Mom isn't pleased when she sees me Saturday evening.
"What are you wearing?" she demands, her voice rising shrilly.
I glance down at myself. I'm wearing black linen pants and heels with a scoop-necked teal sweater. "A nice outfit," I reply, simply.
Mom's left eye twitches. "Our guests will be here in fifteen minutes! Paula Jardin cannot see you in trousers like some tomboy!"
I stare at Mom. It seems so very, very long ago that she was a good mother. "I told you yesterday, I have plans."
"Plans? Plans more important than my dinner party?"
"Yes."
Mom stares hard at me, nostrils flaring. Her eye continues twitching. "I absolutely forbid you to leave this house," she says, tightly.
"Stop me," I challenge, then start down the stairs.
Mom follows behind me, breathing down my neck. "Ted! Ted!" she shrieks when Dad comes into view. He's in the foyer, swinging his new driver, which he's been dying to show off to Mr. Jardin and Mr. Brown. "Ted! Look at your daughter!" Mom yells.
Dad glances up. He grins. "You look lovely, sweetheart," he tells me, then lowers his head and takes another swing.
Mom loses it. She's ranting and raving as I duck into the kitchen where Mrs. Bryar's cleaning up.
"I see your mother's looking forward to her party," she says, dryly.
I lean on my elbows on the center island, watching Mrs. Bryar wipe down the tile. "She's upset over my outfit," I explain.
Mrs. Bryar glances up, looking at me over her glasses. "I think you look very nice, Shannon," she says.
"Thank you. But I'm not staying for the dinner party. Well, I'll stay a little while. I have to be somewhere at six," I tell her. "I have a date. He's making me dinner at his apartment, then we're watching Tahitian Orchid."
Mrs. Bryar glances up at me again. "You're going to some boy's apartment to watch Tahitian Orchid?" she asks.
"Yes. Have you seen it?"
Mrs. Bryar looks a bit embarrassed. "Well, yes. But everyone saw it back then. It was quite the scandalous movie." She rinses out the dish rag. There's a slight flush to her cheeks. "I wanted to walk out, but my husband wouldn't leave. It was his kind of movie," she says, disapprovingly. Mrs. Bryar is divorced. "How well do you know this boy?" she asks, sort of warily.
"Oh, well, he's - "
"Mrs. Bryar!" Tiffany shouts, breezing into the kitchen, pulling Tyler Austen behind her. Tiffany's wearing her burnt-orange dress from the Creative Arts Faire. She's somehow managed to show even more cleavage this time around. Tyler's in tan slacks, a starched white shirt, and a tie that matches Tiffany's dress exactly. "Mrs. Bryar! I want you to meet my boyfriend! This is Tyler Austen," she says, positioning Tyler right in front of Mrs. Bryar for a full appraisal. "He's the third baseman on the varsity baseball team and he's in Honor Society."
Tyler's ears turn pink. I don't blame him with Tiffany showing him off like some terrific prize she won at a carnival.
"Mrs. Bryar, Tyler needs to know what we're having for dinner. He's a diabetic," Tiffany says.
"No, it's okay, I - "
"It's no trouble, Tyler," Tiffany interrupts. "Right, Mrs. Bryar?"
Mrs. Bryar must agree because she runs through the menu with Tyler, listing all the ingredients. Everything is fine for Tyler to eat, although he doesn't look very hungry when Mrs. Bryar finishes. Neither does Tiffany. Mom put together the most pretentious menu possible. The meal begins with cold cucumber soup, followed by chair de crabes ravigote, which is cold crabmeat with salad dressing. The main course is salt-crusted rack of lamb with haricots vertes and pommes de terre au gratin (which are simply green beans and potatoes au gratin, but Mom won't admit that). Then fresh sliced cantaloupe for dessert. I know Mrs. Bryar worked hard all afternoon, but I am very thankful I'm eating dinner with Wes. I doubt he's making anything involving crabmeat or goat cheese.
