It's funny how life turns out. You spend your days thinking one thing, and...as soon as said thing happens, you don't think it anymore. It's like your whole perception of the thing, or, in my case, "Ice Cream," is changed and suddenly it's not as desirable as you thought. What gets me most is how UNDESIRABLE my ice cream turned out to be. He came donned with all his sprinkles and I didn't fancy a lick.
I'm wearing a pink shoulder-less dress. My hair is down, and for once in my life I'm not wearing the pink bow that's usually hidden under my gray knotted cap. All I can think about is how white the table cloth is. It's thick with a little seam design at the end that cuffs it. If you look close enough you can see a small flower pattern embedded into it. I can't stop fingering the fabric and I don't know why. This is the night I have waited for, prayed for, and plotted for. I should be happy. I should be glee-full. I should have those cliche butterflies in my stomach. Instead I feel...nothing. Kind of board actually.
"Do you like your salad Helga?" Arnold asks, running his hand down his silk green tie, stalks of hair slicked back. "You don't seem to be eating." His face bunches into a frown, brow tilting up in concern.
"No, it's fine." I say, taking a bite. And it is. The dressing is light, fruity, and just the type you'd expect at Chez Paris. Arnold rubs the back of his neck, sighing in relief.
"Oh, good." The way his forehead sweats makes my stomach turn. Is he really THAT nervous? Criminy, football head. We're having dinner, not getting married. I smile, my cheeks hurting from the amount of force I have to use. Off in the distance I can see a thin-tux clad waiter setting down an order of scotch neat from a silver platter. His white gloved hands seem so fuzzy, like huge batches of fur on twigs.
"Helga?"
"Hm?"
"You seem a bit distracted. Is everything ok?"
"Huh? Oh, Yes Arnold. Heh, everything is great. So...how are things with Gerald? Do you seem him much since you started college?"
"Not really, but then again we go to different schools...so it's kida hard. Plus, he likes to talk to Phoebe whenever he can since she's all the way in New York at Columbia. How about you? Have you made any friends in college?"
"Some. But I find the teachers to be more fun then the students."
The bus boy comes and clears our veggie course, the waiter following with our steaks. We eat, chat, ask each other the usual "Do you like your food?" all the while I feel absolutely empty, my heart totally cut off from everything else. Arnold steals touches, finding ways to accidentally hold my hand, or nudging his feet near mine, blushing blood red each time. He stumbles with his words too, always taking these really long pauses when he wants to ask me something probing. Like,
"So...um...how um...is your sister? I heard she's some sort of actress now, right? Or did I hear that wrong?" I coerce my head to still so I don't roll my eyes. What is going ON here? Is asking about my sister so perverse that he has to grope his way through it? I raise my hand.
"Yo, guy in penguin suit! Can we get a drink over here?"
"But Helga, we're only 19! They can't serve us!"
"Like they ever check." Our tuxedoed clone comes by, Arnold grinning like he's about do something utterly wrong and want to I stand on the table and scream, scream at how stupid this all is. What is WRONG with me? What is WRONG with us? When Arnold brushed his hands on mine, I thought I'd swoon inside. But I just pulled my hands away, his clammy palms getting to me.
"Yea, I'll have Tattoo Rum, neat. Arnold?"
"Oh? Me? Oh...um...well...I..well..hows about..um..I guess...whats the one that taste like coconut?'
"That's the Pina Coletta, sir. Excellent choice." The tux nods and dashes off, and I can't help but think about the last time I was here. I remember how my heart fluttered at the chance to be close to him, how my body BEGGED to inch my chair near. The way my arm hairs nearly jumped when he sat next to me, my soul almost leaping form the shear joy I felt!
All I wanted was for my sweet Arnold to see my softer side, to let him know that I'm not always the bully. And now...he IS seeing all that. And it's not as grand as I thought. Or maybe...I thinking too much about this? This IS the first time I AM seeing him without a guise. I'm not in a play, I'm not Cecile. I'm just me, and maybe...just maybe..deep down that scares me. Or worse...maybe I never truly loved him at all.
"I'm glad I finally asked you out Helga."
"Really?"
"Yes! In fact, well..." Hair boy rubs his neck again, biting his already raw lip. "See..ok. Do you remember the poetry contest? Not the one in grade school, I'm talking about the one we had Senior year.."
"You mean the one that got me my scholarship?"
