My Parents Are Sex Maniacs Page 11

  “What a stupid cow,” Russell says. “I can’t believe she’s falling for her mom’s lies. I mean, it’s not like she’s eight years old. Can’t she see that it takes two to tango?”

  “I know! And if you met Sunny, you’d see that she’s totally slutty.”

  “And to talk about your dad behind your back is really low. Girls like that make me want to vomit.”

  “Me too! I mean, I thought Sienna was different, but maybe she’s not.”

  Russell reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You’re better than they are, Louise, and don’t you forget it. One day, we’ll blow this hick town and they’ll all be left behind, living their petty little lives, fighting their petty little fights.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice hoarse from the poignancy of the moment. It would be even more poignant if he’d punctuate his statement with a kiss, or you know, maybe try to feel me up or something, but still, his words are enough.

  19

  And I cling to those words as I face another hellish week at Red Cedars. Whenever Audrey leans over to whisper to Kimber during algebra class, I replay them in my mind. Screw you! I think, sending mental daggers across the aisle into their backs. Enjoy your petty little lives in your petty little town. I’m better than you are. When I bravely venture into the cafeteria for a Diet Coke and Sienna and her cohorts greet me with shocked and appalled whispers, I just think, One day I’ll leave this town, and when I come back to visit, you will serve me hamburgers.

  Unfortunately, this new attitude does not make me feel any less of a leper. And while I’m extremely comfortable wishing that Kimber, Audrey, and Jessie would be struck down by a stray meteor, I just can’t wish that fate upon Sienna. As angry and hurt as I am, I still miss our friendship more than I can say.

  Thankfully, I’m able to fill my lunch hours with final preparations for Rent. The production is just more than two weeks away, which means each rehearsal is fraught with high drama. Well, the students are handling the pressure okay, but Mr. Sumner consistently loses it and storms out to the parking lot to smoke a cigarette (or quite possibly a joint) in his car. Leah, Aaron, and I have taken to placing bets on how many times he will stalk out of rehearsal. I won three dollars on Tuesday.

  On Thursday, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I have a shift tonight and will get to see Russell! He has promised me on MSN that he won’t call in sick again. The desktop computer remained when my dad left, and Russell and I have been IMing almost every day. This has really deepened our intimate connection. At this rate, we’ll be kissing and even having sex before you know it! As I get ready for my shift, I put on an extra coat of mascara.

  When I arrive at Orange Julius, Russell is alone behind the counter. “Hi!” I say brightly and then try to temper my delight at seeing him. It’s normal to be happy, but I don’t want to scare him. “How’s it going?” I add coolly.

  “Finally, you’re here!” he cries. “I’ve been bored out of my mind waiting for you.”

  I love him! I love him!

  Since it’s a weeknight, business is a little slower, giving Russell and me ample time to talk. I tell him about my coping strategies for dealing with the “evil triplets” (Audrey, Kimber, and Jessie) and the frenetic preparations for the upcoming production of Rent.

  “Can I come watch it?” Russell asks, tearing off bits of hot dog bun and eating them. “I’d like to see your sets.”

  I have the most supportive sort-of boyfriend in the world! “Sure,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “Opening night is May eleventh.”

  “Cool. My aunt took me to see it on Broadway once. It was great . . . really touching.”

  “Well, obviously it’s not going to be that good,” I say with a self-conscious laugh, “but the director is pretty talented.”

  Russell says, “I’ll really just be there to see your sets.”

  God, he’s awesome.

  Our conversation is interrupted as a few customers approach but resumes once they’ve been served. Russell tells me that his mom has been calling him a lot. “She’s ‘concerned,’” he says, doing air quotes.

  “About what?”

  “She wants me to go to college,” he explains. “She wants me to be an engineer, like my grandfather. My parents have no respect for my career choice. They’ll be eating their words when I’m a rich and famous DJ playing in clubs all over the world.”

  “Totally,” I say. “Your mom won’t be complaining when you, like, buy her a car for her birthday.”

