Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo
I take my first look at Robbie, the wonderful, the spectacular—
Oh …
Suddenly it’s as if everything is stopped dead and opened up, and I fell out. The air is humming and buzzing around me, or is it only inside my head? I catch his eyes, and it’s like I touch an electric current. Steffi! Surely she can see something’s happening, but she doesn’t seem to, because some place way back on the surface I hear her chattering on. I feel like I’ve been caught in a laser beam, something that stops me from moving or feeling anything….
“Victoria.” It’s Steffi’s voice coming through.
“Hi.” I jump in immediately, staring right past Robbie’s ear.
He puts out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
I don’t dare look at him. I don’t know what’s happening, but I hate it….
Read all of the books in the Victoria Martin trilogy.
My Mother Was Never a Kid
My First Love and Other Disasters
Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo
Available now from Simon Pulse
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Simon Pulse edition May 2003
Copyright © 1985 by Francine Pascal
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster
Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Designed by Ann Sullivan
The text of this book was set in Goudy.
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2002112349
ISBN 0-689-85990-2
ISBN 13: 978-0-689-85990-8
eISBN 13: 978-1-439-10466-8
love & betrayal & hold the mayo
One
This has to be the most exciting year of my life. For starters I finally made it to sixteen. Mathematically that should take only sixteen years, but with overprotective parents like mine, it seems more like thirty. Still, in the end they really came through. They gave me the most fantastic surprise sweet sixteen party.
My best friend Steffi helped them with the guest list, and what with friends and friends of friends and crashers, we had almost sixty people. My mother and father made all the food themselves, and it was fabulous. And the incredible thing was that I never saw them doing a thing. Even El Creepo (that’s Nina, my thirteen-year-old sister) helped. Nobody seemed to know exactly how she helped, but it didn’t matter, because the very best thing she did was to go away for the whole weekend. Do you know what it’s like not to have your thirteen-year-old sister at your Sweet Sixteen? It’s the best present in the world.
The party was a sensational success. Everybody in school was talking about it for weeks. My father is a lawyer, and one of his clients is a music arranger for the Rolling Stones, and we had their brand-new record, autographed by the arranger himself. It hadn’t even been released yet. It was the sensation of the party.
So was Jenny Groppo and her latest love, Robert Boyer. That’s her fourth steady this year, and it was only May. She’s probably going to have a thousand husbands before she’s finished. Anyway, she and Robert sneaked off to one of the bedrooms to make out (guess which bedroom the dummy picks?) and, of course, you-know-who walks into his own room and turns on the light right in the middle of some heavy stuff. That was last month, and my father is still recovering.
Now the second fabulous thing is starting. I’m packing my trunk to go away for the whole summer. I’m going to be a camper-waitress in a summer camp in the mountains in Upstate New York. Being a camper-waitress means that you wait on tables and get to be involved in all the camp activities. For all that, your parents have to pay only $740 out of the usual $1000 fee and the camp pays you a big $260. I know it’s not a whole lot of money, but Steffi says the place is terrific« She knows because she’s been going there for the last five years. It’s called Mohaph. Sounds like an Indian tribe, but it’s not—it’s named for the owners, Mo, Harry, and Phil.
The job is a snap. All we have to do is set the tables and serve three meals a day. We don’t wash the dishes or anything like that. Steffi and I figured it all out. You know how kids don’t like to sit at the table too long, so they jam the food down real fast and then they’re gone. We figured that each meal should take tops forty-five minutes from beginning to end, so that’s forty-five times three, or two hours and fifteen minutes of work a day, and then freedom!!! After that we can do whatever we want. Can you picture it—two hundred miles from home, completely on our own, with the easiest work in the world? And getting paid for it! I can hardly wait.
Another great thing is that I practically don’t have to wait. I mean, we’re leaving next week. The season doesn’t actually start for another week, but we’re going to get there early for a training period. Can’t imagine what kind of training anyone needs to serve dinner to a few kids. I could do it with my eyes closed.
There is one small drawback. My parents thought the place sounded so great that they signed up El Creepo as a camper. It’s a pretty big camp, though, so if I’m careful maybe I can keep far away. Except we’re not even there yet, and she’s giving me trouble already. I leave a week before she does, which means that anything I don’t take with me she’ll wear. I can’t fit all my things into one trunk, but the idea of her dancing around in my best clothes sends me right up the wall. Of course I can tell her not to touch my things, and, of course she’ll say she won’t. In fact she says she never does, but that’s baloney. The minute I leave this house, she’s into my wardrobe. Not only does she wear my things, but then she has the gall to lend them to her gross friend Annette, a greasy-haired beauty who probably hasn’t had a bath since Christmas. Just thinking about them almost makes me want to stay home. If only I could electrify my room. I wouldn’t even mind barbed wire.
