Channing Tatum. I swear they vet and hire all the staff to be snobs, making sure not to expose the privileged to the ways of the common people. Even my teachers act like elitists.”
“I need to bail you out somehow, or at least introduce you to some cute guy who can sneak into your prison for a conjugal visit. Trevor has some good-looking friends, you know….” she laughed.
“Sure! Why don’t you come with me to that stupid game and you can make the introductions?” I suggested. I knew Marina needed an incentive to accept my offer to let me buy her a ticket. Then I’d not only get to hang out with my girl, but she’d take the step and go on that date with that Trevor guy. She seemed into him, no matter what she said.
“Come on, Mari. My parents have season tickets. My sister’s stupid boyfriend plays for Stanford. I heard her bragging that Dad got tickets to all of Stanford’s away games, not that my parents ever go.”
Marina sounded more upbeat when she answered. “I guess I’ll call Trevor and tell him I am coming and bringing a friend. This won’t be a real date since I’ll be with you. You need me, my friend. I have to save you from the madness at least for a few hours. …”
“Yes!” I almost cheered. “I’ll leave you the ticket on will-call and text you from the arena when I get there, so you know where to find me.”
“I might be a little late. I need to take Sveta to pick up her birthday cake.”
I missed Svetlana. She was Marina’s baby sister and the cutest girl I knew. She was likely in middle school already.
“I might be late, too. Serves Bianca right for making me dress like a clown so she can let me in the same vicinity as her bimbo friends. This game is my parents' attempt to get us to do something together. They hope some of her pretentiousness rubs off on me. Why would someone go to a college game dressed for a cocktail party, I have no idea, but that’s what is expected of me.”
I sulked, looking dismally at the outfits I had laid down on my bed. Marina knew what I was talking about. Last time we saw each other I was in high heels and a Marc Jacobs day dress. My outfit was way over the top for Starbucks. I was not entirely against nice clothes, but I was never given the opportunity to pick them myself. All my choices were made for me and even the money I was given was monitored for how and where it was spent.
“Well, you know Orange is the new Black. In your case, the other way around,” Marina remarked compassionately.
“You know you are right. Black it is. Thanks, babe. I’ll see you at the game. Look out for the funeral director. You won’t miss me in the crowd.”
When I hung up the phone, I felt better. I was not only going to see my friend, but maybe I could also sneak one on Bianca. I’d sure enjoy having a little fun with her friends, considering they are just like her – a lot of posing with very little substance. I picked a black mini dress and hurried to my bathroom to change. When I looked in the mirror, I grinned. I looked like Jacky Kennedy at her husband’s funeral. It was a sleeveless high waisted dress with a high collar. It cut a little above my knee. It was 50’s retro style, and I was only missing the pearls and a barrette to look like I had stepped out of an old-fashioned advertisement for washing machines.
Appropriately, I even twisted my hair in a high knot on top of my head. It gave me a slight headache as it pulled tight on my scalp, but I was satisfied. They wanted me to dress like a clown, I was going all out.
When I walked down the stairs, my mother only frowned at my outfit, but Bianca gasped.
“You’ll find ways to embarrass me no matter what, won’t you? Do I have to go with her, Mom?” my sis whined to our mother. A shadow crossed Dana’s face, and she looked at Bianca with sympathy. She knew perfectly well what an embarrassment I could be.
“Your Dad insists, Bianca,” she said, sharing the same frown as my sister.
“I invited a friend to come with me. I can hang out with her, not with Bianca, if you give me an extra ticket. They were sold out, so she can’t get one last minute.”
“What friend?” My mother sat on the edge of her seat. She never hid the open condemnation of my friends and thought they were all trash.
“A girl from school – Marisa – her father is a surgeon at Cedar’s.” I lied like a pro gambler. Marisa was a bitch who I wouldn’t talk to, but my mother didn’t know her. Both my parents usually checked my stories and called the people I claimed I was meeting, so god forbid I was sneaking out with criminals again. I was on a short leash.
This time it looked like she was willing to let this one slide. Not because she trusted me, but for Bianca’s sake, so my sister didn’t have to endure my company.
“Take my ticket and give it to your friend.” Dana walked into her downstairs office and came back, handing me the two tickets. “… and Lauren, I expect you to tell your father you and Bianca had fun together.”
Of course, mother. I’ll make sure your favorite daughter comes out of this looking good.
