Aunt Cat lifted a dirty T-shirt off the floor and blotted where she was certain her mascara was running. She was grateful for whatever happened to drive him away to Paris, though she could tell there was more to the story than Biz was letting on. This way she felt less responsible for pushing them apart. Time would pass, he would find someone else, and her conflict would magically resolve. Or maybe he would end up with Piper. She didn’t think Biz liked Piper very much, but maybe she’d changed. We all change, over time. Don’t we?
Biz wanted a cigarette more than life itself. She said, “We’re going to be fine. It’s all going to work out. Haven’t you drilled that into us since we were little?”
Aunt Cat grinned warmly. “It’s what Nana Miggs drilled into me.”
“And has it held true?”
“Ha,” Aunt Cat blurted out. Had everything worked out for her? Not exactly, but for the most part, so far, sort of. Cat chose to ignore her lousy first marriage and alcohol addiction, and refocused the conversation on gratitude. “Yes. I love Ned, and you kids are all healthy. It’s all working out just fine. But there’s no way E.J., Rah, and Georgia aren’t going to talk about what just happened. Your mother thinks she can control everyone and everything all the time.”
“Of course she does. She’s like Bea Arthur but without the rapier wit. I’ll just deny everything. Pretend nothing happened. They know Mom is crazy.”
“That’s what she told us to do.”
“The old apple, eh?”
Yes, and a little scary, thought Cat, how unaccountable they’d all become. “So let’s not worry. Fuck ’em,” she said brightly. Oh, the thrill Cat got from saying the F-word at her age—a suburban housewife in her forties. Can you imagine? “Just promise me you won’t ever … you know, you and Choo,” she said, taking in Biz’s face. There were traces of the blithe innocence her niece radiated as a child, before her mother began harping and her father drifted away. She’d been like a little wood sprite—so different from her own logical Rah. Cat loved her so, though she worried about her drinking. “I promse,” Biz slurred, and at the time she meant it.
Cat was relieved to be soldiering on as she followed Biz back out into the snow. It’s all going to work out, and I am doing the right thing, Cat convinced herself. Lord, I certainly hope so.
1990
The cousins’ childhood neighbor’s tree house, Larkspur, New Jersey
“You never really told me about your road trip,” said Biz, standing barefoot on the cool evening grass. She’d chosen not to wear panty hose to the engagement party, though her mother had instructed her to. It was warm for early May, and she didn’t want to be bothered; plus they were super lame, and no one her age wore them anymore. Claire had sent Biz to buy more ice, but someone had blocked her in, so Charlie offered to take her in his car, which was a manual shift. He also didn’t think Biz should be driving.
“Our trip was Ameri-tastic,” said Charlie, missing the first rung as he climbed the ladder of their neighbors, the Roundsavilles’ tree house. “Heart of Glass” could be heard in the near distance. He’d already had a boatload of margaritas. This time he grasped the rungs carefully and kept a close eye on his feet. “We live in the United States of Awesome.” He had just switched to Miller Lite and probably shouldn’t have been driving.
Biz called up after him, “Very funny. Seriously.”
“I’m being serious. Every U.S. citizen should have to, by law, drive across country at some point in their lives. It’s an incredible place, varied and vast—a cornucopia of flora, fauna, architecture, and fried food—”
“No one says ‘cornucopia.’”
“—tattoos, and sideburns. Americans are a bizarre and hilarious breed. I took a ton of photos. Piper’s making an album.”
“She’s a doer.”
“Hey, be nice.”
After Piper and Charlie’s year in Paris, his dream of moving to L.A. withered—Piper refused to live there—but their relationship grew regardless. Post-graduation, they rented a one-bedroom apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. He shot second-unit footage for corporate promos, while she became a commercial production manager. A few years later, when they were both between jobs, they decided to take a trip across country. The plan was for Charlie to write a feature screenplay with Piper at the helm. Nana Miggs said, “If you can drive across country with someone and still like them by the end, you should marry them.” Then she winked.