Tiffany steps beside me and whispers, "All Mom cared about was what Tyler's dad does for a living. Apparently, a pool contractor isn't impressive enough. She barely gave poor Tyler a second look." Tiffany moves closer to Tyler and wraps her arms around his waist and begins kissing his neck. Right in front of Mrs. Bryar. Tiffany has no shame.
Maria swings around the doorway. She's dressed in an emerald-green velvet dress with a matching headband in her curly reddish-brown hair. "Mom says some asses better get in the living room. The guests are arriving."
We say goodbye to Mrs. Bryar, who's putting on her coat, getting ready to leave. Then my sisters, Tyler, and I walk out into the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Kerner are already in there, holding drinks Dad just poured. The Kerners live around the corner. Mrs. Kerner is also a real estate agent. In fact, she's the one who convinced Mom to enter the profession. Their daughter, Amanda, is on the yearbook staff with me. She's okay, but we've never been friends. I am disappointed, though, that she didn't come with her parents. She would have been someone for Meg to talk to after I leave.
The Jardins are in the foyer removing their coats. Mr. Jardin already has a drink in his hand. I wonder if brought it with him, or if Dad's just that fast. Mom and Mrs. Jardin are admiring each other, which is actually more of an excuse to admire themselves. Content that her mother is busy stroking her own ego, Meg slips away and rushes toward me, as fast as she can in her skin-tight dress. I don't see how she can breathe.
"Are you quite all right?" I ask her.
Meg touches the stomach of the plum-colored dress. "Mom said it would keep me from overeating. Oh my Lord, Shan, I think I'm going to die."
"Well, you certainly won't be able to sit down."
"No, I can. Mom made me practice before we left," Meg says, then looks over her shoulder at Mrs. Jardin. "My mother is such a cow. She told me breast implants can't give you cancer. You know what? I think she's lying."
Tiffany, standing behind Meg, rolls her eyes.
"Have you spoken to Greer?" Meg asks me.
"No," I reply with a frown. "Why? Have you?" I figured Greer would call Meg the first chance she got. Call Meg and attempt to turn her to her side. That's Greer.
Meg nods. "She called last night. She's really upset, Shan. She didn't mean what she said. Greer's just like that. Always putting her foot in her mouth."
"I don't accept her apology," I say, coolly. "She really hurt me." If she's actually sorry, Greer can wallow in it for a few days. I overlook her insolence and ego often enough. I am glad Greer won't be here tonight. When we were younger, our parents were close friends. In recent years that friendship has eroded slowly away to dust. My parents are not who they once were and the Carsons don't care for who they've become.
"Oh, Shan, you don't understand - " Meg bites her lip.
Mrs. Jardin is gliding toward us, martini in hand, and a fake smile on her face. "Shannon, what are you wearing?" she asks with a chuckle. "Just because Mick Stone broke your heart doesn't mean you should just give up." She chuckles again.
Tiffany slips her arm through mine. "He didn't break her heart. Shannon was going to dump him anyway. She can do better than a wrestler at Idaho State."
Another chuckle from Mrs. Jardin, high and patronizing. "Right. Now run upstairs and put on something decent. Ross Brown is on his way and he's single." Mrs. Jardin winks at me. "We'll find you a new one yet. I'd steer Meg in his direction, but I'm saving her for Dr. Irving's boy." Mrs. Jardin smiles and slaps Meg on the backside. "Better make your move soon, girl." Then she turns and glides away.
"Your mother would be plotting to marry you off to the son of her plastic surgeon," I comment.
Meg nods, solemnly. "All those discounted services."
"You should find someone completely inappropriate and jump his bones," Tiffany advises. "That'll show your mom."
Tyler looks worried. "Am I inappropriate?" he asks Tiffany.
"Are you kidding? My mom doesn't care who I date. You're perfect, butterbean."
