After looking up and down the aisle to make sure the coast is clear, I step toward the display. Thank God no one's around, but still, I have to be quick. But the problem is, there's a million different brands. And sizes. And guess what? There's no small. Just large and extra large, I guess because most guys like to think their thing is really big. I bet Frank thinks his is the size of Yankee Stadium. I definitely better get extra large so I don't insult him.
I just stand there for another minute trying to pick out the best kind and finally decide to get some Trojans. I reach out to grab a pack but before I can even get my hands on one, I hear footsteps and guess who turns up the aisle? Diane Carlson, of all people. With her mother. Diane catches my eye and looks away fast, probably because she's totally mortified to be seen in public with a parental unit. I take the opportunity to slide a few steps to my left and pick up a box of Band-Aids, which I study like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
“Ma, I don't need them,” I hear Diane say behind me. “I'll be fine. It's just a little blister.”
“If you didn't wear those ridiculous shoes,” Mrs. Carlson says with a sigh. “Your feet are very important, Diane. If you don't take care of them now, you'll be sorry later on, believe me.”
I look back over my shoulder and Diane rolls her eyes at me. I roll mine back in sympathy and Diane even gives me a little smile before she and her mother leave the aisle clutching Diane's blister remedy.
As soon as they leave, I sidestep back to the condoms, but then someone else comes up the aisle. Two women I don't know, thank God, but still, I have to wait it out while they discuss the merits of Flintstones vitamins versus some other brand. Finally, after an unbelievably long and boring conversation about how constipated vitamins make you, they leave empty-handed, and I scoot back down the aisle.
Finally I decide, what the heck, I'll just grab some. But then I have to figure out how many to get because they come in packs of different amounts: three, twelve, and thirty-six. Three doesn't sound like enough and thirty-six seems a little over the top. So I guess I'll get twelve. But they're kind of expensive. I guess I could ask Frank to give me money, but then again, I did just get all that birthday loot. See, things always work out one way or another. Except, stupid me, what am I thinking? I can't go up to the counter and pay for these like they're a box of Milk Duds. Old Horseface Hillary would spread this all over school in two seconds flat. What am I supposed to tell her, they're for a science project? No, I'm going to have to steal them.
This is a first-class, major problem, so if I'm going to rip off the raincoats, I better go for the package of thirty-six. Otherwise, if I get the twelve-pack, I'll just have to come back here in two weeks and steal more all over again.
Well, here goes nothing, I think, reaching out to grab a pack. But just as my hand makes contact, a voice whispers in my ear, “Get the lubricated. They work better.” I drop the package fast and turn around just in time to see Diane Carlson disappear around the corner at the end of the aisle. Oh my God, I can't believe she saw me. My face is so hot, I'm sure it's as red as the suit the cardboard Santa Claus is wearing at the front of the store, and I can feel drops of sweat collecting under my armpits. Of all people, Diane Carlson. Well, at least she wasn't with Cheryl Healy when she saw me. Cheryl would probably find a way to sneak into the principal's office and broadcast this over the loudspeaker to the entire school during homeroom right after we say the Pledge of Allegiance. Diane isn't so bad. She doesn't have anything against me. I don't think. And she just gave me a little free advice, so maybe I don't have anything to worry about.
Well, what's done is done, I think as I take a package of Trojans and drop it into the pocket of my parka in one smooth motion. I wait a minute so I don't look too suspicious and then move up the aisle, stopping at the bandages again like I have all the time in the world.
On my way out of the store, I stop at the comic-book rack and pick up a Mad magazine with Alfred E. Neuman grinning on the cover, a thought bubble with the words What—me worry? hovering over his head. You'd think I'd be in a hurry to scram before I get busted and thrown in jail for shoplifting, but since I've been in here for a pretty long time, I figure it will look less suspicious if I buy something. So I take my reading material up to the cash register and hand it to good old Hillary, who pretends she doesn't even know me, like I care. I throw in a pack of Dentyne, hand her some dough, and wait for my change. And when Horseface hands it to me, she says, “Merry Christmas,” which is completely stupid since we're both Jewish, and then finally I am out the door, safe and sound.
