by Emily Snow
Lisa knew that January was always pretty tough for me. Aside from July, it was the only other time of year when I relied a little heavier than usual on my surrogate mother, a woman who lived three houses down and went by the name of Stephanie DeSanto. Having Lisa off spending every minute with her boyfriend, she was depriving me of my much-needed quality time with her mom. I missed hanging out at the DeSantos’, having Mrs. D say things like, “There are my girls!” whenever Lisa and I came walking through the door.
I hated myself for feeling so selfish about everything, but once Lisa’s virginity status had finally been relegated to the history books, it was as though she and I were officially living on different planets. There she was, relaying this Big News and all I could think about was how it affected me. Thankfully, I shut up about it and she was able to remain unaware of my self-centeredness in regards to her life. I could have done without hearing all the intricate details of their every coupling, however, but maybe I would have felt that way regardless. I’d never really been the kind of girl who was ever comfortable discussing such intimate events in such excruciating detail.
Or maybe it was just that I didn’t have any intimate details to discuss.
I went out on a handful of dates with Cooper, but again, we found ourselves just kind of going through the motions. We were both aware that there wasn’t some storybook, fairytale ending awaiting the two of us and managed to strike a mutual, unspoken agreement about our romantic status. Basically, we liked each other a lot, and since neither one of us was dating anyone else, we decided to kill some time together.
Cooper was a huge help to me over those months, even if he wasn’t completely aware of it at the time. It was comforting to have a friend- a great-looking, charming friend- there to keep me from slipping down into a depressed, winter funk. Just the idea that an awesome guy like Cooper Benedict sought my company was enough to bolster my confidence.
Normally, after work on Friday nights, I’d bring a movie home, he’d come over and we’d stay in to watch it. Sometimes, we’d fool around a little, but only if the movie sucked so badly that it couldn’t hold our attentions.
When I finally figured I’d saved enough money for a car, it was Coop who took me from lot to lot, helping me do my homework and kicking the tires of every used car in the Northern New Jersey area. By the time we narrowed it down to two different front-runners, Dad stepped in to make sure I wasn’t being taken to the cleaners. I felt pretty proud that he’d stamped his approval on both cars, saying that I’d done good and was free to make my own choice between the two.
The first car was a Ford Mustang. It was candy-apple red, which was a little flashy for my taste, but it was also a convertible, which was a major check in the pro column. And each time I slipped behind the wheel, something just felt right. I loved the exhilarating grumble of the engine and the way I felt about myself when I had taken it out for a test drive. It would, however, also have sapped my entire budget, barely leaving me with enough scratch afterwards to buy a tank of gas. Plus, the leather seats had seen better days, the upholstery cracked all over and ripped clean through in a couple spots. I’d definitely have to use my next paycheck to invest in a couple seat covers.
Therefore, I’d been leaning heavily toward the Ford Taurus. Don’t be fooled into thinking it was boring and dull. It was a really good car with low mileage and under my budget, allowing me to hang onto a nice chunk of my hard-earned cash. It was black, too, which made it look a little cooler than if it was Grandma Blue or something like that. I liked it. It was a good, solid, dependable car.
I had worked for months at a job I could barely tolerate, socking away enough money for a car of my own. I’d kept a lid on any frivolous spending just for the opportunity to be in that position, the one I’d dreamt about forever. Obviously, I wasn’t planning to take the decision lightly.
All in all, I thought the Mustang was an excellent choice.
Chapter 21
STEPPING OUT
Spring came without fanfare at first, just a steady thaw of frozen earth, softening just enough to let the first crocus peek through and for a few birds to return to the neighborhood.
A few days after that, we were blessed with The First Nice Day.
There’s nothing quite like The First Nice Day in Jersey. It’s like we’ve all been released from cages or something, everyone jumping the gun on those opening rays of sunshine by wearing sunglasses and driving around with their windows down. I had taken advantage of my new convertible that day, taking the top down to drive around in barely sixty-five degree weather while pretending I wasn’t freezing my face off. Everyone’s music got played a little louder and their spirits got raised a little higher.