Piper was skilled at reading maps and finding the best family-owned diners and cheap motels. And Charlie was afforded long stretches of intellectual space to write longhand while she drove. Things went smoothly with Piper in charge, which embedded a dynamic of least resistance. If she was so competent navigating this unplanned journey, it stood to reason she would make a good mother. And since Piper had been in the basement at that party when they were twelve, Charlie felt assured of her acceptance and forgiveness, which made her an excellent bet. So at the end of the road trip, after unloading their bags, he got down on one knee and proposed.
Biz was waitressing at Exterminator Chili at night and making outlandish couture during the day when she heard the news of Charlie and Piper’s engagement. She decided to be happy for them—after all, Biz was also living her dream. Since graduation she’d been living on the Lower East Side, crafting the zany creations she hoped the world would thrill to. She handed out business cards at galleries and gigs—at every event she crashed. She took out ads in The Village Voice and taped flyers to pay-phone booths. She also drank too much, and slept around, but that didn’t get in her way.
Biz’s plan was to buy a little storefront in Alphabet City and hang up a sign that read OUTLANDISH COUTURE—but it wasn’t that easy. She sewed and glue-gunned her madcap heart out, hoping someone would discover her, knowing it was just a matter of time. Getting the word out proved challenging, though. She knew a few local performance artists who occasionally needed offbeat stuff, but they often made their own. She tried to break into the drag queen circuit, but it was a closed loop with its own savage talent. And though some got a kick out of her clever paper-clip-fringed miniskirt, or faux-peanut-butter-and-fluff-sandwich bustier, they lacked either the vision, chutzpah, or money to invest.
Biz hiked up her floral, tea-length/V-waist dress with the big puffy sleeves and lace collar, and scurried up the tree house’s ladder like she’d done a thousand times before, but in less fabric. “Not bad for a twenty-four-year-old broad, eh? I wish you hadn’t made me pour out my Zima.”
Charlie smiled, watching from above to ensure she made it up safely. “I’ll get you another when we get back to the party. And twenty-four is hardly old,” he said. He thought she looked terrific in spite of her dress. They were still strikingly attractive—both Thorndens at peak gorgeousness, dewy and dazzling with health and youth. “Watch your dress,” he cautioned. “It wasn’t built for derring-do.”
“Oh my God, this horrid thing? I hope it dies a slow death at the dry cleaner.”
“Your mom picked it out?”
“How’d you guess?”
“You look like a frothy botanical nun en route to her junior prom.”
“No kidding. She thinks the ‘right man’ will be drawn to me in this thing. She keeps bugging me to wear longer skirts. So, sounds like you won’t be moving to France.”
“No. Who said we were?”
“E.J. said he heard it from Piper.”
“Ignore him. Now and forever—like the musical, Cats.”
At the top Charlie held out his hand and Biz took it while claiming she wasn’t tipsy. She said she took it to show their relationship had matured—hatchets buried. Charlie sat on the filthy futon, unaware pollen was dusting his best blazer. He’d lost weight and appeared slighter but was still dashingly handsome, Biz thought. She was elated they weren’t moving to Europe. She leaned on the doorframe to steady herself. “So, why do we have to be in the Roundsavilles’ tree house for you to tell me this supposedly big thing? We’re missing yo
ur engagement party, you know, and the ice is totally melting. Plus they’re playing ‘Funky Cold Medina,’ which I had to lobby Mom hard to let the DJ play.”
“We can hear it from here, and no one needs more ice. They’re already totally smashed.”
Biz put her hands on her hips. “What do you need to tell me? You’re already getting married next month, what else could—” Then it hit Biz hard; her face fell. “Let me guess. Piper’s pregnant.”
Charlie laughed. “Jesus, I hope not. Let me get through this wedding first.” He said it with a mix of black humor and exasperation.
Biz asked, “So then, what?”
“Come sit down,” Charlie said, and patted the seat next to him. Biz rolled her eyes and stumbled a little as she sat. She hoped cobwebs weren’t getting in her bangs—it had taken her ages to blow-dry them poufed like in Heathers. Charlie said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed to see you again, alone, after I’m married.”
“Yeah, Piper’s quite the—”
“Please don’t say anything negative about her. I know we did when we were kids, but she’s going to be my wife. And there’s a side to Piper … I want you to like her.”
Biz looked at him with mock wide-eyed innocence. “Who, moi?”
