Jailbait

by Lesléa Newman

  “Frank, what are you talking about? What guy? I don't want to ever be with anyone but you,” I say, hoping he'll say, I don't want to ever be with anyone but you either, but of course he doesn't. He just shushes me and tells me to lie down.

  “Shut your eyes now and I'll give you your birthday present,” he says and then he finally does what I've wanted him to do since the day I met him: he kisses me. A nice soft, sweet, wet, juicy kiss that practically takes my breath away. I don't even mind the cigarette taste so much because Frank's mouth is just heaven.

  “Did you like that?” Frank asks, and before I can even answer, he says we need to get going and pulls away from me. I turn my back and change into my regular clothes and put Mike's raincoat back in my knapsack. We leave the house kind of messy—there's nothing to even cover the cake with—but Frank doesn't care, so why should I? All I care about is whether I'll see him on Monday or not but of course I'm too afraid to pop the question. But Frank reads my mind as usual because the minute we're back in the car he says, “Do you think you can bring a raincoat on Monday, Vanessa?” And he slows down his voice and raises his eyebrows when he says the word raincoat just to make sure I know what he means.

  “Can't you bring it?” I ask as he puts the screwdriver into the ignition. The VW starts up right away, so maybe his friend Lloyd finally fixed it.

  “Vanessa, it's always the woman's responsibility to take care of that,” Frank says in his stern voice.

  “Okay,” I say, even though that isn't fair. But if you really think about it, I guess fair or not fair, it's true, because I'm the one who could get pregnant, not Frank. And anyway, I have other things to worry about besides what's fair and what isn't. Like where in the world am I supposed to get a condom? Luckily I have all weekend to figure that out.

  TWELVE

  After Frank drops me off and waves, I wave back and start walking home fast, not because I'm in a rush to get there but because it's pretty chilly out. While I walk, I think about Frank, of course. It's funny; you'd think I'd be all happy to see him today—and I was, don't get me wrong, but part of me felt mad, too. I guess I'm not really mad at him so much, I'm mad at the situation—you know, how we have to sneak around and stuff. If Frank and I were allowed to have a normal relationship, he could take me out to dinner or something (yeah, right, like Fred would ever let him). As it is, we have to keep our relationship a secret for another whole year, which is really, really hard.

  I pick up the pace because it's getting colder by the minute and some snowflakes are even coming down. And then, as soon as I turn our corner, I see something that almost gives me a full-fledged heart attack: in addition to Shirley's car beached in its usual spot in our driveway, Fred's car is parked out on the street. I don't ever remember Fred coming home this early. Something must be wrong, really wrong, like World War III broke out when I wasn't looking, which is exactly what would happen if Fred ever found out about me and Frank.

  I drag myself up the driveway and reach into my pocket for my keys but before I can even fish them out, the door opens.

  “Surprise!”

  “Mike, wow!” I can't believe it: Mike flew home for my birthday. I'm so happy to see him I start to cry a little, like that makes sense. He gives me a huge, squashy hug, and then I hang up my coat and go into the kitchen, where Shirley is, of all things, cooking. And I don't mean just warming up a TV dinner in the toaster oven either. She's actually standing at the stove, wearing an apron, with a spatula in her hand. And Fred is sitting at the table, reading the New York Times. This is so weird, it's like I'm on a movie set and everyone knows exactly how to play their part except me.

  “I can't believe you're sixteen,” Mike says, coming up behind me. “Hey, you get your learner's permit yet?”

  “Mike, I was in school all day, remember?” I shoot him a look. “I didn't have time to visit the Department of Motor Vehicles.”

  “We can go Monday after school if you want,” Shirley says, opening the refrigerator and taking out some butter. Oh great. Why is she being so buddy-buddy all of a sudden? What am I supposed to tell her? Sorry, Shirley, I have an appointment to lose my virginity Monday at three o'clock. Maybe Tuesday. Yeah, right.

  “Let's go for a ride right now,” Mike says.

  “She can't drive without a permit,” Fred's disembodied voice reminds us from behind the newspaper, like I'm just dying to get behind the wheel, which I'm not. What if I have an accident, even one that isn't my fault, like what happened to my family that time in the Catskills when my sister was killed?

