Stuck in the 70's

by Debra Garfinkle

  “It was Tyler who actually invited me here in the first place. I’ve already worn out my welcome mat or whatever with him,” Shay says.

  “Shay messed up my life,” I tell Heather.

  “Poor you. Looking a lot better, eating lunch with the cool people, dating Debbie M.”

  “Ugh. We’re not really dating. And Evie’s barely talking to me.”

  “Because you blew her off. That’s your fault.”

  The bathroom door opens and the girl walks out. I pick up the box and step forward. “Let’s go. Let’s do it.”

  I hope I’m not making a mistake.

  He’s making a mistake.

  Tyler turns on the bathwater, then stands on the ledge of the tub, d uct-t aping the fan to the ceiling. “Once you leave, everything should revert to how it was.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I say.

  “It’s the best I could do. It’s b attery operated, and I rigged it to go extremely fast.”

  “I think I changed people for good.”

  “For bad.” He frowns. “Would you mind removing your clothes? I ’ll try not to look.”

  “ You’ve seen me naked before. What’s the big deal?” But it is a big deal. I d on’t take my clothes off so easily anymore.

  I remove everything but my undergarments. He steps off the bathtub ledge and sets the scissors and what’s left of the roll of duct tape on the bathroom floor.

  Someone knocks. “Use the bathroom downstairs,” Tyler yells.

  “The fan i sn’t going to send me back in time, anyway,” I say. “The tides d on’t work like that.”

  He looks at me, blushes when he sees me half naked, and turns away. “We d idn’t learn about tides in physics class.”

  “ I’ve been reading books, Tyler. What did you think I was doing every morning at school? You said I wasn’t stupid.”

  “ You’re not.” He looks at me again, this time holding his gaze on my eyes.

  I stare right back at him. “Albert Einstein himself said time travel would have to reach the speed of light. There’s no way you can rig a fan to go that fast.”

  “Then how did you get here in the first place?” he asks.

  “I d on’t think physics or science had anything to do with it. The force was a lot bigger than physics. As Einstein said, ‘The intellect should not be made—’ ”

  “ ‘Our god,’ ” I say. “ ‘The intellect should not be made our god.’ You read one of my books about Einstein.”

  “Two of them.” She smiles. “Actually.”

  I have to grab the wall to steady myself.

  But if Shay’s correct and a super-charged fan didn’t send her through time, then how the heck did she get here? Einstein also said the most incomprehensible thing about the world is that it is at all comprehensible. Maybe we’ll never know why Shay came here. Maybe it was meant to be. Einstein was passionate about science, but he also believed in God.

  “I’ll get in the bathtub if you want to try out your plan. If you still want me gone.” She removes her bra and panties and climbs into the warm tub.

  “I don’t want you gone, actually, but you have to go. Don’t you?”

  “Let me be honest, for once in my life. Besides wanting to help people here, there’s also a selfish reason I’d like to stay.” She takes a big breath. “I deserve your family. I deserve a sister like Heather, and a mother like Mrs. Gray, and you, Tyler. And, believe it or not, Rick’s a good guy and I deserve him too. I know I acted like a jerk before, ditching school and sleeping around and yelling at Mariel and all that crap. I guess I thought I didn’t deserve a better life, a classy one. Then Mrs. Gray said I was sweet, and you asked me for help with physics and The Great Gatsby, like I really could help you, and Heather actually looked up to me. Actually. And Rick treated me like I was worth something too.”

  “Of course you’re worth something. You’re worth a lot.”

  “I deserve your family. I deserve Rick. I deserve you. And, Tyler, if you ever stopped sulking and blaming and being so stupid, you might just deserve me too.”

  Someone knocks again. “Shay, could you put your clothes back on?” I never thought I’d be telling a beautiful girl to put her clothes back on. “I’m going to get rid of this stupid fan. You’re right. It won’t work. And, like, I wouldn’t want it to work anyway.”

  She gets dressed in a hurry and we walk out with the fan. There’s a huge line for the bathroom. “Sorry about holding you up,” I say before a guy rushes in.

  I point to the fan inside the box and tell Shay, “I’m going to put this outside in the trash can. You should go find Rick. He loves you, Shay.”

  She kisses me on the cheek. “And what are you going to do after you throw out the fan?” she asks.

  “Probably resume reading The Great Gatsby.”

  “Oh, I can tell you about it. Gatsby was an idiot. He gave himself a makeover when he should have just, like, stayed who he was. It’s hard to explain. The dude dies in the end.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re not actually going to hide out in your room during your own party, are you?”

  “Well, yeah. Shay, I thought I’d really like partying with the popular people. But actually, I’d rather be doing what I used to do on Saturday nights, playing backgammon with Evie. Or going to the movies with Evie. Or, actually, doing anything with Evie. Sometimes we just hung out. That was fun too.”

  “Where is she?”

  I shrug. “She’s so little. There’s no way I can find her in this crowd.”

