by Shane Bolks
“Yeah, I bet you did. Actually, your mom did call yesterday evening. She didn’t sound worried, but she never sounds worried.”
I close my eyes. It’s when Mitsy least sounds worried that she’s the most frantic.
“But she was spelling a lot.”
Bad news. “What did you tell her?”
“That you stayed here Friday night and went out to hang with Gray yesterday. Did you find him?”
“No. I had a…transportation problem. Then there was the butterscotch pudding—never mind, I hope they didn’t call in the SWAT team yet.”
“SWAT doesn’t deal with missing persons. They—”
“Okay, Rory, I have to go.” I hear the shower turn on in Dave’s bathroom.
“But wait! I want to know how you ended up at Dave’s. I want details. Pudding? Come on!”
“Later.”
I hang up and dial the number for my parents. My dad answers on the second ring. “Holloway residence. This is Donald.”
“Daddy, it’s me.”
“Allison! Where the hell are you? Your mother has been calling all over, looking for you.”
“I’m fine. I left my cell at Rory’s and I haven’t been home because there’s a flock of reporters outside my place. Look, can I ask a favor?”
“Go ahead.” That’s my dad’s business voice. He sounds like that whenever he’s thinking he might get the losing end of some stock buyout or something.
“Can I hole up at the lake house for a week or so? Just until my profile goes down a bit?”
“Sure, but what about your job?”
I bite my lip. “Um, well, Daddy, I’m sort of looking for a new job.”
There’s a long pause. “Do you want me to call Baxter?”
Baxter is my dad’s attorney.
“I don’t know yet. It’s kind of my fault. I—I violated my contract.” Silence. “See, when I signed the contract for the Kamikaze Makeover! show, there was a stipulation that none of the contestants could fraternize with the producers. I sort of fraternized.”
“Nicolo?”
“Uh-huh. And Dai Hoshi found out and threatened to sue if Miranda didn’t terminate my employment.”
“Why the hell would you violate your contract? Oh, hold on. I need a drink. Here’s your mother.”
The shower is still going, and Dave’s singing some Green Day song.
“Allison?” My mother comes on the phone. “What’s your father T-A-L-K-I-N-G about? Do you know what I’m going through right now? Lucinda Chippenhall is trying to get me kicked out of the Junior League. Me! She says my family is a disgrace. What did you do to her?”
I explain my whole story to her, feeling pretty much like I did when I was thirteen and threw a party while they were out of town. It started out with a few friends, but then some of the high school guys came and brought beer and pretty much trashed the house.
“But I don’t understand why you don’t simply ask the P-R-I-N-C-E to talk to Dai Hoshi and work this whole thing out.”
“Mom, did you see the paper and the cable news shows yesterday morning? I’m not talking to Nicolo.”
She huffs. “Oh, now’s a fine time not to talk to him, after he’s had his hand up your skirt. And for God’s sake, Allison. It’s not as though you’re a virgin. If you’ll have sex with our pool guy when you’re home from college, you’d think a prince would be a step up.”
I hear my dad say something in the background, and my mom says, “Donald, just stay out of it. We did it your way with Grayson, and look how it turned out. Now we do it my way.”
Great. Mitsy’s way. This ought to be fun.
“Look, Mom, I have to go.”
“Why do you refuse to go out with nice men?” She sounds exasperated. “Look at Tad! Look at Bryce. Now look at Nicolo. If you’re going to sleep with someone, why can’t you sleep with someone E-L-I-G-I-B-L-E?”
I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling, wishing she’d shut up and stay out of my life for once. “Mom, now isn’t such a good time for me. I had a rough day yesterday and—”
“Where are you? Why does the caller ID say ‘Tivoli David’? Who’s Tivoli David?”
“Dave. He’s a—friend.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Allison! It’s been twenty-four hours and you’re already sleeping with some other guy? Who is he this time? A trash collector?”
