by Trish Cook
“I heard you and Brina talking, and I assumed . . .” I trailed off, feeling like a fool. I just couldn’t face dredging up the past twenty-four hours again.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around Zander’s neck and kissed him passionately. He must have liked my answer, because he picked me up and plunked us both down on the love seat, where we continued our major lip-lock. This went on and on, progressively getting more intense until I started to think, What the hell? Why not just go for it? I practically told Bebe I was going to do it anyway.
“Do you have . . . any . . . you know . . . ,” I whispered in his ear.
“Any what?” he asked, not getting my drift.
“In your wallet . . .” I trailed off again, hoping I wouldn’t have to spell it out for him.
Zander sat up, flicked on the light, and looked straight at me. I covered my face with a pillow, completely mortified. I couldn’t believe it. My virgin sacrifice was being completely, totally rejected. And I really was a virgin, unlike Brina’s who-knew-when-she-actually-lost-it variety.
“Your motives aren’t exactly pure right now,” he told me.
“Obviously,” I said. I mean, duh. Having sex is just about the antithesis of pure.
“I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but sleeping with me because you’re mad at your mother and disappointed we haven’t found your father yet—isn’t quite the motivation I was hoping for.” Zander tried to pry the pillow off my head, but I wasn’t letting it budge.
“What is, then?” I asked him, my voice muffled.
“I always thought it was supposed to be about two people who care about each other, wanting to make each other happy.” Zander’s voice was low and reassuring. “With no ulterior motives.”
Maybe, just maybe, I’d remove the upholstery from my face before I turned twenty-one. I felt Zander get up, so I lifted the corner of the pillow up just a bit to see what was going on. He was standing in front of the big picture window, his head lowered over the neck of a guitar. His back was to me, and the moonlight made it look like he had a halo. Come to think of it, he had really earned one for not jumping my bones when he had the chance to. Zander strummed a few chords and started singing a John Mayer tune—the one about candy lips and bubblegum tongues.
When the song was over, Zander put his guitar down and sat back down on the couch. I peeked out from behind the pillow and saw him grinning down at me.
“But I never said we couldn’t fool around.” He threw the pillow on the floor and wrapped himself around me. Snuggling under the warmth of the blanket, we didn’t come up for air until much, much later.
“By the way, nice slippers,” Zander told me when we were all kissed out, not to mention various other verbs.
“You liked them enough to bite them off my feet, mister,” I said, happiness bubbling up inside of me. I couldn’t believe I had tried to seduce Zander in this goofy getup, and was more than grateful he’d put it all into perspective. Someday, we’d do it up right, complete with lingerie, mood lighting, and handpicked tunes. For now, though, I had some serious business to attend to—making peace with my mother.
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
The sun was coming up by the time Zander drove me home. As we pulled in the driveway, I noticed Mr. Steve’s Mini Cooper was nowhere to be found for the first time in months.
“Remember, Trace. Bebe probably feels as bad about this as you do. Be gentle with her.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
I walked quietly through the front door. Bebe was still seated at the kitchen table in the same spot where I had left her the night before. I pulled a chair up next to her and ate my words as best I could.
“I am so sorry about what I said last night. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair.”
Bebe looked up from her cup of coffee. Her eyes were so puffy she was barely recognizable. “I’m sorry, too, Trace,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Sorry for ruining your life. When you’re eighteen, you don’t expect something that happens one night to have an impact on the rest of your life.”
Even though I’d always admired Bebe for taking the high road—as in not scraping her uterus free of me while she still had a chance—the all-encompassing impact of her decision hadn’t hit me until this moment. “You were so brave to keep me, Bebe,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “I probably haven’t thanked you enough for it.”
Bebe smiled, though she still didn’t look the least bit happy. “I never considered for a second having it any other way,” she said.
“Are you ready to tell me what really happened?” I asked, scared of what I might hear.
She took a deep breath. “Trace, it was so long ago.”
“An explanation,” I said, feeling stronger and more determined by the minute. “You owe me at least that much.”
Bebe ran her fingers through her already messy hair. “I was in love with your dad, so naturally we did the things young lovers do—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I sang. “Lalalalalalalalalala.” My mom’s sex stories. I mean, how gross can you get?
Bebe let the tiniest laugh escape from her mouth and I thought, She’s gonna be OK. Thank God. For a minute there, I thought I’d sent her over the edge.
“The condom broke—”
“Let’s just skip the naughty parts and move on,” I interrupted, looking at Bebe in what I hoped was an encouraging, c’mon-spill-your-guts kind of manner. “How did you go from being in love to never being in the same room again?”
“After an awesome concert at Giants Stadium, I told your dad I had something really important to tell him. Something that would change his life,” Bebe said, eyes misting over. “I had spent a whole week trying to figure out the best way to break the news I was pregnant to him. I wanted to soften the blow as much as possible because I knew it was going to take some serious rearranging for us to be together.”