My spirits had certainly been raised; I’d received a few acceptance letters to some really good colleges- Swarthmore, Amherst... Dad’s beloved Northwestern. I’d jokingly applied to Harvard purely as a shot in the dark, so there was no big surprise when I found out I’d been rejected.
But the day I opened the mailbox and saw a big, fat envelope with an NYU stamp in the corner, I just about exploded through the front door, excited beyond belief to show my father. He was happy for me, but couldn’t see how I could turn down Northwestern for NYU. I made the case by reminding him that although I’d been drawn to Northwestern because of their creative writing program, there was no better place to get my artistic juices flowing than in the most amazing city in the world. Once I pointed out how much closer the commute home would be from the city than Chicago, I knew I had him sold. Dad dropped his subtle nudging for Northwestern once he realized I was sure I’d be happier in New York.
Besides, Lisa had been accepted to F.I.T., so we cooked up a plan to live in our respective dorms for a year or so, then go apartment hunting down in the village and move in together. Facing a big, strange city wasn’t going to be so bad with Lisa by my side. I didn’t think there was anything we couldn’t do so long as we were together.
Speaking of being together... Lisa and Pickford had broken up over Spring Break. Turned out, he was taking his recent rebellious phase to new levels and Lisa got caught in the maelstrom. Apparently, Dr. Redy had had his heart set on a Columbia education for his son. (Funny, but I don’t remember ever hearing about him pushing for Penelope to live up to any grand expectations.) In any case, Pickford decided to take UCLA up on their scholarship offer and play basketball for the Bruins rather than lay the groundwork for a career in medicine. The announcement had the intended effect of infuriating his father, who couldn’t even threaten to withhold tuition money anymore now that Pick had been offered a free ride.
The fallout, however, was that he’d be moving to the completely opposite end of the country from Lisa. She just went bonkers when she found out about the “stunt” he had pulled, and I’m sure her tirade even gave Dr. Redy’s anger a run for its money. Pickford tried appeasing her with promises of a long-distance relationship and by reminding her that they still had months together before they’d both be expected to go off to school, but Lisa wasn’t having any of it. She told him she didn’t see the point in staying together if they were just going to break up in a few months anyway.
Pickford really made a go of it, sending her flowers almost weekly and leaving love notes in her locker every day. I felt really badly for him, but my loyalties needed to lie squarely with Lisa. Don’t get me wrong, I felt just as awful for her. Probably more so, since I had to watch her fall to pieces every day. She never let anyone see how upset she truly was, but when it was just the two of us, she would totally let herself go, bawling like a child; red face, puffy eyes, runny nose and all.
I was more than willing to be the rock for my best friend, since usually our dynamic worked the other way around. Without seeming too detached or self-inflating about the situation, I gotta say, it was actually kinda nice to have the opportunity to return the favor.
I tried everything I could think of to get her mind off the breakup; renting cheesy movies, frying up some Elvis sa
ndwiches (her favorite), taking her to the bowling alley where we were always able to con a few beers... I even went so far as to dig out my old sticker albums from the attic so she could take a whiff of my much-coveted popcorn scratch n’ sniff.
Nothing worked.
I figured she’d get through it in her own good time and that the only thing I could really do was just be there for her.
So, it caught me by surprise when one day in May, she just up and announced that we were going to the school’s Spring Musical. Bizarre, because normally, Lisa wouldn’t be caught dead at a school event that didn’t revolve around some sort of gladiatorial-type sporting affair. And the kids in the theatre group couldn’t possibly be at a more opposite end of the spectrum from the jocks.