Butterbean? I raise an eyebrow at Meg, then we turn and walk away as Tiffany and Tyler begin baby talking to each other. We stroll passed Dad and Mr. Jardin, who are teaching Maria how to make a martini. Just what a twelve year old girl should be - a bartender. Mom ignores me as I walk by, lost in flirty conversation with two twenty-something men, who I assume are Raymond and Julian from her office.
"You should know," I tell Meg, "I'm not staying for the dinner party. I'm going out."
Meg's eyes widen. "What a great way to stick it to your mom!" she hisses, looking genuinely impressed. "You're so brave, Shan."
"Uh...yes. I'm punishing her," I reply with a pang of guilt.
Meg and I hide in the formal sitting room. A lot of high, false laughter drifts in toward us. Meg perches awkwardly on the end of the sofa, ankles crossed and tilting slightly sideways. I don't think Mrs. Jardin had her practice enough. Meg tries to bring up Greer several times, but I cut her off and change the subject. I hope she tells Greer. Shannon's not interested in you or your insincere apologies. Greer can reflect on that until Monday.
Mrs. Jardin tracks us down. She's like a bloodhound with her nose trained solely on Meg. She's pulling Ross Brown along with her. She's smiling, that fake smile of hers, but her hand is tight on his arm. Poor Ross Brown can barely cover his fright. He must see Mrs. Jardin as a vulture carrying him off to her hungry, desperate babies.
"Girls, you know Ross Brown," Mrs. Jardin says, sweetly, pushing Ross forward. She motions for Meg and I to stand.
Meg rises, slowly and awkwardly, then sticks out her hand. "Wonderful to see you again, Ross," she says, pleasantly.
"Hi Ross," I greet him without offering my hand. That's probably a good thing, as out of the corner of my eye, I notice Meg discreetly wipe her palm on her dress. Sweaty palms.
"Hi Meg, Shannon," he replies.
"I'll leave you three to chat," Mrs. Jardin tells us.
We stare at each other.
I've met Ross Brown several times over the years. Our fathers are golfing buddies. Mr. Brown's a lot like Dad and Mr. Jardin. They make a perfect threesome. Mrs. Brown is much better, which is why our family rarely socializes with the Browns. I once overheard Mrs. Brown call Mom and Mrs. Jardin "silicone pinheads". She didn't know I was in the next stall. I should have come out and told her I agree. Ross seems all right. He attends Stoneybrook High and he dated Anna in eighth grade. She was crazy about him. For about a week.
"I heard you got dumped by Mickey Stone," Ross finally says.
Oh, the humiliation.
"It was mutual," I lie.
Meg looks puzzled. "It was?"
"Yes!" I snap.
Ross grins. "Mickey Stone's a jerkoff. Did he ever tell you about the time I put his head in a toilet?"
I raise an eyebrow and laugh. "You put his head in a toilet?"
"Well, me and most of the varsity basketball team. It was last spring and we were shooting hoops at Stoneybrook Elementary. Then your jerkoff boyfriend shows up with his jerkoff friends. They started hassling us and pelting us with powdered donuts. So, we decided to set an example. We jumped Mickey and carried him into the girls restroom. Pete Black, Paul Stern, and I shoved his head in the toilet and flushed. We also stole his pants. Then we locked him in. His friends ran off and left him. Some little girl let him out like an hour later." Ross laughs.
I laugh, too. Meg gazes at Ross admiringly. "That's so cool," she says. I'm sure she's imagining shoving her mother's head in a toilet and flushing.
Ross looks very pleased with himself as he adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. "I think he stuck to loitering around Greenvale playgrounds after that."
Ross would be a good match for Meg. Mrs. Jardin surely wouldn't object to him, even if his dad isn't a plastic surgeon. Ross would probably even have a sense of humor about Mrs. Jardin accompanying them on their dates. "I need to leave now. I can't be late," I announce, checking my watch. I tilt my head against Meg's. "Sit by him at dinner," I whisper.
