Beige (15 page)

Trixie’s door is open when I get there. I can see her through the screen dancing in the living room. I watch her. She looks very focused. As her body moves, it speaks in sentences. Womanly sentences. Her body writhes to a music I can’t hear. It must be music she carries inside of herself. Everyone else seems to do that around here — carry music inside of them like a secret.

Trixie does a twist, and her face lights up as she spies me standing outside the door. She’s not even startled that I’ve been watching her; she just smiles.

“Hi, Katy,” she says. “I just had an idea for my act. I’m trying it out. What do you think?”

I think she should maybe twist less. But if I said that, she’d ask me why and then I would have to come up with a reason and the only reason I have would be
because.
And I think she doesn’t really care what I think. I think she just wants me to
care
.

So I just nod.

Trixie smiles and gives up. I kind of wish she wouldn’t. I kind of wish she would have pressed me harder. Mom would have. I might have liked it if Trixie tried.

“Well, there are snacks in the fridge,” she says.

I nod again.

Trixie nods.

“I thought I saw you and Lake with some girl at the pool the other day.”

“Oh, well, yeah. He’s a boy,” I say.

Garthon stupide.

“You know, you can invite a friend over when you sit if you like,” she says. “Even a boy.”

She looks at me like she wants me to share some gossip with her.

“I don’t have any friends here,” I say.

I know she wants to bond with me. She bites her lip and nods, like she’s going to just let it go. But then I see her wince as she opens her mouth to speak.

“Katy,” she says. “I’d like to be your friend.”

“Because I’m The Rat’s daughter,” I say.

“Sure, that’s one reason, but not only because of that. Because I like
you,
” she says.

It would be nice to believe her.

“Growing up, I didn’t know any girls like you. Girls who were funny and sweet and smart and kind,” she says. “You’re the kind of girl I always wished I was friends with when I was your age, so I am glad I get a chance to know you now.”

I’ve noticed that most people hide things about themselves. Not Trixie. It’s not just her mermaids and love for burlesque that are on display; it’s everything, including her feelings and thoughts. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like Trixie. I kind of admire that.

I guess I kind of like her, too. I don’t have to automatically
love
her or anything just because she’s The Rat’s girlfriend.

“OK, I guess.”

She smiles and then I wave good-bye as the screen door shuts with a swish behind her as she leaves.

“There’s a package for you,” The Rat says when I get back to the Rat Hole. “I picked it up for you from the post office today.”

It is sitting on the coffee table.

It’s a brown-paper package, with lots of Peruvian stamps affixed to it. I go to my room for privacy. I don’t want to open it up in front of The Rat. I sit on my bed and I take my time undoing the package.

Inside there is a hand-woven alpaca hat, a package of Peruvian hot chocolate, a large silver charm bracelet, and an Incan-looking statue. Even though it’s hot, I put the hat on. I slip the bracelet on my wrist, and I put the statue on the table next to my bed.

I save the best for last. I reach in and pull out a postcard from Mom. On the front is a photo of Machu Picchu. I flip it over.

Home is where the heart is,
it says.
And my heart is always with you. Je t’aime, Maman

It’s becoming a thing, Lake invading my bedroom. She is sitting on my bed reading
Paste
magazine while I am reading Leticia’s new blog. I am filled with jealousy. I could write a blog, only it would be boring. It would be
beige.
Nothing exciting ever happens to me. If I wrote a blog, everyone back home would know how much my time in Los Angeles is just a big time stop and then they’ll know that I’m in limbo. So I just post comments on their blogs to say I’m too busy to post anything about my life here.

But then I have to turn off my computer because Leticia e-mails me to say that I sure do comment a lot. Maybe I should comment less, so I look like I’m more busy. I’ll be on cyber silence for a while.

The Rat knocks on the door.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Garth just called — he’s coming over,” The Rat says through the closed door.

Lake rolls her eyes. I want to tell her to be nice. But I don’t because she would probably laugh and use it against me if I told her not to hurt Garth’s feelings.

I open the door in anticipation of Garth’s arrival and see him walking down the hallway toward my bedroom. He starts to come into my room and then he sees Lake. He looks down at his feet.

“Hey, Garth,” I say.

“Hey, Beige,” he says.

“I see you got yourself a new T-shirt,” Lake says, pointing at his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling at the collar. “Nautical star. Sign of the nihilist.”

“You wouldn’t even have known that if I hadn’t told you,” Lake says.

“There’s nothing wrong with correcting a mistake when you’ve made one,” Garth says. “It’s
admirable.
”

Garth opens his messenger bag and hands me a CD.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It’s that mix CD I promised you,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. I guess I’m happy about it. “Wanna come in and hang out?”

I make room for him to come in. I want him to join us.

He kind of takes a step forward, but then looks over at Lake and stops himself.

“No, I’m busy today. I got places to be. I’ll check you later.”

It surprises me because I know he doesn’t really have anywhere to be. He just doesn’t want to hang out with me and Lake. Even though I know he really admires her. Garth doesn’t care what people might think. He just cares what she thinks.

“Good, I’m glad he’s not sticking around,” Lake says. “He’s such a poseur.”

But I remember the Sam Suck Manifesto.
I will go my own way.

Garth is going his own way. He’s no poseur.

I throw the CD on the night table and go back to the computer. I’m not interested. I won’t comment on Leticia’s blog. I’ll just lurk. I’m addicted to knowing what’s going on back home.

