Better Hallway Vision
by UnicornPammy
A/N: Yay! My first truly new chapter in months! I don't know why it took me so long to decide that it was ready.
I guess I didn't want to have to face the fact that I now have to do another Andy chapter. Wah, I just can't get into his head.
I love the idea of Claire having a closet unpopular best friend. Someone who would always be there for her even though she wasn't the best best friend in the world.
Disclaimer: John Hughes is a genious. Pam is just a stupid pretender. Jane is mine, though, for what it's worth.
Chapter 9: New Skeletons, Old Closet
Claire studied her face in the bathroom mirror. Her left cheek was purple and green, and slightly puffy. She pressed it lightly with her fingertips, wincing in pain and disgust. How ugly, she thought.
Her dad was taking her shopping today, but for the first time in her life, she didn't want to go. She never thought there could be an excuse to miss a shopping trip with her dad and his Visa card. She also felt nervous about going to school on Monday. She finally had a valid reason to be absent, and she didn't even want to take it. Well, except for that perm disaster freshman year. That was totally legitimate.
Claire leaned closer to the mirror. She simply could not go out, not like this. Time to see what the magic of Mary Kay could do.
She concealed, she foundationed, she powdered and blushed. She scrutinized. Was it overkill? She normally didn't use a lot of make-up on her cheeks, just a little bit of color because she was so pale. Her stomach twisted in anxiety, and her eyes teared up. She knew that anyone who was acquainted with her at all would be able to tell that she was wearing way more make-up than she normally did. What was she going to tell people, that she fell down the stairs? Nobody would believe it.
Claire took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from crying. Blotchy skin and blood-shot eyes certainly wouldn't help right now. Her heart turned heavy when she realized that she probably wouldn't get to see John tomorrow. Yet at the same time, she was a little relieved. She had more time to prepare for him, to sort out her feelings. To get them under control. She liked John, she wanted him, but she was damned if she'd let him break her heart.
"Claire!"
Oh, shit. It was time. The butterflies of anxiety in her stomach felt like they were trying to beat their way out.
"Claire, are you ready?" he called from the bottom of the stairs.
She tried to wipe the stupid tears away, but the action only served to smear mascara over her cheeks and nose. She swore, and tried to dab away the black streaks with a Q-tip. Clearing her throat and trying not to sound like she was crying, she yelled back, "No, I don't feel well, Dad. I don't-" her voice cracked, "I don't really want to go out today." Then why am I still trying to fix my make up? she thought.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" she heard him say as he started up the steps. Dammit. If he came up, he'd see. She didn't want him to see, to know what happened. She panicked. He couldn't see her like this. She was ashamed. For some reason she was so ashamed.
Claire hurried out of her bathroom, and over to the bedroom door, shutting and locking it. She turned around and leaned back against it. She looked around her room: at the designer clothes scattered about; the pictures of her and her friends; her jewelry box filled with expensive earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets... You got everything, and I got shit! A few seconds later the knob rattled.
"Claire?" he sounded confused and worried and slightly hurt. "Honey, why is your door locked?"
"Dad, I just...I don't feel well. Please, can I stay home today?" She wheedled for all she was worth.
There was a sigh from the other side of the door. "Honey, if this...if this is about your mother, and Bill Bender's son...well, why don't we talk about it?"
Wow, wonder of wonders, her parents actually communicated at fewer than 100 decibels, because she hadn't heard that conversation. Claire pressed her palms flat against the green surface, and looked up at the ceiling, a habit she had when she was upset. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes teared up again, hating herself for crying so much. She used to use tears to get what she wanted, and she was very good at it; but now, she couldn't stop them.
It wasn't just her own appearance, though, that made her cry. It was what her mom had said. That her dad defended John's dad, just because they went to high school together. She shook her head. There had to be more to it than that.
This feels like betrayal. For all his faults and bad parenting, she'd always thought her father was a good man. But now she didn't know. She wasn't sure. A good man wouldn't defend a monster like that. Not willingly. She thought about John's burn scar. She guessed it wasn't the only mark on him. And that thought made her furious.
"Talk about what?" Claire yelled through her door. "The fact that you help a man beat his son just because he was one of your high school buddies?"