Okay, I’m seriously about to lose it. In the calmest tone I can manage, I say, “No, he’s an ad exec and a friend of Rory’s.”
She sighs. “Honey, you know I love Rory, but her friends are not exactly the kind you want to associate with. How much do ad execs make? Who are his parents? If Lucinda Chippenhall hears about this—”
“Mom! Screw her and the Junior League and all of it! I’m not going to marry Dave. I just needed a place to stay, and he offered. I have to go now.”
“So now you’re living with this guy?”
“No, I’m not living with him. Dad said I could crash at the lake house. There’s nothing going on with Dave, okay? He’s a nonentity, so put him out of your mind. Now, can I go?”
“I hope you mean that because I don’t want to see you make a mistake. I mean, marry this guy, and where would you be?”
“Got it, Mom. He can’t afford me, okay? I’m hanging up.”
I know for a fact I make more money than Dave. In April, Rory was helping Hunter with his taxes, and I saw his W-3 or whatever that thing is called. Hunter makes about the same as Rory, but that’s still less than I make—made. Hunter’s been at Dougall longer than Dave, so it stands to reason Dave makes less than Hunter, which is even more less than I make—made (do not tell Rory I said “more less” because she’ll go off on the impossibility of something being both more and less, but we know better).
I get a weird tingly sensation on the back of my neck, and I have a sinking feeling Dave is behind me. I listen for the shower, but it’s silent now. Oh, God, don’t let him have been there the whole time.
“You can’t afford you, Allison,” my mom says. “What are you going to do about your job? Who’s going to hire you now that you’ve been featured in pornographic TV shows and pictures?”
“Mom, are you supposed to be helping? Because I’m not feeling better here. Look, I’m going to the lake house, and I’ll call you from there. You know I’ll be okay for a while even without a job. Good-bye.”
She sighs heavily. “Hold on, here’s your father.”
“Allison, don’t dip too deeply into your trust fund. That money needs to last. You might want it for something important.”
Have I mentioned my trust fund? It’s one reason I’m not quaking with fear over being jobless. I’m no Paris Hilton; still my trust fund is probably the equivalent of five years of Dave’s salary.
“Dad, I have to go.”
“I want you to do something for me when you’re at the lake house,” my dad tells me. “I ordered some flags, and they’ll be arriving later this week. Would you accept delivery and put them up?”
Not the flags again. What is it with this small flag complex?
“If you can’t get the flags up, have the delivery guy do it. Offer him a hundred bucks or something.”
“But don’t sleep with him!” my mother yells in the background. Why couldn’t I be an orphan?
I hear a rustling in the closet behind me, and coward that I am, I still don’t turn around. “Accept delivery on monster flags and put said big-ass flags up. Got it, Dad. Anything else you want me to do to make sure the neighbors know they’re vastly inferior to you and your manly flags?”
“Smartass,” he says, but he’s laughing. “Call us when you get settled. Love you, darlin’.”
“I love you, too.”
I hang up and slowly turn to look at Dave. He’s standing, shoulder jammed against the bedroom door, and his face tells me everything.
He heard.
“Ready?” he says.
Okay, I’m lying in his bed, naked under this sheet and I
have yet to shower, brush my teeth, or even stick my hair in a ponytail. Forget the fact that I have no clothes and we’ll need to make a stop at Neiman’s for some makeup. “Do I look ready?”
He shrugs. “Hurry up. It’s time to go.”
I frown at him. “Dave, I know you probably heard that, but I didn’t mean—”
He looks away. “If you want a ride to your car, I’m leaving in five minutes. Otherwise, find some other nonentity to take you.”
17
Shout and Feel It
Fudge. Fudgesicle! I wrap the sheet around me and follow Dave into the living room. “Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all that stuff. You know how moms are. She was going on and on, and I wanted her to shut up.”
He turns when he reaches the kitchen table. Behind him, I can see the cutting board, still laying on the floor amid the rest of the disorder from last night.
