My Parents Are Sex Maniacs Page 10

  “Hiding?!” I whirl on her. “I was peeing!”

  “God, Louise.” Kimber steps into the fray. “Don’t be so emo.”

  My eyes find Sienna’s face. She is standing there, her back against the hand dryer, looking guilty. I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Can we talk—in private?”

  “We’ve got to get to class anyway,” Jessie says. “Come on, girls.” As they file past Sienna, they each give her arm a supportive squeeze. With a quick glance back at me, Audrey whispers, “Good luck, Si-Si.”

  I don’t know where to begin. I am angry, hurt, disappointed . . . Looking into Sienna’s eyes, I expect to see remorse. But instead, I find hostility and a steely resolve reflecting back at me. This is not the Sienna I know. The Sienna I know has always been there for me, the only friend I could really count on. Finally, she breaks the tension.

  “Look, I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she says. Her voice is not at all apologetic. “I would never have said anything if I’d known you were there.”

  “You shouldn’t have said anything at all!” I cry. “It’s none of their business.”

  “I was just telling them that my mom’s come back home. They’re my closest friends. They deserve to know the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “Yeah, the truth. My mom explained it all to us.”

  My eyes narrow. “What exactly did she explain to you?”

  “How she was feeling confused and old. She’s almost forty-two, and she wasn’t feeling desirable anymore. Your dad totally took advantage of her insecurities. He manipulated and coerced her into having an affair with him.”

  “Really?” I snap. “From what Troy saw, your mom didn’t exactly look like she was being coerced.”

  “Are you defending your dad to me?” Sienna’s voice is shrill with anger. “The guy is a pervert! Even your mom won’t take him back!”

  Her words are so angry, so hateful, that I can’t believe my ears. “Have you been drinking?” I ask, almost hopefully. Maybe this is just her noon-hour beers talking.

  “No,” she snaps. “And I don’t need you judging me anymore. I already have a mother for that.”

  It’s only then that I realize tears of anger, frustration, and something a little like fear are streaming down my cheeks. I am furious, disappointed, and betrayed, but I’m also terrified at the thought of losing Sienna’s friendship. I open my mouth to say something, but no words will come. In a way, I’m thankful for this. I would undoubtedly have begged her to remember our pact to stay friends no matter what.

  Sienna’s eyes are cold and stony, and I can sense the finality of our words in them. There is nothing either of us can say that can undo the damage that has already been done. Sienna is still staring at me, her breathing heavy. Suddenly, she takes a step forward and I’m momentarily afraid she’s about to slap me or pull my hair. But instead, she spits out the words “Good-bye, Louise.” And they hurt more than any physical blow ever could.

  17

  I cry more in the next few days than I did when my dad left us. It all just seems so real now. I officially come from a broken home. My dad is alone, cast off, soon to be wandering the streets in his socks, bottle of cheap wine in hand, muttering and swearing about the blow job that ruined everything. My mom is becoming increasingly absorbed in her new career-woman life, basically ignoring my emotional breakdown and my brother’s inevitable descent into psychosis. (Who knows what sick plans he’s concocting locked away in his room for hours on end?) None of this would be insurmountable if I just had a best friend to help me through it. But no! My BFF hates me now. And to be honest, I think that’s what hurts most of all.

  Of course I’m still incredibly angry with Sienna. Her blind belief in Sunny’s version of events is nauseating. But the end of our friendship means the end of so much more. It’s the end of our hopes and dreams for the future. There will be no loft in New York. No Sienna Lou fashion label. We will never party with Chris Brown or Pharrell Williams or whoever happens to be the coolest person to party with at that time. Of course, I don’t really care that much about the partying bit, but it’s hard to let go of the dream. All I want is to have my best friend back. I want her to come to me and say, Let’s just forget all the craziness that went on the other day. I’m sorry for what I said, but I was upset and hurt. Don’t worry, we’ll be BFFs forever.

