As soon as the waitress comes to our table, I tell her “Scrambled eggs and a side of dry toast. A cup of coffee, lots of cream and sugar.”
The waitress smiles nervously, “Don’t you want a menu?” She speaks with a kind of funny twang, not quite southern and wears her hair in braids. We are definitely in Kansas.
“No,” I growl. “Just want to eat.”
“Please excuse our rude friend. She has her period.”
I throw a bunch of sugar packets at him that I was sucking down because my hunger pains hurt that bad.
The waitress laughs, but her eyes are a little scared-bunny. Maybe people don’t openly say the word “period” in Kansas? I once knew a girl from camp who came from Kansas, and she said everyone is a born again evangelical Christian. Those people don’t even have dirty filthy things like periods, I bet. They piss holy water as my friend told me.
Peter shakes his head. “I’ll take some waffles and sausage.”
Larry looks at both of us and then sighs. “Guess we won’t look at the menu. I’ll take an egg white omelet. You do do that here, right?” The waitress nods, her face morphing from scared to annoyed. By now I think she’s noticed our New England/New York accents, I’m sure.
“I’ll take that, and do you have some kind of latte or cappuccino?”
She nods again, her mouth now tight, and her eyes flashing.
“Fantastic! I’ll take one of those.”
“Which one?” She asks him and for a moment she grips that menu like she is going to strike him over the head with it.
I close my eyes and lean into Larry while we wait for our food. Even with not showering since we left (we do these quick spritzes at each rest stop, and I even have learned how to take a partial shower in the sink), he smells good, and unless it’s the poor lighting, he has the face of a young blondish Tom Cruise…which makes sense since Peter is a little obsessed with Tom, and it sort of rubbed off on me.
I think I’m delirious from hunger and driving because I say, “You’re kind of cute.”
Larry turns his face, and we are nose-to-nose in the booth. “Thanks.” He smiles, flashing perfect teeth.
But the food arrives, and no cute boy is more important than those eggs at the moment. The plate doesn’t hit the table before I dig in.
Midway into the meal, while I’m done already and slumped into the corner of the booth, Peter leaves for the bathroom.
Larry asks, “You don’t drink, Maddie?” He sips his cappuccino then puts it down. “Ever?”
I open one eye and maybe because I’ve been refueled. I shoot back, “You don’t try girls? Ever?”
“Ha, ha.” He waves his fork at me.
I close my eyes again and begin a fantasy of seeing Justin for the first time. His eyes…
“I’ll answer you, if you tell me first.”
With my eyes still closed I say, “What’s with the q and a about me? Don’t you want dirt on Peter, so you can fill in that need-to-know sheet of yours?
“Peter’s an open book.”
This time I laugh. “Hell-to-the-no! I had no idea he was gay until last year.”
Larry makes a kind of noise and says, “I know the whole story.”
My eyes are totally open now. “Really?”
“Really.” He smirks. “No secrets. I know it all. Except I can’t figure you out, and since you are the other half of Peter, now I have a need-to-know list about you.”
“He’s got a point, Maddie.”
“You’re back from your—what was that a whole shower in the sink?” I see that his hair is a little damp. “Man, you were gone a long time.”
He pulls his wallet out. “I’ll go pay for this while you two try to unlock the mystery that is Maddie.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head, and I scowl.
After Peter walks to the register, Larry and I turn back to each other.
“I’ve never been drunk.” I confess. “Is it a conscious choice not to drink? I don’t know. It’s never seemed, I don’t know, necessary.”
I can’t tell what he’s thinking by the expression he has.
“I’ve tried girls and…there’s a part of me that thinks I’m bi.”
“Bi-curious or bi-confused?” I say, very authoritative on the subject thanks to multiple trips to the Bisexual-Gay-Straight Alliance with Peter.
Larry doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty.
We don’t continue because Peter returns and announces: “We are taking a break. A real one. With a real shower that’s not in a friggin’ sink. Let’s get back on track to Nebraska and then we are stopping at the first decent hotel.”
. . . . .
“Was your almost kiss and boob-touch with Maddie like some kind of gay test?”
Larry’s been quiet for a record twenty minutes, and this is what he comes out with. I shake my head. Peter navigates the car to the left as we approach the exit for the hotel. Then he replies, “Not entirely. Although I guess you could look at it that way…And I failed that test.”
I stretch my arms out and say, “For me it was a way to see if those rumors about us were true. Let’s see if Susan’s jealousy is founded on anything real. You know when they were a couple, she was super jealous of my friendship with Peter and when Justin and I broke up, her jealousy was nuts. I think I gave Peter my boob to see if I could stop being so friggin’ depressed for five seconds.” I turn back to Larry in the backseat. “Not a test for me.”
Peter turns into the parking lot of the hotel.
“Sounds like you wanted Peter’s shit.” Larry leans forward and puts his chin on my chair.
I resist backhanding that chin and say, “I did not want his shit. But you have to admit, our whole relationship, up until that point, was kind of suspicious.”