“And telling her I’m a nonentity shuts her up?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrow.
“No! I mean, I sort of have a track record with losers—you know, the UPS guy, the gardener—and she gets freaked out.”
“So I’m on a level with the UPS guy?”
“Stop, okay? Don’t deliberately misunderstand.”
“You said I couldn’t afford you.”
I press a hand to my forehead.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You think because you’ve got more money than I do, you can treat me like shit?”
I reach a hand out, willing him to take it. “You know it’s not like that.”
He shakes his head. “All I know is you’re back to the same old shit. You wanted a quick fuck with a nonentity, you got it. You can go back to your prince now.”
I stare at him. “How can you say that? After last night, after what I told you—”
“After last night, what? Nothing’s different. I thought you’d changed, but you’re the same old princess.”
“What am I supposed to do? Tell my parents who you really are?”
“And who am I really? Who am I to you?”
“Dave, you know who you are. You know I care about you.” You’re the only person who’s seen the real me. But I don’t say it.
“Then why not tell your parents? I’m good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to take home to Mom and Dad?”
I bite my lip. Dave’s right. I’m not being fair to him. How can we start a relationship if I want to keep it hidden? But even if I’m ready to be real with Dave, I just can’t be that vulnerable to the world. Dave’s asking too much.
And so, like Gray always says I do, I hide.
I throw on the boxers and Cubs T-shirt from the kitchen chair, grab the phone, and dial information and then a cab company.
Dave’s watching me silently, and I can’t talk now or I’ll cry. I rush into Dave’s bathroom, splash water on my face, put toothpaste on a finger and rub it over my teeth, and then use my fingers to comb my hair into some semblance of order.
When I step out, Dave’s standing in the hall. I look up at him. “I’m sorry,” I say, “for everything.”
I open the door and slam it shut behind me, and then I wait on the sidewalk outside the building until the cab pulls up. Dave doesn’t come down, and I don’t look up.
About five hours later I finally make it to Lake Geneva. I took the cab to Josh’s, and he and Carlos helped me evade the reporters to get into my town house for clothes, toiletries, and Booboo Kitty. Then they took me to my abandoned car. I’m so lucky to have friends like Josh and Rory, but right now it’s just nice to be alone. And since no one else is here, I’ve decided to sleep in my parents’ room. The bed and closets are bigger, and their bathroom is attached.
I tend to overpack, so I have to move some of my dad’s clothes into the closet in my room to fit all my stuff. I’m just about done with the transfer when my cell rings and I pick it up off the bed before Booboo bats it onto the floor. Now that she’s had her can of cat food and a bowl of dry food, she’s sated and sleepy and doesn’t want to be disturbed.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hi, Rory. Thanks for bringing my cell to Josh’s this morning.”
“No problem, but I’m calling on behalf of your mother.”
I sit on the bed. “What does that mean?”
“Mitsy called, and she told you to tell me that she told me—wait, she told me to tell you—oh, blast it! Hold on.”
I hear shuffling and the rustle of paper.
“Okay, here it is. Do not take any calls from Lucinda Chippen-something until the vote is over. There’s soup and cereal in the pantry, the keys to the boathouse are by the door, and, oh”—she pauses—“don’t sleep with the flag delivery guy.”
I heave a sigh. “And she couldn’t tell me this herself because…?”
“She’s not talking to you.”
I shake my head. “Fine. Well, you tell her that whenever she’s ready to stop being mad at me for things I have no control over, then she knows where to find me.”
“Do I have to?” Rory asks. “I’m sort of scared to say that to your mom.”
“Call Grayson and tell him to tell her.”
“Oh, that’s another thing. She’s not talking to him, either.”
“Why not?”
“I think he committed the sin of defending you.”
“Okay, I’ll call him and smooth things over. Sorry you’re all involved in this now.”