"Claire!" Her father's tone was filled with shock. "Young lady, you will not speak to me that way." His stern tone melted almost right away. "Now open this door, and let's talk about it."
"Go away."
"Honey, you don't understand the situation. It's not that simple." He pleaded for her understanding, wanting for her to buckle to him the way he always gave in to her. But in their not quite parasitic, not quite symbiotic relationship, she had always been the distant one. He was the pushover, not Claire.
"Go away."
"Sweetheart..."
She didn't say anything. He tried again, but after nothing but silence from her side of the door, he finally left.
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Heart's "Little Queen" album had gotten Claire through many tough times, and as the first few notes drifted out of the head phones, she already felt better. Ann Wilson's strident vocals and the empowering lyrics always helped her feel a little more in control, of herself and her life. But when the last track had faded, and she pulled off the head phones, Claire didn't feel much better. She couldn't believe she'd said that to her dad. She felt bad about it, but didn't quite regret it. How could he do something like that? It made her ill just to think about it, thinking about John being abused, over and over, because her dad thought he had to help out an old friend. For what, what had her mom said, pity?
And that's all you should have for his son.
Claire could never pity John Bender. He was quite capable of taking care of himself. He didn't want anybody's pity, anyway. Maybe sometimes he wanted people to understand, but she saw what happened to him when he actually opened up to others. He'd probably been called a liar over and over again. She couldn't blame him for the way he acted...most of the time. There were times when he was just genuinely a prick, and he knew it, and he enjoyed it. But there were other times when he was genuinely a good person. Those times were what caught her, like the way he sacrificed himself so they could get back to the library without getting caught. He wanted people to think he was dangerous, and he only looked out for himself. Claire wanted to think that she wasn't so easily fooled. She wasn't afraid of John Bender.
But she felt that he might be a little bit afraid of himself.
Claire flopped down onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow. She groaned in frustration, and punched the bedcovers. She wanted him to be there, so she could talk to him. She hated only being able to think about him, and all the things she wanted to tell him.
Claire sighed. She was starting to get bored. She wished her best friend Jane would come over, like she had when Claire's first and last venture with a perm had gone wrong back in ninth grade. Claire chuckled to herself as she remembered. She'd tried to do it herself, because her mom wouldn't let her get one at a salon. Unfortunately, she'd used too much solution, and instead of having long, beautiful ringlets, her hair turned out crispy and several different lengths because some of it had simply burned off. She'd called Jane in tears the next day, and her friend had skipped school to come over and fix it. She trimmed off the crispiness and evened out the layers. They discovered that when Claire's hair was cut short, it was naturally curly and wavy. She'd had short hair ever since.
She really missed Jane. After middle school, Jane's parents had decided that they needed to live closer to Chicago. Now, she only saw her friend once or twice a month. Which was probably just as well. If Jane knew how much of a snob she was, she probably wouldn't like her at all. Jane hadn't understood why Claire had needed to change back in middle school. Why Claire needed to be popular.
But she really did wish that Jane was still in Shermer. Even though these days she was surrounded by her swarm of friends, she still felt...alone.
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Jane Graham nervously smoothed out her skirt, and knocked on the door of 312 Wyndhurst Terrace. She heard steps approaching the front door almost immediately, and began a chant under her breath. Please not Alicia, please not Alicia. She was embarrased to admit it, but she was scared spitless of Claire's mom. The woman gave her the jibblies for many reasons, not the least of which being the fact that Jane's parents didn't make enough money to suit the woman. She didn't approve of her daughter's friendship with some nobody whose parents held low-paying government jobs.
Jane heard something rattle on the other side of the door, as if someone were undoing several locks. Then the doorknob turned, and the Standishs' live-in housekeeper, Mariela, stuck her head out. She smiled when she saw Jane, and motioned her inside.
"Are you sure you won't get in trouble?" Mariela asked as she quickly closed the door behind Jane.
"Hola Mariela. Bien, y tu?" Jane said sarcastically.
"Muy bien. Thank you for coming. Are you sure you won't get in trouble?" The hispanic housekeeper was actually wringing her hands, obviously distressed.
