Anyway, if I did run away, how far would I get? I don't have a lot of money besides my birthday loot, which isn't all that much. I guess I could get more loot by raiding Shirley's pocketbook. It's always on the kitchen counter, so it wouldn't be so hard to empty her wallet while she's in the living room watching one of her soap operas. Not that I want to steal from my own mother. That's much worse than shoplifting, even I know that. I could always pay her back later, I guess. So it would be more like borrowing.
But where would I go? Maybe into the city. It's pretty easy to get lost in the crowd in New York, but where would I sleep? Like I said, I only have a little over a hundred dollars, and even if I do take money from Shirley, it's not like she keeps a small fortune in her purse or anything; it's more like fifty or sixty bucks.
Maybe I could take a bus up to Mike's school. I'm sure he'd help me figure something out. Maybe he'd even let me go to Hawaii with him if he hasn't left already. I know just as much about picking avocados as he does. And I wouldn't get in his way; I wouldn't even say anything about him selling dope. I don't know, though. I'm sure Mike doesn't want his stupid baby sister tagging along all over the place, spoiling his fun. Though I don't know how much fun it would be anyway, with Mike being stoned out of his gourd all the time. I don't know, wasting your life by being wasted every single second doesn't really appeal to me.
I flip my hair over my shoulder so I won't totally destroy it and start pacing up and down the road. I heard somewhere that pacing helps you figure things out. But it doesn't work for me: I just can't think of anything to do but wait for Frank.
By now you probably think I'm not playing with a full deck here, and in a way you're probably right. Only a complete nut job would keep seeing Frank after what he did yesterday. Or maybe you think I'm too scared not to show up, but that's not it either. You see, the thing is I want to see him again. Why? Well, first of all, if you have to ask the question, you won't understand the answer. Love can't be explained. It doesn't make sense, it's just how you feel. And second of all, everyone's entitled to a bad day every now and then. And Frank's no exception.
I don't know why I don't like going all the way with him or doing what I did yesterday, which is supposed to be every guy's favorite thing in the world, so most girls must like doing it, or at least get used to it. There must be something really wrong with me. Maybe I'll figure it out over Christmas vacation. After today I won't see Frank for eleven whole days, which to tell you the truth is kind of a relief. I haven't told Frank yet that we don't have school until January third. I'll have to tell him today. I hope he doesn't say I have to meet him anyway, because it'll be hard to sneak away from the house when there's no school. This library excuse can only go so far.
In the middle of having all these thoughts, I hear Frank's car, so I take a deep breath to pull myself together, and then hop into the Volkswagen as soon as it stops. Frank's quiet all the way to the house, which is fine with me. When we pass the place where we hit the squirrel yesterday, I try not to look but I can't help it, and a lump forms in my throat when I see the little pile of leaves we put over it. I try to swallow the lump but it gets stuck halfway and turns into a kind of sob. Frank puts his hand on my knee and pats it a few times, which shocks me, since I didn't think he cared. Which is a terrible thing for a girl to think about her boyfriend, so I'm glad it isn't true.
When we get to the house, Frank says, “Go upstairs,” which is what I used to do before we went all the way, so maybe the old Frank is back and things will be normal again.
“Do you want me to put on an outfit?” I ask.
“What? Sure,” he says, but I can tell he's distracted by something, though I have no idea what. It seems like part of him is here and part of him is far away.
“What's the matter, Frank?”
He doesn't bother answering me, which makes me sad. I wish Frank would open up to me and tell me his problems, but he probably thinks I'm just a stupid sixteen-year-old kid who wouldn't understand. Or maybe he didn't hear me.
“Frank, is something the matter?”
“No, Vanessa. Just go upstairs.”
I climb the steps slowly, go into my dressing room, and reach into the closet for an outfit, any outfit, I don't care which one. It turns out to be the very first outfit Frank bought me—the black lacy one—which doesn't quite hide my big fat thighs, but Frank really likes it. Or at least he used to.
When I'm all ready, I go into the sleeping bag room, sit down, and wait for him. I try not to feel afraid of him, and maybe I don't have to be, since he seems like he's in a better mood today, but you never know with Frank. While I'm waiting, I take a few deep breaths and try to relax and hope for the best. “You're such a pessimist, Andrea,” Shirley always says to me. “Can't you look on the bright side for a change?” And even though I totally hate doing anything Shirley says, she's not around at the moment, so that's what I do.
And sure enough, a minute later Frank walks in with this great big smile on his face like he's actually happy to see me. I smile back and then, out of nowhere, my body starts to shake. I try to stop it so Frank won't see, but I can't control it.
“You look so beautiful,” Frank says, licking his lips like I'm a great big piece of birthday cake. “I've been looking forward to seeing you all day.”
“You have?” I can't believe it. The old Frank is back.
“Of course I have.” He takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells like cigarettes. “Are you cold, baby?” he asks. Then he drops down next to me. “Who wouldn't look forward to spending the afternoon with a beautiful woman like you?” he asks, opening up his arms.