"You're not staying for dinner?" Ross asks.
"She's sticking it to her mom," Meg explains.
Ross nods. "I can respect that," he says, seriously.
I say my goodbyes and cross quickly through the living room. When I pass Dad, I hear him tell Mr. Jardin and Mr. Kerner that next fall, I'll start at Columbia. That's Dad's alma mater. I didn't even apply there. My heart is set on Wellesley, but Brown or Amherst will suffice. But why would Dad know that? I slip out through the kitchen and into the garage unseen. Mom and I aren't having a scene. I will simply be gone. It's up to her to tell the lie. Luckily, no one has parked behind me in the driveway. I back out easily and start toward downtown Stoneybrook.
I turn onto Birch Street, which runs behind Stoneybrook Bank. I've never been back this way, which is why I'm not worried about being seen at Wes' complex. I don't know anyone who lives in an apartment. I navigate my Explorer around the side of the complex, then into an empty space. I check the directions once more, then step out of the car. I need to find building F, apartment 137. It's dark out, but the street lamps burn brightly around the complex. I quickly find apartment 137. It's right off the parking lot, just like Wes said. It's on the ground floor with a small walled-in patio. I step into the flower bed and peer over into the patio. There's some kind of potted tree and a dusty chaise lounge. I walk around to the front door and knock. While I wait, I fluff my hair a little.
"Hey!" Wes greets me when he opens the door. "Come in!"
"Hi Wes," I step over the threshold into the living room.
Wes takes my coat then leans in to kiss me. It's still a bit of a shock when he does that. He kisses me longer than he usually does in greeting. When he pulls back he smiles. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour," he says, taking my hand. "This is, of course, the living room. I promise, I actually did clean it." The living room is long with a pale green tweed couch, two white marble coffee tables, and a beige recliner. The coffee tables are stacked with books, papers, and uncapped pens. There's also a television set on a white marble stand and a wide bookcase, its shelves crammed haphazardly with books, videos, and tapes. I think I've found Wes' first flaw - he's not exactly neat.
"And here's the kitchen and what passes for the dining room," Wes says, leading me into a L-shaped kitchen. It's messy with dinner preparations. The dining room is more like a nook with a card table and folding chairs for a dining table. Next Wes shows me the bathroom, which is, thankfully, very clean and smells like lemon cleanser. Lastly, Wes takes me into his bedroom, which I enter with a brief moment of hesitation. The room is much larger than I expected, filled with dark oak furniture and a queen-size bed covered in a navy and green plaid comforter.
When I pass by the dresser, something swats my head and hisses. Startled, I shriek and jump back.
"Oh, sorry!" Wes cries, looking just as startled. "I should have warned you about the cat."
"You have a cat?" I reply, wearily. I am not a huge fan of cats. I am a dog person. Dogs are loyal and friendly. Cats are snobbish and rude and remind me too much of people I know. The only cat I really like is Lindsey's cat, Missy Prissy. I look up. Crouched on top of the dresser, staring evilly down at me is the freakiest cat I've ever laid eyes on. It's a white and orange tabby Persian with enormous red-orange eyes.
Wes plucks the cat off the dresser. The cat growls, but Wes isn't bothered. "Shannon meet Darth Vader. Darth for short." Wes holds the cat out like he expects me to pet it.
"You named your cat Darth Vader?" I ask.
"Well, her name used to be Lady Marmalade, but uh, that had to be changed. She was a housewarming gift from my parents. Sort of. Actually, she used to be their cat, then one day I came home and her litter box, cat condo, and food dish were sitting in my living room. She was asleep in the sink. She's really a great cat. Really. She's very attached to me. She grades papers with me, cooks with me, sleeps with me - "
"The cat sleeps with you?" I ask. "In your bed?"
"Sure. That isn't a problem for you, is it?" Wes replies, then promptly, his cheeks pinken. "I mean...never mind."
