Prince Charming

by S. Celi

  Her head snapped as she looked over at me, her attention no longer on whatever bothered her on the console. “Slapped her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you—are you sure—”

  “I’m not lying.” I interjected, my annoyance growing.

  “In front of everyone?”

  “Not in front of everyone, Mom.” I leaned my head back against the leather headrest as the memories of that night pushed against my head. “Just me. Well, I think I was the only one who actually saw it. You know, they were off in a corner having an argument, and she was angry—”

  “Wait. Laine Phillips.” Mom twisted her lips to one side of her face, deep in thought. “Tell me which one that is, again? Is she that cute girl?”

  “She’s the one that’s a model.” I closed my eyes, still leaning against the seat. The back of my head began throbbing, and the dull ache snaked down my neck. “Blonde. Tall. Skinny. Really smart.” I stopped there, knowing better than to list all of Laine’s better qualities, because Mom didn’t know anything about my infatuation with her.

  “Oh, yes.” Mom sighed. “I remember her now. She went to one of the Catholic schools—St. Margaret’s.”

  “Until seventh grade.” I turned my head to her, and opened one eye. “Do you have any Tylenol? My head is killing me.”

  She opened up the console between the seats, and handed me the small bottle she kept in the car. “So he hit her?”

  “Yep.” I swallowed a couple of the pills. The way this conversation was going, I would need the whole bottle.

  She shook her head. “Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

  “No way,” I said, the headache spreading through the back of my head. “There was no mistaking it. He meant to hit her.”

  “So sad.” She clicked her tongue. “We have to go to the funeral honey. He’s dead.” Then she checked her watch. “Do you think they’ll come down soon?”

  “Why don’t you honk the horn?” I said, after I popped two more pills in my mouth. “Listen. It’s more than that with Laine. She’s not just a kid in my class. We’ve been—we’re—I don’t know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been sort of dating on and off, I guess.” I left the part out about how I almost lost my virginity just days ago to Laine. Mom didn’t need to know that. Ever. “In between her dating Evan on and off.”

  “Did she go to prom with Evan?”

  “Yeah,” I said bitterly. “She did. And now I just don’t know what to do, like if I should try to talk to her about what happened, and then there is the whole slapping—”

  Mom’s eyes moved from mine to the garage door by the kitchen. I followed her in time to see David, Blake and Bruce walk through the opening door. “Let’s talk about this later, honey. After the visitation.”

  David had to park the SUV in the First Presbyterian Church parking lot, three blocks from Truitt Funeral Home’s brick mansion. Everyone in Robert Hill, it seemed, had turned out for the visitation.

  Black bunting rimmed the mansion’s wide pillars. A long black limo and a black Hearse waited outside the front doors, and visitors who came to pay their respects wound their way down the circular driveway to the sidewalk. Everyone wore black, and many people concealed their faces behind large black sunglasses. We might as well have been at the funeral for a Hollywood celebrity.

  The five of us didn’t speak to each other as we waited in line. David nodded at people as they walked by, and my mom occasionally gave people a sad smile, but for the most part we stayed silent.

  To pass the time, I counted the people in line around us, and got to five hundred by the time we walked to the front door to sign the condolence book. It gave me a nice distraction from beating myself up over the fact that I hadn’t felt sad about Evan’s death for even a minute.

  “There are a lot of people here,” I muttered to my mom after I signed my name. “A lot.”

  “Did you expect anything less, Geoff?” She gave me one of those sideways looks that meant she wanted me to shut up, as she took my hand and led me into the main viewing room.

  Low lights and large stands of flowers in the Heritage High School colors of red, maroon, and yellow fanned out from Evan’s open casket coffin, which lay at the end of a long row. His family sat in a group of chairs off to the side of the casket. I sucked in my breath when I saw Laine sitting among them, and then I cursed myself because my dick got hard.

  What kind of an asshole got hard at a funeral?