Frank gathers me up and starts kissing my face all over, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my mouth, my chin, even my forehead, like I'm the most precious thing in the world.
“Vanessa,” he says softly. “My beautiful, beautiful Vanessa.” I feel so happy being with him like this, I could just purr. Frank holds me close, and the whole time he's touching me, he keeps telling me how beautiful I am, how special I am, how wonderful I am. I feel like I'm floating through a dream and the past two days were just a nightmare that is finally, finally over. This is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Frank is so sweet and kind and gentle, like, I don't know, some guy in a movie or something. I'm so happy I let out a deep sigh, and then try to stifle it, because I don't want to do something that might make him mad. I don't want to spoil this moment for anything.
Frank smiles at me and then lies down and pulls me beside him. I try not to stiffen up but I can't help it, and I'm afraid Frank is going to get mad, but he doesn't.
“Shh, Vanessa,” he says, “relax. I'm not going to hurt you. All I want to do is hold you.” And I'm so relieved to hear that, and so happy that Frank's being so nice to me, I just start crying my eyes out.
“Vanessa, I'm sorry for being such a selfish prick yesterday,” he says. “Please stop crying. It'll never happen again. I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” I sniffle.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says. “C'mon. Everything's all right now, isn't it? We're together, and that's all that counts.” Then Frank wraps his arms around me even tighter and rocks me back and forth, but it still takes a while for me to stop with the waterworks.
“There, that's better,” he says when I finally do.
“I have something to tell you,” I mumble into Frank's arm.
“I can't hear you, sweetheart.”
“I said I have something to tell you.” I lift my head up. “I can't … I can't …” Just the thought of it makes me almost start crying again. “I can't see you for eleven days, Frank. Today was the last day of school before Christmas vacation and we don't go back until January third.”
“That stinks,” Frank says. He sits up and pulls on his shirt. “Go get dressed, Vanessa.”
“Are you mad?” I ask in this tiny voice that's almost a whimper.
“No,” he says, “it's not your fault. I
'll think of something.”
I go into the other room and get dressed, wondering what Frank is thinking. I don't have to wait long.
“Vanessa, this is really stupid,” Frank says, leaning against the doorjamb, smoking a cigarette. For a minute I think he means my using this room to change my clothes in is really stupid, but that's not what he means at all. “I don't know if I can take being without you for eleven days,” he says.
“Well, what do you think we should do?” I ask him.
“I think we should run away.”
“Really?” I race over to him and throw myself in his arms. “Really? Really?”
“Take it easy, baby,” Frank says, holding his cigarette out of the way so he doesn't set my hair on fire. He flings it on the ground and stubs it out with his boot, and then all of a sudden he's laughing and hugging me and kissing me. “Are you sure you want to go away with your old uncle Frank?”
“Yes!” I practically scream into his eardrum. “Yes, yes, yes!” Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening. “Where will we go, Frank? New York?”
“New York? You mean Manhattan?”
I nod.
“Nah,” Frank says. “That's too close to home. I think we have to head south. Like ducks for the winter.”
“South? Where in the south?”
Frank motions for me to put on my coat and we head downstairs, still talking about our plans. “Georgia, maybe. Or Mississippi,” he says, and the way he says it, it's more like he's thinking out loud than talking to me.
“Why there?” I ask, getting into the car.
Frank doesn't start it up right away. “Vanessa, they're much more liberal down south when it comes to relationships between older men and younger women. The laws aren't so strict. We could even get married.”
Married! I'm so shocked, I'm speechless, and I don't say anything while Frank starts the car. We stay quiet most of the way back, but it's a good kind of quiet, a happy kind of quiet, if you know what I mean.
When Frank pulls over, I don't want to get out of the car. “Maybe we should leave right now,” I tell him. “I don't need anything from my house.”
“Vanessa, let's not be hasty,” Frank says, and my stomach freezes because I'm scared he's changing his mind. “I want you to think this over very carefully. You can tell me your answer after Christmas vacation, and if you still want to go, we'll leave on January third, when I pick you up after school.”
“But Frank, I don't have to think about it,” I say, and then lower my voice because I'm starting to whine.
“Yes, you do. You need to think about it very carefully. Every choice you make has consequences. You never know what life has in store for you,” Frank says, which is totally true. I certainly didn't know life had him in store for me. “Now give me a kiss to last eleven days.” He leans in toward me and we kiss for a little while, and then I have to go. And I almost don't mind because I float like a cloud all the way home.
SEVENTEEN
It's only the beginning of vacation and I'm already jumping out of my skin. I'm so bored being home with nothing to do and so happy about running away with Frank, I can hardly sit still. I want to do all those ridiculous, corny things that people in love do—you know, shout it from the rooftops and whatever. Believe it or not, I was in such a good mood when I woke up this morning, I actually volunteered to go grocery shopping with Shirley. When we got back, I even unloaded the car for her, but I forgot to tell her that one of her cans of Tab had fallen out of the bag and had spent the entire drive home rolling around on the floor. Of course that was the can Shirley picked to open, and when she popped the top, it exploded all over the place. I cleaned it up and told her I was sorry a million times, but I didn't tell her that I feel just like that pink can of Tab: spewing with excitement.
