Monsters (27 page)

“Because I care about the planet? Because I don't believe in torturing animals?”

“Because you just got out of an eating-disorder clinic and if you're not careful, he's going to send you back.” I say this pretty quickly, and then I feel a little bad because, really, it does sound harsh. “Look, I know this isn't about that, and really, I think this is a positive move that you're thinking differently about food and how you handle your body, but you know, your dad's got to be a little nervous.”

She doesn't say anything. She's too busy sniffling and crying.

“Look,” I say. “You can't be so focused on saying no. No turkey, no marshmallows, no bread. Tommy's not ever going to take that well. You've got to put a different spin on it. Just sit him down and give him a list, say, ‘Dad, here are all of the things I would like to have instead,' and I promise, honey, he'll give them to you.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, Sadie, I do. But here's the thing, honey, you're actually going to have to eat it then. You can't push it around on your plate and act like you're full, or he will pack you up and ship you back.”

“Can you talk to him?” she says, and I say, “No.” I know she's going to want to ask why. I know she's going to feed me some shit like,
He always listens to you,
but I just can't even take it. I can't even have this discussion with her, so I say, “Really, if you want him to start respecting you, you're going to have to do this yourself. He loves you, but he's not going to trust you if you try to run this through me.”

She says, “Fine,” but then she cries a little more, and I sit on the phone with her for a long time, and I think,
How the fuck did I get here?

•   •   •

The boys and I make two pies, one pumpkin and one chocolate cream, because
No one really likes pumpkin,
Stevie said, and Ben said,
Yeah, but it's a tradition.

Todd likes pumpkin. I wonder if Phillip does too. Not that he'll be there. Though I keep feeling surprised that he hasn't called. We fought on Monday, and now it's Thursday morning, so he's not going to call.

“Are we making whipped cream, or do we have whipped cream in a can?” Stevie says.

“We're making it,” I say, and he says, “Oh.”

He likes the kind in the can because it's sweeter and thick.

“We can put a little sugar in it,” I say.

He jumps off the stool and opens the pantry.

“You want to set the mixer up, Ben?”

He shrugs.

“Benny, what's the matter?” I say.

“Nothing.” He hooks the whisk into the mixer, snaps on the bowl. “Is your boyfriend coming?” he says.

“You mean Dr. Keller? Phillip?” I say. “No.”

“Good,” he says, but then he tilts his head to the side. “I mean, there might not be enough pie.”

“You don't like him?” I say.

“I don't care,” Ben says. “He's fine, I guess.”

Stevie sets the sugar on the counter. “I think he's nice,” he says.

The timer beeps behind me and I open the oven, stick a knife in the center of the pumpkin pie. It doesn't come out clean.

“Just a few more minutes,” I say, turning around.

“Can we put vanilla in too?” Ben nods toward the mixer.

“In the whipped cream?” I say. “Sure.”

•   •   •

“So what's Phillip doing that he couldn't come?” Jenny asks as she pours me a glass of wine. I'd texted her not to expect him, but we haven't really had time to talk. Or I haven't. Or I've been careful about staying busy.

“I don't know,” I say, taking the glass, and then, because I'm too tired to bother, I say, “We're kind of fighting.”

“What? What about?”

I try to wave my hand dismissively, but it doesn't come out right. Even I don't believe it. “He ran into me and Tommy after the festival and he just, I don't know, he didn't like it.” I take a sip of the wine. I think,
I hope she has another bottle of this. I hope she has like six.

“He didn't know Tommy was going to be here, did he?” She gives me a look like,
You little shit.

“Not so much, no.” I sigh.

“Stacey,” she says, and she's giving me her stern voice, her angry mom stare. “You have been dating him for almost a year. That is serious.
That is a relationship. And if you can't start to act like it, then you should let him move on.”

“Yeah, that's what I hear.”

“From Tommy?”

“What?”

“Do you hear that from Tommy?” she says again. “Because it seems like he's the only one you listen to, or talk to, or have room for in your life. And frankly, I'm not sure you have room for Phillip while Tommy's taking up so much space.”

I just shake my head. “Can we maybe not talk about all this tonight?”

She presses her tongue into her cheek in this expression our mom always made when she was really, really pissed. “I guess you'd rather talk to Tommy about it instead.”

I say, “Yeah, that would be perfect. That would be really great.”

Thank god Todd yells from the kitchen, “I am ready to carve this bird,” because by now, my eyes are stinging, and when Jenny turns to go in the kitchen, I tip my head back and blink as fast as I can.

I pull it together and when I walk into the dining room, Ben's sitting in the spot next to mine. He smiles at me like things are good, like this is the best holiday he's had in a while.

“I'm not having turkey,” he says. “I'll eat the Tofurky with you.”

“I'm having a drumstick,” Stevie says.

“Mmm, carnivore,” Todd says, setting a leg on Stevie's plate.

“That's disgusting and too much food for you,” I say, but Stevie just grins.

He doesn't even like turkey that much. He just likes the drumsticks. They remind him of Disneyland.

•   •   •

Daniel calls me Saturday after Thanksgiving, and when I pick up he just says, “Hey, sweetie,” but his voice says,
I'm sorry you're a mess.

