My Parents Are Sex Maniacs Page 9

  I am so in love!

  15

  Of course, preparations for my sort-of date begin immediately. When I get home from work, I try on every outfit in my closet. I’m searching for something a little bit sexy but not too slutty, in a color that will emphasize my highlights. (I didn’t spend $180 to have them go entirely unnoticed!) Plus, Russell has yet to see that I do have some semblance of a figure underneath my enormous Orange Julius T-shirt. Sienna’s fashion expertise would be greatly appreciated, but I don’t feel I can call her. Since I’ve led her to believe that I can’t attend Audrey’s party because I will be standing guard over Troy, I can’t ask her what I should wear to a movie with Russell. Besides, this is not even officially a date. I shouldn’t make too big a deal about it.

  The next morning, I buy some tooth whitening strips and moustache bleach. A new outfit would be ideal, but given the amount of money I’ve spent on grooming lately, it is out of the question. I settle on a black boatneck T-shirt and my most flattering jeans. Since the mid-April weather is still quite cold, I throw a belted gray sweater over top. My mom doesn’t even comment on my improved looks as she drives me to the multiplex. She’s so wrapped up in her new career and training regimen that she’s practically forgotten she has kids. At least she says, “You’re meeting Russell from work?” Her voice turns playful. “He’s sure a cutie.”

  “I guess,” I reply, staring intently out the passenger window to hide my wide smile.

  I’m supposed to meet Russell in the lobby of the massive theater. As always, it’s a mob scene, a barrage of sights, sounds, and smells assaulting the senses. Scanning the mass of people, I search for my sort-of date. Unfortunately, I’m a few minutes early, since my mom is meeting Judith at a yoga class and needed to drop me off on her way. I don’t want to look too eager, so I find an inconspicuous spot next to the Street Fighter game and wait.

  Just as I’m on the verge of descending into panic that Russell is standing me up, he appears. My breath catches in my chest. He’s wearing a brown suede jacket and jeans, and I suddenly realize this is the first time I’ve seen him out of his Orange Julius uniform. He is almost too gorgeous! And he completely stands out in the milling masses—he’s more stylish, hipper, and definitely more urban. I make my way toward him.

  “Louise!” he says and gives me a quick hug. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  “Do you like my jacket?” he asks, holding out a suede arm for me to caress. “I got it at this church thrift store back in Phoenix. It was twelve bucks!”

  “No way! It’s gorgeous.”

  “So . . . ” he looks up at the pixelated sign above our heads running the movies and times, “what should we see?”

  “Oh, anything’s good for me,” I reply. “You pick.”

  And like the perfect, sophisticated dreamboat he is, he selects a Jake Gyllenhaal movie I’ve actually been dying to see. God, we are so in sync! “I think we’ll both enjoy this,” he says, handing me a ticket.

  “Here,” I say, thrusting some money toward him.

  “It’s on me.” He pushes my hand away. “You get the popcorn.”

  Finally, we’re seated in the dimly lit theater with a few minutes to spare before the show starts. I purchased a jumbo popcorn for sharing and a Coke for each of us. Sitting there shoulder to shoulder with Russell definitely feels very datelike. Unfortunately, since I have no dating history, it’s a little hard for me to tell for sure. He paid for the movie, which is definitely datelike, but then I paid for the popcorn, which is a little more “just friends hanging out on a Saturday night.” Our fingers touch briefly as we both reach into the popcorn bucket and I feel my heart beat faster. With chemistry like that, this has to be a date!

  “I had a big fight with Jackie today,” Russell says, referring to our redheaded coworker. “She is such a miserable bitch.”

  “I know,” I agree. “What is her problem?”

  Russell shrugs. “You’d be miserable too, if you looked like her.”

  My cheeks turn pink as I blush. Russell thinks I’m prettier than Jackie. Of course, that’s not all that hard given Jackie’s unfortunate coloring and skin problems, but still! All the efforts I’ve taken to improve my looks have really paid off.

  “Honestly, if you weren’t there, I don’t think I could stand that job.”

  I love him! I love him!

