This Beautiful Life
Page 6
Downstairs was like something out of a movie. One of those eighties flicks that he and Henry liked to watch ironically: Pretty in Pink or that Some Kind of Wonderful he’d been forced to sit through at a girl’s party back in Ithaca. It all just smelled of money; there was like a whole entertainment complex downstairs. There was an amazing music system, Live Snake was blaring, and the furniture looked too expensive and mod to sit on, all leather and chrome, with shaggy white throw rugs, but there were bowls of chips and salsa and M&Ms on the metal-and-glass coffee tables like at any party anywhere, cans of Coke. Arthur and his crowd peeled off toward the pool table, but McHenry motioned his crew to follow him down the hallway. There were beers in the Japanese bathtub off the sauna—he’d told them this outside—and it was true, their green necks studding the ice like emeralds. Each boy grabbed a bottle. The glass felt cool and smooth between Jake’s thumb and forefinger, resting in the webbing.
A bunch of kids from school were sitting on leather couches, and through an open door Jake could see the private screening room. There were some couples making out in there, and a few boys whose names he didn’t know yelling at the screen. Scarface. Al Pacino had just fallen face-first into a pile of cocaine, and the dudes were cheering.
“Hey, Daisy,” said Henry. “Thanks for moving the party here.”
Jake turned around and met their hostess. She was a short, plump, prettyish girl with a baby face, too-tight jeans tucked into her UGGs. Her blond hair was bleached white and hanging loose, some of the layers pushed behind her ears, which hosted a lot of earrings, hoops scaling the rim. She looked like an eleven-year-old with too much makeup on. Raccoon eyes, but bright blue. Little breasts, a black lace bra visible through her tank top. She would be prettier, he thought, if she washed off all that goo.
“Hey, Henry,” she said. “Hey, Jake.”
He was surprised Daisy knew his name. He didn’t remember seeing her around school.
“Either of you guys want a friendship bracelet?” She held out a palm full of red strings with beads on them.
“Sure,” said Henry, and she tied one around his wrist. “Make that a double, for my friend here.” Henry gestured with his head toward Jake, who obediently held out his arm.
Daisy smiled up at him as she tied the bracelet on.
“There’s beer,” she said, in a way that made Jake wince. It was so eager. He tipped his bottle her way and said, “Thanks. We already partook.” Then he telescoped his neck, looking up and past Daisy. He didn’t see Audrey anywhere. His eyes locked with Henry’s, who shook his head.
“Fuck you,” said Jake.
“What’s your problem, man?” said Henry. His face was turning red. “I’m just looking out for you. Sheesh, ma-meesh.” He turned away and headed toward the movie.
Jake took another swig of his beer, almost emptying it.
“Do you want another beer, Jake? I can get you one,” said Daisy. She was smiling up at him.
All of a sudden, Jake felt a rising swell of anger. Fuck Henry. Fuck Audrey. So what if she was upstairs sucking Luke off ? He didn’t give a flying fuck.
“That would be great, Daisy,” he said. “I mean, I can get it myself . . .”
“We can go get it together,” she said. She gave his hand a little squeeze. Jake looked down at her hand in surprise—he didn’t expect to find it there. Her fingernail polish was chipped and the nail beds themselves still looked square, like a kid’s. For a moment he wondered, at what age do a girl’s fingernails elongate? Was it a puberty thing? Or did it come after, the way beards sometimes did? Coco’s nails looked like this, like little old-fashioned TV sets, tiny boxes. Daisy’s hand even felt like a baby’s. Like a baby bear, he inexplicably thought; he even said this to himself, in his mind, “Her hand feels like a little paw, a teddy bear’s paw.” He was so weird; he couldn’t stand himself sometimes.
What the fuck. Jake squeezed her hand back. Daisy smiled at him, a big, wide smile, as if the squeeze had fortified her, like it was an extrasensory protein drink. Her reaction alone made him swagger. He started to get hard. She gently tugged on his hand and led him through the throngs of people and toward the tub. He might as well get drunk, he thought. It was a party.