I was hooked. This was a great story. Then I remembered I already knew the ending, and it wasn’t a happy one. Still, I needed to know the truth once and for all. All of it. “Why was that?”
“Like I told you on Thanksgiving, we were going in different directions.”
“No way is that enough information for the open and honest conversation we’re supposed to be having,” I said, putting my foot down both literally and figuratively.
Bebe stared down into her coffee some more, then sighed deeply before plunging ahead. “OK, you win. Here’s what really happened. I was headed off to college and he was planning a tour of Europe. We hadn’t uttered the L word yet, but I was pretty sure he felt the same way I did. So being young and naive and, quite frankly, stupid, I started my confession with those three words.”
“And then what happened?” I said, breathless by this point. I could just picture the scene: Bruce and Bebe under the stars of a now-empty stadium as she declared her love to him.
“And then the bastard totally freaked out,” Bebe hissed, slamming her hand down on the tabletop so hard that coffee sloshed over the sides of her mug. “He went completely white, mumbled a bunch of unintelligible shit, and then finally spit out something about how we were getting too serious and needed to pursue our dreams separately. That he wasn’t anywhere near ready to think about settling down, even though he loved me more than he ever believed possible. The guy actually had the balls to suggest we make a pact to meet back in four years to pick up where we’d left off.”
“That was obviously before you told him you were pregnant,” I said. “Surely he changed his tune once he found out?”
Bebe got up from the table and walked over to the sink. “Not really.”
My eyes bugged out. “You mean he left and never looked back?”
“Sort of.”
“Bebe, you’re being totally evasive again,” I said, staring her straight in the eyes. “Spit it out.”
“This is so mortifying to admit,” sh
e said in a voice so low I could barely hear her. “But I kind of was never able to tell him.”
“What the hell do you mean?” I said, my heart pounding so hard I thought I might pass out.
“Trace,” she said, pleading with me now. “He practically sprinted away after I admitted my feelings for him. I was more pissed off and hurt than I’d ever been in my entire life.”
“So you’re saying you neglected to tell him you were pregnant because you were mad at him? Way to get back at the guy, Bebe,” I said, balling up my hands into fists and shoving them deep into my pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted to slug her. I could totally sympathize with all those convicts who claim they never meant to commit whatever heinous crime had landed them in jail.
Bebe’s tears fell on the place mat in front of her, looking like tiny indoor raindrops. “Trace, it’s not like it seems. After about a week of nursing my wounds and hoping he’d call, I realized I’d just have to suck it up, swallow my pride, and go tell him in person. But when I got to his place, I found he’d already packed up and left without even saying good-bye.”
“Ever heard of using the telephone, Bebe?” What did she think I was, an idiot? How hard could it be to find an international superstar?
“This was before cell phones and e-mail and instant messaging, Trace. His phone was disconnected. He’d moved out of the summer place he’d been renting. I sent a whole handful of letters to his old address hoping they’d get forwarded to him in Europe, but I never heard anything back.”
“Surely there was some way you could’ve contacted the guy, Bebe,” I said, refusing to believe she’d been that easily deterred. “And if not, you could’ve gotten his management or lawyers or someone on his staff to pass the news along to him.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re telling me you couldn’t find Bruce freaking Springsteen just because he was on tour? It’s not like he went into hiding after you spilled the beans about being in love with him.”
Bebe nearly fell off her chair laughing. “What in God’s name gave you the idea you were Bruce Springsteen’s daughter?” she asked, practically gasping for air. “Other than some seriously deluded fantasies?”
“You always mention his name every time you discuss my dad,” I mumbled, feeling pretty stupid. And let down, for that matter. “And because on the back of the picture I have of you two together, you wrote the love of my life and dated it with the month and year I was conceived.”
“Did you ever notice there was someone else in that picture, too, Trace?” Bebe was picking at the edges of a napkin now, leaving a trail of paper shreds in her wake.
“The Boss-alike?” I whispered, my eyes unable to focus on anything. My worst fear had just bitch-slapped me in the face, and the room was swirling around uncontrollably. “You’re telling me my dad is just some loser who’s obsessed with another man?”
Bebe shrugged, not knowing quite what to do with that one.
“So what’s your excuse for not finding Macky-D, then?” I taunted Bebe. “Donnelly or Donald or Donohue or whatever his name is? Why didn’t you drop the bomb on his parents or friends or whoever?”
“Believe me, I thought of that. I called every Donohue in northern New Jersey with no luck. What was I supposed to do?”
“Try harder,” I hissed, kicking the table leg with my foot. My toes went numb and it just served to piss me off more. “And keep on trying until you found someone who could lead you to him.”
“I tried as hard as I could,” Bebe said, staring at me defiantly. “Your dad and his buddies had just graduated from college that summer, and all headed off for Europe together in one big pack once they’d made enough money painting houses. See? No employer to track down names and addresses from. And I had no clue where the other guys’ parents lived, not to mention what their last names were. Eventually, I hired a private detective, but all that got me was a five-hundred-dollar bill I couldn’t afford to pay. And after a while, I just gave up. It was almost easier that way. I’d already been hurt enough.”