"I'm sure. My parents trust me. But why are you so upset? What happened?" Jane took Mariela's hands into her own, holding onto her in an effort to comfort her.
"She hit her."
"Who hit whom?"
"Miss Claire. She slapped her mother."
Jane's eyes widened. "Whoa. That is a big deal. Do you think the White Witch will sue?"
"Please Miss Jane, don't make jokes." Mariela looked ready to cry.
"Hey," she said soothingly. "Everything's going to be all right." Her tone became more serious. "How's Claire? Not in intensive care, I hope?"
Mariela gave a weak chuckle. "No. She's upstairs in her room. She yelled at her father this morning, but I couldn't quite understand why. I don't know much about...what this is all about." She waved her hand, dismissing the reasons. Reasons weren't important, but actions were. She didn't like what her long-time employers were doing to their daughter. "Why they are all fighting. But she needs someone right now, Miss Jane. And I am just a housekeeper."
Jane pulled her into a hug. "You are a wonderful person, Miss Mariela, and I am glad you called me. Nobody looks out for Claire better than you."
"Thank you," Mariela said, pulling away from Jane and wiping a bit of moisture from her eyes. "You should go upstairs now. She needs her friend."
Jane smiled and nodded, then moved out of the foyer, and into the grand entrance, which had a wide staircase leading up to a landing that was big enough to be a bedroom, in Jane's opinion, but only held a large potted palm and some orchids on a tall marble-topped stand. She climbed the next set of stairs to the upper floor, and went to Claire's bedroom door, which was closed. Jane knocked, but didn't get an answer. "Claire?" Nothing. She knocked again, and said Claire's name louder. When she didn't get an answer that time, she started pounding. Finally, she just tried the door knob, but it was locked. Sighing, she dug around in her purse until she came up with a bobby pin, and proceeded to pick the lock. She'd seen Claire do it plenty of times when she wanted to get into a room that was off-limits in the house. Like the unused study that was a great hiding place for birthday and Christmas presents. She heard a click, and tried the knob. It turned, and the door opened.
Claire had her back to the door, and she was dancing. Jane saw the bulky headphones covering her ears, and the cord leading to the stereo. She raised an eyebrow. No wonder Claire couldn't hear her. Yep, she sure did seem to be down, and in need of a friend. Jane stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, a half-grin curving her lips. Oh, if only she had a camera. She watched Claire dance, covering her mouth with one hand to hold back her laughter. Then Claire did a spin, stopping halfway around when she saw Jane in the doorway.
"Jane!" Claire said in an excited shriek. She pulled off the head phones and hurried forward to grab her laughing friend in a hug. "Stop laughing at me! What are you doing here?"
Jane pulled back, and wiped the tears of mirth off her cheeks. "A little bird told me you needed some cheering up, but it looks like it happened the other way around." She blinked a couple times, and her smile faded. "Oh, Claire," she said, when she finally got a look at her friend's face. It looked freshly scrubbed, and badly bruised. Her playfulness was replaced almost instantly by anger. "What did that bitch do to you?"
Claire covered the left side of her face with her hand and backed up a few steps, then turned away.
"Nothing. I fell down the stairs."
"Bullshit."
Claire spun back around. "Jane, you can't tell anybody."
"Like hell I can't tell anybody! I'll--"
"Least of all, your mother."
Jane tried to adopt an authoritative tone. "You can't just let her do that to you. There are laws against--"
"Swear that you won't tell. Pinky swear." She held out her right fist, littlest finger in the air.
"Claire, I can't--"
"Jane, this is the first and last time this happens. Trust me."
Jane looked skeptical. "How do you know?"
Claire took a deep breath, then let it out, squaring her shoulders as she did so. "Because I'm going to find my brother."
Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you said that last year. You don't even know his name. How are you going to find him?"
"Pinky swear." She wiggled her finger.
Jane growled, tossing her head back and looking at the ceiling in a gesture of resignation. "Goddammit, you are such a hardheaded little bitch." Then she hooked Claire's pinky finger in her own. "Fine. Pinky swear. But if this happens again, I'm telling my mom. And then it'll be up to DCF." Jane's mom was a social worker with the Chicago Department of Children and Families.