S-U-C-C-E-S-S, that's the way we spell success! Our school's stupid cheer goes round and round in my head for some reason as I stop to put my gloves on. Then before I head for home, I drop all the change I just got from Horseface Hillary into Lucy's Salvation Army bucket, and since I paid for my magazine and the gum with a twenty, it's definitely above and beyond the call of duty. But I don't care, since I just saved myself a mint on the condom caper. Just call me Andrea Robin Hood, I guess.
I bend down to scratch Snoopy between his poor, aching ears, and then, I don't know, the holiday spirit seizes me or something, because I straighten up and give Lucy my gum and the Mad magazine without even thinking about it. And she's so surprised, she actually stops ringing her bell for a minute, which makes the street so quiet it's like everyone has gone completely deaf at the same time. Which is kind of creepy, like we've all just entered the Twilight Zone or something. But then Lucy starts up again, and everyone hurries away covering their ears, including me as I hustle my bustle home.
FOURTEEN
It starts the minute I walk into school, before I even have a chance to open my locker.
“Hey, Dee-Dee,” Donald Caruso yells. “I'm writing a paper on the Trojan war and I hear you're an expert on Trojans. Can you help me out?”
Diane Carlson and her big fat mouth. I should have known she wouldn't keep what she saw to herself. I turn my back on Donald and open my locker without responding to him, but of course he doesn't let up. “Got a pair of rubbers in there?” he asks, peeking at the floor. “You never know when they might come in handy.”
“Lay off, Donald,” I say, slamming my locker shut.
“Lay?” he cracks up. “Lay off? God, Dee-Dee, is that all you ever think about? Man, I never knew you were such a sex maniac.”
“Move aside,” I say, elbowing him out of my way so I can get to homeroom.
“You don't have to knock me over with your knockers,” he says, pretending to fall back. I give him the finger over my shoulder and round the corner.
“Blow me,” Donald calls after me. God, can't he at least think of something original to say?
I could just kill Diane Carlson, but I know saying anything to her would just make it worse. The best I can do is avoid her and her crew all day, which I somehow manage to do, plus guard my knapsack with my life. I would die if anyone knew what I have in here, but luckily no one bothers to look. Donald teases me all day long, and when the last bell finally rings, I rush to my locker, grab my coat, and vacate the premises before he can start in again and I do something I know I'll regret.
As I walk down Farm Hill Road, I try to put it all out of my mind because I don't want to be in a bad mood when Frank gets here. He's exactly on time and boy, am I glad to see him.
“So, you think it's going to rain today, Vanessa?” Frank asks the minute I get into the car.
It would be a weird question if you didn't know what he meant because first of all, there's not a cloud in the sky, and second of all, it's only about thirty degrees out, so if anything was going to fall on our heads, it would definitely be snow. But Frank's not talking about the weather.
“I don't know, but I brought a raincoat just in case,” I tell him, and Frank doesn't say anything but he smiles this smile—it's more like a grin, really—and my whole awful day at school just melts away. I'm so totally happy I feel like laughing or singing or, I don't know, rolling down m
y window and screaming my stupid head off.
Frank even starts whistling when we get out of the car and head up to the house. We go inside and I'm a little sad that my birthday decorations are gone but—get this—now there's a heater upstairs in the sleeping bag room. Oh sure, now that Frank's taking off his clothes too, we have a heater. Why couldn't we have one before, when it was just me freezing my butt off? I guess it doesn't really matter anymore, since the point is we finally have one. It works on kerosene, and it kind of smells, but I don't dare complain. Anyway, there's no electricity in the house, so I guess there's no other choice.
“So, let's see what you got.” Frank turns on the heater and flops down right next to it on one of the sleeping bags. I flop down too and open my knapsack.
“Here.” I hand him the package of Trojans.
