My Parents Are Sex Maniacs...

by Robyn Harding

  But on Monday, Mr. Bartley calls me into his classroom at lunch. Apparently, he feels that since he stopped the attempted murder of my father, our dirty laundry is now his business.

  “Have a seat, Louise.” He motions to the first empty desk. Morosely, I sit. I am really not in the mood to rehash Thursday’s events.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, perching on the corner of his large wooden desk.

  I shrug. “Fine.”

  “That must have been pretty traumatic for you on Thursday.”

  You think? Just because my dad was nearly strangled to death by my former best friend’s father in front of me, my brother, and approximately two hundred members of the student and parent population—why would I find that traumatic? “I guess,” I mutter.

  “I understand that your father was briefly involved with Mrs. Marshall. That must have been pretty hard to take.”

  “Yeah,” I say emphatically. “It was revolting.”

  “And how has this affected you and Sienna?”

  “She hates me now, of course.”

  “What about Troy and Brody?”

  “They were never as close as me and Sienna.” To my dismay, tears begin to pool in my eyes. Oh damn! I really don’t want to fall apart in front of Mr. Bartley.

  He passes me a box of Kleenex. “Maybe I could invite Sienna in here and the three of us could talk?”

  “No!” I cry, dabbing frantically at my eyes with a tissue. “I don’t want to talk to her. It wouldn’t help. I just want to get through the next few weeks and hopefully this will all die down over the summer.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Well, I only have to survive twelfth grade and then I’m moving away with a friend of mine. We’re going to New York or somewhere else really cool.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Yeah … And if next year’s as horrible as this year, I might drop out and take my GED.”

  “I hope you don’t do that, Louise,” he says sincerely. “You get a lot more out of the high school experience than just the knowledge you take away from here.”

  Yeah, a lot more anxiety … I blow my nose loudly. “Can I go now?”

  “Sure.” He stands up. “But I am going to talk to Sienna about the situation. And I’ll be calling both your parents in too.”

  Oh, that’s a great idea. Maybe you could lock them all in a room together and let them kill each other? But all I say is, “Okay. See ya.”

  “If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

  “Thanks.”

  Now there’s nothing left to do but wait for the fallout. I am really tense over the next few days, waiting for all hell to break loose. Surely, once Mr. Bartley talks to Sienna, she’ll launch some kind of offensive. She’ll probably tell all her friends that my dad provoked her father, taunting him like some annoying little mouse would a gentle elephant. Len Harrison will soon be considered the town pervert and a pestering little dweeb. The whispering and taunting will start up again, and I, his only daughter, will be the one who suffers the most.

  And I can only imagine how my mom will react once she gets wind of it all. “I’m suing Keith for the attempted murder of your dad,” she’ll say. Or more likely, “I’m suing your dad for undue emotional distress on you kids. He had no right to nearly get himself murdered right in front of you, and if he hadn’t been banging Sunny in the first place, none of this would have happened.” Oh god. Sunny and Sienna will be called as character witnesses. Or the opposite of character witnesses—character assassins? Whatever you call people who testify about what a dirtbag the defendant is. The entire school will come to watch. Ms. Foringer will probably bring her law class on a field trip. Everyone will hear how awful my dad is, and Troy and I will never get to see him again—not that that thought is bothering me all that much at the moment.

  But somehow the week passes without incident … and the next week, and the week after that. Of course, there are a few stares and whispers. Jessie, Kimber, and Audrey roll their eyes knowingly when they see me, as if they fully expected this kind of violent behavior from someone as deranged as my dad. Still, I find the lack of drama confusing. Mr. Bartley doesn’t seem the type to lack follow-through, but it’s almost like his counseling sessions never happened. Sienna continues to laugh and chatter delightedly with her friends while clutching the arm of her undeniably handsome but still completely vile boyfriend, Daniel. Apparently, she’s not bothered by the fact that her father very nearly murdered my dad in the school lobby. I’m seriously reconsidering any previous feelings of forgiveness toward her.

  And my mom hasn’t mentioned a conversation with Mr. Bartley either. She’s still going to work, spending time with Judith and an ever-widening circle of divorcees, and attending yoga classes. She’s still upbeat and energetic, almost like she’s unaware that her husband was nearly strangled after Rent’s opening night. On the other hand, maybe the thought of Keith killing my dad just isn’t all that upsetting to her.

  The only evidence of Mr. Bartley’s meddling is my appointment with the school counselor. The office secretary interrupts my computer class to deliver a slip of paper to me. In Times New Roman font, it reads:

  Ms. Penhall would like to see you at: _______________________. Handwritten on the line is: 10:30 Tuesday, June 6.

  I complain about this to Russell as we sit in Moxie’s, sharing a plate of chicken wings after our Friday-night shift. “I don’t want to talk to a counselor. What’s the point?”

  “I know,” he agrees, plunging a wing into the blue cheese dip. “There is no point. It’s not like she can fix anything.”

  “Exactly! And I don’t want to talk about it all again.” I bite into a wing. “My dad’s a sex maniac, okay. It’s sickening, but I’ve accepted it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “And why does the school want to get involved in this? Why do they care that Keith Marshall wants to murder my father? It’s none of their business who Keith Marshall murders.”