They were making out in the back of the screening room, Jake sitting in an aisle seat, Daisy in his lap, her feet not quite grazing the floor. He had one hand up her tank top, on top of her bra, which was lacey and scratchy. Her whole breast fit inside the circumference of his palm, like a rubber ball. The film was long over, but the screen still displayed light. They weren’t the only couple in there. There were three others, all bathed in that bluish movie afterglow. Jake periodically counted his companions whenever he came up for air or to wipe his mouth. For some reason, he didn’t want to be alone with Daisy. It was like they kept him from going too far. He was hard, and Daisy kept shifting in his lap. She had her arms around his neck and every so often she would stroke his back and shoulders.
“Mmmm,” she said. “You feel so good. Your muscles are so big,” she whispered into his ear, her tongue flicking around the rim, hot and wet.
Jake had drunk a lot and felt dizzy. He did not have big muscles. So it sort of grossed him out when she said that. Plus, he was feeling kind of sick. Like maybe, eventually, before the night was over, he might throw up.
“Jacobyyy,” McHenry said, in a funny, fratty voice. “Jacobyyy and fucking Meyers . . .”
Jake looked up past Daisy’s blond head, his lips still locked on hers. There were Luke and McHenry, laughing at him.
Luke said, “Hey, dude, robbing the cradle?” Audrey stood a little behind Luke, but he put his arm around her waist and swung her around in front like a protective shield or a hostage in a standoff. He looked a little trashed, Luke. He was a little wild with her, and her feet flew off the floor before they landed.
“Whee,” Audrey deadpanned, rolling her eyes.
“Come on,” said Daisy, looking up at them, her expression eager. “They’re out of my room now. Jake, we can go upstairs . . .”
Jake looked at her baby face. It was like a bright, round moon, glowing and open. He looked at Luke and at Audrey and at McHenry.
“Naw, Daisy,” he said. “It’s late. I better be getting home . . .”
“What’s your hurry, dude,” said McHenry. “Give the lady what she wants.”
Jake stood up, spilling Daisy out of his lap.
Audrey caught Daisy’s left arm as she staggered.
“Whoa,” said Audrey.
“Jake,” said Daisy.
“Sorry, Daisy,” said Jake, actually feeling sorry. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done any of that. I’m drunk, I guess. I got up too fast. Are you all right? God, I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” said Daisy, turning pink. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I’m drunk.” He looked around. “Where’s Henry?” he said over her shoulder to McHenry.
“I think he left,” said McHenry.
“He left?”
Jake couldn’t believe that Henry would leave without him.
“I think he got a ride with somebody, or they split a Miles taxi. I don’t know, he bounced.”
“James?”
“What do you think,” said McHenry. He shook his head, like Jake was a moron. “They’re twins, man.”
“So you missed your ride,” said Daisy, giving Jake’s hand a tug. “Let’s go upstairs. My parents are away till tomorrow afternoon. You could sleep over.”
“A regular sleepover date,” said Luke. “Buddy, go for it.” He looked pretty drunk to Jake, a lot drunker than Jake was. Luke kind of slurred his words when he talked. Maybe he was on something?
Audrey looked at Luke with cool eyes. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking. That he was an asshole or that this was a funny joke; either one, or something different. Audrey didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t think anything. Maybe what Jake took for mystery was vacancy; a big blank banner of stretched nothin
g. Or maybe it was a bandage for inner torment, plastic and gummy, wrapping her up. Maybe she ached inside like he did. She was an enigma. An oracle. A sphinx.
“She looks like jailbait to me, man,” said McHenry, looking at Daisy. “But then again, you’re not old enough yourself, are you? Luke’s right, go for it. I mean if you’re both statutory, what the fuck?” He shrugged.
McHenry looked to Luke for approval. The look was too needy to be cool, but Luke seemed too fucked up to notice. He nodded at McHenry with an endorsing grin. That fucking jaw. He could get all the chicks in the world with a jaw like that. No matter how sloppy drunk Luke was, there was no denying his beauty. Luke got better looking, it seemed, the more fucked up he was, with his pink cheeks and glowing blue eyes, his blond hair and red-and-yellow stubble.