I feel my own cheeks grow slightly warm. "Um...may I have something to drink?" I ask.
"Sure," Wes says, quickly. He finally drops the cat and I'm glad. The cat thing was starting to freak me out. The cat runs by me with another hiss and a swipe at my ankle. Then she leaps onto the bed and begins kneading the comforter, all the while staring at me as if to say, I hope you don't think you'll be sleeping up here with us.
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach as I follow Wes into the kitchen. Janet's word echo in my mind, He is going to have certain expectations. We've only dated for two weeks. Wes can't possibly expect me to sleep with him! I haven't told him I'm a virgin. Should I? No, Janet's wrong. Wes wouldn't have that kind of expectation of me. Not after two weeks. He may be twenty-six, he may be very good-looking, but he's still sort of shy. He told me he's only ever had one really serious girlfriend. They dated for thirteen months and broke up a year and a half ago. He doesn't jump from girl to girl, from conquest to conquest.
I nearly have myself convinced.
"Here you go," Wes says, breaking into my thoughts. "I bought diet just for you."
"Thanks, Wes," I reply, taking the glass he's offering. I sip the soda. "Do you need any help?"
Wes shakes his head. "No. Everything's almost ready. I, uh, hope you weren't expecting a fancy dinner. I should have told you, I'm a terrible cook. There's only one thing I make decently - other than grilled sandwiches - and that's meatloaf."
I laugh. "That's the only decent thing I can make, too!"
Wes looks relieved.
"And anything is better than what my mother was serving at her dinner party. Cold cucumber soup, chair de crabes ravigote, salt-crusted lamb. She's so pretentious," I say, bitterly. I catch myself. "Why don't I clean up?" I suggest, picking up an empty plastic bag. I start tossing in empty wrappers and potato peelings.
"I can do that later."
"No, it's okay."
I clean the entire kitchen while Wes sets the table. It looks much better when I'm done. Then Wes and I sit down to dinner. Despite his claims of being a terrible cook, everything looks wonderful. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, asparagus, sourdough rolls. Real food that real people eat. I take a small bite of the meatloaf.
"It's good," I tell Wes when I swallow. I smile. "And you have a really great apartment. I should have said so before. I can't wait to move out on my own."
Wes grins. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. I have to do my own laundry and vacuum and make my own bed. Greenvale's too far for Mom to come over and do it all for me."
"Is it annoying living so close to the parking lot and street?"
"Not really. Birch Street isn't very busy. The road dead ends not far passed the complex. I am hoping to change units soon though. I'm on a list. But it was hard enough getting this apartment. There are only two other apartment complexes in Stoneybrook, you know. Waterford Gardens is all old people and Pine Meadows is right across the street from Stoneybrook University. I attended enough parties there to know I'd rather live under my desk at SMS than in that complex."
"Why do you want to change units?" I ask, cutting into the asparagus. It's a tad undercooked.
"Honestly? I hate my neighbors. The couple in the unit next to me - I call them the screamers and the name pretty much says it all. When they're not fighting they're, uh, making up. Loudly. And frequently. And they never close their patio door. Then the people above them, they have three kids. I think. No one ever leaves the apartment and it kind of creeps me out. Then the guy above me has these horrible children who visit every other weekend. They're always up there running around and screeching and throwing stuff off the balcony. And his ex-wife is a nutjob. Last winter, she set fire to the flower bed outside my patio on fire. I don't know what the hell that was about."
My jaw drops. "She set the flower bed on fire?"
"Yeah, so you can see why I'm anxious to switch units."
"At least it's never dull around here," I point out.
"True," Wes says with a laugh.
After dinner, I insist on clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Wes gets dessert - strawberry cheesecake, which he freely admits came from a bakery. I don't mind. I can't bake either.
