Underneath It All (21 page)

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Authors: Margo Candela

BOOK: Underneath It All
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59
Noel
A
fter that dose of reality, I drive to my brother’s gym and sit in the parking lot for forty-five minutes, crying. No one wants my pity, I’m sure of that, but all the same I feel so bad. I also realize that I could just as easily be living at home with a kid and a dead-end job, more dead-end than the one I have now.
I pat my face dry and look in the mirror. I look blotchy but not too bad. Who cares? I’m done showing off.
I show the receptionist my pass, put my stuff in a rental locker and head for the treadmills. With my earphones clapped on, I can space out for the next sixty minutes before exhaustion forces me to stop and stretch.
As I’m running, I catch sight of my brother meandering around equipment and people, carrying a stepladder and wearing a tool belt. Women stop to talk to him and he gives them an easy smile. I purse my lips like Yolie and keep running.
I take a shower, enjoying the fact that I don’t have to ration my time or hot water as I have to at my parents’, and spend a lot of time doing my hair and makeup so I don’t look as if I’ve invested a lot of time on my hair and makeup. At exactly 12:30, I find my brother waiting for me by the front desk.
“Hey, Jacqs! Come meet my boss.” Noel looks happy and relaxed. “This is my gorgeous little sister, Jacquelyn.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I stick out my hand and it’s crushed by a very muscled and tanned man in his early forties. Or maybe late thirties. The tan makes it hard to tell.
“How did a bum like your brother wind up with a sister like you?”
“Luck, I guess.” I don’t appreciate him calling my brother a bum, even if I’m almost sure he’s just being affectionate.
“Going out to lunch. Back in a few days,” Noel jokes and takes me by the scruff of the neck and leads me out.
“We can take my car,” I say, not giving Noel a chance to protest.
“Oh, man, a convertible!” Noel has always had a thing for cars. His biggest aspiration has been to lease a new car every eighteen months.
“Here,” I say, tossing him the keys. I didn’t put him on the rental agreement, but I’m sure nothing will happen. “Just don’t crash, kill us or dent the car in any way.”
“Not to worry,
hermanita
. Top is coming down! Is that OK?” he asks.
“Sure.” Actually, I hate riding around in convertibles with the top down, and it’s about a hundred degrees, but Noel looks so happy, I think I can bear it for the ride to and from Tommy’s.
Noel spends the next five minutes adjusting the seat, tilting the steering wheel and messing with the mirrors while I sit in the blazing sun trying not to complain. Just when I think I can’t take it, he starts the car and hits the button to put the top back up.
“It’s too hot to keep the top down,” he says, and then punches me on the shoulder. “You’re as pale as
Abuelita
Chela.”
“I am not!”
Abuelita
Chela was my mother’s mother. A bitter old woman who never wore anything but black and never went out in the sun without a hat. She powdered her face like a death mask and never wore lipstick—or rouge, as she called it—because she said only whores did.
“Just kidding. Come on, let’s blow this joint and hit the road!” Noel says a little too happily. I become instantly suspicious.
“What’s your problem?”
“Giselle broke up with me last night.” He props his elbow out the window.
“She did not! Why? What did you do?” We stop at a red light behind a delivery truck.
“Nothing.” Noel adjusts his seat yet again and runs his hand over the dashboard.
“Stop molesting my rental car. What do you mean
nothing?”
“She wants to get married and I don’t. So, nothing.” Noel runs his hands along the steering wheel. I give him a hard look. “OK, man, you’re just as bad as
Mamá
. Her sister is getting married and Giselle has marriage on the brain, but I told her I’m not ready yet.”
“Are you not ready or do you not want to marry
her?”
“What’s the difference?” Noel expertly changes lanes and passes the truck. I relax a little. I haven’t let anyone but Danny drive me around in a long time.
“Noel. You can’t be that dense. There’s a huge difference. Huge.” I dig through my bag for some lip balm.
“I don’t know,” he says. But I know he does. He doesn’t want to marry her and he has no way of telling her that without hurting her feelings and devastating both her and our parents, who have been hoping for something to come of the years they’ve been together. “Anyway, I’m sure once she cools off, we’ll be cool again.”
“You really should figure it out, Noel,” I say, making a vow to stop counseling any more family members after this.
“I will. Don’t worry about it.”
He says this in a tone of voice I’ve heard him use with authority figures he’s grown tired of. He pulls into the parking lot of the Eagle Rock Tommy’s but doesn’t get out. I can tell he’s waiting for me to continue my mini-tirade. When I don’t, he gets out and comes over to my side of the door and opens it.
“Man, I’m going to have one of everything,” I say, and I’m pretty serious, too. It’s been a long time since anyone has offered me something straight from the heart.
“Like I said, it’s all on me, little sister.” He smiles at me. “I always told you I’d take care of you. Only the best for my favorite sister.”
“Thanks, Noel.” I lean over and plant a kiss on his cheek. “For everything.”