“Yeah, toi.”
“Don’t say ‘yeah.’ If Grandpa Dun hears you…”
Biz brushed specks of yellow pollen off his collar. Charlie tried to stay on topic, but was drunk as well. “Piper’s resourceful and supportive. She’s unfloppable. Flippable. Strong as a bubble. Ugh, she’s strong. And if our marriage is going to work, I have to take her side from now on. So if you have anything mean to say about her, tell Georgia or Rah, not me.”
“Fine. Can we go? ‘What I Like About You’ is on. The best dance song of all time!”
“No, please, just listen.” Charlie took a deep breath and watched a daddy longlegs traverse a torn curtain. Biz’s eyes anchored on his, waiting for him to speak. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about what I did to you in my dorm room. It was horrible, and I—”
“It wasn’t that bad—”
“Biz,” Charlie put his hands on her shoulders, then realized he shouldn’t and placed them in his lap. “It was absolutely that bad. I almost…” He paused. “I forced myself on you. I attacked you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. Nothing about it was okay or excusable. And I want to tell you I’m sorry again, in person, and I’m hoping you accept my apology. And I hope to God I didn’t alter your, um, mess you up in any way…” What he wanted to say was that he hoped he hadn’t broken her beyond repair.
Biz smiled. “Thanks. I’m a woman of the nineties. I’m tougher than I look.”
She’d had to fight off plenty of groping, slurring guys in bars since the incident. However, she was more careful now to get to know a guy before inviting him back to her apartment. She’d go out with him a few times first and walk away if his temper raged. Biz had had a few steady boyfriends, but nothing serious—she was in no hurry. If anything, she felt sorry for Charlie, rushing into marriage, playing it safe. She felt he’d let his ambition be ground to a halt, believed he was making a huge mistake. Charlie worried that Biz’s spark had diminished, that she was losing her drive and enthusiasm. Each assumed the other’s fire was being extinguished by the daunting specter of adulthood. And each buried the desire to help the other reignite it.
“I’m fine,” Biz said to Charlie, “and I forgive you. And I love you. And honestly, you didn’t mess me up any more than I already was. Ha.” She took his hands in hers and raised them up above their hearts so they hung in the air between them in an awkward tangled nest.
“Do you believe me?” Biz asked.
Charlie said, “I do.”
Biz announced, “You may now kiss the cousin.”
Charlie gave a small sweet grin and stayed right where he was; however, Biz leaned in with her whole body. She wanted to prove her trust and forgiveness, that he was a good man; they could pick up where they left off on Amtrak. She also knew their window of opportunity was closing unbelievably fast if she was ever going to drag them back to normal. So, instead of turning to give him her cheek, she gave him her tender mouth, slow and full, directly on his lips without apology. She let herself sink into him, moving her hand onto his lap, hoping for a last chance with her very best friend. He was getting married, but he wasn’t quite married yet. Then things will change with us forever. This is it, she thought, let’s seal the deal. Biz decided to make her desire transparently obvious, and expected Charlie’s total retreat, but he didn’t pull away and remained locked in her kiss. Their lips parted, tongues lurched, and bolts shot through their bodies as they tasted boozy wetness and cigarettes. Biz inched closer to Charlie and he placed his palm hesitantly on her waist. She decided right then and there that if he was game, she was, too. The whole world was elsewhere; all that mattered was in this tree house. They could finally give in to their desire. So she whispered, “Let’s have a quickie,” and they both went weak.
“No, no, no, bad idea,” Charlie said, pulling away.
“Wait!” Biz said, her eyes mischievous and crackling. “Think of it as our last hurrah to finally get us out of our systems! Or I could get you something off your registry. Your choice: clean-slate sex or a salad spinner.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t think! Just c’mon! Till death do you part! Please?” Biz unfurled the word coyly and placed her hand on his fly. “Hey, looks like the party’s already in your pants.” She gave his hardness a squeeze. “Atta boy,” Biz urged Charlie, not ready to say good-bye. She also felt sex could seal her fate as his number one, with secrets still to keep perhaps forever. “This shouldn’t happen,” Charlie said, his hands trying to rub the thought from his face. But he had something to prove, too, that he could be kind. Giving her this would conveniently absolve him of his monstrous guilt, and he could return to Mr. Nice Guy—clean slate. Plus it would be the last decision he’d get to make all by himself, before he’d have to run everything he did—every choice he wanted to make—by Piper, his wedded wife.