  “Supper will be ready in forty-five minutes,” Shirley says, like Mike and I care.

  “Don't worry, we'll be back.” Mike grabs Fred's keys, which are sprawled across the kitchen table. “C'mon, Squirt, let's make like a tree and leave.”

  “One second.” I dash down the hallway to use the bathroom and make sure I look all right. It's not like Mike will be able to tell I've just been with Frank or anything, but still I wash my face, rinse my mouth, and comb my hair just to be sure.

  “Ready, Squirt?” Mike asks, and when I nod, he says, “Exit stage left,” and sidesteps out the door.

  “See you soon,” I call out to Fred and Shirley as I follow Mike out to the car. “You look good,” I tell Mike. “I can't believe how long your hair is.”

  “Neither can Fred,” Mike says, unlocking the car. “You want to drive or ride shotgun?”

  “Mike, you know I can't drive yet.”

  Mike shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then gets into the car.

  I slide into the passenger seat and buckle up while Mike starts the engine. “So, where are we going?” I ask as he backs out of the driveway.

  “Nowhere fast,” Mike says, which I guess is supposed to be funny, but it isn't because it's true. “So, how are you?”

  “Fine, how are you?”

  “Fine, how are you?”

  “Fine, how are you?”

  “Cut!” Mike slices the air with his right hand, like he's a movie director stuck with a stupid actress who can't do anything right. “How's life with the Rents?”

  “Awful.”

  “Really? What a surprise.” Mike turns right and starts driving through our development. “What's Shirley up to these days?”

  “What do you think?” I ask Mike, who doesn't bother to answer. “She's either out shopping or having lunch with her friends or home smoking her cigarettes and watching stupid TV.”

  “What a life.” Mike makes a left turn and shakes his head. “How about King Frederick the First?” he asks. “Still spending every waking hour at the office?”

  “And then some,” I say. “How can he stand to stare into people's disgusting mouths all day long? Gross.”

  “If that's what he's really doing.”

  “What do you mean?” I look over at Mike.

  “I don't know, Squirt. Don't you ever wonder if Fred's getting a little action on the side?”

  “What kind of action?”

  “What kind of action?” Mike steals a glance at me. “Squirt, use your im-ag-i-na-tion.” His voice goes up at the end of the word.

  I stare at my brother, who can only be talking about one thing. “Do you really think so?”

  Mike shrugs. “Beats me. How should I know? It's just a thought.” Mike pauses and then says almost to himself, “You couldn't blame the poor guy, though. His wife certainly hasn't put out in years.”

  “So? Maybe she doesn't feel like putting out,” I say, mad all of a sudden. “And anyway, they're married, Mike. So even if Shirley doesn't want to do it, that doesn't give Fred an excuse to go do it with someone else.”

  Mike looks at me like I've sprouted an extra head all of a sudden. “Wow, Squirt. I've never heard you take Shirley's side on anything before.”

  I'm a little surprised myself, so I don't say anything more and Mike keeps driving. We pass our old elementary school, a park, and the public library.

  “Anyway, like you said, it's just a thought
,” I say, staring out the window. “And here's another thought: Shirley's hardly ever home either. Maybe she's getting a little action on the side.”

  Mike laughs, which makes me mad again.

  “What?” I say. “Lots of people lead double lives, you know.”

  “Oh yeah? Like who?”

  Me, I almost say but I can't get the word out. “I don't know. Like spies.”

  Mike raises one eyebrow at me. “You think Shirley's a spy?”

  “No.” I scowl at him. “But maybe she's not out with her friends all day. Maybe that's an excuse. Maybe she's meeting someone on the sly. Maybe she's … Maybe she's…” I struggle to imagine our mother spending her time with a tall, dark, handsome stranger in some exciting locale, but it's impossible.

  “The Secret Life of Shirley Kaplan.” Mike outlines the words with one hand like they're spelled out on the marquee of a movie theater. “I don't think so, Squirt. Anyway, enough about them; let's talk about us. Now, you didn't hear this from me, but”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“I'm dropping out again.”