But what I soon learned was that Penelope Redy was playing the part of Adelaide in the selected production of Guys and Dolls. Lisa and she had gotten pretty chummy over the past months, being that Penny was Pick’s twin sister and all. I thought it was a bit sadistic of Lisa to purposely put herself in the same room with not only Pickford, but most likely his entire family as well. I knew she blamed Dr. Redy for indirectly causing the breakup, and it’s not like he’d ever been the biggest fan of hers to begin with. But seeing as it was the first time she’d suggested leaving the house, I didn’t hesitate to agree to go with her.
Imagine my surprise when the first people we saw at the school’s entrance were Coop, Rymer and Sargento.
I walked right up to Coop. “Hey! I didn’t know you were coming to this thing!”
Coop looked a little uneasy when he answered, “Yeah, well. I didn’t talk to you today and these guys just decided we were coming about an hour ago.”
I didn’t know why he seemed so uncomfortable spilling the news that he’d made alternate plans without first consulting me on the matter. It’s not as though he owed me The Big Check-In. Whatever romantic relationship he and I were in had pretty much completely fizzled out before Easter. We were still pretty close, though, and I knew he’d been feeling a little ashamed about leaving me to deal with Lisa twenty-four-seven. We’d had a big talk about it the week before, Coop expressing his guilt at not being there for me more, stepping in to give me a break while I was consumed with the task of caring for her.
We all found seats together (on the opposite side of the auditorium from Pickford and the Redys, Lisa pretending not to notice the way her ex-boyfriend’s eyes followed her all the way down the aisle) and settled in. Rymer made some crack about “the theatre fags”, not too loudly, thank God, but noisily enough that I felt the need to reach over Coop and smack his arm to shut up.
Leave it to the big, burly football player to assume everyone else in the school was second-rate. I didn’t think he was being fair. Everyone has different interests. And maybe the theatre group was having just as good a time on stage as the meatheads were having on the football field. High school was a bumpy enough road to begin with. If you could find a group of people willing to have you come along, it made the ride a lot more fun. Just because this particular group had chosen a creative outlet as their vehicle didn’t mean they were losers. But I guessed Rymer’s attitude was that if you weren’t part of the cool crowd, you weren’t anything. No wonder so many kids hated us. Besides, what the hell was he doing at the damned play if he thought it was so beneath him?
About ten minutes after the curtain opened, I got the answer to my question.
Ladies and gentleman, the part of Sky Masterson was being played by the one and only Terrence C. Wilmington III.
Chapter 22
TOTAL RECALL
To say I was floored would be an understatement.
I stared at him from the safety of my seat, buried in shadow where I could watch without fear of being seen.
It was weird seeing Trip up there, perfectly at home, strutting from one edge of the scene to the other. I sat there, transfixed by the sight of him onstage. He looked so gorgeous in his suit and fedora that it almost put Brando to shame. And my God, the guy could actually act! He even managed a dead-on New York accent. Not bad for a kid who’d only been living here for little more than half a year. By his second scene, you could just feel the audience tuning in, holding their breath with anticipation, engrossed by the performance he was giving.
Once he started singing “I’ll Know”, I realized that not only could he act, but he could actually sing, too. I watched enviously as he kissed Heather Ferrante, but laughed along with the audience when she slapped him. How many girls would’ve loved to have done that to him over the years?
I had the most ridiculous guilt, not even knowing what Trip had been up to the past months, hard at work, obviously pouring himself into such an endeavor. Knowing how much of a perfectionist he’d been over our stupid Shakespeare film, I couldn’t imagine how obsessed he’d been while preparing for something like this. I kept thinking that I wasn’t there to help him with it, wasn’t able to be his comic relief during the endless drudgery of rehearsals, wasn’t there to encourage him through the frustrating moments that I knew he’d encountered along the way.
I made myself let go of my remorse, at least for the next hour or so, in order to enjoy the show. I decided that it was his big moment and I didn’t want to ruin it by letting my overactive brain distract me from it, so I pushed the self-absorbed thoughts aside and focused solely on what was happening onstage.
I smiled as he danced with Heather/Sarah and laughed when he had his huge fight scene with Big Jule. By the time he broke into “Luck Be a Lady”, he had won me over; I’d been captivated by his every move, infatuated at his every word.
