Stop, Don't Stop

by Jonah Black

  “To Jonah!” Thorne and Posie cheered.

  I wanted to sit down but I couldn’t. Honey was in my chair.

  “Hero of the High Dive,” Honey said. “Prince of the Eleventh Grade! King of Don Shula High! Jonah Black, Teenage Stud!”

  Everyone laughed and drank their wine.

  “We are very proud of you, Jonah,” said my mother.

  “Yes, we’re very proud of you,” Honey said. “Bonehead.”

  “Jonah,” said Posie, taking my hand. “Who was that on the phone?”

  WILL JONAH AND POSIE EVER GO ALL THE WAY?

  WILL NORTHGIRL999 EVER REVEAL HERSELF?

  WILL JONAH EVER TALK TO SOPHIE AGAIN?

  FIND OUT IN THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF

  JONAH BLACK’S JOURNAL . . .

  The Black Book

  [DIARY OF A TEENAGE STUD]

  VOL. III: RUN, JONAH, RUN

  Nov. 2, 5:24 P.M.

  So now I’m just lying here around the house feeling depressed. I’m not going to the Lemon concert, and everyone hates me. And I can’t go to Posie’s party because I said I wasn’t going and if I show up now everyone will think I ditched poor Cecily just for some stupid party, and they’ll realize what an insensitive bastard loser I am.

  Honey is lying outside by the pool talking to the alumni representative from Harvard. His name is Lockwood Winthrop and he’s like, thirty-five. Honey asked him if anybody calls him Woody, and he said no, so now she’s calling him Woody, which she thinks is hilarious.

  She’s taking him to Posie’s Halloween party. Woody has a Bill Clinton mask. Actually, Honey got them both Clinton masks, but she isn’t wearing hers. She got out the same costume she wore last year, which is a black widow spider. She looks pretty good as a spider.

  I can’t tell what Woody thinks, but he seems to be handling it pretty well.

  What I can’t figure out is this: Does Honey really not want to go to Harvard? Is that why she’s toying with this guy’s mind? I don’t know. Maybe Harvard likes that kind of thing. Maybe the wackier she is the better.

  Nov. 3, 12 noon

  Here we are on November the third. I know the first of November is All Saints’ Day, and the second is All Souls’ Day. I don’t know what the third is, but it’s feeling like All Sex Day. I don’t know who the patron saint of sex is, but if there is one I should light a little candle for her.

  I went to Posie’s party last night after all. In disguise. After Honey and Woody headed out I saw that they’d left the extra Bill Clinton mask by the pool. I picked it up, and then I got this idea. I went inside and I put on my good blue suit, and the mask, and then I looked in the mirror. I was one tall, skinny former president.

  Then I got on my bike and rode over to Posie’s, but it was too hard to see in the mask so I took it off. About a block from her house I ditched the bike and chained it to a fence. Then I pulled on the mask and headed into the party.

  I walked from room to room, and nobody knew who I was or when I’d arrived. I think a lot of people just assumed I was the guy who’d arrived with Honey Black, the Harvard guy.

  The party was insane. I was a little surprised, because it was a lot more out of control than I’d expected from Posie. There was a keg in the basement, with a big crowd of people standing around it. Most of the lights in the house were out and the whole place was lit by candles. There was a boom box or a stereo in almost every other room, so you could kind of move from place to place and select your atmosphere. The basement, where the keg was, was strictly hard-core music. Upstairs, in the living room, they were listening to some sort of acid jazz. It was very cool and sophisticated, and Ricky Anderson was sitting at the baby grand piano picking out chords along with the music. Everybody in that room was sitting around the fireplace, with these big smiles on their faces, like they were high as kites. Honey was sitting in there with Woody, and she was doing imitations. First she did Billie Holiday and then she did Bonnie Raitt. I had no idea she had such a good voice. My sister has talents I don’t even know about.