We took Bianca’s Mercedes to the USC Downtown campus. I sat in he back seat and didn’t even bother engaging in small talk with her. We both knew where we stood. My sister spent the entire drive on the phone with one of her friends. I was going to barf just listening to the
girl’s voice over the car’s speaker. She was whining and bitching about the game and the fact that there were no private boxes, just some lame preferred seating. Jesus Jose, being in close proximity to the masses was not going to contaminate you.
I just hated those pretentious bitches with a passion. All my life every single one of them had proven me right that money didn’t equate to good character. They only got into Ivy League schools because of their parents' money and influence. It’s kind of sad that those institutions cared more about sponsorship and financial contributions than accepting students from disadvantaged backgrounds with real brains. One day those entitled brats inheritably would run big companies, looking down at the people who work for them, and earning bigger yearly checks than all of their employees combined. I tuned out the conversation because it was getting me upset and philosophical about the unfairness in society, and that was something I couldn’t fix.
When we arrived, Bianca barked a command and was already pacing ahead of me, afraid someone might see us together.
“Come with me, so we can take one picture with you and my friends in case Dad calls, so I have something to show him.”
I should have told her to go to hell and just ditched her and waited for Marina at the entrance, but then this masquerade I put the time into should be for something.
I was walking behind Bianca, but we were both attracting attention. People passing us by were giving us strange looks. She might not be able to decipher the cues, but she was also sticking out like a peacock in a hen pen. She was dressed in some floral romper and four-inch Manalo’s, which would have been okay if she were on Rodeo Drive, not at a college game.
Now here we were – Mary Poppins minus the umbrella, following Barbarella. I bet people were wondering if there was some weird Cosplay convention going around.
I hadn’t been to the USC campus before, but by the look of it, it was cool. The students at the game seemed down to earth, the college grounds and the buildings were beautiful, and everyone was smiling. Maybe I should try harder to convince my parents they should let me attend here. It’s my mother’s Alma Mather, after all. It made me wonder how she fit in with the normal people. Then again, she was not born rich, she just had ambition and persevered to snatch a thick wallet as a husband.
She might act like a socialite now, but her parents were both middle-class. Grandma passed away when I was twelve, and grandpa retired to Florida to live with his brother. They were the only people who accepted me and loved me from the beginning. I called Gramps once in a while when I was sad, and he always found a way to cheer me up.
When we reached the group of friends who Bianca was meeting, I shook my head in disbelief. The garden party was missing only the champagne flutes and the caviar hors d’oeuvres. We were on the visiting team’s side and there were other students from Stanford, but none of them looked as deranged as my sister’s crowd. I knew Stanford was not entirely an elitist school and they had plenty of smart kids attending, but I still hated the idea of going there. I’d be forced to join Bianca’s sorority and socialize with her friends.
Bianca’s posse was three other girls and two guys. Bianca gave hugs around, smacked lips to cheeks, and fluttered eyelashes, completely ignoring me, but her friends noticed that I had come down the stairs with her. The whole group was on the first row behind home base - the preferred seating they were so pissy about. I was surrounded by way too much Chanel #5 and polo shirts. The one with the annoying voice looked at me judgmentally and tapped Bianca’s shoulder.
“B, who is this person?” she whispered like she was afraid to address me directly.
“Don’t mind her, Kelsey. That’s my emo sister. My Dad insisted I bring her along.”
“Oh, I see.” The blond bimbo nodded. “Is she okay? Why is she in black?”
She kept talking about me like I was not there, and I could tell she’d heard from my sister that I had mental issues. Time to live up to the expectations.
“I am in mourning,” I blurted. The girl looked shocked, and her lips formed a big O.
“I am so sorry. Did someone die, B?” She turned back to my sister for confirmation. Bianca almost growled, but before she answered, I stepped closer to her friend, got in her face, and gave her the crazy eye.
“My fish died. Five days ago. I carry it with me. Wanna see?” I was reaching into my huge purse like I was searching for the carcass. The blond jumped back and pulled away from me, afraid that I might slap her on the forehead with a dead fish.
I knew this was completely immature and not like me to act like an idiot, but it was all worth seeing that bitch’s terrified expression.
“Hey Bianca, is your sister off her meds? You said your parents, Tamed the shrew.” One of the guys spoke up. I lifted an eyebrow, not because I was surprised by the insult, but by the fact that he made a reference to the Shakespearean comedy. The guy was the typical type: designer slacks and loafers, too much hair gel, not enough substance, so it was surprising that he might be well-read.