  The lights go down and Russell and I sink lower into our seats. It may be my imagination, but I think he leans a little closer to me. The pressure of his shoulder against mine makes it hard to concentrate on the film. Jake Gyllenhaal, usually so drool-inducing, doesn’t hold a candle to my companion. Seriously, Russell is that hot! My mind wanders again to the is-this-a-real-date quandary. The way he’s leaning close to me would signify that it is a date (really, he is almost cuddly), but the fact that he hasn’t reached for my hand or anything leads me to wonder if he just considers me a friend. Or maybe it’s just too soon to be holding hands? God, I need Sienna’s feedback on this.

  When the film ends Russell turns to me. “What did you think?”

  “Uh . . . good,” I say a little hesitantly. I really have no idea what the movie was about.

  “Yeah, it was all right. Nice scenery anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  We edge our way out of the packed theater, through the chaotic lobby, and out into the night. Spring is approaching and it’s starting to warm up a little, but still I huddle into my sweater. Russell puts his arm around me and rubs his hand vigorously up and down my arm. Hmmm . . . arm around shoulders = date; too vigorous rubbing = good buddy trying to warm up cold friend.

  “Can I give you a ride home?” Russell offers. “I’ve got my stepmom’s car.”

  “That would be great!” I reply, a little too enthusiastically.

  As he leads me through the parking lot, he says, “We could go for coffee or something, but Tanya likes me to have the car home before ten. She’s usually pretty cool, but she’s a little uptight about her car.” When we reach the vehicle I can see why. Russell’s stepmom has lent him a vintage Thunderbird convertible.

  “Oh my gosh!” I say, admiring the massive metallic blue body. “This is such a nice car!”

  “It’s a bit cheesy,” Russell says, unlocking the door, “but Tanya loves it. It’s a 1966, and she’s had it fully restored. I just wish it was a bit warmer out, then we could put the top down.”

  But I don’t need the top down. As Russell eases the Thunderbird out of the parking lot and onto the street, I feel like I’m in a dream. Surely, I’m in some parallel universe where I’m a gorgeous, highlighted 1960s movie star, hurtling down the road in an expensive vehicle driven by my incredibly gorgeous boyfriend. I let my body sink into the leather seat, reveling in the moment. I don’t need to look at Russell, it’s enough just to feel his presence. As I provide directions to my house, even my voice sounds different, more mature, almost . . . sultry.

  When we turn onto my street, my heart begins to beat faster. These last few moments have cemented the idea that this is a date in my mind. Everything feels so incredible, so magical, that it simply has to be! I wonder if Russell will kiss me good night. It would be the perfect end to the perfect evening. My hand fumbles for the lip balm in the pocket of my sweater. Do I surreptitiously apply it before the moment arrives, or will that look too premeditated? I don’t want Russell to think I expect him to kiss me. It’s only our first sort-of date and everything. But my lips are so dry! What if he does kiss me and it reminds him of kissing some shriveled, dry-lipped old lady? Not that he would know what that is like, probably, but still, it’s not the impression I want to give.

  But as we near the house, the state of my lips is suddenly the last thing on my mind. I lean forward in my seat, staring out the front windshield. “What the hell . . . ?” I mumble, watching my dad’s Infiniti back out of the driveway.

  “What is it?” Russell asks.

  “Uh . . . ” But I’m not sure what to
say. What the heck is my dad doing here on a Saturday night? He doesn’t just drop by for visits. In fact, he hasn’t set foot in the house since the week after he left. What’s going on? It has to be something terrible. My mind immediately goes to my brother. Oh god, Troy’s done something psycho! As Russell brings the car to a stop in front of my house, I am already opening the door. “Thanks for the movie,” I say quickly. “See you at work.”

  16

  Obviously, the timing wasn’t right for the second kiss of my life. (Yes, I have been kissed once before. It was a game of truth or dare in seventh grade when Zoe Martens dared me to kiss Noah Spencer in the coat closet for one minute. Noah had an enormous mouthful of braces that caused him to spit when he talked . . . and kissed, for that matter. Still, I considered it good practice.) Maybe Russell would have tried had I not been so distracted by my dad’s presence, but I can’t think about that now.