"Oh! You got the movie!" I exclaim when I close the dishwasher. The video box for Tahitian Orchid is sitting on the counter beside the telephone. I pick up the box and study the cover. It's mostly black with a girl on the front with dark auburn hair and dark make-up. She looks fourteen or fifteen. Her head is bowed, but her eyes are raised upward at the camera. There's a wilted white orchid in her hand. "Innocence is a flower," I read the tagline aloud. "Is the Tahitian orchid the flower or the girl?" I ask Wes.
"Uh...neither," he answers. "It's sort of a...move...or a...position."
I furrow my brow. "Okay," I say. I'm obviously missing something. "Let's put it on." I remove the video from the box and walk into the living room. I switch on the television and slide the video into the VCR.
Wes follows me, carrying our cheesecake. "You really want to watch this?" he asks.
"Sure. I would never admit it to any of my friends, but I've been absolutely dying to see it," I tell him. I push play, then sit down on the couch beside Wes.
Ten minutes into the movie, Wes is pounding on my back because I'm choking on my cheesecake.
Oh dear Lord.
When I was a little girl and my father was still the kind of father who came home on weekends, he had an enormous crush on that actress Kathleen Turner. Every Saturday he watched Body Heat, which he called the greatest movie ever made. I have never seen a racier movie. Until now.
Mrs. Stevenson was wrong. Sally White's mother wasn't simply an extra. She did have only one line in the movie (three words, two of which were "me" and "harder"). However, she also had the first sex scene. On a tractor. In a cornfield. I now know a couple things about Sally White's mother that I didn't know before. One: she did not yet have breast implants when Tahitian Orchid was filmed. Two: she is not a natural blonde.
"Uh...do you want me to turn it off?" Wes asks when I've finished choking. His cheeks are bright pink.
I realize my hands are now covering my mouth in horror. "What is he doing with that...never mind," I say from behind my hands. My cheeks must be as red as Wes'. I've never watched explicit sex scenes with a guy before. It's not the kind of thing I ever watch with anyone. Dear Lord. What Wes must think! "Is the whole movie like this?" I ask him.
"Uh...pretty much."
"Maybe we could not watch it then."
Wes hits the stop button on the VCR remote. We sit in absolute silence for a few seconds. "Uh...I've been wondering why you wanted to watch that movie," he says.
"The girl on the tractor? I know her daughter," I reply. It sounds really dumb now that I say it aloud. "I didn't know what the movie was about. Dear Lord! Imagine if that was your mother!" I exclaim, horrified all over again. Maybe I should excuse some of Sally's rudeness just because of that scene. Not all. Not much. But some.
"It could be worse," Wes says. "Your mom could be the girl on the washing machine. But that scene comes later."
"I am so embarrassed," I admit. Then I laugh.
Wes laughs, too. "Yeah, I couldn't figure out if you had really bizarre movie taste or if you were just really forward."
I blush again. "Um...so how does the movie end?" I ask, lamely. What else do I say? No, Wes, I was not intending the movie as foreplay. I hope you weren't looking forward to that.
"Oh, the guy in the beginning - Jamison? He steals this diamond and runs off to New Mexico with this girl he kidnaps from an orphanage. Then he meets this hustler who wants to trade her for the secret of the Tahitian orchid, which is this...position. I don't remember how it ends," Wes replies. He switches off the television which has gone to that snowy screen. "I'm kind of relieved you're not that forward."
"And I'm relieved that you're relieved," I tell him. "And I'm also weirded out that my housekeeper has seen that movie. I don't think I'll ever look at her the same way again."
Wes laughs. "Someday, we'll look back on this and laugh. Of course, we're already laughing, so I guess that's a good sign." Then he leans forward and kisses me. I guess that despite his relief, the movie sort of turned him on because he kisses me hard and hungrily. Possessively. I kiss him back, just as hard. I loop my arms around his neck and run my fingers up into his hair. He pushes me backward into a sort of awkward position, his body heavy on mine. I keep kissing him, trying to not think of all that someday entails.