  I stepped out of line for a moment, shoved my hands in my pants pockets, and forced myself to think about frogs. Frogs weren’t sexy; Frogs didn’t want to have sex with me, and I didn’t want to have sex with frogs. Frogs had beady eyes, and slimy backs. They didn’t wear sexy black peplum dresses with black netting across the chest and shoulders to funerals. They didn’t smell like bubblegum mixed with flowers and salt. And they didn’t toss me sad smiles, have long blonde hair or wear red lipstick.

  As we neared the casket, a woman passed out tissues. I handed mine to Mom because she started crying right when we walked in the front door of the funeral home. She was sentimental like that.

  “I hate these things,” Mom said, under her breath. “Reminds me of your dad.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Of course, Dad’s visitation and funeral didn’t have a fifth of the number of people this one did. He’d been such a quiet person, with few friends, but a good reputation. He said he’d liked it better that way, and that being a good person with a giving heart while on earth went further than being a famous one.

  “We should say something to his parents,” Mom whispered to me, as Blake and Bruce walked with David up to the front of the room. They stood in a row in front of the while casket, and for a moment they reminded me of three male Russian nesting dolls. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud, because it was not a good look for them.

  “Okay,” I said, because once again it was the proper thing to do. I stepped forward to view Evan’s body with Mom. He lay on a while pillow, and had his eyes closed. He wore a blue suit, and someone had nestled his Heritage and Ohio State football jerseys next to his shoulder. He didn’t look like he had been in an accident at all.

  After a few seconds, Mom pulled me over to the family. Evan’s mother, a stocky woman with a severe blonde bob, stood up from her chair. “Thank you for coming,” she said, in a voice tortured by years of cigarette smoking. She held onto the back of the metal chair in front of her with one hand, and shook my mom’s with the other.

  “Of course,” Mom replied, in a warm but still quiet voice. “We really are so sorry for you loss.”

  That was the kind of thing people said when someone died. I’d heard it hundreds of times after my dad passed away, and the words didn’t mean anything to me. I’m sure it didn’t mean anything to Evan’s mother, either, but she still hugged my mom.

  “I hate that this happened,” I said, as Mrs. Carpenter turned to embrace me. Over her shoulder, though, I locked eyes with Laine. She gave me another sad smile, and all I felt was confused. She hadn’t responded to any of the text messages, Facebook messages, or direct messages on Twitter I had sent her since Sunday. And, I admit, I’d sent more than a few.

  I’d sent about twenty-five.

  Now, seeing her in the funeral home, things had turned even more awkward. My brain swam in a mix of memories about the night we almost had sex, anger at Evan, confusion about her reaction to his death, sadness over the whole thing, and the desire to stand up in front of everyone and tell them the only girl I cared about was Laine Phillips. She didn’t belong in the middle of all this, playing grieving girlfriend to a guy who’d disrespected and mistreated her. She belonged with someone like me; someone who would never hurt her like that.

  Laine stood up after Mrs. Carpenter had released me, and hugged my mother. Their embrace lasted longer than it should have, and Laine hung onto my mother like a life raft. “Thank you for coming,” she said in a muffled voice a
gainst Mom’s shoulder.

  When she turned to me, Laine had a blank look on her face, just like she used to before this all happened. Anyone at this visitation who looked over and saw us would have thought we didn’t know each other. The blank expression and dullness behind her eyes wore on me, until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Who cared where we were?

  Time, once again, to man up.

  “I’m worried about you,” I said to her in a low voice. I grabbed her arm and gently pulled her closer to me so that only she could hear my next few words. “Really worried.”

  She glanced at the rest of the receiving line. “Not . . . not here, Geoff. I can’t . . . I’m just . . .”

  “I know you loved Evan.” My hand tightened on her arm, but I held my voice steady. “But I have to talk to you. You can’t ignore me anymore.”