  “She’s only going to get a Ford or something,” Russell sniffs, “unless she gets a whole lot more supportive.”

  Our laughter is suddenly interrupted by an insistent voice. “Excuse me. Can we get some service here?”

  I turn and my stomach drops. My worst fear is realized. Standing at the counter are Audrey, Kimber, and Jessie. Automatically, my eyes search for Sienna. She is seated at a distant table, glaring in our direction. At least she had the decency not to accompany them.

  “Oh . . . Louise,” Audrey says, her lip curled with distaste. “I forgot you work here.”

  “Right,” I mutter, my cheeks burning. It’s exceedingly obvious that they did not forget and that they are only here to torture me. But what can I do? They’re customers, and being rude to them could get me fired. The Orange Julius booth suddenly feels like a cage, and I am trapped, a poor, defenseless bear, pacing fruitlessly while nasty school-children throw rocks at me.

  “You look really great in that uniform,” Jessie says, and the three of them burst into laughter.

  When they’ve composed themselves, Kimber speaks. “Uh, no offense, Louise, but we don’t really want you touching our food. You might get some kind of . . . pervert germs on it.”

  More vicious laughter, then Audrey speaks. “Could that guy serve us, please?”

  Russell steps forward. “Hi, ladies.”

  “Hi,” they chorus, suddenly sweet and flirtatious.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Well,” Audrey says, leaning on the counter so her boobs are pressed together for Russell’s viewing pleasure, “we’d like to order four hot dogs and some smoothies, please.”

  “What kind?”

  Jessie leans in. “Do you have any recommendations?”

  “They’re all good,” Russell replies, “but Raspberry Crush is my favorite.”

  “Yum!” Kimber pipes in. “Four Raspberry Crush Smoothies, please.”

  “Unfortunately . . . ” Russell says, “I have a policy against serving evil triplets. And since you don’t want Louise touching your food—well . . . I guess you should head over to Taco Bell.”

  They gape at him. I gape at him. Part of me is thrilled by Russell’s incredible display of valor; another part of me is terrified he’ll be fired because of it!

  Audrey finally responds. “You can’t talk to us that way. We’re customers.”

  “Not if I refuse to serve you, you’re not.”

  “We’ll call your manager!” Kimber says shrilly.

  Russell looks back at me and laughs. “Did you hear that? They want to call Grant.” I force myself to laugh weakly. He turns back to my enemies. “Grant is a very close friend of mine, and he loves Louise. Trust me—if it’s your word against ours, he’ll be on our side.”

  The three girls are speechless. They exchange looks of mortification before Audrey finally growls, “We wouldn’t eat your shitty food if we were starving to death.” Turning on their heels, they stalk off to where Sienna’s sitting.

  20

  That settles it! There is only one gift significant enough to repay Russell for his chivalry: my virginity. I had been hoping to give it to him at some point anyway, and his recent actions have just affirmed my decision. Now it is time to take action. Make a plan. No more waiting for the right moment or for him to make the first move. I’m going to make it happen, thus showing my sincere thanks and solidifying our boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.

  Luckily, my mom has been going out
with Judith a lot recently. I casually ask about her plans for the weekend. “Are you going out with Judith on Saturday night?”

  She looks at me as she stirs the chickpea curry. “As a matter of fact, we’re planning to go to the arena for an ice-skating night for divorced moms. Why?”

  “No reason. I’m just really glad you’re getting out and having fun.”

  Now, I must deal with my brother. “What are you up to on Saturday night?” I ask, perching on the arm of the sofa where Troy is sprawled, watching The Simpsons.

  “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? It’s tomorrow! How can you not know what you’re doing tomorrow? Don’t you have any friends? God, you’re like an old man or something.”

  Troy looks at me. “Shut up, you fat bitch!”

  “I’m just saying . . . ” But my plan works. During the next commercial Troy goes to the phone and calls his friend Duncan. From my position at the breakfast bar, where I’m doing my homework, I hear them arrange to see a 9:00 p.m. movie.