  As soon as I let myself into the house, the stillness seems to confirm my worst fears. Hurrying to the living room, I find my mom curled up on the couch.

  “Oh, hi, Louise,” she says, her voice hoarse from crying. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her nose swollen and shiny.

  “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Why was Dad here?”

  “Come and sit down.” Her voice is gentle as she pats a spot on the sofa beside her. Unfortunately, her tone only serves to heighten my panic.

  “What’s happened? Where’s Troy? Has he done something?”

  “No,” my mom says. “He’s in his room. He’s upset, but he’ll be okay.”

  With my heart in my throat, I sit down beside her. She reaches for my hand and her eyes begin to well with tears. “Your dad . . . wanted to come back home. It didn’t work out between him and Sunny. She’s gone back to Keith and the kids.”

  “Oh . . . ” is all I can manage to say.

  “Your dad thought . . . well, he thought I’d be here waiting for him with open arms.”

  “And you’re not?” I say slowly.

  My mom lets go of my hand and reaches for a tissue. “I’ve always wanted the best for you kids,” she says, dabbing at her eyes, “a home with a mom and a dad who love you. But . . . so much has changed.”

  I nod my agreement, even as tears of disappointment spill from my eyes. She’s right; everything has changed. We could never go back to being the family we were before my dad’s birthday. But still, even after everything he’s done, I miss him. Even after all the crap he’s pulled, I wish she’d let him come home.

  “I’m sorry, Louise,” Mom says, passing me a Kleenex. “He’s hurt me so much. I could never trust him again.”

  “I know,” I say quietly, “me neither.”

  “If he’d come back a few weeks ago, it might have been different, but now, I just can’t go back to that life again . . . I can’t do it.” She blows her nose loudly.

  We sit in silence for a moment, each of us dabbing at our eyes and blowing our noses. When I finally have myself together, I say, “I’m gonna go do some drawing.”

  Mom looks at me. “So you’re okay?” she asks. “You understand?”

  I smile tightly. “Yeah, of course. I totally understand.”

  And I do understand. But as I sit on my bed that night, halfheartedly sketching some Picasso-esque woman with three breasts and an inordinately large nose, I feel confused and conflicted. It’s not like I expected my parents to get back together, but it’s just so final. And what about my dad? He’s been dumped, deserted, and cast off! The irony is not lost on me, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Despite his horndog tendencies, he’s still a good person.

  And what’s going on with the Marshall family? How is Sienna feeling right now? Is she angry that Keith accepted Sunny back after all the hurt she’s caused? Or is she just happy to have her mom home? Finally, my eyelids start to get heavy and I close my sketch pad. There’s no point sitting here obsessing. Tomorrow, I’ll call Sienna and find out what’s going on. Maybe I’ll even call my dad . . . just to see how he’s holding up.

  The next day, I try Sienna’s cell only to find it turned off. Sunny’s return has once again rendered me fearful of calling the Marshall house. I wouldn’t know what to say to her if I got her on the line. Hi, Sunny. I’m glad to hear you got tired of banging my dad and have returned to your family. And what do I say to my dad? I’m sorry to hear you’ve been dumped by your “sex toy” and now your wife doesn’t want you either.

  On Tuesday morning, after an excruciating Easter looong weekend, I seek Sienna out at her locker before the first bell. It’s imperative that I find her before Kimber and Jessie do. This is private, family business and should be discussed one on one. When I see her hanging up her stylish black blazer, I suddenly feel kind of nervous. But that’s ridiculous. This is Sienna, my BFF. My former almost-stepsister! Shaking off my apprehension, I approach.

  “Hi,” I say, forcing a casual tone.

  Sienna looks up and a flash of something anxious darts across her features. “Oh, hey,” she says, putting on a bright smile.

  “So . . . how was your weekend?” I am consciously trying not to chew on my lip, a dead giveaway that I’m nervous.

  “Good . . . Yeah, Audrey’s party was super fun. Too bad you couldn’t come.”

  “Yeah . . . too bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I . . . uh . . . hear that your mom’s back home.”