“You mean like why hadn’t we ever hooked up?” Peter glances at me.
“Yeah, I, apparently, was pretty clueless about your preference for boys.”
“So was I,” Peter sighs.
Larry is eerily quiet.
We park the car and busy ourselves with getting our things. We rummage through our bags and throw a change of clothes and some toiletries together, all into a few empty grocery bags we find in the trunk. As we schlep to the automatic doors of the hotel, Larry says, only loud enough for me to hear, “Would you be my gay test?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peter. Apparently, he heard because his jaw is to the floor.
I don’t answer.
. . . . .
Larry gets us a room with two twin beds and a pull-out couch. As we pass through the lobby to the elevator, we see a pool in the courtyard, glistening and empty. The temperature is about eighty degrees according to the way-too-cheery, corn fed concierge.
“Pool first. Then dinner in that restaurant downstairs,” I say as Larry slides the automatic key into the slot of the door.
We push into the room, and I drop my suitcase next to the pull-out couch.
Peter goes to check out the bathroom, and Larry opens the curtains to see what sort of view we have. Parking lot…with some pink and yellow gardens. Not too bad. Then he turns to the snack bar next to the flat screen TV.
“Don’t even open that, because we’ll have to pay.”
“You won’t have to pay, Peter. I’ll have to pay, Daddy will have to pay, and we are on vacation, so I say…snack bar away.” He breaks the plastic strip that holds the fridge closed. As I head to the bathroom, behind me I hear bottles clinking and the rustle of packages opening.
I hear them laughing and the sound of someone sitting down on
the bed. When I come out of the bathroom, Peter and Larry are sitting on the bed…drinking from the tiny bottles of alcohol. I recognize the clear liquid as vodka and then see another, more opaque bottle in Peter’s hand, mint Schnapps. Barb used to frequent both poisons.
But because I’m on a road trip and because Peter’s doing it, which somehow makes it seem safe, I walk over to the fridge and take inventory. Four more small bottles…two vodkas, two small mini bottles of some kind of white wine. This is supposed to be a big moment, like losing my virginity or something. Which, in a way, I am. I grab the vodka. Somewhere in the files of my mind about Barb’s years drinking, I remember her telling me that vodka doesn’t make you sick.
As I crack open the bottle, Larry says, “Wait! Wait! Come here.” He pats the space next to him on the bed. Peter is oddly quiet and looks glassy-eyed already. I know Peter’s experience with alcohol is limited to his summers in Europe, so he’s as much of a lightweight as me.
We clink bottles.
“Cheers!”
“To our road trip!”
“To Maddie being reunited with Justin!”
“To helping the gays!”
“To my Bubbie getting better!”
“To—”
“To us!”
“To us!”
“To us!”
Clink, clink, clink.
Drink…drink…drink…
. . . . .
Although we are strewn over the bed and clearly drunk off our asses, we’ve decided to swim.
“Pool party, bitches!” Larry says rolling off the bed and walking crookedly to his bag. Peter rolls over and lays his head on my shoulder as we watch Larry try and fail several times to open his bag. We all giggle.
“I’m gonna go, too,” I say into Peter’s hair. He murmurs and rolls away from me. I sit up slowly, like I took too many of the pills Dr. Foster prescribed.
I grab the bag with my stuff and rummage for my bathing suit, I whip off my shirt and pants. Shimmy out of my underwear and bra and put on my suit. The two of them stare at me with their mouths hanging open.
“What?” I say to them. Peter shakes his head. I turn to Larry and say, “Here’s your gay test…” Then I shimmy my boobs. Something I’m positive I’ve never done in my life unless it was in a dance class or something.
Larry’s eyes get big.
Peter grabs Larry’s hand and pulls him towards me. “Go ahead. That’s how I found out.”
But I’ve shimmied myself too hard and have fallen backwards. This makes us crack up, and soon we forget my boobs and gather our drunk asses up and go to the pool.
. . . . .
A few hours later, ribs sore from laughing, I flop myself down on a pool lounge next to Larry. I’m not sure how much I’ve had to drink, but I’m pretty sure the three of us cleaned out the mini bar.
“You know you’re drunk,” Larry informs me.
I lean back into the lounger and close my eyes. “My first time. And it didn’t even hurt.” When I open them, Larry’s sitting on the edge of my chair, looking at me intensely.
And then without any kind of warm up or conversation, he’s kissing me. And all of a sudden in the middle of this, I slowly uncoil inside. A wave of heat overwhelms me and then the nausea and bile begin to rise. I push away just in time before I vomit all over the lounger and all over the concrete next to me.
I should know better than to kiss a gay boy. Isn’t this what happened last time I tried?
. . . . .
I open my eyes and am unsure of where I am. My eyes travel the ceiling above me and then circle down to the bed. I try to move my arms, but they are very heavy. Then I look to the side and sitting on the edge of the bed is Peter. That’s when I remember everything. The kiss. The vomit. The falling down onto Larry. The cleaning up my own vomit. The dragging myself, crying up to the room. The boys behind me. Then just collapsing into the bed.