After the soda fiasco, Shirley left to go to her figure salon and I came up here to sit in Mike's room and think about things. I wish Mike were home so I could tell him about Frank. He's the only one who would totally understand how happy I am to finally be getting out of Greenwood once and for all.
The phone rings and I jump off Mike's bed to run into the Rents' room and get it. I don't know why I'm in such a rush since it's never for me. But before I can grab the receiver, I hear Fred saying hello downstairs. He's home all this week too, and he's just as bored as I am.
After a minute, Fred raises his voice. “What? You get on the next plane and get your butt home right now before I drive up to Buffalo and get you,” I hear him say, which can only mean one thing: he's talking to Mike. So I pick up the upstairs extension as quietly as I can and listen in.
“I'll just be here a few more days,” Mike says. “I'm going skiing with some friends.”
Skiing? Yeah, right. Mike's about as athletic as I am.
“Michael Kaplan, now you listen to me….”
“I have to go. Say hi to Mom and Squirt,” Mike says, and then hangs up the phone. I hang up too and go downstairs to see what Fred's going to do. He's staring at the phone in the kitchen as though it has something more to tell him.
“That was your brother,” Fred informs me. “Has he ever said anything to you about going skiing?”
“Skiing?” I pretend to ponder it. “I'm not sure.”
“Your brother's up to something,” Fred says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “You sure you don't know anything about this little skiing vacation of his?”
“I'm sure,” I say, which is actually true. I mean, you can't exactly go skiing in Hawaii. I go back upstairs before Fred can ask me any more questions about Mike. I wonder where he is and why he even called. I'm sure he's not still in Buffalo. He's probably on the road somewhere on his hitchhiking adventure.
The next day Mike calls again, but this time I answer the phone.
“Mike, how are you? Where are you?” I ask.
“Shh, Squirt, don't use my name. I don't want the Rents to know I'm calling.”
“Don't worry,” I tell him. “I'm upstairs in their bedroom and they're down in the living room watching TV.”
“Good. Now listen, Squirt, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What?”
“I need some cash, you know what I'm saying? I got kicked off the highway yesterday and left my dope behind—”
“In the Coke can?”
“Yeah, in the Coke can. After this cop made me get off the entry ramp to the highway, I waited like ten minutes and then went back to get it, but he was still there on the lookout for me, so I had to keep moving. I need to score bad, man, I haven't gotten high in like two days. Let me tell you, dope is a lot more expensive out here than it is back home.”
“Out where?” I ask. “Mike, where are you?”
“Colorado.”
“Colorado?” Fred and I say at the same time. Uh-oh. He must have picked up the downstairs extension to see who called and when he heard the voices of his darling children decided to listen in.
“Mike,” Fred says, and I can tell he's trying to control his temper. “What are you doing in Colorado? And don't give me any BS about going skiing.”
“I'm on my way to Hawaii, Pops,” Mike says, his voice remaining calm. I guess he figures Fred can't really do anything to him since he's two thousand miles away.
“Hawaii?” Fred screams. “Hawaii? Now you listen to me, Michael Kaplan. I didn't work my butt off for all these years so some lousy kid of mine could run off to a luau. Is that clear?”
“Clear as a bell,” Mike says, and the calmer he is, the more agitated Fred gets.
“All right, mister. Fine. Just send me your address so I can send you your bill.
“Bill? What bill?” Mike asks.
“What bill?” Fred asks back. “Food, clothing, tuition. And that's just for starters. You waste your own hard-earned money, not mine.” Fred slams down the phone and I hang up a minute later.
“Andrea, get down here,” Fred bellows from the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and head downstairs. Fred i
s slumped in a chair at the table with his head in his hands.
“What do you know about your brother going to Hawaii?” he asks, not even bothering to look up.
“Not much,” I say, figuring the less said the better. “Why do you think he's going there?”
“Why? To ruin his life, that's why,” Fred says, and I have to admit I do feel pretty sorry for the guy. I mean, look at his family: Shirley's a useless housewife who doesn't even cook or clean; Mike's a total pothead on his way to Honolulu; and he doesn't know it yet, but his only daughter's about to become a high school dropout.
The next day I'm upstairs in my room just minding my own business when Fred calls me into the kitchen.
“Let's go,” he says, like he's in a big hurry.
“Where?”
“For your first driving lesson. C'mon, get your coat on.”
“Go on, Andrea,” Shirley says. “Your father's doing you a favor. Don't keep him waiting.”
“Just a second,” I say, turning to go back upstairs. “I have to get my learner's permit.” To tell you the truth, I'm not thrilled with the idea of Fred teaching me what to do behind the wheel or with the idea of driving in general, and if I weren't taking off with Frank, I wouldn't have even bothered to get my permit. I know that sounds shocking, since that's what every kid on Long Island lives for: to have a set of wheels. Like Donald Caruso, who finally got his license after failing the test twice and now drives his mother's car around, honking his head off so everyone will notice. I mean, big deal, any idiot can learn to drive.
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