We get out of the car and line up on the pavement behind the construction workers, parents with grubby kids who are melting under the sun, and people who’ve driven over from the smattering of offices and stores in the area.
“So I’m supposed to ask you if you’re seeing anyone,” Noel says and takes a huge step back and hold his hands up defensively. “Don’t hit me!”
“Fuck, can’t Mom just leave me alone?” The woman in front of me shoots me a dirty look and peers down at her kid. She thinks she’s Mother-of-the-Year material by feeding her child hamburgers, fries and soda. Gimme a break, lady.
“She’s just worried, Jacqs. You know how she is.” Noel stares off to the side.
“What? Are you worried about me, too? That I’m not married, pregnant and bitching in the kitchen about my lousy husband?” That’s about the extent of marriage as far as she’s taught me. I feel like a shit even thinking it. “Tell her that I’m fine.”
“That’s what I told her, but she doesn’t believe me. She says ... She says you look sad and sound sad on the phone.” Noel shifts from foot to foot, a nervous habit of his, and mine.
“I’m happy. Perfectly happy,” I lie.
“I ran into Nate.” Noel looks at me over his sunglasses. We edge up a spot.
“Oh.” My heart thumps in my chest. My brother has expanded his bubble a bit more than my family. “When?”
“A couple of months ago.” Noel steps up to the window and orders for the both of us.
“That’s nice.” I grab a fistful of paper towels and fish some chili peppers out of the container near the ketchup dispenser, making sure to take only the fat ones. “Remember when Tommy’s didn’t serve fries? I was so surprised when we came and—”
“That’s nice?” Noel steps off to the side to let the next person order. “That’s all you can say?”
“OK, fine. Did he mention me?” Stupid question, of course he did.
“Nah, not really. He seemed a little busy ... He was with someone.”
Noel watches for my reaction. I already had it so he’s not in luck.
“A woman?” I have to ask. What normal ex-wife wouldn’t?
“Yeah. Nothing special.” Noel turns around to collect our tray of food.
“Thanks.” I can’t help but smile. “I, uh ...”
My brother has always been honest with me, to a fault. I’ve always kept secrets from him, from my whole family. I suppose Dr. N would say I do this because I’m afraid they won’t like me if I let them see the real me, whoever that is. I lower my eyes, feeling icky. God, I’m a terrible person.
“What?” Noel sits down at a two-person picnic table under an awning.
“I’m seeing someone.” I pick up my burger, peeling the paper away from the gloopy chili sauce. “You can tell Mom, but that’s all I’m saying.”
“He a nice guy?” Noel asks around a mouthful of food.
“Sure.” It’s usually all my family ever wants to know about my boyfriends since I left home and they finally realized they couldn’t control who I consorted with. “Don’t get her hopes up. I’m sure it won’t work out, long-term, I mean.”
“That’s the spirit!” Noel salutes me with a ketchup-drenched fry.
“You should talk.”
My mother, especially, has pressured all her children to marry. Especially Noel, who she thinks needs constant taking care of that only a mother or a mother-approved wife can provide. Poor Giselle, so close—but, unfortunately, she wasn’t aiming to marry my mother, but her son.
“We just want you to be happy, Jacqs. All of us.” Noel looks at me significantly. “You know in our own way, we all love you. Even Yolie.”
I blink back tears and stare off into the busy street. Of course my family loves me, but I’m guessing they don’t think I love them.
60
Passenger B6
O
n the plane back to San Francisco, I try not to think too much about home. My parents’ home, that is. Time with my family always shows me the flip side of life.
Even though I was quick to run away from everything I knew growing up and use my past as a barometer for my present, I have the feeling life would have been much easier if I would have fallen in line like the rest of my siblings and cousins. Easier, yes, but better? I guess I’ll never know.
I pretend to be absorbed in the in-flight magazine to avoid any chance of conversation with the woman sitting next to me. From her outfit—a tasteful black pantsuit and expensive shoes—I can tell she’s a business type. Her carry-on is large and unfussy and she’s wearing what looks like a Rolex, but it might be a good fake.
“I’m so excited. Do you have family in San Francisco or are you visiting?” she asks.
“Live there.” I turn my head only slightly to face her. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not in a chatty mood at the moment.
“I’m going to get married in San Francisco! I am here to scout out some locations and meet with a planner.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” Another bride I have to deal with.
“Our families are coming from all over the country. I haven’t seen most of them in years. Years.” She smoothes her expensively cut hair.
“Oh.”
“My fiancé couldn’t take time off work. Would you like to see a picture?” She pulls out a Coach leather photo book that matches her bag.
She makes sure to hand me the album with her left hand. I hadn’t noticed her ring finger, hadn’t actually looked for it, but now that she mentions she’s engaged, I steal a glance at it. It’s very modern, a thick band with a big stone set into it. Something I’d never pick.