"Uhuh...I mean..well..see.." he stutters awkwardly, "I...ok. See, when you came up and read yours...I kinda...well..." The waiter delivers our drinks and I secretly want to marry him for the slight intermission he created. I look up at the penguin, eyes doing their best to show how grateful I really am. I inhale a huge gulp of rum, tonguing the spices that pass along my taste buds. The Tattoo calms me instantly and I'm ready to hear Arnold stagger through the longest story told since the bible.
"This is sweet! I think I actually kind of like this! Wow.."
"Yep, Pina Coletta's are sweet."
"So, as I was saying...I...I don't know...I mean...when you went up there read yours...I was kinda surprised. All this time you called me geek-bait, shrimp...football-head...I guess I always assumed you were mean all over. I mean, ok...don't hate me here..but...see..." He pauses, thankfully sipping his drink, "I assumed you had some sort of soft side because everyone does...and you did confess your feelings on top of FTi...but I never saw it until you read your poem and...I guess..I thought..well...I wanted to see more of it. That poem really showed me that I really didn't know you at all, Helga. All these years of being in school with you and I didn't know the real Helga G. Pataki! What does the G stand for anyway! I want to know!"
"Geraldine."
"See! I never knew that before! It's quite nice."
"Thanks..."
"My middle name is Philip. After my grandfather."
"Oh, I see. Good choice." The night carries on. We sip, eat, talk...the same inane and useless chatter that excites Arnold, and puts me to sleep. He prods me, awkwardly feeling his way through the questions. Thankfully though, his words smooth out midway through our second round and he seems less nervous. And yet...I'm still board. I'm still feeling nothing when my life long crush continues to talk to me, continues to find ways to feel me, get close to me, and touch my skin with eager fondles.
"Excuse me Arnold, I...have to use the ladies room. I'll a...be right back." I sport a courteous smile and walk of. Not really needing the bathroom I just stand by the doors, looking through the mirror that's opposite them. For a second my eyes blur and I can see the gilded frame and I have to hold on to the half-moon table that sits underneath it so I don't fall. I gaze at myself, my Iris's blending together with the black middles so all I can see are gaping holes, devoid of any twinkle.
"Oh Arnold!" I gush, "How I longed to be by your side! How I dreamed to have your hands hold mine! How I tried on many a dress for this night! Even going as far as to ask Olga which one suited me best! And Yet...And yet...the tingles are not there. The connection I SWORE we'd have is absent, totally gone the second I came in... and I...and I..." A harsh wheeze breaks through my impromptu poem, and I don't even have to turn around to know who it is.
"Criminy Brainy! How the HELL do you do that!" I groan, turning to face my soliloquy side-kick as I rummage through my purse for my smokes. I fumble with my lighter a bit, frustrated by the teasing sparks that can't ignite the one highlight of this evening. I'm about to smash it on the floor in tears when, out of nowhere, Brainy hands me a flame.
"Oh, give me that!" I try with his, my thumb failing to work it, arm shaking madly. Before I can punch him, Brainy gingerly grabs my thumb, slowly using his shockingly silken fingers to guide it down the spur-like wheel. It inflames instantly, my Marlboro 100 basking in the righteous heat.
"Don't think you're getting off easy because of that Bucko!" I want to say, but can't. Instead, I just stand there, eying over a slick Brainy as he daftly tosses his gold Zippo into his mahogany suit pocket. He moves forward some, the ray from the ceiling lamp showing off his bright blue bow-tie and the shiny rims of his classes.
"Night not going well?" Brainy wheezes out. I nod.
"Oh my poor Helga why must you torture yourself? You cannot fake what does not exist."
"Huh?" I puff out, unsure if it's the booze, or his words that confuse me. His hand reaches for my cheek and I know I should bat it away, but something tells me not to. Something I can't explain petrifies my body and soon Brainy makes contact. He slides his amazingly comfortable grabber down, pausing at the side of my chin.
"You cannot live on Ice Cream alone, fasting quicker then those who dine on hope." He moves behind me, hand still attached. "To tether thy being to a dream, has turned horrid so it seems." My cigarette smoke swirls to meet him, my jaw hanging low.
"What? I..."
"Come...if only to spare these four eyes a moment of your time." His palm glides to mine, bowing in the direction of the wall between the restroom doors and mirror. I would stand back, but Brainy is already walking to the wall, tapping on the upper most right-hand corner.
"Mot de passe ?" a scratchy voice says, the sound of it close by. At quick glance I see no one, wondering were the source is.