“Oh, so you know our parents have been reenacting that play for years? They even got Bianca’s name right. Wonder why they didn’t rename me Katherine?” I noted sarcastically. All I saw was blank stares and clueless blinking. Nope. None of them got what I was referring to.
I was just about to leave when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Hey, Eliza Doolittle, if you are done going all Pygmalion on their asses, you want to join me?” Marina quirked. It seemed she had heard the whole exchange. As a matter of fact, I was done with the carnival show and glad to see my friend. I nodded at Bianca, and before I hurried up the stairs to meet my friend, I told my sister I’d meet her by the car after the game. I didn’t even look back at her idiot friends.
“How did you find me?” I hugged my friend tight. I missed her more than anything. It had been over six months since we had seen each other in person, although we had exchanged texts and calls every week. She laughed at my question.
“You think it’s difficult to miss the circus?” She nodded over her shoulder at the out of place group we had left behind. She looked at my outfit and started laughing. She was having a fit.
“When I said to wear black, I didn’t mean Black Widow. Did you steal this from the Mad Men wardrobe?” She managed to utter the words, teasing me.
“Let’s find a restroom, so I can change into my jeans, Mari. I just had a little fun. It’s not every day I get to piss Bianca off,” I said solemnly. And I had packed my regular clothes in the big purse I was carrying. I was not crazy to go meet Marina’s friends dressed like Jackie.
“You were wasting your breath out there, by the way. You know you can’t make them feel inconsequential and stupid. You can harass a person only if you have an advantage in numbers. It’s the pack mentality, my friend. If you are the one seer amongst the blind, you are ostracized just for being different. So, don’t bother. They will never see the light.”
It’s funny that my friend spoke accented English, but she was way more eloquent and smarter than those idiots with private school educations. Marina was really exceptional.
“Maybe you should join me next time when I am with Bianca’s posse. Tip the scales a little…” I smiled at my friend. I missed her wise and perceptive opinions. She smirked.
“It won’t work. They won’t understand a word I say. They’ll just assume we are both speaking Russian and you are also mail-order bride…” she pondered. “You know my college advisor said I should take an accent reduction course. I won’t though. … The accent is my bigotry radar. With ignorant people the moment they hear my Russian accent, they go deaf and step back in fear. Like they expect me to pull a bottle out of my purse, shove vodka down their throats, and make them sign the communist manifesto or something… It’s hilarious to watch.”
Now I started laughing openly. I nudged my friend’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. “So, do you have any?”
“What?” Marina blinked, confused.
“Vo
dka.”
It earned me a backhanded slap in the chest, but she laughed. I did miss my girl. It was so refreshing to have someone who got my jokes and who I could laugh with.
Marina and I were joking around, but my parents would indeed discriminate against her for her accent alone. They still freaked out if my southern twang emerged in conversations. I could never forget the years of censuring, correcting every word I said, making me feel ashamed and stupid. This was why sometimes I used big words, said things they couldn’t comprehend, especially my mother and Bianca, who beyond their snobbism, were not very intelligent. My father knew I was mocking them, and he always reprimanded me later.
Mari and I found a restroom so I could change. My phone was buzzing in my pocket, and when I looked at the texts, I had at least five messages from Bianca. She was mad that I hadn’t bothered taking a picture with her and her stupid friends. I didn’t care if she got in trouble with Dad, but I didn’t want him to find out that I had snuck out to hang out with one of my old friends. I turned back to the field, where you could see the digital scoreboard, and told Marina to take a picture. I smiled genuinely for once.
As she snapped the photo, the crowd behind us exploded in cheers. We were by the USC’s side of the field where Marina’s friends were. It was fifteen to twenty minutes into the game, but some USC player had already scored a home run. People were screaming and shouting excitedly, hugging each other and waving banners with the Trojan’s logo. I couldn’t care less for the game, but I was actually happy to look at the board and see that USC was leading against Stanford. I hoped the moron Bart’s team lost, so Bianca could shut up about what an amazing player he was, and how many scouts he had impressed in this game.
Since they’d started dating, she talked about baseball like a sports commentator, which was ironic considering her previous disdain towards sports. I guessed she had to look up what kind of money MBL players made to change her tune.