“Sure.” I flip it open to the first page and count five seconds before I turn to the next photo.
“We’re both lawyers.”
“That must be convenient.” Her fiancé looks like a nice guy, if a little bland.
“The prenup was a snap. Not the nightmare our friends had predicted.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” I turn back to the album and get to vacation photos. They’re on some island beach, wearing linen shorts and shirts, with their feet in the water, a picture-perfect sunset behind them. He’s sunburned.
“That’s right after we got engaged. It was a total surprise. He whisked me off for a weekend in Cabo San Lucas.”
“How romantic.” Is it possible to whisk a lawyer off anywhere? I guess it’s time to acknowledge the Ring. “That’s a lovely ring. Tiffany’s?”
“Etiole.” She holds up her hand and the diamond catches the light and sparkles madly, just as a diamond should. “To tell you the truth”—she leans in closer to me—“I don’t really like it. I would have preferred the traditional Tiffany setting. You know, the one with the round stone?”
“Yeah, I know that one.” So does Bethany Michel.
“But, oh well!” She tucks the album back into her bag and sets it under the seat in front of her as we were instructed to do.
“Soon you won’t even notice it’s not the ring you always wanted.” I smile at her hastily and she beams back. She’s too happy to notice my sarcasm.
61
Dr. N
“
A
nd how did that make you feel?”
I stare at Dr. N. In all our sessions, she’s never asked that, something I consider a pat shrink question. A TV-shrink question. It’s not so much a question as an utterance resembling a sentence, a string of words masquerading as a question. It’s the equivalent of asking a person how their day is going without the slightest interest in hearing anything other than “Fine.”
I sit there debating whether I should ask her if she’s bored with me or if I should try to really consider, for once, how all this stuff really makes me feel.
“Jacquelyn? How did your aunt insinuating that you might be a bad influence on her daughter make you feel?”
“A little bad, but at the same time, it was really, really satisfying.” Mostly I felt like such an evil little snot, and a horrible person. This is way too personal to share with Dr. N. Especially after the “how did that make you feel” crap. “It made me feel like doing something you know is bad, but you don’t care because it makes you feel good. You know?”
I have time to fill and Dr. N charges for a full hour no matter how little of it is taken up with actual therapy.
“Do you find that you go out of your way to shock your family? Your friends?” Dr. N asks, sounding only mildly interested.
I notice she said “shock,” not “impress.” Neither sounds too healthy, either way. I was only trying to show Lina that there is another way. There always is another way, no matter what they told us in Church.
“I don’t know. Sure. Why would I want to do that? I just was playing, you know, devil’s advocate. Or something like that.”
This is my first session with Dr. N since I flirted with Mr. Mayor, found out my ex-husband is getting married, counseled my timid, pregnant cousin to give her mother the finger and got a new roommate in the despondent Vivian. We haven’t even touched on the issues about my nonrelationship with my father, how my mother inspires equal amounts of love and frustration in me, and why it pains me to think of my brother stuck in a dead-end job that he obviously enjoys. So far, all we’ve talked about is how pissed off I am at everyone. Now I can add Dr. N to that list.
“So, how does that make you feel?” Dr. N asks as if she’s on psychiatrist autopilot.
“It makes me want to shoplift,” I lie.
“Really?” Now she’s paying attention. “Shoplift?”
“Yeah, some trashy underwear. And then go out to a bar and pick up a guy. A couple of guys.” This is less of a lie, more of a fantasy I know I’ll never act upon.
“And what do you think that would accomplish?” Dr. N asks, sitting up straighter.
“Then, I guess, I’d be the bad girl everyone makes me out to be. Then they’d see what I’m capable of.” I steal a glance at the timer; only a minute or so to go. “Maybe I’d even film it with Bina’s camcorder. I could sell it on the Web. I’ve always wanted to be my own boss, have my own business, you know.”
This is the juicy stuff Dr. N has probably been dying to hear. I’m sure her days are filled with boring people and their boring problems. This is the kind of stuff shrinks talk to other shrink friends about when they get together at the local cafe. (“A patient of mine is going off the deep end—is that my half-skim, no-foam latte?”)
“Jacquelyn? Why do you think shoplifting and risky sex will make you feel better?” Finally, she’s really interested in what I have to say. “Don’t you think you’d just be hurting yourself?”
“Hurting myself by having some sex? I’d use condoms. I’m not crazy, but I do feel like doing something ...” I watch Dr. N’s mouth part in anticipation. “Something
reckless
.”
“I find this very interesting—” The timer chimes. Dr. N fumbles for it.
“That’s all the time we have, huh? See you in a week or so. Thanks.” I rush out, not giving her a chance to answer. I’ve never actually lied to Dr. N before. I’m guilty of the sin of omission, but this is different. This is outright lying.
Maybe I’ll cancel my next appointment, with twenty-four hours’ notice of course, to keep her in anticipation of my fictional downward spiral.
Whatever.

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