I had a thing with her just last week about my fabulous new bathing suit. It’s a one-piece, white with gold threads running through it, cut high on the thighs and off one shoulder. Very sexy. Anyway, I’ve worn it only a couple of times. I was saving it for camp. I folded it very carefully, and every time I looked at it, it seemed to be slightly different. I don’t know, it just looked like someone was messing with it. Naturally I asked Nina, and naturally she swore she never touched it. The minute you ask her anything she always swears on everybody’s life she’s innocent. I try never to stand too close to her when she does that because, for sure, one day a bolt of lightning is going to get her. Anyway, I asked her nicely, and she denied it completely, but something about the way she said it made me suspect her.
“Look, jerk”—I stopped being so nice—“I know you’ve been at my bathing suit. And if you touch it once more, I’ll destroy you, Creepo!”
“I never touched your lousy bathing suit,” she lied, “and if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to tell Mommy! And don’t call me Creepo!”
“Try and stop me, Creepo.”
“It makes me
crazy when she lies straight out like that. “Oh, sorry, honey,” I said, not so accidentally knocking a pile of her newly folded underwear to the floor as I turn to make my exit.
“Mom!” she shrieked, like she was being murdered.
And my mother and Norman, our giant sheepdog, came running. They almost collided at the door, and Norman went bounding into the fallen laundry, sending it flying in all directions.
“What’s going on here?” my mother said, throwing up her hands and not waiting for an answer. “Can’t you girls get along for five minutes without fighting? For God’s sake, Nina, how many times do I have to tell you not to throw your clothes on the floor?”
“She did it!” the little ghoul said, pointing at me.
“Prove it,” I answered, staying very calm.
That did it. She went right into her crying act. She must have the most highly developed tear ducts in the world. She cries at least four times a day. She doesn’t even have to have a reason—all she needs is an audience, preferably my parents, who are the biggest suckers in the world when it comes to their baby.
She did the entire number about how I always blame her for everything; I’m always picking on her, and on and on. Naturally I denied everything, because it wasn’t true. She’s the one who makes my life miserable with her borrowing and lying and snooping and everything. We had this big argument with my mother in the middle and, of course, she took Nina’s side because she said you can’t just run around accusing people without any proof, and on top of that said I owed the creep an apology. Of course, I didn’t want to give her one, but my mother said I had to or I was grounded for the whole day.
There she was, the little creep, really winning, standing there in her room changing her clothes and telling me that I better apologize fast because she was in a hurry. And she had me, because my mother was standing right there, waiting. All the while she was unbuttoning her shirt and smiling that vomit smile, just waiting for me to start crawling.
I figured I’d make her pay for the next hundred years, but I was trapped right then, so I started to say how maybe I had misjudged her, and she was lapping it all up and asking for more when she began pulling off her shirt.
“She’s so mean to me, Mommy,” she said, “and I never even touch anything of hers.”
The biggest out-and-out lie of the century. And on and on she whined about how cruel I was to poor little innocent her. She pulled off her shirt and let her skirt drop, and my mother and I were standing there with our mouths hanging open. There she was, perfect little Saint Nina, standing there without a stitch on except for the outline of my one-shoulder bathing suit suntanned onto her skin.
It turned out to be a glorious day. For me, anyway. Nina spent the rest of it in her room, contemplating the disadvantages of messing around with her big sister. She probably didn’t learn anything except to cover her tracks better.
But that still doesn’t help me with my problem now. I’m not going to think about it anymore. With luck, she’ll get the flu for a week, and all she’ll borrow will be my nightgowns. I decided to hide my best nightgown behind my chemistry books.
Even though I’m very excited about going, there are a couple of things that make it sort of hard to leave. One is Todd Walken and the other is Judy First. Todd has been my boyfriend for the last three months. He’s terrific, and I like him very much. In fact I more than like him, but I don’t think I’m in love with him. At least not the way Steffi is in love with Robbie, the guy from camp. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever been in love that way. Steffi’s just totally gone on Robbie. Not even interested in anyone else at all. She must write to him at least twice a day, and she doesn’t even care if she never has another date with anyone else. I know I don’t feel that way about Todd, but I am very attracted to him, and I certainly like him more than anyone else at the moment. But I know that the minute I get on that bus, Judy First is going to move right into my territory.
She’s been dying to get near him all winter. She must have asked him to ten different things at her parents’ club and anything else she could think of. But he always said no because I was around. As of next week, I won’t be. Personally, I have nothing against Judy First. If Todd likes dumpy dodos with bananas for brains, dyed hair, and no personality, he’s welcome to her. Wait till he tries to drag that klutz around the dance floor. Of course, there is one thing she seems to do very well, and often, and with anyone. If that’s all he’s interested in, he’s going to have a wonderful summer.
Steffi says there’s no point in working myself up since the only way to solve the problem is to stay at home, and I’m certainly not going to do that.
Boy, I really hate that Judy First.