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s way more fun than my family. You know, over there it’s all peace, love, and the rest of that Bantha fodder.”
The next morning Rory calls from work to check in. She’s got another message from Mitsy, something about how I should try to act more mature.
Me act more mature.
In the morning sunshine, my feet propped on the deck railing, legs stretched in the sun, I’m thinking that if it gives me a reprieve from my mother’s whining, maybe immaturity has its perks.
I make coffee, make breakfast, take a walk, paint my nails OPI’s Don’t Wine…You Can Do It, play with Booboo, call my cousin Cassie and a few friends of mine who live on the lake, Josh, Rory, Grayson, and then I get really desperate and call Carlos and even Rory’s freaky sister Stormy. Finally, I glance at my watch. Ten-thirty. That’s it? Will this day ever end?
I wander around the house, listening to Cab Calloway’s “Are You Hep to the Jive?” Mitsy had the house redecorated about five years ago, but it could use a little touch-up.
I sit down to make a list, singing along with Cab. Then I pull on clothes and shoes, and dance out of the house.
A week and a half later, the house looks awesome. New drapes in the kitchen, a feng shui furniture arrangement in the living room, new spreads in my room and the guest room, a new shade of paint in the half bath, and a brighter wallpaper border in my parents’ bathroom. I’ve spent more than my monthly salary, but I made it through three long, drawn-out days.
In celebration of my decorating triumph, I squeeze into a bikini from my high school days. It’s faded and snug, but I’m only going to lay out on the dock, so no one will see anyway.
I slather on sunscreen and am sticking my Yucatán If U Want painted toes into flip-flops when Rory calls.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Your mother is talking to you again.”
“Oh, great. Did she tell you to call and tell me that?”
Rory sighs. “Yeah. Are you talking to her? I’m supposed to call and report back.”
I slide the patio door open and step outside. “Yes, tell her that if she calls, I’ll talk.” What else can I do? My mother is never going to change, and the Junior League politics will always mean more to her than they should, but that’s my mom. And she’s the only one I have.
“What are you up to?” Rory says. “Did you finish the decorating?”
“Yep. Now I’m going to lay out on the dock.”
“Okay, I officially hate you. I’m up to my ears in
spreadsheets.”
“Well, drive up and visit.” I head down to the dock where I’ve already got my lawn chair and blanket ready.
“Can’t. I have to work.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you ask Hunter if he wants to come for the Fourth? Maybe I’ll invite Gray or Josh and we can have a party.”
“Sounds good. But how are you doing? Are you okay up there all by yourself? I feel like you’re in exile. And you still haven’t told me what happened with Dave.”
I lay on the lounge chair and I throw an arm over my eyes and think how to explain everything I’ve been pondering the past week and a half. Decorating was a distraction from boredom, but it’s also a really good thing to do when you need to think. For some reason, painting and wallpapering frees my mind to consider whatever might be bothering me. Finally, I say, “Rory, you know how you’re always saying that I never mess up and I’m so confident—”
“And perfect and beautiful and stylish.”
“Yeah, all that. Do you really think that? Do you think I don’t have any problems?”
“No, I know you have problems.” She pauses. “You’re just better at hiding them than other people.”
“That’s what I mean. I hide the real me behind designer clothes, too much makeup. I don’t let people see the real me.”
“Is that what you think or what Dave says?”
“Both, I guess. You know, working on Kamikaze Make-over! made me think. All those shows that play at real life aren’t real life at all. They’re as scripted and choreographed as any sitcom.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
“No, but I think what really got me is how the producers create the reality they want the audience to perceive. That’s what I’ve been doing in life.”
“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. You’ve had some rough things happen to you. Can’t Dave understand that?”
“I told him about Chris and my first time.”
“Then he has to understand.”
“He does, Rory, but it was me who hurt him. As much as he understands me—has always understood me—it hurts when you diss someone to your parents.”
“Oh, Allie. Do you want me to call him?”