  “Aren’t you even going to try?”

  “I . . . She’s mad at me. And she’s acting strange. She put all this makeup on her face.”

  “Why do you think she did that, Tyler?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Gawd, Tyler, for a smart guy you’re really dumb. Okay, what color eyes does she have?”

  “What? I don’t know. She wears glasses.”

  “Behind those glasses she has two things called eyes, Tyler.”

  I sigh. “I never thought to really look before.”

  She shakes her head. “Exactly. Now go toss that fan, find Evie, apologize, and figure out why she’s wearing makeup and what color eyes she actually has.”

  “Actually?”

  She grins. “Yeah, bro. Actually. I’m going to look for Rick.”

  After she leaves, I search all through the backyard and inside the house. But Evie’s gone.

  25

  I get out of bed at eight A.M. because my blue cheese dip/beer/overnight breath smells gnarly, Heather’s snoring loudly, I’m craving Tab badly, and I need to clean the house.

  After wrapping myself in Mrs. Gray’s old robe, I head to the bathroom. It’s a wreck. The counter is littered with plastic cups, some still full of beer. The sink contains cigarette butts and black hairs. The mirror is so grungy, I can barely see myself in it. I brush my teeth, but skip my hair and shower because there’s a ton of work to do.

  The downstairs reeks, mostly of beer, but also of tobacco and clove cigarettes and pot. Luckily, Mrs. Gray i sn’t due home for nine more hours. I grab a Tab and gulp it down as I go from room to room opening windows. Then I pick up trash: a million plastic cups, napkins, directions to our house, h alf-e aten celery sticks, and a condom still in its wrapper, which I pocket, making a mental note: Do not leave condom in Mrs. Gray’s robe!

  After that, I wipe the kitchen counters and table, sticky from beer and dip and God knows what else. Then I get out the Pledge and polish the wood furniture just like Mrs. Gray showed me. I’m making everything shine.

  At first I think that I’m not really downstairs, that I’m in my bed having a crazy dream. Because Shay is not only polishing the furniture and humming “Stairway to Heaven,” she’s actually smiling while she does it. But, no, it’s really her, with oily hair and an ugly robe, and it appears she’s already picked up the trash. “Wow. Thanks for getting an early jump on this mess,” I
tell her.

  “I’m working at the diner from noon to three today—Rick’s driving me—so I’m helping out here now. How about you start on the bathrooms?”

  “You mean cleaning them?”

  “No. Teaching them to dance.”

  “Cleaning is supposed to be woman’s work,” I tell Shay. “My mom and Heather always do it.”

  “If you want girls to like you, you’d better stop acting like the damn king of the house.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I sigh. “Look where it got my father.”

  “Exactly.”

  We bring the cleaning supplies into the downstairs bathroom. Shay tells me which stuff to use where, lectures me about germs, and gives me demos.

  “I thought your old housekeeper did all the cleaning,” I say.

  “Your mom’s been teaching me this stuff. She’s pretty cool.”

  I elbow her. “Isn’t calling a parent cool a violation of one of your social rules?”

  “It’s the exception that probes the rule. Or however that goes. Whatever.” She hands me the toilet bowl cleaner and a long plastic brush. “You can start here.”

  I squirt blue stuff into the toilet. “Are you just going to stand over me, watching?”

  “Yep.” She puts her hand through her ratty hair. “I’m entitled to a break. Make sure you scrub hard.”

  “You know what I’d appreciate more than cleaning tips?” I ask.

  “Advice on girls?”

  “Yeah, that too. But how about some stock tips?”

  “That’s totally beyond me. As if I even understand—Wait. I already told you about Starbucks and Microsoft. Wal-Mart’s good too. But stay away from the airlines. They’re always in bankruptcy. We can go through the business section of the newspaper later.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But I’d like a favor from you in return,” she says.

  “Can you make me some fake documents so I can enroll in school? If you can’t do it on your computer, your genius friend Evie might be able to figure something out. As long as I’m going to be here awhile, I might as well learn stuff.”

  “Sure, Shay. What the heck is that?” It sounds like the garage door is opening, but that’s impossible. “Mom’s not supposed to be here until dinnertime.”

  “Holy crap. We still have to finish the bathrooms and vacuum the house and do the upstairs and the backyard.” Shay grabs the 409, sprays the bathroom counter, and wipes it furiously.

  I flush the toilet to get rid of the blue stuff and dart out of the room toward the backyard.

  “Tyler.”

  Oh my God, it’s Dad. He’s walking into the living room dragging a suitcase, the biggest one we own, as if he’d planned on being gone a long time. He looks thin and he’s got gray, puffy semicircles under his eyes. “Where’s your mother?” he asks.

  “She should be home early evening.”

  “Where is she?”

  I hunch my shoulders. “At this Wimyn’s Fulfillment Retreat in Ojai.”

  “She’s at what?” He sighs. “I guess I wasn’t exactly fulfilling her.”