"J'ai un agneau froid nécessitant des laines" His perfect French throws me, but I have no chance to react, the back wall opening up to reveal the most luminescent room of my life. There are crystal chandeliers everywhere, candles in sparkling glass holders on every table, and a larger then large stage with a glitter speckled curtain. Lights line the stairs that fan out before us like a tilted stack of pancakes.
"But...how..." I let out, barley able to, "I don't want to keep Arnold waiting..."
"Like you've been? Don't you think it's time you finally saw what life is all about?" He trots me down the stars, leading us through the thicket of tables until we reach what seems to be ours in front of a leather booth. He lets me slide in first, Brainy following on my right side. A waiter pops next to him, giving a slight smile, the tux's pearly whites indicating something I don't understand. Brian raises his brow twice, and with that the waiter walks off.
"OK, I gotta..what? How..." I look down, realizing that my cig has gone out. I hot box it a few times, hoping there is still something left in the stick. Suddenly a fresh one is offered, and I take it, this time allowing Brainy to lite me.
A sequined singer walks to the microphone on stage, her red lips opening slowly as she belts out a French tune. I sit, dragging in the sweet flavor of the cig, trying to comprehend the scene around me. Waiters dot the tables, mixing with them as they carry trays of drinks, nib-lets of food, and unfathomable amounts of deserts. Everyone seems dressed like Brainy and me, classy, yet not too much, not one recognizable face in the lot.
"How does Brainy know about this room?" I wonder to myself. How does this room EVEN exists? How can no one else of Hillwood know about this secret, a knock away from this almost stereotypical French restaurant?
"Helga," Brainy wheezes again, "I have watched you my whole life. Every time you belted out your true feelings I was there, awaiting your five fingered love tap. Each tap was harder then the last, but I came back for more. Because I knew that if a punch was ALL I was getting for hearing your soul then I was getting off easy. Now, I am not saying you should choose me over Arnold. No. I'm saying you don't HAVE to chose."
"Choose what?" Our waiter brings by a bottle of champagne and two glasses, filling them up. Brainy sips his then raises it. I do the same, not sure why I am. We clink.
"Don't you see Helga! All your life you have pined for him, waited for him, and spent countless nights getting on paper your exact feelings for him. Why? Because he was the first person to notice you. No, the first MALE to notice you. And because of that you have funneled all your family hate into loving him... to help ignore the fact that your father doesn't love you. And now, on the grand night he's finally living up to your writings, your unhappy."
"Yea," I sigh, blowing a smoke ring, "vary..and I wish I knew why..."
"Because..." he leans in close to me, elbows on the table, "You have nothing left to pine for. And now it's down to chemistry."
"Chemistry?" I repeat, half slurring from the champagne. What the hell dose THAT mean? What does ANY of this mean? How can...what can...this is not making any sense! How did I go from being on a date with Arnold to being on date with Brainy on the same night? Is this a dream? This MUST be a dream. It HAS to be a dream.
I hold my head, looking at Brainy as a migraine sets in. He's about to say something, his small lips beginning to move when he stops himself, waiting. He wheezes, sounding more like a muffled chainsaw then his usual snore. He gets close again, his hand rubbing my arm, touch oddly calming the jackhammer in my head.
"I'll get you back to Arnold now," he says, gingerly moving me out of the booth. We pass by patrons, waft through waiters, and crawl through the crowds, my view of the room getting drowned by the light, enveloped by white. We are one step away from the door when he tugs my wrist.
"Don't base your life on love, Helga. Let love base its life around you." And then...Brainy pulls me back to him, craftily twirling me so my lips meet his, body aflame with tingles the moment we kiss. Logic tells me to shove him off, yet something deeper tells me to go forward, to allow my former punching bag to take hold of me, caress me, and awaken parts of me that have been dormant for ten... solid... years.
The essences of champagne swims around my mouth, waves of carbonated wine cresting with our tongues. Drunk on passion, my hands roam round his skinny bod, finally reaching his goose-down soft hair. I can't help but get excited, the vibrations coursing through me intensely with each passing second, and just when I'm about to quake, Brainy stops.
"Holy...Hell..."
"Just a taste, " he wheezes with a smile. He takes my wrist again to steady my shaking body and I almost go for anther kiss when starts walking me out near the restrooms, pausing by the mirror. He fixates me in front of him, my back facing the average restaurant.
"Good night, my sweet poetess," Brainy bows, "Have a pleasant evening." He turns, the wall reopening as he strolls back in, whistling to a tune I don't know.
