Randy's mom is tall and blonde and perfect. She's wearing a pink fitted shift dress, conservative enough for a mother because it reaches her calves, but it grazes her body in just the right places. Two-Bit would be all over her. Her strand of pearls reach her collarbone becomingly, and the only other jewelry she's wearing is a thin silver watch, and her engagement ring and wedding band. Her hair is styled like Jackie Kennedy's. She looks rich, but is dressed understated, like she's so rich she doesn't need to make it obvious. He's glad he's standing behind Randy, so she can't get a good look at him.
Johnny is immediately intimidated, because in that house, with perfect blonde people, it's all the more apparent that he's trash. And his thoughts shift back to what he and Randy were doing only seconds before, and he really feels like trash. She's going to hate him. She's going to be able to tell.
"Randy," Mrs. Adderson holds out her arms. She kisses Randy on the cheek warmly.
"Mom," Randy protests, but Johnny can tell Randy is putting on a show. He doesn't mind at all.
"Who is your friend?" Mrs. Adderson asks.
"This is Johnny. Can we set an extra plate for dinner?"
"No, that's really okay. I gotta get going," Johnny says, at the same time Mrs. Adderson says, "That would be no trouble at all."
Johnny blushes. "Sorry I interrupted."
"Don't worry. And you're staying for dinner, my orders." She says it sweetly, like it's not an order at all. "Nice to meet you, Johnny."
Mrs. Adderson puts her hands on Johnny's shoulders and kisses him on the cheek, just like she kissed Randy. She smells nice, and looks nice, Johnny thinks as her lips touch his face. Just like a mom should. Even though they have different color hair, and wear different style clothes, and have different body types, there is something about her that reminds him of Mrs. Curtis. There is a kindness to her eyes. A lump forms in Johnny's throat. He wishes he could pull Randy's mom into a hug, but he knows that is inappropriate. And he has the sudden urge to run to the Curtis house and see Mrs. Curtis one last time, to say goodbye. To say thank you. He wants to run to his own home and find his mother dressed in daywear and ready to go out and talk about how proud she is of his report card.
"You look very pretty," Johnny says.
"Well, aren't you sweet?" Mrs. Adderson answers, as if she is used to being flattered by Randy's friends. But Johnny had meant it. He had meant his words to mean even more than the words, not less. And flattery always lessens a compliment.
#
Randy and Johnny take seats across from each other at the table; his parents across from each other on either long end. Mr. Adderson is wearing a gray flannel suit with a navy tie. His collar is starched, and the line at the center of each trouser pant is crisply pressed. He frowns when Johnny takes a seat.
"So, Randall, who have you invited over for dinner without our expressed permission?" Mr. Adderson asks tersely.
Randy crosses his arms. "Mom said it was okay."
"Is your mother the head of the house?"
"I thought it would be all right, dear."
"What's your name, boy?" Mr. Adderson asks Johnny, ignoring his wife and son.
"Johnny."
"John, or Jonathan?" Mr. Adderson asks sharply.
He's always been called Johnny, but he has a feeling that won't go over well in this house. "Oh, um. My name is actually John."
"That's a shame. Jonathan is stronger name. Randall here has been going by Randy since he was an infant, and I've told him a hundred times if I've told him once that no one will take a 'Randy' seriously. It's a sissy's name, but he just won't listen, now will he?"
"Jim, please not tonight," Mrs. Adderson says. "We have company."
"And what kind of 'company' are you bringing to this house, Randall? Is that the new style these days? Dungarees at the dinner table?"
Johnny looks down at his faded, ripped jeans and bites his lip. "Sorry," Johnny mutters. "I came right from school."
Randy puts his face in his hand and rubs at the afternoon stubble above his lip. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
"You wore working pants to school? Those pants belong in the mines or on the rodeo. Not in a respectable public institution. And what smells like cigarettes?"
"Johnny, as our guest, why don't you say grace?" Mrs. Adderson interrupts. Her voice is extra gentle, like she's trying to make up for the meanness of her husband.
"Um... I... Sure."
Johnny's family doesn't pray over family dinners. Shoot, they don't even have family dinners. The only thing he knows about prayer is what he gleaned from the brief period of time he attended church. He looks quickly to Randy for guidance, but Randy's head is already bowed, his fingers interlaced. Johnny copies the gesture, and then remembers to move his elbows off the table.