  I stare at the suitcase at Dad’s feet. “Are you back, Dad? I mean, for good?”

  “If your mother will have me,” he says.

  “She hasn’t quit the cafeteria job.” I picture Mom in her hairnet, smiling as she doles out mashed potatoes and urges the kids not to fill up on starch.

  “Are people still asking you if we need money?”

  “A few. But actually, Dad, who cares? We could try to impress people, or we could just do what makes us happy.”

  “Your mother makes me happy,” he says. “And so do you and your sister.”

  Shay comes out of the bathroom. “Your family makes me happy too.”

  “You’re still here.” This doesn’t seem to make Dad happy. “What’s that?” He points to the bulging trash bags in the kitchen. Then he looks down. Even the shag carpeting doesn’t hide the potato chip crumbs and dirt carried in from the backyard. “You had a party here last night, didn’t you?”

  I can’t think of a good lie. I look to Shay for help.

  “Yes, we had my birthday party here last night,” she says. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  Dad looks all around the family room and kitchen. “Did anything get broken or stolen?”

  “Not that I know of,” I tell him.

  “I hope for your sakes nothing did,” he says. “I want your mother in a good mood today when she sees me. I’ll help you take out the trash. Then you’d better clean this mess. And don’t ever do this again.”

  “I don’t mean to interfere.” Shay says.

  “Since when did you not mean to interfere?” I ask her.

  She punches me lightly on the arm. “Anyway, Mr. Gray, you should buy your wife a nice bouquet. Women love flowers. But not cheap ones like carnations or daisies. Roses, maybe, or you can try something more exotic. And have you ever thought about thinning out your moustache? Also, you should stop reading the newspaper at the dinner table.”

  Dad looks at me. “How long is she staying here?” he asks.

  “A long time.” I smile.

  26

  “Come on, already,” Shay says. “I’ve got to help your dad make dinner before Mom gets home.”

  “Can’t we practice one more time?”

  “For God’s sake, we’ve gone over this to death. What’s the number?” She grabs the phone. “I’ll dial. Even though I hate stupid dials.”

  I take the receiver from Shay. “You sure I should do this?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Gawd. Hurry up. You want privacy?”

  “No, I want coaching. Stay right here.” I dial the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Evie. I was looking for you last night.”

  There’s a pause. “Why?” she says.

  “Why?” I glare at Shay. We didn’t prepare for Evie asking why. “Uh, well, because I wanted to hang out with you.”

  “What about all your new, popular friends?”

  I didn’t think Evie would ask me this question either. “I like some of them too. Not all of them, but . . . Listen, Evie, I want to return to our old lunch table.”

  “Why?”

  Good Lord, will the girl ever stop interrogating me? “I like joking around with you, playing backgammon, talking physics, not having to worry if I’m wearing the right shoes. And I really . . .” I look at Shay. She nods, so I continue. “I really miss you, Evie.”

  “I miss you too.”

  There goes that heartburn again. I guess it wasn’t the beer. “Evie, you want to see Star Wars with me Saturday night?”

  Shay shoves my shoulder.

  I clear my throat. “We could have dinner first.”

  “We haven’t been to Sambos in a long time,” Evie says.

  “I was thinking of somewhere nicer. There’s this French restaurant in Encino. Jean-Paul’s?”

  “That fancy place?”

  “Yeah, we could dress up. It could be like a date.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Evie?”

  “You want me to get all dressed up?”

  “You don’t have to. We could go somewhere else.” Shay shoves me again. “On our date,” I add.

  “I don’t actually own anything really nice. You think your friend Shay could take me shopping?”

  “Next time I see Shay I could ask.” I smirk. Shay smirks back. “So is this Saturday night okay? Dinner and a late movie? I have to find out from my parents whether I have a curfew.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s probably fine with them. I’m even hoping I can borrow my dad’s sports car.”

  “No. I meant Really, this is a date?” she asks.

  “Well, actually, like, yeah, it’s a date. I mean, if you want it to be.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay. Was there ever a better word uttered? “And, Evie,” I add. “Maybe Shay could help yo
u find an outfit to bring out your pretty hazel eyes.”

  “Shay,” he says after hanging up the phone. “Did I ever thank you for changing my life?”

  “No. Mostly you complained about it.”

  “Then today let me formally express my gratitude. Thank you, Shay. Really.” He says it like he means it.

  “Right back at you,” I tell him. Then we hug, leaving half a foot between us. “I guess God or whoever knew what She was doing when She sent me here.”

  “She?” He raises his eyebrows. They could use a little re-t rimming.

  “If it even was God who actually sent me here,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I have, like, no idea.”

  “I think I’m here for a reason. God does not play dice. Albert Einstein said that.”

  He nods. “And Einstein also said that a person exists for other people. So do me a big favor, Shay. Just to be safe, from now on take showers, not baths.”

  “Good idea.” I smile at him and he smiles back.