  All that’s left to do now is entice Russell to come over. This shouldn’t be hard. His frequent IMs indicate that he definitely likes me. Of course, he hasn’t showed much physical interest in me, but he probably doesn’t want to scare me off. Maybe I send off some kind of vibe? A big-boned virgin vibe—as in Be careful around the big-boned virgin. If you try to kiss her, she may freak out or faint or something.

  I bring it up during a lull in our Saturday-afternoon shift. “What are you doing later tonight?” I ask, scrubbing at a nonexistent stain on the counter.

  “Nada,” he says, eating a handful of grated cheese. “I’ll probably just go home and listen to some music.”

  My heart is beating loudly in my throat, but I force a casual tone. “You could come listen to music at my place. No one’s home and we’ve got a pretty good stereo.”

  “Sure. What time?”

  Mentally, I run through the evening’s itinerary. My mom is going skating at 8:00 p.m., and Troy is being picked up for his movie at 8:30 p.m. If Russell comes over at 8:40 p.m., this should give us ample time to have sex, cuddle for a while, and be dressed, listening to music by the time my mom gets in at 10:00 p.m. “How about eight-forty?”

  “Eight-forty?” Russell laughs. “Sorry, I can’t make it until eight-forty-two.”

  I am a bundle of nerves as I wait for his arrival. I have showered, brushed and flossed my teeth, and tidied my room. Hurriedly, I scamper around the living room, fluffing pillows, picking lint off the carpet, and straightening the coasters. It would be grown-up and seductive to offer Russell a drink upon arrival, but my mom doesn’t have any liquor in the house, and I have no booze-buying connections. Instead, I put a bowl of Baked Lays on the coffee table.

  The doorbell rings while I’m scouring my mom’s bedside table for condoms. In a way, it’s a relief not to find any, since their presence would mean that my mom was having sex with someone, which is too disgusting to contemplate. But now the onus of protection is entirely on Russell. I’m sure he’ll bring some. Teenagers in Phoenix probably walk around with pocketfuls of condoms. I hurry downstairs to let him in.

  “Hey,” Russell says, giving me a quick hug. I cling on a bit longer, hoping to segue it into a passionate kissing session, but he extricates himself. “I brought some CDs along.”

  “Great.” I lead him to the living room and the stereo. He immediately pops in a CD and cranks up the volume. “Check this out!” he cries over the thudding bass. “It’s a mix out of Europe. A friend of mine sent it to me.”

  “Cool!” I cry, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up signal. Russell starts to move to the beat, his body instinctively catching the rhythm. Oh god, we can’t dance! I am not a good dancer in any scenario, and I highly doubt my abilities will be improved by my anxiety over the impending loss of my virginity. Besides, this music is so fast and . . . kind of weird. I motion to the coffee table. “Do you want some chips?”

  We move to the couch and Russell takes a large handful. Casually, I pick up the remote control and lower the volume slightly, allowing for conversation. “So . . . ” I begin nervously, “I really wanted to thank you for . . . you know, the other day.”

  “No problem,” he replies through a mouthful of Lays. “Any more run-ins with the evil triplets?”

  “No!” I gush. “Since you told them off, they’ve been completely leaving me alone.”

  “Good.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you sticking up for me,” I say, leaning a little closer to him. “It was so amazing.”

  Russell stuffs a few more chips in his mouth. “It was my pleasure.”

  “They’ve even stopped whispering whenever I enter the room. You’re like my hero!”

  “Oh come on!”

  “It’s true,” I coo. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

  He chuckles. “Well, your eternal servitude should do it.”

  And then I know the moment has arrived. I must make my move now or risk chickening out forever. “I can think of one way . . . ” I say suggestively. Slowly, I move toward him, eyes closed, lips parted for true love’s first kiss.

  “Louise, what are you doing?” I open my eyes to see Russell cowering away from me, his face contorted in a mask of horror.