It was heartbreaking just to look at him.
There was something so beautiful about him, a glow that came from more than just the stagelights, and the more I watched, something deep inside me started to ache.
I felt Coop give my hand a squeeze, and until that moment, I hadn’t realized I was crying. I became conscious of what Coop must have already noticed, the few traitorous tears dampening my cheeks.
I knew then that in spite of my denials, despite whatever brave face I’d been presenting to the world, no matter how much I tried to pretend that Trip didn’t exist... I’d never stopped loving him.
I gave Coop a quick look of gratitude and squeezed his hand right back, registering why he hadn’t told me about his plans to come see his friend in the play that night. Even the mere mention of Trip’s name would have hurt me; even though I’d put up a good front, he knew I’d never truly gotten over him. That it should have been Cooper that recognized that- and taken pity- touched me in a way I can’t describe.
By the time the play had ended, I was emotionally spent, but at least my eyes were dry. The guys immediately made their way backstage, giving me a moment alone with Lisa.
She was sifting through her purse, trying to find her chapstick, when I asked the million dollar question. “So, am I right to assume you didn’t drag me here tonight just to see Penelope in a supporting role?”
Lisa abandoned her search to reply, “No, not ‘just’. Penny’s been telling me for weeks how good Trip was in this thing. I didn’t think you’d want to miss it. Are you mad?”
I thought about how she had suffered through an evening in near proximity to her ex-boyfriend and his family in order to let me have this experience. It was a gamble, but I was grateful she’d taken it.
“No, I’m not mad.”
“He was really good.”
“Yeah, I know.” Good didn’t quite cover it, but I didn’t want to seem all sappy and crushy.
As we were getting our things to leave, I saw Pickford make his way over. I gave Lisa a nudge, and when she turned and saw him, her whole body went stiff.
In the brief, awkward second of silence, I said, “Hey, Pick.”
He barely looked at me to reply, “Whatsup, Layla,” his eyes locked onto Lisa.
I didn’t know whether I should take off and give them some privacy or if Lisa wanted me to stick around for moral support. S
o, I just kind of tried to blend into the background while those two continued to stare at one another.
Finally, I said, “Penelope did a great job tonight.”
That broke Pickford’s trance enough for him to reply, “Yeah. Yeah, she did. I was just heading backstage to congratulate her. You guys want to come?”
There was no way I was going to be responsible for making the decision on that one. Lisa finally spoke and answered, “Yeah, sure, why not?” But she grabbed my hand in an iron vise, letting me know that she wasn’t going back there alone.
We grabbed our jackets and purses and followed Pick backstage, where there was a crowded frenzy of about a million people, all the actors talking animatedly with their friends and family. We had to plow our way through the crowd to find Penelope, who was in the process of kissing Dr. and Mrs. Redy goodbye. Just as we approached, they departed, and I was relieved that Lisa wasn’t forced to make nice with them. Having to deal with Pickford was probably enough for her at the moment.
I was able to get in a quick, “Congratulations, Penny, you were great!” before I heard Rymer’s big mouth behind me.
I turned involuntarily at the sound and saw that Trip was standing only a few paces away, looking right in my direction. Lisa was busy hugging Penelope, so she didn’t see him nod his head at me in greeting. With Lisa distracted, I was flying solo on that one, so I took the path of least resistance by politely smiling and giving a quick wave.
I turned my attentions back toward my little group and saw that Lisa and Pick were trying very hard not to look at one another as they excitedly discussed the play with Penelope, but I did notice that they were, in fact, holding hands. I was so stunned by that that I hadn’t noticed the tap on my shoulder was coming from Trip.
I turned, startled to see him there, smiling at me as if the past five months of our standoff hadn’t occurred at all. Before I could think of how I was going to handle that, he directed my attention to the older couple standing next to him, by way of making an introduction. “Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Layla. Layla, these are my parents.”