  But I have known Sienna long enough to know that this is highly unlikely. She does not soften and she does not back down. The whole time Sunny and Len were playing house, she refused to forgive her mother. Even Troy relented and had dinner with my dad—and he was an eyewitness! The fact that Sienna is surrounded by three suck-ups who constantly remind her that I’m a complete loser with a sex maniac for a father makes it even less likely that I’ll get an apology.

  School has become basically unbearable. And yet again, my mom is acting like some kind of crazed advocate for perfect high school attendance. “I’m not feeling well,” I say the day after my fight with Sienna.

  “You look fine to me. What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m getting my period.”

  “Do you want some Midol?” she asks indifferently, painting her lashes with mascara (yes, whether it’s her return to the working world or her new single status, my mother has suddenly shunned her feminist principles in favor of a little mascara and just a touch of blush).

  “It won’t help.”

  She sticks the mascara wand back in the tube and looks at me. “What’s really going on?”

  At this point, I’m almost wishing I’d gone to live with my dad. The mere mention of the word period would have seen me on the couch with a comforter and box of Oreos, no questions asked. Unfortunately, my mom is a little more tuned in. “Talk to me, honey.”

  My chin immediately starts to quiver. “S—Sienna and I had a big fight. She was saying all these horrible things about Dad to her friends, and—and she wouldn’t take them back.”

  “Oh, Louise,” my mom says, taking me into her arms. “This is so hard for you. But you’ve got to understand Sienna’s side of things. Her mother is filling her head with stories about being an innocent victim in this whole mess. Sunny’s trying to place all the blame on your dad so she doesn’t have to take responsibility for hurting her own family. And of course Sienna believes her. No one wants to think of their mother as a cheap slut.”

  This is very true. “B—but now she hates me,” I sniff. “She’s my best friend.”

  “You’ve got to take the high road,” she says, releasing me and handing me a Kleenex. “Don’t stoop to her level by insulting her mom. We both know she’s nothing but a tramp, but let’s keep those words within these walls. When Sienna sees how mature you’re being about this, she’ll rise to meet you halfway.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, blowing my nose. “But I also have really bad cramps,” I try, “seriously.”

  “You’re going to school, Louise,” she says, returning to her makeup application. “The Midol’s above the sink.”

  Those first few days were terrible. It wasn’t like Sienna and I had any further altercations; it was more like torture by exclusion. I could no longer eat lunch in the cafeteria. Setting foot inside elicited a series of vicious whispers and giggles from the popular table, the meanings of which I could safely assume. There’s big-boned Louise, the loser daughter of the town pervert.

  Thankfully, I had stagecraft club to fill my lunch hours. But even there, I’d sometimes see kids glancing over at me, their eyes full of pity. Poor Louise, they were obviously thinking, thanks to her sex-maniac dad, she’s lost her cool best friend and has no choice but to hang out with us stagecraft nerds. Okay, they probably weren’t thinking of themselves as stagecraft nerds, but still, it was obvious they all knew about my family drama.

  My classes weren’t too bad. Sienna and I only had biology together, and she moved her seat to the opposite corner and basically ignored me. I could almost deal with the stares and whispers of the other students. The only cla
ss that was really unbearable was algebra. Audrey and Kimber sat directly across the aisle from me and made it their mission to ensure I was sufficiently mortified.

  “Her dad can’t keep it in his pants!” Kimber hissed, prompting Audrey into hysterics. “Maybe he should be, like, castrated or something?”

  If not for the iron fist of Mr. Bartley, I’m sure they would have been throwing spitballs at me.

  But now I have survived to Friday, and if my mom’s assumption is correct, Sienna will forgive me any day now. Tonight is my first shift at Orange Julius since the big fight. (Unfortunately, it’s been a slow week and Grant felt the full-time staff could handle their shifts without me.) I can’t wait to see Russell—not just because I am in love with him, but because I know he’ll be supportive. He already hates popular girls, so I’m sure he’ll be sympathetic to what I’m going through. As I get ready for work, I take extra pains with my hair and makeup.

  Despite my current emotional turmoil, my dreams of a future with Russell have not abated. In fact, they have increased, but with a slightly different tack. I have incorporated a revenge fantasy into them, which has proven to be quite fulfilling.