  “They just don’t want to get sued.”

  “Sued?” I mumble through a mouthful. “For what?”

  Russell says. “Like, if you committed suicide or something.”

  I nearly choke. “I’m not going to commit suicide! God! Do they think I’m going to commit suicide?”

  Russell shrugs. “Kids have done it for less. They just want to make sure you’re fine.”

  “I am fine. I just don’t want to keep talking about it.”

  “Don’t worry,” he says, pointing at me with his chicken wing. “I know how to get counselors off your back.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. The counselor’s were always talking to me at my high school back in Phoenix. Suicide’s fairly popular with gay high school students.”

  “So what did you say?”

  “I talked about the future—how excited I was to move to another city and start my DJ career. Counselors just want to know that you realize high school is just high school, and that no matter how much it sucks, you have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “Okay … so I’ll talk about our plans to move to New York. I’ll tell her I’m looking into art schools.”

  Russell nods his approval and mumbles through a mouthful, “That should do it.”

  And it works! When I walk into Ms. Penhall’s stuffy, windowless office, I am prepared. I don’t even crack under her freaky school psychologist stare, where she pretends to be interested in what you’re saying but is really just trying to assess your level of craziness. Maybe I ramble a bit, going on and on about the special bond Russell and I have and how we’re so excited to take on the world together. Perhaps I’m laying it on a bit thick when I laugh and say, “One day, my dad’s affair with Sunny Lewis-Marshall will be great material for my one-woman play.” But Ms. Penhall is all too happy to buy it.

  As she prepares to dismiss me from her office, she says, “It’s been delightful talking with you, Louise. It’s rare to find someone your age deal
ing with this kind of turmoil at home with such grace and acceptance. In fact, you’re probably handling the whole situation with more maturity than your parents.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but I suddenly feel like crying. Obviously, this could undo the last half-hour of upbeat chatter and make her think I’m suicidal, so I make a hasty exit.

  And that appears to be the end of it. The last three weeks of school pass without incident. I spend my lunch hours with Leah and her gang and my free time working or with Russell. My mom continues to socialize and exercise, and my dad continues to call every Monday and Wednesday and take us to Red Robin for dinner when we’re free. The whole episode with him and Sunny Lewis-Marshall seems like a distant, unpleasant memory. In fact, it’s almost like it never happened at all. And it’s almost like Sienna and I were never friends.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  We are eleven days into the summer break when my mom makes the announcement. “Kids, I need to talk to you,” she says, coming into the kitchen, where we’re seated at the breakfast bar eating cereal. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “We are sitting down,” my brother and I reply in unison. Troy laughs, but instantly I’m concerned. Whatever she wants to talk to us about has got to be serious.

  “Right, okay …” She giggles nervously, then leans her elbows on the counter facing us. “Umm … so, it’s been almost five months since your dad and I separated.”

  Troy and I say nothing.

  She continues, “And that may not seem like a long time to you guys, but your dad and I both feel that it’s time to legally end our marriage.”

  My eyes dart to Troy to see if this news will prompt any reaction, but he looks unperturbed. I also feel accepting of this information. It’s not like I’ve been holding out hope that my parents would reunite. Waaay too much has gone down for that to ever happen. “Yeah,” I say, “makes sense.”

  I turn my attention back to my cereal, but my mom isn’t finished. “I’m glad you both understand.” She pauses and then says, “I don’t know if you realize how much I’ve grown as a person in the past few months. Honestly, kids, I feel like a new woman. When I was with your father, I’d lost my own identity. I was just Len’s wife, Troy and Louise’s mother. But now, I’m out in the world, working, making my own friends …”

  My brother and I continue to stare, mute.

  “So … well, anyway, I thought you should know that I have a new friend, who is very important to me.”

  A new friend? For some reason, this revelation has created a knot of tension in the pit of my stomach.

  She elaborates, her eyes glowing and her cheeks flushed. “He’s a really wonderful man, and it may seem like we haven’t known each other very long, because, well … I guess we haven’t, but we both feel that our friendship has become very important to us. We both feel”—she pauses for a second, looking like she might burst into hysterics—“that we’d like to continue this friendship into the future. I’d like you kids to get to know him better.”

  For some reason, the knot in my stomach turns over. I’m not really sure why. It’s not like I expected my mom to stay single for the rest of her life. I guess it’s just a little disturbing to hear that your mother is having a meaningful friendship with some man. It’s nice of her to try to downplay it for us, but I know what this really means. Obviously, she’s in love, which means that she’s kissing this guy and is probably going to have sex with him—if she hasn’t already. I’m supposed to be the one falling in love and kissing and having sex, not her! It’s against the order of nature!

  Troy speaks, his eyes narrowed. “Get to know him better?”

  I look at my brother. He is brighter than I thought. I turn to my mom. “We know him?” The lump in my stomach has now risen to my throat, and I’m afraid I may barf. If she’s seeing one of my friends’ dads, so help me, I’ll—

  “Well, yes …” she says, all pink-cheeked and girly. “From school. It’s—it’s David Bartley.”