  “I know.” She bit her lip. “Tomorrow. Come over tomorrow.” She sounded nervous and unsteady, and my heart quickened in my chest. At least, in the middle of all this confusion, I’d get to see her again.

  “What time?”

  “After seven,” she whispered. “That should work. After seven.”

  “Perfect,” I replied.

  I didn’t say any more, because she’d already turned away from me to greet another mourner at the visitation. She had a role to play, and we both knew it. I walked a few steps away and then turned to watch her. She played the grieving girlfriend so well.

  THURSDAY, MAY 9TH

  I PARKED THE car and tentatively walked up to the red front door at Laine’s house. What if she’d changed her mind? I shut my eyes as I rapped on the door, and prayed she hadn’t. I had to talk to her, and I needed to do it that night. It was the only way I could hope to understand her.

  The hall light came on, and the front door flew open about fifteen seconds after my last rap. Laine stood behind the door, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp on the hallway table. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and the light played up its natural wave. She had on a pair of tan yoga pants and a blue V-neck Xavier University shirt. She made this outfit as sexy as lingerie. All the blood rushed from my face.

  “Hey,” I said, uncertain. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.” I felt stupid as I glanced down at my jeans and polo shirt. Why the hell had I dressed as if this was some kind of date? Clearly it wasn’t. This was just like me—over thinking everything. I really needed to get a hold of myself. Again. For the ten thousandth time in three months.

  “No, it’s fine,” she replied. She motioned for me to come in, and the closed the door behind me. “I was just studying. I thought maybe you weren’t going to come.”

  Of course I was going to show up. This was Laine Phillips. After all this time, didn’t she realize who she was? Had she forgotten prom? Didn’t she see what she did to me? Didn’t she know what she did to everyone else in school?

  “You missed school today,” I whispered, trying to control myself, keep myself from coming across creepy.

  “I did.” She shrugged. “Just couldn’t deal with it today, and with the funeral . . . I was studying in the kitchen, just to take my mind off of stuff. So maybe we can study there?”

  “Study?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Studying. For the AP English test. That we have tomorrow?”

  “Oh, right. That old thing.” I’d studied for about five hours for that test, well under my usual. Even that afternoon as I skimmed the study guide while in my room, the words all mushed together like a stew of letters. I couldn’t concentrate on any of that. Not with all that had happened recently.

  “I guess I should study for that.” I hesitated. “But of course, I didn’t bring my books or my iPad.”

  “I guess you’re lucky that I have to take the test tomorrow, too.” She turned and sauntered down the hall, clearly expecting me to join her. I let my eyes fall on her butt for a couple of seconds before I did. She had one of those great ones, round and perky. The tan yoga pants hugged it in a certain way, and I wondered if we’d get much studying done at all.

  Not that I showed up hoping to study.

  “Do you want something to drink?” she asked once we reached the small kitchen. She opened up the refrigerator door, and pulled out a Diet Coke. I took a seat at one of the barstools tucked underneath the granite countertop that jutted out like an “L” from the sink. A couple of open books and Laine’s iPad littered the top.

  “Sure, I’ll take one, too. Looks like you’ve been really working hard here.”

  “Whatever, it’s all running together at this point.”

  “Yeah, for me, too. I guess I just thought maybe it’d be tough for you to study, because of Evan.”

  “Right. Evan. God, it’s like he’s everywhere,” she said, as she poured the drinks into two glasses. “I’m glad you came over, because now we have a chance to talk.”

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking of prom night. “We do need to talk.”

  She sat down on the other bar stool, and handed me a glass. “So,” she said after a moment, “prom night was . . . something.”

  I gulped down half of my drink, but even as I did, my mouth ran dry from anticipation. “Okay. What do you mean?”

  “Nothing bad. Just that I didn’t want it to end.”

  “Well, neither did I.”

  “But it’s bad that I feel that way, Geoff.” Her left hand swiped at a single tear that fell down her cheek. “We were having so much fun that night, and, while we were, Evan was lying on the side of the highway in a car crash.”