  Russell and I will move together to New York, where he’ll become a renowned DJ and I an in-demand set designer for Broadway plays. We’ll come home every Christmas though to spend the holidays with my mom and Troy. Russell and I will go out to dinner to have some “alone time,” and that’s when we’ll see her.

  “Welcome to TGI Friday’s. Can I take your—” She will stop as she recognizes me. “Oh . . . Louise.”

  “Oh, hi, Sienna,” I’ll say with only a hint of pity in my voice. “I didn’t know you still lived in Langley. I’ve been working as an in-demand set designer in New York for so long that I just assume everyone else has moved on too.”

  “No, I’m still here. Without your artistic talent, I really couldn’t hope for any kind of meaningful career.”

  “Oh . . . You remember my life partner, Russell?”

  “Of course,” she’ll say, looking at him covetously.

  “Russell, you remember my former best friend, Sienna.”

  “Uh . . . vaguely,” Russell will respond as he leans over to nuzzle my neck.

  “So, how have you been, Sienna?” I’ll ask.

  “Well . . . ” Sienna will try to maintain her cool here, but a tear will trickle slowly down her cheek. “It’s not easy being a single mom to two boys. Dylan has recently been diagnosed with serious attention deficit / hyperactive disorder, and Kyle needs psychological counseling for his pyromania. Dean won’t even help me pay for his son’s ongoing Ritalin prescription, and Steve, the traveling vacuum salesman who is Kyle’s father, has just declared bankruptcy.”

  “That must be tough,” I’ll say, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps my mom could cut you a deal on some low-income single-mother counseling services?”

  “That would be great,” Sienna will sniff. “I just feel so alone.”

  “Well, at least you have your good friends Audrey, Kimber, and Jessie to support you.”

  “Oh, didn’t you hear?” Sienna will say. “They all died slow and painful deaths from a rogue strain of the Ebola virus.”

  I am still smiling when I arrive at the Orange Julius stand. Of course, I must compose myself before I see Russell. I can hardly confess the source of my glee. He’s bound to think it’s a little psychotic to be dreaming of our future together at this early stage. Maybe after we’re married I’ll tell him about my crazy fantasies. He’ll probably get a kick out of them.

  But when I let myself in to the booth, I’m greeted by none other than Jackie. “Hey,” she mutters as my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh . . . hey,” I reply nonchalantly. At least I think I sound fairly nonchalant, considering that my internal dialogue is screeching: What the hell are you doing here, Jackie? Where’s Russell? I checked the schedule, and he was supposed to be working Friday! Why isn’t he here?

  It’s like Jackie can read my mind. “Russell’s sick,” she says, manhandling a blender container onto its base. “Or so he says.”

  With an indifferent shrug, I lean over to stuff my coat into the bin under the cash register. Lingering down there I blink at the tears of disappointment welling in my eyes. I’m being pathetic, I know, but knowing I’d be seeing Russell was the only thing that got me through this hellish week. Taking a deep breath, I pull myself together.

  Luckily, Friday nights are busy enough to distract me from my misery. The hours fly by, a blur of juices, smoothies, and hot dogs. Despite our general dislike for each other, Jackie and I work really well together. Inside, I’m terrified that a member of Sienna’s posse will show up to mock and humiliate me, but, thankfully, the night progresses without any emotional torture.

  At 8:50 p.m., as we’re beginning to close, the phone rings. “Got it,” I say, simultaneously lifting the receiver and sealing a plastic bin full of juicing carrots. “Willowbrook Orange Julius.”

  “Louise?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Russell.”

  A bubble of pure joy fills my stomach, my chest, my head. I am suddenly as light as air. But before I can squeal with delight, Russell speaks. “If Jackie’s there, pretend it’s Grant calling.”

  With some effort, I wipe the goofy grin from my lips. “Oh, hello, Grant,” I say loudly, glancing over my shoulder at my coworker. “What can I do for you?”

  “Are you free after work?”

  Am I free? Of course I am free! Suddenly, being a friendless loser has a bright side. “Sure. I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at the side entrance behind the Pancake House in half an hour. I’ve got the Thunderbird.”