“What’s that?” Lake asks, picking up the CD. “So, Garth made you a mix CD?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“
Oooohhhhh.
Now I get it! He made you a
mix CD
!” she says. “You know what that means! He
loves
you!”

“No, he doesn’t,” I say.

“If a guy makes a girl a mix CD, he is in love with her.”

I don’t want Garth to love me. No. Not him. He’s just a friend.

“No, he said he’d make me one because I don’t know anything about music. It’s a punk primer. He specifically said that it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Oh,” Lake says. “Well, then that’s no fun. I can’t laugh at you. You know,
I
could have made you a mix CD.”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

“Well, maybe I will make you one,” she says. She’s irritated now. She’s been one-upped by Garth. He’d be pleased, so secretly I’m pleased for him.

She flips over the homemade mixed-media-collage cover art Garth has made and clucks.

“What?” I say.

“What nothing. It’s a pretty good mix,” Lake says. “He might not be completely clueless.”

Score two for Garth.

I want the CD. I stretch my hand out for it. Now I’m ready for it.

She hands me the cover as she gets off the bed and heads into the living room with the disc in her hand. I follow her and watch as she puts on the CD, pulls out the headphones, and lets the music blast out loud in the living room. Lake begins to dance and sing along. I look down and read the name of the first song.

“Los Angeles”— X

The Rat comes out of the kitchen with Trixie and sees Lake dancing. He smiles.

Lake is just the kind of daughter that The Rat would want. A girl who can tell that this is Good Music. A girl who gets up and dances. My feet are not moving. Not even toe tapping. I sit down on the couch.

Trixie starts dancing with Auggie in her arms. The Rat kind of joins in, bopping around a little, looking like a weirdo. His movements are unsmooth and out of time for someone who keeps time for a living. Trixie and The Rat feed off each other’s moves and start dancing a bit crazier when the next song comes on.

I look down at the list.

“Amoeba”— Adolescents

When that song is done, Trixie puts Auggie on the floor and takes The Rat in her arms. They slow down and kind of couple-dance. Auggie is moving around them on the floor. He’s laughing and dancing like a little man. He’s got pretty good moves for a two-year-old. He must take after his mom.

I’ve only heard of one or two of the bands, but some songs seem vaguely familiar, like maybe I heard them on the CBC late at night, or on a movie soundtrack or The Rat’s living-room stereo or car radio. As the laughing and dancing around me gets louder again, I just feel more lost, more left out.

The Rat stretches his arms out, reaching for me, inviting me to join him in the dance. I smile and shake my head, so he goes back to dancing with Trixie and Auggie and Lake. There is a party in my living room, and even though I have an invitation, I still feel out of place.

Instead, I close my eyes. The bass thumps through me. I don’t know where the next part is going to go. The music feels like it’s going to go off a cliff. Why does it change there? Why does it stop there? Why do the drums go like that? I can’t tell where the songs will go to next. I want them to go one way and they refuse. I can’t trust the songs and where they lead me.

And the words. The words are too raw. They might make me crazy. They might take me places I don’t want to go.

Auggie has finally gone to sleep. It only took forever. I creep to the window to pull down the shade to make it darker in the room. That’s when I notice him. Leo. He’s in the pool. I creep out of Auggie’s room quietly and go to the window in the living room.

I look around and notice a pair of opera glasses on one of the bookshelves. They’re quite fancy, typical Trixie.
Lorgnettes,
she calls them. They are too fancy for my T-shirt and jean shorts. I don’t care. I put them up to my eyes and swing my gaze over to the pool.

A leg pops into view.

It’s Leo’s leg. I have to adjust myself since the lorgnettes can’t be adjusted. I step back to view the whole body. I stare at him in his swimming trunks. My chest feels tight. He is so beautiful. His muscles are smooth and hard and well defined. There he is in front of me, almost touchable and nearly naked.

I feel at home in this world of near silence, where all I can hear is Auggie sleeping in the next room and my steady breathing, which gets a little heavier as I watch Leo in the pool. I don’t ask myself why I’m staring. I push aside the thought that it might be wrong. I know I like it. I know I want to.

Maybe I
am
a pervert.

I look over every inch of Leo’s body. I have never really had the chance to inspect a boy’s body so intensely before. I mean, I have stared at pictures of topless celebrities and models in magazines and online. I have seen plenty of pictures and movies that had men’s naked chests or naked asses in them. I have been to the swimming pool and the park and seen boys in their shorts with their shirts off, and Leticia and I skip back and slow-advance some scenes from certain movies we’ve rented. But only when we were alone in the house and no one could walk in on us because it could’ve been embarrassing.

But this looking through lorgnettes at Leo live is different. Here in Trixie’s apartment, I can look without anyone telling me not to. I can stare and take my time. I feel kind of quivery inside when I watch him.

I examine him closely. I decide that I like Leo’s sideburns but I’m glad he doesn’t have hair on his chest.

Should I feel bad about spying on him?

I am about to put the lorgnettes down when someone else comes into view. Lake. What is she up to?

Leo is busy in the pool doing laps. Then he notices her. He has a grin on his face. No, it’s more like a leer. He swims over to her. Now Lake is talking to Leo. I swing my view over to Lake. She is talking and gesticulating wildly. I crack open the window a little bit, but I can’t hear what she’s saying to him. Leo says something. Then he grabs her leg and tries to pull her into the pool.