  The Harvard guy seemed totally drunk. I mean, I don’t know what they’d been doing between the time they left the house and then, but Woody couldn’t even get a word out without slurring it, and he kept knocking over his wineglass. I wondered if this was all part of Honey’s plan. At one point, right after she did this really impressive Aretha Franklin, Honey looked up at me and winked, and I realized that of all the people at the party, the only one who knew I was me in my Bill Clinton mask was Honey.

  Later I went into the kitchen, where people were making themselves mixed drinks out of the Hoffs’ liquor cabinet. There was this girl Lindsey, who was sort of like the toastmaster or something. She was making these custom cocktails and handing them around. I saw her mix tequila, root beer, and this thick red syrup called Grenadine and give it to this other girl Wendy and she called it a Shrunken Head Float. Wendy sipped it and said, “It’s good!”

  Lindsey looked at me. “You want one?” she offered. I said no, then she said, “Tell you what, Mr. President, I’ll make you something special!” She poured Jack Daniels whiskey and apple cider into a shaker and shook it up and poured it into a short glass and put in one of those red cocktail cherries. Then she handed it to me. “All for you, Mr. President,” she said.

  I tasted it and said, “Well, sweetheart, that tastes mighty nice!” Just like Bill Clinton, with an exaggerated Southern accent.

  “Taste it,” Lindsey said.

  So I did. “You mix one mean little cocktail, ma’am. You wanna be my intern?” I said.

  Lindsey laughed again like this was really witty. Then she came over to me and leaned against me so her breasts were right up against my shirt, and she said, “Why, Mr. President, I’d love to be your little intern!” Then she turned around and she showed me her underwear, which was a thong.

  At that exact moment, Wailer came into the kitchen and he was very drunk. “Yo, Lindsey, you know what I want,” he slurred.

  “I’ll see you later, Mr. President,” she said, and then she went and made another Shrunken Head Float for the star of the diving team and I got the hell out of there. I still hadn’t seen Posie anywhere.

  I left the kitchen and walked sort of aimlessly through the Hoffs’ house. I passed by the bedroom of Posie’s little sister, Caitlin, and for a second it took my breath away because when I first saw her I thought she was Posie. I always thought of Caitlin Hoff as this little girl in pigtails, but there she was, lying on her stomach on her bed, doing homework of all things. She really did look exactly like a younger version of Posie. I just stood there in my Bill Clinton head, and Caitlin looked up at me in disgust. So I moved on. I guess Caitlin Hoff is a Republican.

  It was pretty quiet upstairs. I peed in Posie’s parents’ bathroom, which felt kind of illicit, even though I’d done it before, but that was when her parents were home. It’s a weird bathroom, with mirrors on all four walls and even the ceiling. I looked in the mirror and this infinity of Bill Clintons looked back at me. I wagged my finger at myself. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman. With Sophie O’Brien. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the nation’s business.”

  Actually, Bill Clinton is starting to feel like a long time ago. Still, he’s hard to beat for laughs. Anyway, I left the bathroom to attend to the nation’s business, or whatever, and I heard voices coming from Posie’s room. I went down the hall and I thought I heard Posie laugh, so I knocked briefly and opened the door.

  And there was Thorne with all his clothes off, on Posie’s bed, lying next to Luna Hayes, who was also naked. She was holding Posie’s teddy bear, Mr. Tummy.

  I stood there staring at them, not sure whether to be embarrassed or angry. Thorne looked back at me with an expression I’d never seen on his face before. He looked ashamed. Like he knew he was doing something wrong but the only reason he’d done it was because he didn’t think he’d get caught. And now he was caught.

  “B-Bill Clinton!” he stuttered, p
ulling the sheet over himself.

  “Thorne Wood?” I said, pointing at him. I was still speaking in this fake Arkansas accent.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Thorne Wood, you are a son of a bitch,” I said.

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Luna was holding the sheet over her breasts and looking at Thorne like she was wondering why he didn’t just deck me so they could get on with it.

  I didn’t have anything else to say, but I felt like I had to do something, so I threw the rest of my drink in Thorne’s face. And then I left. My body was shaking all over.