“Peter?” I ask him. My mouth tastes gross and yeasty.
“Hey.” He smooths my hair and smiles. His eyes are glassy and red. I know from experience with Barb that you can stay drunk long after you’ve finished your last drop.
“Peter,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”
“It’s fine. Gay test my ass.”
Just then the bathroom door opens. Larry stumbles out and flops onto the bed next to me.
“Sorry, Maddie. Peter,” he mumbles into the pillow.
“It’s okay,” I say to the back of his head.
Larry turns and all of the sudden he bursts into tears.
I struggle to sit up. Everything is spinning. I touch his back. “Hey. It’s fine. People do stupid shit when they’re drunk. Believe me, I’ve seen that about a million times.”
Peter doesn’t make a move to comfort Larry.
Larry wipes his nose into the pillow. “I’ve never kissed anyone.” He makes a face like he doesn’t want to cry again. “I lied to you, Peter. All I’ve ever heard about sex is that I better not do it or I’m going to hell. Christianity doesn’t really make being any sexuality easy.”
“But you seem,” Peter searches for the right word, but then changes his mind and just says, “like you know so much.”
“No, I really don’t. I just read a lot,” Larry tells him.
We all look at each other. Then I get a brilliant idea.
“I think you should all go brush your teeth. Maybe even shower. Then you need another gay test.” I pause for dramatic effect. “One with Peter.”
I haven’t been able to read Peter. He’s almost indifferent…except now. There’s a look across his face that I’ve never seen. Not with Jack. Not with me.
Without a word Peter gets up and goes to the bathroom. Larry and I flip the TV on like a couple of normal teenagers hanging out in a hotel room. Five minutes later, Peter comes out with wet hair and smelling of scope.
Then Larry goes wordlessly into the bathroom. Peter lies next to me on my bed and puts his arm around me. I lie on his chest. We don’t talk either. Ten minutes later, out comes Larry. Spicy sweet cologne fills the room. My turn. I go to the bathroom and take a good half hour. I scrub every part of my body and wash my hair three times. I even shave my legs. By the time I’m done I am practically sober and wondering if I should get my own room now.
When I open the door, Peter and Larry lie on the bed facing each other, talking quietly. No need for a gay test after all.
Time to call Justin again.
. . . . .
“Maddie.”
“Hi.”
“Where are you? Are you here already?”
My heart flutters.
“We should be there tomorrow night. I just wanted to let you know.” So lame sounding…
“That’s great. Cool, um…I’m probably about an hour from where your grandmother is. We can meet for lunch at my uncle’s restaurant. It’s right in Fishermen’s Wharf.”
God…he plans stuff too. So much has changed.
“Sure.” I turn away from Peter and Larry and walk into the bathroom. “That sounds good…that sounds great.” I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror now…Deep bags in my eyes. I try to fluff my hair as I say, “I can’t wait to see you.” I close my eyes, hoping he says the right thing back.
“You have no idea how much I want to see you too.”
I smile. “Good night, Justin.”
“Good night, Maddie.”
Chapter Seven
“You be the lookout.”
After our excursion with alcohol
, all the three of us wanted to do was sleep. We slept a full twelve hours, had lunch, then got back on the road and have been driving straight since.
I turn into my grandmother’s condo complex. The condos are all white with green trim. Some of them have garages and all of them have a deck off the back that overlooks the ocean. The grass is a brilliant emerald green and perfectly manicured. The sun is a yellow object following alongside me as I drive.
Just as we are about to turn onto my grandmother’s street, Larry says, “We should have flowers or something for Bubbie.”
“You’re right,” I say.
“I know what we can do. Pull over to the side. Let me out for a second,” Larry says.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Peter, come with me. Maddie, you stay in the car and be the lookout.” Larry flashes a devilish smile at me.
I watch them run down to an island of land with a garden of yellow, purple, and white flowers that separates the road we are on with the road that leads to Bubbie’s condo. Larry and Peter each take a side of the garden, and I watch them pick the flowers. I look behind me every few seconds, knowing the strict rules and regulations of the neighborhood. One time, Barb and I went on flower picking adventure…and promptly got caught by a very crusty old man. I pull my legs up and lean into the window watching. When they meet in the middle of the garden, almost head to head, they stop, still each holding a full bouquet. Larry stands all the way up and then Peter. They stand there for a minute, and it doesn’t look like either one of them are saying anything. Larry moves closer. They are exactly the same height. Peter moves his hand as if he is going to touch Larry’s arm, but it’s Larry who puts his hand right up to Peter’s face and pulls him close. They both still have the flowers and still hold them while they kiss. It kind of makes me think of a wedding. I don’t turn away when they kiss, and my heart is full for them. They linger after the kiss but then seem to be laughing and looking around as if worried someone might see them. Then Larry grabs the flowers Peter is holding and puts them all together. They dart back to the car and open the door, breathless and smiling.
Till it Stops Beating Page 15