  “Mi-ike!” I'm only halfway listening because I'm still thinking about Fred and Shirley and the possibilities of their secret lives, but when Mike says this, I snap to full attention. “Mike, Fred is going to totally kill you.”

  “I know. Maybe I should just end it all right now.” He jerks the car to the right and heads straight for a telephone pole.

  “Mike, what are you, crazy?” I lunge for the wheel, but he elbows me out of the way and steers us back onto the road. “Relax, Squirt. Sheesh, what, have you lost your sense ofyumal” he asks in a fake Brooklyn accent.

  “So, like, what are you going to do?”

  “Get on the expressway,” he says, which is really dumb, since it's rush hour.

  “No, Mike, really.”

  He doesn't answer until he's driven out of our development, turned up the entry ramp and merged us into the traffic. “For your information, I'm going to finish out the semester just in case I ever decide to go back, which is highly, highly”—he puts his thumb and first finger up to his lips and sucks air in like he's smoking a joint— “… unlikely. I have two finals this week, which I'll take even though I'll probably flunk them.”

  “Mike, can't you study even a little?”

  “What's the point, Squirt?” He waits for an answer, but we both know I don't have one.

  “So then, once I'm done with my tests,” Mike goes on, “the Parental Eunuchs think I'm coming home, but— and keep this under your hat, Squirt—your big bro is going to Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii?” I'm so surprised, he might as well have said Jupiter. “What are you going to do in Hawaii?”

  “Pick avocados.”

  “Mike, be serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  “What do you know about picking avocados?”

  “Nothing I can't learn.”

  “And how are you going to get money to go to Hawaii?”

  “It's not going to cost that much. I'm going to hitchhike to San Francisco and then hop a plane from there.”

  “Hitchhike? Mike, isn't that kind of dangerous?”

  Mike shakes his head like he can't believe what he's hearing. “Squirt, haven't you ever read On the Roadl”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you should. It's by Jack Kerouac, one of the coolest guys ever. He was friends with Allen Ginsberg, who wrote ‘Howl,’ that poem I told you about, remember?”

  “Yeah, so, what's this got to do with anything?”

  “The point is, I'm not college material, we both know that. I want to see the country, man. Meet new people, have some adventures.”

  “Well, you're still going to need money,” I tell him, folding my arms.

  “Not a problem, Squirt. I've sold a few things lately—”

  “Mike, don't tell me you're dealing again.”

  “Shhh.” Mike holds one finger up to his lips and looks quickly around the car like he's totally paranoid. “For all we know, Big Daddy's bugged the Caddie.”

  “Just do me a favor and don't get caught,” I say, staring out the window. I can't believe Mike's going to Hawaii. That's like ten thousand miles away.

  “Don't worry about me, Squirt.” Mike pulls into a rest area and shuts off the car, but still I won't look at him. “Hey, c'mon, no need to worry. I have the perfect cover.”

  “What?” I finally turn around.

  “Look out there, Squirt. What do you see?”

  “Cars, trees, clouds …”

  “And litter, right?” Mike gestures toward a black plastic bag crumpled up near the side of the highway. “What I do, see, is take my dope stash and put it in an empty Coke can. Then I put the Coke can next to me on the ground, like someone threw it there. When I get a ride, I grab the can and off I go. If a cop picks me up for hitching, I leave it there and I'm clean. True, I forfeit the dope, but that can't be helped. Brilliant, isn't it?”

  I have to admit it's a pretty good plan, but I don't want to encourage Mike so I pretend I'm thinking it over.

  “Oh, don't be mad, Squirt. It's your birthday, for cryin' out loud. And speaking of …” Mike digs into his pockets. “How about starting the celebration a little early?”

  I don't even have to turn around to know he's holding a joint. “Mike, you're going to smell up Fred's car, you moron.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Mike says, opening his door.

  “Hey, shut that, it's freezing out.”

  “Chicken,” Mike says, getting out of the car. I glare at him through the windshield but then I bundle up and get out too.