Audrey peeled Luke’s arms away from around her waist. Once released, one of his giant hands went below his nose and he sniffed hard. A little thread of clear mucus clung to his knuckles in the moment it took to brush it away. Maybe they were all on coke.
“Daisy,” said Audrey, standing up and stretching. Her black T-shirt lifted up with her arms and Jake could see she had a little gold ring piercing her navel. God, he hated her. It was as if she’d pierced her navel just to get at him. “I have to pee. Wanna come with?” she said.
So she was human after all: she had to pee. Hot, golden pee came sluicing out of her. He thought about getting down on his knees and catching it in a cup made of his hands. And she could be nice. Nice to Daisy. Nicer than Jake was.
He loved her again. Suddenly he loved Audrey with all his heart. He would do anything just to touch her. To smell her skin.
“Yeah, go pee with Audrey,” said Luke, trying to suppress his glee. “I love peeing with Audrey. Sometimes she holds my thing . . .”
“You’re an asshole,” said Audrey.
He pulled his arms around her again and tightened his grip around her chest and waist and started to smother her neck in kisses.
“But I’m your asshole,” said Luke.
Audrey tried to squirm out of his grasp, but then she giggled, and he caught her chin with one hand and turned her face to his for a long, too-long, movie star kiss.
They were putting on a show. This much was clear. For his benefit. To torture him.
“Come on, Jake,” said Daisy, tugging at him.
“No,” said Jake.
“Come on, Jakey,” said Daisy, and she tried to kiss him on the neck, mimicking Luke.
“No, I said, no,” said Jake, pushing her aside. He pushed her so hard she flew against McHenry. “Leave me alone,” Jake said.
“Hey,” said McHenry, his hands flying up as if he were under arrest, as if he were saying, “I didn’t do it.”
“Jake!” said Audrey, in an admonishing tone, as Daisy began to cry.
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” said Jake, reaching out, petting the air, then pulling his hand back to his side. “Goddamn it, I’m sorry. You’re just way too young.” He blurted this out.
“I am not,” Daisy said through her tears, mascara running down her face. She looked and sounded ridiculous.
Jake looked at her smeared mouth. He was the one who’d smeared it.
“I am not,” she said again, and she stamped her foot.
McHenry snorted and stamped his foot, and then everybody laughed. Everybody including Jake, including Audrey. Daisy’s face went bright red.
“I gotta get out of here,” said Jake. He pushed his way through the party.
“C’mon, we can share a cab,” McHenry called after him. But Jake didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until he’d climbed the stairs and walked out of the house and into the fresh, cool air. You could smell the trees out there.
Outside, it was as if they lived in a real place, with houses and lawns, a place he could recognize. He climbed up the hill and walked to the highway. He didn’t stop walking. He walked and walked, all the way down the sidewalk that hemmed the highway and then down the hill and into Kingsbridge and then down, down, down the stairs into the subway. He waited on the platform and then he got on the subway and he took it home.
By the time Jake got back to the apartment, it was late. Way late. Way later than he’d ever been up or out before. The streets outside were quiet. He was lucky his mom wasn’t there to call the cops or something. His dad was already asleep. That was the good thing about his dad. He cared, but he didn’t. Jake knocked on his father’s door and his dad grunted and Jake said, “I’m home,” like he was trained to do, and his dad said, “I’m glad, son.”