  I was so mad. Goddammit, what was wrong with Thorne, anyway? He was going out with one of the greatest girls in the whole world, but then he had to go and have sex with some other girl at Posie’s own party in Posie’s own bedroom? I mean, I’m not a prude or anything, but I do think there are some things that are just plain wrong, and this is definitely one of them. I don’t think you can get any lower.

  I went back into the bathroom, the one with all the mirrors in it, so I could splash some water on my face. But there was a guy in there washing his hands. It was Woody from Harvard.

  For a moment the two of us just stood there, in that room full of mirrors, two Bill Clintons kind of checking each other out. We circled around each other, and everything that he did, I kind of mirrored. Like, Woody put his hand on his nose, and I put my hand on my nose. Then Woody scratched his head, and I scratched my head. It was pretty bizarre. It’s funny how people behave differently when they’re wearing a mask. I mean, we were being total freaks.

  Finally Woody said, “Nice costume.”

  So I said “Nice costume” back.

  Then he said, “You go to school with these kids?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It’s different at college,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  “What’s different about it?” I asked him.

  “Well. At college no one knows who you used to be. You can be anyone you want,” he said.

  “That’s good?” I said.

  “Definitely. You can kind of make yourself up from scratch. Be the person you always wanted to be. Instead of who everyone thinks you are.” He paused. “Women love it. You can be like, Mystery Guy.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “Absolutely. The less women know about you, the more they can make up in their heads. They can pretend you’re their knight in shining armor. Instead of, you know, just you,” Woody said. He tried to take a sip of his drink through the mouth hole in his mask and dribbled some on his shirt. There was a big red stain on his chest from a whole night’s worth of dribbling.

  I thought what he was saying sounded like something Thorne would come up with. It sounded like a bunch of bullshit.

  “So,” Woody said. “Have you ever thought about going to Harvard?”

  “You know what?” I said, leaving the bathroom. “I wouldn’t go there for a million dollars.”

  I ran downstairs and went outside to cool off. But I couldn’t cool off, I was still so mad.

  As I was standing there on the Hoffs’ stoop Posie came up to me, just out of the blue.

  “Is that you, Woody?” she said.

  “No, it’s not Woody. It’s me, Bill Clinton,” I said in my exaggerated Arkansas accent. I was getting pretty good at it.

  I couldn’t stop staring at her. Posie was dressed as a mermaid, complete with a long fishtail made of interlocking green foil leaves that dragged on the ground. The top half of her body was bare except for a green string bikini top, and her skin and hair were covered in gold glitter. She was all twinkly. She was unbelievable.

  “I thought you were inside sitting around the fire with Honey Black and everyone,” Posie said.

  “No, ma’am.” I couldn’t get enough of her. I wished that I had come to the party as a fisherman. Or something.

  She looked at me and grinned. “You aren’t Woody, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  She lifted a little bottle of brandy to her lips and took a good swig. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So tell me, Mystery Man. Have you seen Thorne?” she said.

  “I sure as hell have,” I said, in my own voice.

  “So where is he?” Posie said, not noticing the difference.

  “Oh, ah don’t know, ma’am. He’s inside, or something. I reckon.” I reverted to Bill Clinton again, but I couldn’t quite remember how I’d done the voice. My anger at Thorne was wrecking my whole act.

  “Come on. Where is he?” Posie said urgently. “You know.”

  “Ah-ah don’t, ma’am. I don’t . . . ah just . . .” I stuttered.

  Actually, at that exact moment I really felt like Bill Clinton, standing there and lying to people. Except that I wasn’t the one who’d been having sex; it was Thorne. There I was feeling all the guilt and pangs of conscience for something that Thorne had done.

  I looked at Posie, and she looked at me, and for a moment our eyes locked. I couldn’t believe she didn’t know it was me behind the mask. I mean, couldn’t she tell it was me from my eyes?

  “Where is he?” she said, quietly. “I need to know.”