I stood up and shoved my chair back from the table. It was all I could do to keep myself upright—I was shaking so much. “All my life, I’ve wondered what I did wrong. Why I wasn’t good enough to be loved by my father,” I said, choking on my words. “And now you’re telling me he doesn’t even know I’m alive. That’s the worst crime of all, Bebe.”
She nodded. She must have known what she’d done was unforgivable. I stalked off to my room and packed my bags, vowing never to come back.
CHAPTER 12
Brina picked me up an hour later. Together, we dragged my suitcases out of my house and into hers. The Maldonatis were nice enough not to ask any prying questions, though I’m sure Brina had given them the lowdown.
“I set up the air mattress for you in Sabrina’s room,” Mrs. Maldonati said as I walked in. “I usually have breakfast ready by seven. Let me know if you’re on a special runner’s diet or anything.”
I hugged her, grateful to have such good friends in my life. “Thanks, Mrs. Maldonati, but there’s no need to go to any trouble for me. I just appreciate your letting me stay here.”
She smiled and brushed away some nonexistent lint off my shoulder. “We love you, and so does our daughter. You’re practically family.”
Brina had cleared out a drawer and part of her closet for me, so I started putting my stuff away. She sat down at her desk, pulled out the ceramic heart, and handed me a piece of notebook paper.
“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you were still mad at me. . . .” Brina said.
“Let me guess. The mail slot again?” I asked her.
A huge smile spread across her face. “Yup. Slp’s better than ever.”
I unfolded the note and read:I like the way you roll the dice
Always put my bets on you
But I can’t gamble my life away
Maybe you should take a chance on me
slp
“It’s kind of like a challenge, isn’t it? Like, come and get me if you dare,” I said. “I love it!”
“The only question is, how should I go get him?” Brina asked me. “You have to be more understated with an older man.”
“Brina, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you about that.” I felt more confident than ever that Mr. Steve was on the up-and-up. He and Bebe were acting like two crazy kids in love, so I couldn’t imagine why he would be writing to Brina at this point. In fact, I had a wholly different idea about who slp might be.
“I know what you’re gonna say, Trace, but let me make a confession first,” she said. “Steven winked at me a couple of times before Christmas vacation and once he even told me he liked my outfit.”
I ignored her complete and utter misconceptions about Mr. Steve. “Brina, what I was going to say is, don’t you think it could be someone our age? Or even younger?”
Brina screwed up her face like she’d just eaten my grandmother’s seafood potpie. “Junior meat? Perish the thought,” she said.
Little did she know the guy I suspected was slp wasn’t a junior. He was actually sophomore meat. I decided that wouldn’t go over well right now, so I filed the thought away for later and changed tactics. “Listen, I know for a fact it isn’t Mr. Perry.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because he’s dating someone seriously.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” I said. I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell Brina about Bebe and Mr. Steve’s relationship. I was afraid my new bunkmate might boot me because I’d been keeping it a secret for the past two months—and the last thing I needed was to be completely homeless. “Just promise me you won’t do anything crazy. I guarantee you’ll feel like a total fool if you do.”
“The only one crazy here is you.”
“Brina, just think about it logically,” I said. “Even if it was Mr. Steve—which it’s most definitely not—you couldn’t possibly
do anything about it until you graduate anyway. You’d get him fired, and you don’t need a poor, unemployed, very-much-older-than-you boyfriend on your hands.”
“Good point,” Brina said. “I’ll give it until the end of June, and not a moment later. Then I’ll let him know I know, and we can come out of the closet.”
“You don’t even know the guy,” I said, making a face at her.
“I know him well enough to know I could fall in love with him.”
“Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes. Brina knew Mr. Steve so little she had no idea he and my mom were all cozied up in bed right now.
“And what’s with this ‘Mr. Steve’ business?” she asked.
“Just being goofy,” I lied.
Later that week, Brina found me at my locker and punched me playfully in the arm. She looked flushed and was grinning like an idiot.
“I think I know who slp is,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” I said, surprised but happy that she seemed so into it. “So are you going to go for it?”
“Absolutely. Stu is so dreamy.”
“Stu?” I said, bewildered. We were obviously not on the same page like I thought we were. “The same Stu we both love to hate?”
“Make that one of us,” Brina said. “I don’t hate him anymore.”
“Why not?” I asked her. “I could give you a thousand reasons why you should.” Even as I said it, I realized that as much as I disliked Stu, he was Brina’s type times three, personifying every rotten quality she liked in a man. Arrogant? Yup. Cocky? Every inch of him. Lacking in the brains department? Stu was so brain-dead he couldn’t even qualify for dumb as a post. He was more like dumb as toast.
“Don’t even start,” she said. “We just didn’t understand him before.”
“What’s not to understand?” I asked, doing my favorite impression of him. “Duh, where’s the keg?”
“Do you know what his nickname is?” she asked me.