With both having so much to prove, they should have kept the world in their way.
Biz said, “Let’s do it super fast, then you can carry on with your life, and I can get on with whatever it is I’m doing, and everybody wins.” Biz kissed Charlie with everything she had, even scratched her fingers through his hair; he slithered onto his knees on the dirty floor. It was his lame last-ditch attempt at trying to get away, but his brain flooded with a wash of chemicals and he was sunk.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.
“Fo-shizzle. It’ll be fun! We just need to chillax.” Biz leaned back on her elbows and inched her skirt up to her waist. Charlie placed his hands on her smooth thighs, feeling her radiant heat. He’d been dreaming about this moment since he could remember. He moved his head toward her, acquainting himself with her soft folds and wet depths, as Biz squirmed and winced in ecstasy. She basked in the chemical rush and quickly felt close to climax. “Quick,” she said, and motioned him upward, leading him inside her. But he hadn’t stayed fully erect, so needed a little more time. She started to lose her edge, and he cursed—they’d both done too much drinking. But then he was ready and filled her up. “Oh my God,” he said, astonished. “Amazing,” she moaned, from an odd position, reaching for something to hold. It was proving tricky to find the right angle, and Biz swiveled to fit lengthwise, but then Charlie had no room for both knees. So one of his feet remained on the ground, his khakis pooled around his ankle in a small pile of dust and dead leaves.
They took up their mission again, but things still weren’t quite right. Both of them shifted and groped, preoccupied with finding ways to brace. The time for kissing had long since passed. Neither felt connected. “Deeper, please,” Biz whispered, and Charlie answered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t,” she said. But they both knew it wasn’t true.
&
nbsp; “I’m close,” he said, and thrusted.
“I’m not,” answered Biz, frustrated she could feel so close—on the maddening edge—then so infuriatingly far away the next moment. “Love Shack” started its groove, and a cheer went up in the distance. Biz was slightly annoyed she was missing another dance fave, and even more so knowing she wasn’t going to climax. She thought they should get back. Maybe this was a dumb idea.
“Go for it,” she said to Charlie, followed up quickly with, “But pull out.”
“What?” he said, and within seconds let loose an urgent moaning growl, accompanied by four underwhelming thrusts, each one less crucial than the last.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s fine. It just ended the other day.”
“And I’m sorry I couldn’t get you to—”
“Also fine,” said Biz. “We need to get back. I left my pashmina in your car. Do we have anything to…?”
“I can give you my boxers … I’m really sorry you didn’t…”
“It’s okay, not a big deal. Not worth worrying about. Let’s pretend it never happened and get you back to your party.”
Biz froze, waiting for Charlie to take off his boxers, not wanting to spill. She had the creeping sensation that what they’d done was pointless and hadn’t served her purpose. It wasn’t the ceremonial portal to the closeness she’d envisioned. It wasn’t special and not that much fun—a mediocre bang with an unremarkable finish. As Biz mopped herself off, she remembered another Nana Miggs–ism: “Regret has little usefulness.” Or was it “resentment”? She returned his boxers. Charlie felt immediate and crushing remorse as he shoved them under the mattress. I should never have done that. I feel like shit. Neither spoke as they briskly clambered down the ladder, desperate to put this in the past. The answer was to forget it ever happened and get wasted. Piper would be waiting for him near the bar.
The guitar strains of “When Doves Cry” rose through the canopy of oaks as Biz and Charlie returned, carrying dripping bags of ice. Piper was not the suspicious kind; she knew exactly who she was marrying. She and Charlie had shared the same cast of characters their entire lives. She was tolerant of his world, which was why she didn’t bristle when he and Biz returned together after being gone a while. She figured laziness and comfort were why they ended up together. And only once all evening did Piper apply the same rationale to herself—perhaps that was also why Charlie was marrying her. Then she rejected the thought out of self-preservation.
Twisted Family Values Page 17