Frank lets out a low whistle. “Wow, thirty-six. Somebody's prepared,” he says, shaking the package a little. Then he opens the box and takes one out.
“Where'd you get these, anyway?” he asks.
“At the drugstore,” I tell him, and then, like it's nothing, I add kind of proudly, “I stole them.”
“You what?” Frank barks, like he's on the verge of getting mad. “Vanessa, what do you mean, you stole them?”
What do you mean, what do I mean? I want to ask him, and why is he getting so angry about it? “Well, I couldn't just go up to the cash register and pay for them, Frank. Mrs. Jacoby knows me, and I'm sure she'd tell my mother.”
“Who's Mrs. Jacoby?” Frank asks, totally clueless.
“She owns the drugstore, Frank. Jacoby's Drugs?” God, doesn't he know anything? I decide to skip the part about being spotted by Diane Carlson since that probably wouldn't go over very well. “And anyway,” I continue, “I thought you'd be really proud of me that I stole them, because now I'm risking going to jail to be with you, just like you are for me. So we're even.”
“Stealing is a very serious thing, Vanessa,” Frank says like he's a high school principal. “What do you want to do, end up in reform school?”
“But Frank, how else was I supposed to get them?” What I really want to say is So why didn't you just get them?
“Stolen goods.” Frank looks over at the condoms and frowns. “I don't know if I can use them.”
Oh for God's sake, give me a break. What do I have to do, attack the guy? What is Frank's problem? Maybe he's just scared. Yeah, I bet that's it. I make my voice all soft and soothing like he does when he knows I'm frightened. “C'mon now, Frank. Don't be mad. Let's just have a nice time together.”
“You're sure you want to go through with this now, right, Vanessa?” Frank asks, like maybe he's changed his mind and wants to back out but doesn't want to admit it.
“Sure I'm sure, Frank. I want to make you happy. C'mere.” I take his hand and pull him toward me, talking to him all the time like he's a scared puppy. “It's okay, Frank. It's all right. C'mon now….”
“That's enough,” Frank says, getting to his feet. He takes off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and motions for me to do the same. Then he starts doing all the talking. “All right now, don't you ever forget this was all your idea, sweetheart. No one's forcing you into anything here, remember that. This is your choice.”
I don't say anything and the house is so quiet you could hear a condom drop. Frank turns his back to me for a minute and then turns back around and says, “Lie down,” like he's talking to a dog, so I do.
I close my eyes and in one second Frank is on top of me, which feels like I'm being crushed to death, but before I have a chance to say anything, like “Get off,” we're actually doing it.
“Ow!” I yell, because it really hurts, but Frank tells me to shut up so I do. I can't even believe I couldn't wait to do this. How can this be the huge deal that everyone makes such a big gigantic fuss about?
I keep my eyes shut until it's over, and when it finally is, I have to wait for Frank to get off me, which takes a while because first he has to lie there panting like he just ran the New York City Marathon. Though from the way he was hyperventilating two seconds ago, I could have sworn he was having a heart attack.
When Frank's breathing gets back to normal, he whispers in my ear, “So, Vanessa was it everything you thought it would be?”
“Oh no, Frank, it was much, much more,” I tell him in this mushy voice, and Frank's so dumb, he doesn't even get that I'm being totally sarcastic. He just smiles, pushes himself off, and says, “Let's go,” like all of a sudden he's in a hurry. I feel like asking, What's the rush, got a date? but of course I know he doesn't.
I sit up, throw the package of Trojans into my knapsack, and pick up my clothes, but I feel so gross I can't even stand the thought of putting them on.
“Get a move on, kiddo,” Frank says, slapping my behind. He's got everything on already except his shoes and his jacket, so I hurry and put on my clothes too. When I'm all dressed, he says, “C'mere,” like he wants to hold me for a minute, and even though I don't want to, I let him give me a hug.
“So how does it feel to be a real woman?” he asks.