Why do they always stack up two good things and then make you choose? How nice it would be if everything were like this—would you like to spend the summer chatting with Nina or be a waitress in a summer camp? That’s the kind of choice I’d like to have.
It’s nearly impossible to decide what to take with me, particularly when everything I own is absolutely terrible. I must have the ugliest clothes in America. Even the things I pick out myself turn awful after a couple of weeks. Fortunately Steffi has some great things, and we’re the same size. That’s very important in a friendship, you know. And the best part is that she hates her clothing too. So we switch. I probably should be packing her trunk and she mine.
Every few minutes my mother comes in to tell me not to forget my heavy sweaters and my down jacket. And my rain boots. I can’t believe her. She must think I’m going to the North Pole or something. I shake my head yes, but I’m definitely not taking my rain boots. When will she ever learn that I’m not ten anymore? Never, I suppose. Funny, but sometimes when I hear my grandmother talking to my mother, it sounds like she’s talking to a little girl. I suppose if someone is your child, they’re always your child in some ways.
My aunt Laura gave me a beautiful case just for makeup for my birthday. I figure my makeup will fill that plus a couple of shopping bags, and then I can buy things up there if I need them.
Besides leaving Todd and my family, I’m a little nervous about the camp. I know I have Steffi, but she’s been going there for a long time, so she knows everybody and I know only her. What if I don’t like it? I can’t change my mind and just come home. I guess if it was awful I could, but when I take on something it’s very important to my parents that I go through with it to the end. My father, especially, is very firm about not being a quitter.
I’m going to miss them very much. Even though you’re sixteen, you can still get lonely for your parents. I know I did last year at Fire Island, especially when there was any trouble. I guess it’s natural to worry about something new. And I’m good at worrying. I hope there aren’t too many disgusting things, like bugs and wild animals. I’ve always lived in the city so the only animals I’m comfortable with are dogs and cats.
I am also going to miss Norman very much. Norman has been our family failure. Nina and I took him to a dog-training course when he was a puppy. He was beyond a doubt the sweetest dog in the class. He loved all the other dogs, even the most vicious ones. And he did get his diploma, but there was no question that he was simply pushed through. You can say “heel” and commands like that until you’re blue in the face and get no reaction, but there are certain words he understands perfectly—go out, eat, cookie, cake, bread, lamb chop, steak, ice cream, and get off the bed, Mommy’s coming.
This is the first summer both Nina and I have been away at the same time. My parents are going to miss us terribly, especially when it comes to walking Norman.
“Who’s going to walk Norman in the mornings?” I asked over dinner the other night.
“Daddy is,” my mother shot back instantly. Then, in a sweeter, softer voice, she said to my father, “Well, darling, you have to get up at that time anyway.”
“But not on the weekends,” he said, and then matching her for sweetness said, “Mommy will walk him on the weekends.”
“But I like to sleep late on the weekends, too,” she said very reasonably.
By now Nina had stopped eating her meatloaf, which happens to be her favorite dinner, to pay more attention.
“Then maybe you want to walk him a couple of mornings during the week,” my father suggested.
“I walk him every afternoon when you’re not home.” My mother’s face was getting a little stiff. “Maybe you’d like to come home early a couple of times a week and walk him?”
I don’t know if it was the meatloaf, or that he sensed the conversation was crucial to his future, but Norman pulled all one hundred and twenty pounds of fur and dog up from his favorite resting place under the table and stood alongside Nina, his chin resting on the table.
“You know, darling,” my dad said, trying a smile, “I can’t be stopped in the middle of a brief to come home and walk the dog.” Feeling he’d scored a good point, he looked to Nina and me for a little agreement. Neither of us was stupid enough to take sides or to disturb the flow. This was too beautiful to end too quickly.
“Who’s going to walk him at night?” Nina stoked the fire a little.
“Eat your salad,” my father snapped at Nina, who hasn’t eaten salad in thirteen years.
“Sure, Daddy,” she said, actually spearing a tiny piece of lettuce with her fork. “Don’t you think you should walk him at night if Mommy walks him every afternoon?” That would teach him to mess with Nina.
“But I walk him every morning,” my father defended.
“But not on the weekends,” my mother attacked.
“We could share the weekends,” he offered.
“Oh, and what about the nights?”
“That’s not fair,” my father said, and that’s when Nina and I cracked up.
“Good Lord,” my mother said, “where have I heard that before?” And we all cracked up.
That’s the terrific thing about my parents. They have a sense of humor. They seem to have developed it fairly recently. Seems to me they took everything so seriously when I was younger. At least everything about their children. They’re still heavily into the parent thing, but they’re getting better at it. Better and worse. My father is still terrible when it comes to boys. I dread bringing home a date, because I can see that my dad doesn’t like him before he comes in the door. It’s like he’s guarding the palace. Most of the time I think he would like to throw all of the guys into a crocodile moat. A lot of them probably belong there.
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