  Sienna clears her throat. “Yeah, she came back on Saturday night.” She laughs nervously. “I guess my dad was right all along.”

  I laugh too. “I guess so . . . ”

  “So . . . what’s going on at your house?”

  I know exactly what she means by this. “My mom doesn’t want him back.”

  “I don’t blame her.” There is something nasty in her tone that stirs a sick feeling in my stomach. But at that moment the bell rings.

  “Well . . . I’d better go,” I say, somewhat thankfully. “See you at lunch.”

  Sienna closes her locker. “Actually, I’m meeting Dean for lunch today.”

  “Okay . . . well, see you later then.”

  “Later.”

  At lunch I work on sets. With less than a month until opening night, time is running out. Besides, I’m not really in the mood to sit in the cafeteria and listen to the gory details of Audrey’s party, like who was given the privilege of blowing Daniel Noran this time. Thankfully, painting the backdrop of a New York loft proves a good distraction. Who cares that my dad is all alone and Sunny has gone back to Keith? Soon, Sienna and I will be living in our own New York loft, focusing on our fashion careers. Hopefully, Russell will be there too, and I can go to clubs and listen to him play, or spin, or whatever DJs do, while we fall more madly and passionately in love with each passing moment.

  When the lunch hour is up, Leah Montgomery helps me pack up the paints and stow the drop cloths. “Did you go to Audrey’s party on Saturday?” I ask her.

  “No,” she says, making a face of distaste. “I wasn’t in the mood. Raj and I just hung out at her place. Did you go?”

  “No,” I say, trying to sound casual, “I sort of had a date that night.”

  Leah looks at me. “Sort of had?”

  “Yeah,” I continue, my cool facade slipping as a smile of pure delight takes over my face. “I went to a movie with this guy I work with . . . this really awesome guy I work with.”

  “Oh my god!” she cries. “Tell me more!”

  But just then Mr. Sumner flicks the stage lights on and off. “People! Lunch hour is over. Get to your classes before I have all your teachers mad at me.”

  As Leah and I scurry into the hallway, I say, “I’ll tell you about him later. I’ve got to go to the restroom before Mr. Bartley’s class.”

  She rolls her eyes. “He’d rather have you pee in your pants than disrupt his precious algebra class.”

  The white, cavernous bathroom is vacant. I briefly take in my appearance in the large mirror above the row of sinks. Marco’s hairs
tyle is proving a little hard to replicate, but it’s still an improvement over my previously limp locks. After a halfhearted fluffing, I head into a stall.

  I’ve just finished peeing when I hear them enter. From my position in the stall, it is difficult to identify the female voices chattering excitedly over top of one another. “I think it’s totally great!” one voice says. It is slightly distorted, as though the speaker has something in her mouth. Ah! It’s Audrey with her omnipresent lollipop.

  “It’s, like, super good news,” Kimber’s voice seconds.

  “Thanks, guys,” another voice responds, which I instantly recognize as Sienna’s. “It’s for the best. Brody’s only thirteen. He still needs his mom. And my dad’s so much happier now.”

  “I’m so happy for you all!” Jessie gushes.

  “He always knew she’d come back,” Sienna continues. “I guess he could see that she was being manipulated all along. She was just too gullible and too naive to see that bastard for what he really is.”

  “He’s like a predator,” Audrey’s voice says knowledgeably.

  “A con man!” either Kimber or Jessie adds.

  I am momentarily confused. Predator? Con man? Surely they can’t be talking about—

  “We should put up posters with Len Harrison’s picture on them: middle-aged women beware!” They all laugh.

  I flush the toilet and that silences them. Hurriedly, I zip up my jeans and exit the stall. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but I know I can’t hide in here and pretend I didn’t hear their malicious words. As I emerge, their faces register their shock. “L—Louise,” Sienna stammers.

  My cheeks are burning with anger and humiliation as I silently stalk to the sink to wash my hands. Audrey says, “We didn’t know you were in there.”

  “Obviously,” I mutter.

  “Jeez!” Audrey snipes, looking to her friends and rolling her eyes. “Don’t freak out! We wouldn’t have said anything if we’d known you were hiding in the toilet.”