“Terrific,” I say, even though it isn't true. But I don't know, maybe it'll get better. They say the first time is never that hot and you have to communicate with your partner so he learns what you like. That's what all the magazine articles say, anyway. Yeah, right. Frank happens to know exactly what I like. He knows how to make me feel good. When he wants to.
Maybe it was his turn to feel good today. Maybe we'll take turns from now on. That's only fair, I guess.
Frank gives me a big hug and kiss and then lets go of me and heads downstairs. I grab my knapsack and go after him, and then we get in the car and drive back to the spot where he drops me off. As usual, I know better than to ask if I'll see him tomorrow, and to tell you the truth, I don't know if I even want to. But Frank's got other plans. “Tomorrow,” he reminds me, squeezing my knee. “Be there or be square.” But instead of feeling happy, I just feel like taking the stupid screwdriver he uses to start the car off his dashboard and stabbing him with it, I really do. God, I wish I could figure out what is wrong with me. But I can't, so there's nothing to do but get out of the car, and the second I do, Frank gives his usual wave and just starts driving away.
I plod along thinking about how today was supposed to be the best day of my entire life and it turned out to be nothing but a great big fat disappointment. I mean, Frank could even go to jail for what we did, so you'd think it would be absolutely, positively, I don't know, spectacular or something, but it wasn't. At least not in my opinion. Which obviously means there's something seriously wrong with me. Like that's a big surprise.
When I turn the corner onto my block, I see that Shirley's car is missing in action, so at least one thing is going my way today. My grandmother always says you should be grateful for the little things in life and I guess she's right because I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. Especially Shirley. What I really feel like doing is taking a scalding hot shower, putting on my pajamas, and getting into bed with Snowball and my other stuffed animals and just pulling the covers over my head. So I do.
About an hour later, I hear the front door open, which means Shirley's home. Eventually she notices I haven't started making Fred's supper yet and she comes upstairs to find me.
“What are you doing in bed?” she asks, standing in the doorway to my room.
“I don't feel so good,” I say, which at this point is totally true.
“What's the matter? Do you have a headache?”
“Yeah,” I say, since that's easier than making something up. “I think it's because of my period.” Good cover, Audi, I tell myself, because now if Shirley goes into the bathroom and sees my washed-out underwear hanging in the shower, she won't be suspicious.
“I'll get you some aspirin,” Shirley says, and then she disappears. Just bring me the whole bottle, I think, since I wouldn't mind taking about fifty right now, but she only brings me two.
“H
ere.” Shirley hands me two aspirin tablets and a Porky Pig glass filled with ginger ale. I decide not to take her glass selection personally, even though I probably should. Then Shirley actually sits on the edge of my bed for a minute and feels my forehead with the back of her hand. “I don't think you have a fever,” she says, like she would know. Then she takes my empty glass and gets up to leave.
“Shirley, can you stay with me a little?”
My mother stops halfway between standing up and sitting down and gives me this puzzled look, like I just spoke to her in Japanese. I don't even know why I said it. I guess I don't feel like being alone. Shirley sits back down again, but she stays perched on the edge of the bed, like a cat that wants to step on the branch of a tree but isn't sure if it's strong enough to support its weight. After a minute, Shirley sits back, crosses her legs, and starts picking at the fuzz on my bedspread. She's nervous because she can't go for more than a minute without a cigarette and she knows I'll have a major fit if she even thinks about smoking in here. She looks out my window and sighs this big heavy sigh but she doesn't say anything. Clearly, if we're going to talk, it's up to me to begin. I wish Shirley would just read some Winnie-the-Pooh to me, but I'm too old to ask for that.
“Shirley, how did you know that Daddy was the right one?” I ask, and I don't know who's more surprised to hear the word Daddy fly out of my mouth, Shirley or me, since I've been calling my father Fred since I was twelve.
She looks at me and shrugs. “I don't know, Andrea. You just know these things.”
“But how?” I ask. “I mean, do you believe in fate?”
“I don't know, Andrea,” she says again. “I suppose certain things are just meant to be.”
“Tell me how you met,” I say.
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