  “He died instantly. They said so on the news.”

  “It’s just so—so wrong of us.” She looked away, and her eyes fell on something in the kitchen. I didn’t try to figure out what. “My parents weren’t mad when I came home, in case you wondered about that. They were more upset than anything else. Of course, they knew all about Evan’s accident.”

  “I’m not sorry about prom, Laine. I would do it again the same way. Even if I knew what happened next. I mean, what happened next with Evan.”

  “Geoff, I’ve been so confused . . .”

  “Confused?”

  “I wanted Evan to figure himself out, and get better. Stop being so angry all the time. I didn’t want him to die. And now it doesn’t feel right that I like you so much.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Let me ask you something. Why did you sit down next to me in the library that day?”

  She smiled. “Back in January?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Laine cocked her head, like she was thinking of it. While she did, I held my breath, and it occurred to me just how much I really wanted to know the answer to this question. Why hadn’t I asked her before? Why did it take something so drastic for me to really talk to her?

  “Because you looked safe.”

  “I looked safe?” I choked the words out. “Me?”

  “Evan exploded in the breezeway at school. I was late meeting him, and he yelled at me then told me to fuck off. I was supposed to give him a ride home, but he got one from Monica. That was the second time he’d yelled at me like that.” She broke off, and put her head in her hand. Her fingers covered her face and muffled her next words. “The first time he yelled at me that way, it ended with Evan punching my arm instead of my bedroom wall.”

  “Holy shit, Laine.”

  She didn’t look up from her hand. “I walked by the library, and when I looked through the glass doors, I saw you. And you looked so nice. So different than Evan.”

  I snorted, and she pulled her head from her hand. “Come on. Really? I’m nobody.”

  “You’re somebody, Geoff. Everyone is somebody.”

  My thoughts raced through every second of that afternoon in the library. “But you didn’t seem like you’d just been yelled at.”

  “What can I say?” She gave me a sad smile. “I’m good at hiding things. Faking it. That’s my specialty.”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s really sad you went through all this,” I said, still in disbelief about wha
t she’d said. Out of instinct, I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder. “And no one ever came running to me—”

  Her rosebud lips twisted. “First time for everything.” She inhaled a huge breath. “You’re the one person at Heritage High who sees me for who I am. You’re the one person who lets me be myself. You never ask me to be someone I’m not. And you’re funny.”

  I sat back, stunned. If I’d known that was all it took, I’d have asked her out years ago, instead of waiting for life to throw us together during the final few hours of high school. Jesus Christ. Was that the secret to this whole thing? Was that the secret to her?

  “You don’t care about image,” she continued. “Well, at least, not when it comes to me. And when I’m with you, I’m relaxed.”

  “I’m relaxed when I’m with you, too.” It might have been an overstatement on my part, but it sounded good in my head. It sounded like something someone would say in a movie, which was kinda of the way life made me feel at that moment.

  She looked down at the tile floor. “When I got home and my parents said Evan died, I didn’t know what to do. Part of me still had feelings for him . . . and I felt horrible about it because I had just almost had sex with you, so I just decided I wouldn’t do anything. I know he wasn’t a good person in the end, but he’s dead. And that makes it all feel different.” She sighed, then got up and walked over to the fridge. She opened it and then fiddled around inside, like whatever it offered her would be the key to everything in life.

  I got up and followed her after a couple of seconds. “Look, Laine, let me tell you something. I’m not really good at this stuff.”

  She turned around, an unopened Diet Coke in her hand. “I’m not really great at this either. Evan’s the only I’ve even been with.”

  “Maybe it’s time to be with someone else.”

  “Who? You?” She bit back a smile.

  “Yeah. Me.” I swallowed. “You should be with me, Laine. I won’t treat you the way he did. Ever.” I reached out and put my hand on the door, closing the door and boxing her against it at the same time. “You’re really gorgeous.”