  I suddenly realized that my lying to Posie to protect Thorne made absolutely no sense. I mean, why was I trying to save his ass, given the sorry state of things? But then I realized that it wasn’t Thorne I’d been trying to protect all along. I mean, sure, I didn’t want Posie to be angry at him, but that was never the point. The point was, I was protecting Posie. I didn’t want her to find out, once again, that she’d given her heart to some guy who turned out to be a liar. And I didn’t want to be the one to tell her, because I didn’t want her connecting the bad news with my face. Wearing a mask made the whole thing a lot simpler.

  “Posie,” I said. “I saw him in your room.”

  “In my room?” she said, slowly. “Really?”

  I nodded. “He was in there with Luna. The two of them.”

  “Luna? He was in there with . . .” Posie inhaled sharply and raised her hand to her mouth. “Were they . . . ?”

  I nodded again. “Yeah.”

  “I knew it!” she gasped, stamping one foot. “Goddammit, I knew it. Well, I’m going to go up there and punch him in the goddamn nose. Who does he think he is? I’m going to friggin’ keel-haul him, the bastard!”

  I touched her arm. “Posie,” I said. “Don’t be angry. Just forget him. He’s not good enough for you.”

  “You can say that again,” she said. She looked down at my hand and then up at my eyes again.

  “What you need is someone who loves you,” I said. “Someone who realizes what you are.”

  “Which is what, exactly?” Posie asked me.

  “A total miracle,” I told her. I couldn’t help myself. It was the truth.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to go up there,” she said softly, “and kill him.” She spun around and started toward the stairs, then she stopped and turned back to me.

  “Hey,” she said. “Who are you, anyway?”

  I hesitated for a moment, and Posie started walking toward me. She couldn’t walk very fast because she was dragging her mermaid tail behind her. I turned and started down the flagstone walkway to the street. “Hey,” Posie called. She was trying to run after me, but the giant tail only let her take little awkward steps.

  I started to run. “Hey! Come back here!” I heard Posie yell, but I was much too fast for her. I couldn’t see very well through the mask, so I reached up and slid it off my head. The cool night air felt great, and I threw the Bill Clinton head onto the pavement. The mask made a flumping sound as it slapped onto the sidewalk.

  I ran for a block, and just as I turned the corner toward the place where my bike was stowed, I looked back.

  Posie was kneeling down on the sidewalk, holding the Bill Clinton mask. I remembered Cinderella’s slipper and wondered if Posie would spend the rest of her life looking for the mask’s owner, the one man whose face it fit.

>   Then I got back on my bike and headed home.

  Nov. 5, 7:45 A.M.

  I’m getting a ride into school with Honey this morning. I’m all dressed, but I haven’t come out of my room. Honey is listening to Mom talking to Katie Couric on the Today show in the living room, and she is laughing so hard she keeps falling off the couch.

  Katie Couric: What’s the most important thing you’d like to say to teenagers, or their parents, who might be listening to us this morning?

  Mom: Well, there are a lot of things I’d tell young people. But the most important thing is, there’s nothing wrong with pleasuring yourself. It’s totally normal. It’s a safe way of making yourself happy. Pleasuring yourself!

  Katie Couric: You have children, don’t you, Dr. Black?

  Mom: Yes, I do. I have a daughter, Honor Elspeth, and a son, Jonah George.

  Katie Couric: And have they read your book?

  Mom: Well, I know Jonah has. He’s really taken it to heart!

  Katie Couric: You mean he—

  I clamped my hands over my ears. “I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening!” I yelled.

  By the time I took my hands off my ears, all I could hear was Honey laughing and rolling off the couch again and hitting the floor.

  “Hey, Jonah!” she shouted. “You’re going to be famous!”

  (Still Nov. 5, 11:45 A.M.)

  Study hall. I’m sitting across from this very tiny girl with long brown hair. She is doing homework in a language which I think is Japanese because she’s using this inkwell and a quill pen. She keeps drifting off or something and nicking the quill against her lip and making these little black lines on her lip with ink. Now she’s coming out of her trance and she’s dipping the quill in the inkwell again and making some marks in her notebook but after a moment or two she starts looking out the window again. She’s just sitting there with the pen in one hand and the ink is starting to seep into her white shirt and I want to say something.