  “I—I wanted to thank you,” I stammer, tears of shame instantly springing to my eyes. “I thought we could—I thought—oh god.” A wave of humiliation so powerful that I pray for a brain aneurysm engulfs me. How could I have thought Russell would be attracted to me? He is gorgeous. A young Brad Pitt! And I am hideous, a young . . . Uncle Leon!

  “Hey,” Russell says, his voice gentle. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, wiping frantically at my tears. “I uh . . . I’m just a little stressed out and not thinking clearly and . . . ”

  “Louise . . . ” Russell grabs my hand. “You’re a really beautiful girl. And if I’d consider being with any girl, it would be you.”

  I look at him, confused. “Uh . . . thanks.”

  “I’m gay,” he says.

  “Gay?”

  “Yeah.” He laughs. “I thought it was kind of obvious.”

  I’m stunned. “Uh . . . it probably is . . . if you know any gay people.”

  “You don’t know any gay people?”

  “There are no gay people in Langley!”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” Russell says.

  “Well, there’s Mr. Sumner, my drama teacher, but you’re not at all like him.”

  “No?”

  “He’s very . . . flouncey.”

  Russell laughs again. “We’re not all like that.”

  I’m thinking, Well, maybe you should be and save us poor straight girls the confusion and embarrassment! But I don’t say this out loud. Instead, I sit in silence for a moment, processing this revelation. My ego is relieved that his rejection wasn’t personal. On the other hand, I have just lost the man I love. All my dreams and fantasies for a New York future with Russell will never come true. And obviously, I won’t be able to lose my virginity to the most perfect male specimen the world has to offer.

  Russell gives my hand a squeeze. “I should have said something. You’re upset.”

  I squeeze his hand back. “It’s okay. I just . . . I feel stupid.” And then to my horror, the tears come, and with them, a torrent of words. “It’s just that I thought one day, you and I . . . ” A deep sob shudders through my chest. “I just thought . . . well . . . I was sort of—I was sort of in love with you.”

  Russell pulls me into him for a hug, gently stroking my hair. Ironically, this is the most intimate physical contact we’ve ever had. I let him hold me until the tears finally subside. Then, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I pull away and face him. “I’ll be okay,” I say with a brave smile.

  “I know you will,” he says. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, but really, it’s better this way.” He explains, “If we were a couple, we�
�d be bound to break up. Everyone knows teenage romances don’t last.”

  I nod.

  “And this way, we can be friends forever.”

  “Promise?”

  “Are you kidding me?” he says, taking my hands in his. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

  21

  So I am no longer in love, but at least I’m Russell’s favorite person in the world. And since I consider Russell the coolest human being on the planet, this knowledge has boosted my self-esteem. That’s not to say that the loss of my romantic fantasy doesn’t hurt: it does. And that’s certainly not to say I’m not embarrassed: I am! But Russell was so understanding about it, like, straight girls fall in love with him all the time, and really, it’s his own fault for being so sweet and gorgeous and not effeminate enough for us to figure it out. And for the first time, I actually feel sort of thankful I’m no longer friends with Sienna. If I were, I would obviously tell her about my disastrous seduction attempt. Then eventually she’d let it slip to Audrey or Jessie, and soon it would be all over school. At least this way, my shame is kept private.

  So maybe the remains of my high-school life are not going to be such a nightmare after all? Now that I’m no longer hiding a secret obsession with him, Russell and I talk openly about our plans for the future. He still wants to escape to a major center to embark on his DJ career, and I still plan to attend art school. Russell suggested that we could be roommates, which would be both fun and economical. In a way, he has filled the void left behind by Sienna’s unceremonious ditching of me. If I forget for a moment the fact that I recently tried to seduce my gay best friend and will likely die a virgin at the ripe old age of eighty-five, I can almost feel optimistic about the future.

  As I sit at the breakfast bar optimistically scarfing down a Jell-O pudding cup, my mom walks into the room.