"Thank you," Claire said, pulling Jane to her in a hug. "You are the best friend ever."
"Yeah, sure. So what happened anyway?"
Claire took a deep breath. "Well, to be fair, I kind of deserved it."
Jane rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I have no doubt of that. But that doesn't give anybody the right to hit you."
"That's your mom talking."
"That's me talking. Just because I heard it from her, that doesn't make it wrong." She sat down on Claire's bed and flopped backward, sighing, staring up at the ceiling. She blinked, surprised at what she saw...or rather, didn't see. "Claire?"
"Hmm?"
"Where's your Jon Bon Jovi poster!"
"Oh, that thing?"
"'Oh, that thing?'" Jane mimicked, raising herself up on her elbows, an incredulous expression on her face. "'Oh, that thing?' How can you possibly refer to the hottest singer in the world as a thing?"
"It was a poster, not a person."
"Well, I hope that thing is still around, because I want it!"
"It's in the closet, go for it."
Jane got up and rushed over to Claire's closet. She opened the door, amazed as she was every time at the size of it and the sheer volume it contained. But everything was neat, in its place. The poster was rolled up and tied with a pink ribbon, leaning against the shoe rack.
A pink ribbon? Jane thought. Melodramatic much? Certainly not discarded with disdain.
When Jane emerged, she said, "Claire, why did you take him down?"
"I'm getting too old for childish stuff like that. I need to concentrate on real life stuff."
"Real life being...?"
"You know, my future. College, what I want to do with the rest of my life...that kind of thing."
"Uh, huh. You met a guy, didn't you?"
Claire rolled her eyes.
"You totally met a guy! You should see your face." At Claire's hurt look, Jane amended her words. "I mean the expression on it. Sorry."
"I meet lots of guys."
"Yeah, but you've never taken a poster down for one before. Claire, we've been best friends for how long? Just because we go to different schools doesn't mean you can hide anything from me."
"Fine, I might have...met a guy."
"Keep going... Does this guy have a name?"
"John."
"Ok, not bad for a toilet."
"Jane..."
"Keep going. What does he look like? Do I know him?"
"Wellll... You might have had a crush on him in middle school."
Jane blinked. "That John? John Bender? Holy crap!" A grin crept onto her face. "You're going for the bad boy type these days? Claire Standish, I am proud of you! No more limp-dick preps for you, my friend."
Claire collapsed into a heap of giggles. "You're right," Claire gasped. "Anthony never could get it up." That sent Jane off, Claire following behind.
"I still don't know why you wanted that jerk-off to be your first," Jane said when they had wound down a bit.
"Me neither." Claire shook her head. "Although, you didn't do any better. I mean, Ryan Dornacher?"
Jane blushed. "How was I supposed to know he preferred my brother to me?"
"Are they still together?"
"Unfortunately, no. Dad's sending Thomas to military school. When Ryan found out, he tried to talk Thomas into running away, but Thomas wouldn't. So Ryan dumped him."
"That sucks."
"Yeah. I think Dad threatened to disinherit him if he didn't 'straighten out,' so to speak." Jane shook her head. "It just sucks all around."
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence, a silence that wasn't entirely comfortable. They only really saw each other a dozen times a year these days, and the weeks and months they spent apart had put a lot of distance between them. They were still best friends, definitely, but they had drifted apart. The realization filled Claire with a poignant sadness. She groped for more words to fill the silence.
"So..."
"Hmm?"
"Are you...I mean, have you...?"
"Spit it out."
"Are you still a virgin?"
"Um, yeah. I think if I wasn't, I would have told you. Y'know?"
"Yeah, I know. I just...I don't want to be one anymore."
"Look, I know how you feel, but you should wait for the right person, Claire. I mean, look what happened when we tried to plan it out, like it was a science experiment or something. You wound up with Limp Dick, and I wound up with...my brother's future boyfriend. It should be with someone you love, someone you trust. Not just someone you think is hot."
Claire was quiet again, but this time she was thinking of John. "You have to admit, though, John Bender is really hot." But did she love him? Trust him? Could she honestly answer "yes" to both of those questions?
No. She couldn't. But she had a feeling that with time, it was possible that she could fall insanely in love with him.