  “Walk this way,” Mike says, and he starts walking all bent over with his arms swinging like an ape. I laugh and start walking like a monkey too.

  “So tell me, Andrea Robin, what's new like this?” Mike asks in a perfect imitation of our grandmother. He lights the joint and inhales as we stroll around the parking lot, which is completely empty except for Fred's car and one big truck parked way down at the other end.

  “Nothing,” I say, but of course he knows better.

  “Nothing, my ass.”

  “Your ass is grass.”

  “No, this is grass,” he says, holding the joint out to me. “C'mon, try it, Squirt. It won't kill you. Who knows, you might even like it.”

  “I doubt it. You know how much I hate smoke.”

  “How can you know you hate it if you've never even tried it?” Mike takes another toke. “Please, mameleh, do it for me,” he says like he's our grandmother again.

  “Oh, all right.” I take the joint. “What do I do?”

  “Inhale and hold the smoke in for as long as possible.” He takes the joint back to demonstrate. Then I grab it and do what he does, but of course it only takes half a second for me to start coughing my brains out.

  “Now, as I was saying”—Mike pats me on the back— “you can fool Fred and Shirley some of the time, and Shirley and Fred all of the time, but you can't fool your big brother Mike anytime. So where were you after school? And don't give me any BS about being at the library.”

  “Well, if you must know,” I say, looking down at the ground, “I happen to have a boyfriend.” I'm embarrassed and proud to tell him.

  “A what!” Mike sputters like he's about to swallow the joint.

  “A boyfriend,” I repeat, pronouncing the word slowly, like he's suddenly lost command of the English language. “Hello, I am a girl, remember? Oh, give me that.” I reach for the joint and inhale again, just for the heck of it. This time I don't cough.

  “So who's the unlucky”—I glare at Mike and he corrects himself—“I mean the lucky guy? Is he in your class?”

  “Nope.” Mike waits for me to offer up more information. “He's older.”

  “What, a junior?”

  “Nope.”

  “He's a senior?” Mike's eyebrows shoot up.

  “Nope.”

  “What the heck is he then, a college guy?”

  “Well, if you must know,
he's not in school.”

  “He works?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What do you mean, you guess so?”

  “Hey, c'mon, Mike. I didn't give him the third degree.”

  Mike takes a toke while he thinks this over. “So where did you meet this guy?”

  “Around.”

  “Around, huh?” Mike thinks this over too, while he digs a roach clip out of his pocket. It looks like a bloodshot eyeball with something like a paper clip on the end. “Here.” He holds the roach to my lips so I can take a final hit. I don't really like it so much and I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, I feel perfectly normal, which is pretty funny when you think about it. Like I could ever be normal, let alone perfect.

  Mike takes one more toke and then puts out the roach and pockets it. “Does this guy have a name?”

  “Frank.” It's the first time I've ever said his name out loud to anyone.

  “Frank what?”

  “Frankfurter.”

  “Frankfurter?”

  “No, Frankenstein,” I say, and then I crack up like I just said the funniest thing in the world. I laugh and laugh until I give myself a stomachache, and even then I can't stop.

  “Is somebody stoned?” Mike asks, but I can't answer because I'm still totally hysterical. Finally after a million years, I calm down and catch my breath. “Here, have some of these.” Mike takes two small bags of M&M's out of his jacket pocket. “Do you want the plain ones or the peanuts?”

  “The peanuts,” I say, only it sounds like I said the penis, which makes me hysterical again.

  “Hey, Squirt, think fast,” Mike says, and then he spins around on his heel and tosses a bag of candy at me. I'm still laughing too hard to catch it, but it doesn't matter. Mike just shakes his head and pours half a bag of plain M&M's down his throat while I pull myself together. When I finally do, I pick up my bag of M&M's, open it, and toss one into my mouth. It tastes fantastic. First I suck off the candy shell part, then I let the chocolate part melt all over my tongue, and finally I bite into the peanut. Wow. I don't ever remember M&M's tasting this good before. I eat them slowly, one at a time, as we head back to the car, first the red ones, then the yellows, then the browns, and last of all the greens.