"Um...dear God, and uh Jesus, too. Yeah. Thanks for the food and company and stuff. And thanks for dying for us so that we could, we could, oh shit..." Johnny fumbles, trying to remember what he had been taught about why Jesus died for the world. He can't remember. "And sorry God, for saying shit. Amen."
Johnny peeks open his eyes. Mr. Adderson's face has turned a faint red, his brows furrowed in anger. He stares at Johnny like he's plotting his death, but at least he doesn't say anything.
"That was very sweet," Mrs. Adderson says. Her eyes quickly shift around the table from her husband's angry face, to Randy's embarrassed one. Finally, they settle on Johnny's frightened one. She gives him a sympathetic smile.
The food is already on the table. All the glassware is made from a matching translucent neon green, patterned with classical-looking motifs. Inside the dishes are potatoes, a whole honey-baked ham hock, green beans, and hand-kneaded bread with what looks to be hand-whipped butter. Mr. Adderson takes his helping first, filling every open space of the plate with overlarge servings. He takes his time, carefully selecting the best cut of the meat before he bites into it. Then Mrs. Adderson and Randy take their servings. Johnny follows suit. His desire to leave the table as quickly as possible outweighs his hunger, so he takes a small helping. But when Johnny sees Mrs. Adderson staring at his plate with a worried look, he adds on a little extra. She smiles at him encouragingly.
"So John," Mr. Adderson says between bites, "My Randall here got an eight-pointer last weekend out at Turkey Mountain. First buck of the season among our people. How have you fared so far?"
Johnny shifts his eyes over to Randy, who checks to make sure his father is not watching, and then gestures shooting a gun. "Oh!" Johnny says in understanding. "I don't hunt."
"Too bad. Too bad. Hunting is essential to a man's experience," Mr. Adderson grumbles. "I've always said boys don't become men until they've killed the animal they're eating. And while we're on the subject of boys becoming men, what college are you interested in attending next fall?" Johnny realizes what a perfect parody of his father's sort Randy had demonstrated weeks ago in the library.
"Dad-" Randy interrupts. But his father gives him a look and he shuts his mouth.
"I ain't going to college," Johnny mumbles.
"Don't say ain't in this house. That's white trash talk."
"Jim!" Mrs. Adderson hisses.
"The boy should be corrected when he speaks incorrectly, Darlene." Mr. Adderson gives his wife a stern look, and then the look is back on Johnny. "So how did you meet my boy? I'm quite familiar with all of his close friends," Johnny notes the way he says close, like Johnny is excluded from that, "and Randall has never mentioned you."
Johnny drops his fork back on his napkin and pushes his plate aside. He crosses his arms and scowls at Mr. Adderson. "We ain't friends. Randy's my tutor. Remember, he's tutoring under your orders so he can check off the little box labeled public service on his college application? Your son isn't being influenced a juvenile deliquent, if that's what you're worried about."
"Boy, don't you speak like that to me in my own home! I don't know what's acceptable in your house, no doubt you have permissive, absentee parents, but if you think for a second I tolerate that behavior in my house, a house I've built with my own, hard-earned money, and you think you can sit at our table dressed in dungarees and lord knows what in your hair like that Elvis monstrosity, disrespecting my wife and my family with your slovenliness and foul language, then you've got another thing coming. Now apologize."
"Dad!" says Randy.
"Randall Matthew Adderson, do not interrupt."
"Look, I'm sorry," Johnny says.
"You don't need to apologize to him," Randy says fiercely. "He should apologize to you!"
"Randall-"
"Guess what, Dad? Johnny's lying. He is my friend. Yeah. My friend. And guess what else? We're not just friends. I-"
"I think I should leave," Johnny says.
"That's the first intelligent thing you've said all evening," Mr. Adderson says.
Johnny pushes back his chair and stands up. For once, he remembers his manners, and pushes the chair back in. He turns to Mrs. Adderson. She has tears in her eyes, but she's smiling this fake smile as if she thinks no can see them.
"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Adderson," Johnny says. "You have a beautiful home."
"You're welcome, sweetheart," Mrs. Adderson answers.
TBC