  “Right. Okay. Thanks, Grant.”

  And with that one phone call, the whole world is filled with butterflies and ponies.

  18

  As I let myself out into the dimly lit, vacant alleyway, I feel like the star of a thrilling foreign film. I’m the glamorous, mysterious woman trapped in a loveless marriage to a ruthless older businessman with ties to organized crime. Russell is my true love, the struggling young musician who would risk anything for the woman he simply has to have. Of course, I’d feel a lot more glamorous had I been able to change out of my Orange Julius uniform, but how was I to know that Russell wanted to take me on a date after work?

  Moments later the loud rumble of the Thunderbird’s engine fills the air and Russell rolls up beside me. He leans over and calls out the passenger window. “Hey, good-looking! How about a ride?”

  “Why sure!” I trill, elated that he just called me good-looking. I hop into the car.

  “How was work?” he asks, easing the huge car down the alley.

  “A thrill a minute,” I say. “You really missed out by calling in sick.”

  “I was afraid of that,” he says, gathering speed as we move through the empty parking lot. “I’ll never do it again.”

  We drive to 7-Eleven and Russell buys two enormous Cokes and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos for us to share. As we leave the store, I’m desperately wishing that we’d run into someone I know—preferably Sienna or Audrey, although Kimber or Jessie would also do nicely. Ideally, the girl would be on her own, just running in to buy toilet paper or tampons while her mom waits in the car. Unfortunately, the store is populated with complete strangers, except for a portly, balding man whom I vaguely recognize as the guy who coached Troy’s peewee soccer team.

  Back in the Thunderbird, Russell places his iPod in the dock that’s been installed in the vintage car. “Listen to this,” he says as a wall of sound fills the small space. I try to bob my head along to the driving beat like Russell is doing. He smiles over at me. “Isn’t this awesome?”

  “Yeah!” I call back, nodding vigorously. Of course, I’m not about to admit this isn’t really my style of music. If I’m going to be the girlfriend and eventual wife of a top DJ, I’m going to have to align my musical tastes with h
is. And I’m sure with a little more exposure to the pounding beat, I’ll learn to love it.

  But after forty-five minutes of driving around with Russell’s dance music blaring in my ears, my head is beginning to ache. Casually, I reach up to ensure my ears aren’t bleeding. As the car climbs a steep hill out of the city, Russell pulls off onto a narrow, gravel drive. “Where are we going?” I cry over the intense volume.

  He turns the music down. “Somewhere we can talk.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Surely “talk” is code for something more physical?

  As Russell edges the car along the rutted path, he elaborates. “It’s a really cool lookout. You can see all the lights of the city below. Sometimes I come up here and just sit by myself and listen to music.” He turns to smile at me. “Tanya told me kids have been coming up here to make out since she was a teenager.”

  “Oh.” I giggle nervously. Really, I’m more excited than nervous. There’s no doubt in my mind that I want to make out with Russell. I think about it daily, hourly, even minutely! I just wish I hadn’t eaten so many Doritos. Of course, Russell has also eaten Doritos and I still want to kiss him, so hopefully he won’t be too turned off by my Doritos breath. Taking a large sip of Coke, I swirl it around in my mouth, hoping to dislodge any chip residue in my teeth.

  Russell turns off the ignition and we sit silently for a moment. He’s right, the view is stunning. It’s no wonder kids have been coming here for years to make out. There are a couple of other vehicles in the area, obviously here for the same reason. It feels completely right, completely romantic. In this moment, there’s no doubt in my mind why Russell has brought me here. He wants me.

  He swivels in his seat to face me. “So . . . what’s going on with your mom and dad and everything?”

  Of course, he may just want to talk. “Well . . . it’s been a rough week,” I say. Despite being slightly disappointed that he isn’t trying to ravage me, I really do want to talk to Russell. And once I start recounting the events of the past few days, I find I can’t stop. He’s such a good listener that the words just pour out of me. “And now Sienna hates me,” I finally finish, biting on my lip to hold my emotions in check.