It was the son that made Jake weep. He lay on his bed and for a while he cried into his pillow. It was so fucked up. He felt all tangled and put out, like he didn’t know himself anymore and he couldn’t think of anyone on the planet who did. He didn’t belong here, in the city, in this apartment, at this school, or in this family, and he didn’t belong back in Ithaca anymore, either—he’d gone back over spring break and that had been kind of fun but kind of weak and pathetic, too; everyone was a little too nice to him, like he was a foreigner or a cripple. He’d hooked up in Ithaca, but not with a thirteen-year-old, with a sixteen-year-old, Johanna Shoenstein, a normal girl who was older. Not like that baby he’d been with tonight. Jake felt a hot wave of embarrassment and shame just thinking about Daisy, about his hand on her breast, on the outside of her bra—he was such an idiot! He thought about Luke and McHenry and Audrey laughing at him, and when he thought about her he shoved his head into the pillow until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Then the pillow got wet, it got soggy, and when he pulled away, strings of drool clung to the pillow and the corner of his mouth, which was disgusting. Jake turned the pillow over and pounded it with his fist, and put the back of his head down on the fresh side. He thought about Daisy again and he cringed. His gut shriveled up into his chest. It pushed his lungs up and into his throat. It was hard to breathe, he felt so ashamed of himself. He should never have hooked up with her. But he’d said no. That was the right thing to do, right? She was too young, and he was a virgin anyway. He didn’t want to do it with Daisy. Maybe he should have done it, maybe it would have been cool to have done it and gotten it out of the way—Henry was always talking about that, getting it done and out of the way. Henry had gotten his out of the way on a spring break ski trip with his youth group this year, while Jake was innocently making out with Johanna in Ithaca like some dumb middle-schooler, but who was there to verify that? Just because Henry said so? The girl in the story didn’t even have a name. James wouldn’t validate either way. Daisy had been begging for it. It wasn’t taking advantage; if a girl wanted to hook up—his mom was always saying don’t take advantage of a girl, but what if a girl wanted to be taken advantage of ? His mom was like stuck back in the seventies, all her crap about feminism and the way girls dressed these days . . . but what if the girl wants the hookup? If she begs for it? Did his mom ever think about that?
It never would have occurred to him to hook up with Daisy if she hadn’t thrown herself at him. All that beer. Fucking Audrey.
He thought about Audrey, that golden ring on her golden belly. His hand instinctively unzipped his jeans. His hand went down to it, and it unleashed, hard and smooth, rising up to meet his hand. Maybe Audrey thought he was a good guy for saying no to Daisy. Maybe Audrey thought he was a sleaze and a dweeb. He’d pushed Daisy; he’d pushed Daisy off of him. Audrey couldn’t have liked that. Nobody would like that, a guy pushing a girl. God, he was an idiot. He tried to remember Audrey’s face in that horrible moment when his hands, not Jake, but Jake’s hands alone, had pushed Daisy, but he couldn’t remember; he couldn’t remember the look on Audrey’s face. His left fist was going faster and faster now. It tightened, and even though his skin was too dry and the fist was burning, right now he liked it that way and he didn’t stop to spit or go for the Aveeno lotion. Maybe Audrey liked that he’d been rough with Daisy. Who knew? She liked Luke. And Luke was a jerk. Luke was always swinging her around. Maybe Audrey liked it nasty.
He got up and went to his closet to get some clean sheets and remade the bed. He put on a new T-shirt, fresh underwear, pajama pants. He was too wired to go to sleep. So he turned on the computer and checked his email. There was a missive from Henry: “sry we split w/out u, but yr hands wr full . . .” Jake tried to decipher the tone. Conciliatory? Or was Henry also making fun of him? Jake chose conciliatory, because he needed him. He wrote back: “Drunk. Don’t ever let me do that again.” Then he closed his laptop and climbed into bed. And then he got up and out of it. He went back to his computer. Googled “Ithaca, New York.” Shut the laptop again and went back to bed. He could read old Spider-Man comics. That’s what he could do, and he did. He read them till he fell asleep finally, and then he heard his mother and sister coming in the front door.
“Did you have a good time last night?” Jake’s mom asked as Jake opened the refrigerator.
She looked awful. Her brown eyes were red, and her skin was gray and translucent—he could see her veins throbbing in her temples. She looked a little old, a little like she would probably look like as an old lady, her hair twisted up in a bun that way, her T-shirt all sweaty and wrinkled. His mom looked the way she looked after one of them had been up all night with the throw-up flu and she’d been holding their heads, aiming them over the toilet, wiping their mouths. She looked a little like his grandma had looked before she died. Jake did not like looking at her right now.