  “MR. BARTLEY!” I shriek.

  “Yes,” my mom says, looking a little annoyed by my reaction. “He’s a very nice man.”

  “He’s a teacher!” I spit out the words like I’m saying he’s a child molester.

  “What’s wrong with that?” she retorts.

  I’m silent for a moment, stunned that she doesn’t realize how disastrous this is. At least when my dad was sleeping with Sunny, it affected only Sienna and Brody. But dating Mr. Bartley will affect everyone! It’s sort of like she’s dating the whole school’s dad! I stand up. “I can’t believe you’d embarrass me like this!”

  “Embarrass you?” she says. “How am I embarrassing you? I’ve developed a close friendship with a very nice man who makes me feel special and wonderful and who happens to care a lot about you. That’s how I met him, by the way. He called me in to meet with him after that fiasco with your dad and Keith at the play. He was concerned about you.”

  I don’t like the way she’s turning the tables and trying to make me out to be the bad guy here. She obviously doesn’t know—or care—that I was taunted mercilessly about my dad’s sex life for months. Now she’s gone and developed a “close friendship” with my math teacher!

  “Oh, no, that’s great news. Fantastic! Congratulations!” I hop off the stool. “I’ve got to go to work.”

  As I head to Orange Julius, I’m thankful to have the distraction of work. Russell and I were able to coordinate most of our shifts this week, and I know he’ll take my mind of my mom’s love affair with my algebra teacher. I am not going to obsess over the field day the evil triplets will have when they get wind of this. In fact, I won’t even mention it to Russell. It’s an embarrassing subject on so many levels.

  We’re setting up for the 10:00 a.m. opening when Russell says, “I’ve got something to tell you.” I look over at him placing raw wieners on the revolving roaster and notice a devilish twinkle in his eye. Oh good. He’s got something juicy to tell me that will surely beat my mom’s news about her future with the wonderful Mr. Bartley.

  “What?” I ask eagerly.

  Russell glances around him at the near-empty food court. “I’ve met someone,” he whispers.

  “Met someone?” Normally, this statement would mean a romance, but given that Russell and Mr. Sumner are the only two gay people in Langley, it seems unlikely. Oh god! If Russell is dating a teacher too, I’ll kill myself.

  “Yeah,” he explains excitedly. “I never expected to meet someone here, but I just looked up and there he was.”

  “Great,” I reply wanly, extracting the berry bins from the fridge. This is just fantastic. Even gay teenagers and single mothers have better love lives than I do.

  “He’s really gorgeous and totally fit! And he’s got this kind of preppy sexiness. I mean, we have more of a physical attraction right now, but I’d like to get to know him better. I think there’s a really interesting, unique person deep down inside him that he’s trying to hide.”

  “Mmm …” I busy myself with the till.

  “And we already have one really important thing in common—he likes the same music that I do!”

  My heart sinks. I lost Sienna and now I’m going to lose Russell. I’m being replaced, I can feel it. And who can blame him? This new guy likes the same music and has the appropriate “equipment.” Obviously, Russell will choose him over me. “That’s great. I’m sure you two will have a wonderful future together in New York or wherever,” I say, sounding like a petulant child.

  Russell lets out a laugh. “Louise, are you jealous?”

  “I’m not,” I snap, trying to quell the tears springing to my eyes. “It’s great that you’ve found someone. My mom’s found someone too: my algebra teacher.”

  “Oh …” Russell makes a distasteful face.

  “I know,” I say, swiping hurriedly at my eyes while trying to jam the cash tray into the register.

  Russell moves toward me. “Hey …” He gently eases the metal tray into its drawer. “This doesn
’t change our plans. This is just a bit of fun … It’s just something to make my time in Langley less painful.”

  I look up at him, my eyes red and shining. “What if you fall in love? You won’t want me around anymore.” I realize I’m being melodramatic, but I just can’t take losing another best friend so soon after Sienna.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This guy’s not even out yet. He’s hardly going to move away with me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he says he’s ‘confused about his sexuality,’ which is really just another term for denial.”

  Relief floods through me. “So who is this guy?”

  Russell turns his attentions to the hot dog machine. “I doubt you know him.”

  “Try me.”

  Russell faces me, his expression earnest. “He wants to keep our relationship quiet for now, and I’m going to respect that. If it goes any further, and he’s comfortable with it, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

  “Okay,” I say. I have to admire Russell’s attitude. And now that I know this guy is not a major threat to our relationship, I’m really in no hurry to meet him.

  “So,” Russell says, with a finality that indicates the subject is closed, “your mom and your algebra teacher huh? Is he hot at least?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The first time Mr. Bartley—or Dave, as we are instructed to call him—comes over for dinner, it’s a little weird. Okay, it’s a lot weird. First of all, teachers are not supposed to be invited into your home. And secondly, my mom is acting like a total spaz.

  “Okay,” she says, fluttering around the table like a butterfly on speed, “Louise can sit here … Dave, you can sit next to me over here. And, Troy, you can sit at the head of the table, since you’re the man of the house.”