I shut my eyes really tightly. “What's up?” I say, making my voice sound totally fine.

“Honey, don't bother. I already know what went down.”

“It's nothing. It's no big deal,” I say, and I use my nails to pinch the inside of my right wrist.

“Really? Because it's a nightmare here. Stacey, he is so pissed.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out. I know Daniel can probably hear it.

“Look, honey, about next week . . .”

The premiere. “Maybe I should just miss it.”

“There's no way he'll let you out of it.” He sighs. “Look, he wants me to put you up in a hotel, but you know, you could just call him.”

“I'm not calling him.”

“And he's not calling you, and it could go on like this forever. You sure you want that?”

“You're the one who said this thing with Tommy was a bad idea.”

“I said it was a bad idea a year ago, two years ago. But you went ahead and did it. And now you're in it, Stacey. You're in it, and you need to fix it. Just call him, honey. Just call him and apologize.”

And then what?
I think, but I already know the answer, which is basically nothing, so I say, “I
can't.”

W
HEN
I
GET
to LAX, I'm hoping to see Daniel. I'm hoping to see some kind of friendly face, but there's just someone at baggage claim with my name on a sign. He takes me to the hotel, and when I check in, the clerk gives me an itinerary. There's a reception event tonight, and tomorrow is the movie. Daniel has at least scribbled a note on the bottom that reads,
Sarah's already here. Call her.

I've brought this tight sleeveless navy dress. It isn't short exactly, but it isn't long either. Not that it's cold out, but it is December, so I wear knee-high boots, and when I zip them over my calves, I am more held together. I know Tommy will not be alone, so I feel like I need that. I also feel like I need a little more bronzer, but I'm afraid of making a mess of myself, so I lay off.

I ride with Sarah and John to the restaurant. The whole place has been rented out, and it's packed with people I've never met, but there are some of the other actors, Jason, Joe, even Alan, whom I've barely seen in the past two years. Joe actually kisses me on the cheek. He
says, “The buzz on this thing is good. I've been getting some nibbles. Think maybe you'd want to work with me again?”

I just laugh. “I haven't even had a drink yet, Joe. Maybe let's wait on that talk.”

Sarah loops her arm through mine. “We are going to the bar,” she says in this loud announcement type voice. I'm glad she's here, and I let her pull me away.

People are lined up along the bar. They're like two deep because of course it's free, but when they see that Sarah is Sarah, they let us through. I rest my foot on the brass rail, twist the heel of my shoe against it, study the scratches in the polished wood. Sarah says we're starting with tequila, and when the shots come, and I raise my head to drink it, I catch Tommy's reflection in the mirror. He's across the room. He has his arm around some girl.

“Lime?” Sarah says, but I don't even need it. I toss my head back and feel the warmth slide down my throat. Sarah whoops and says, “Let's have another,” but I shake my head. I feel jittery. Light-headed.

Still, Sarah orders another round. We don't drink it though. We just carry it with us. As we move away from the bar, I see that John is talking to Tommy. John spots us, and he raises his arm up. He waves us over. I'm thinking,
I don't want to do this, I don't want to fucking do this,
but there's nothing I can say. We get close enough, and I know who the girl is. She is
the neighbor's wife
. She doesn't even have a name, but Tommy's got his arm draped across her shoulders, and she's just glowing. She wants to be seen.

“Ah, my god, my love,” Sarah purrs. She holds her arms out to Tommy, and he lets go of the girl, steps forward to Sarah and tips her backwards in this dramatic kiss. And then she cries, “Not in front of my husband!” and we're all supposed to laugh. I'm sick of laughing at this shit.

Then Tommy lets her go, and he turns toward me and all the muscles in my back tense along my spine.

“Stacey.” He smiles. “God, it's so good to see you, honey.” He takes my hand. He kisses me on both cheeks.

I think,
You are such a fucking asshole,
but I smile. I say, “Yeah, this is great.”

He nods toward my glass and says, “And I see you've already got your dinner.”

I give him my very best smile, and I raise my glass to him. “Starving,” I say, and he laughs like I've just said something delightful.

He says, “Yeah? You usually are.”

•   •   •

Tommy is standing at the bar, waiting for his bourbon, resting his elbows against the wood, and I feel like this is ridiculous. This is just fucking stupid. I think,
It's just Tommy
. I think,
We can still be friends.

I move to stand next to him, and I mimic his posture. I get the bartender's attention, and I order a shot. While I'm waiting, I turn toward Tommy and say, “Hey,” and he turns his head just barely.

He says, “What?”

I twist my thumb under my fingers, press the nail against the soft pad of my ring finger. I smile. I smile really sweetly like this is all a joke. I say, “Tommy, sometimes people argue, and then if they're not complete assholes . . .”

The bartender sets down a fresh bourbon, and Tommy nods a thank-you. He takes a drink. Then he smiles at me. He looks me in the eye, and he smiles, and I feel my shoulders start to unknot.

“Stacey,” he says, his voice soft, “this is not an argument. This is me not giving a fuck what you do.”

He just stands there, holding his drink. He doesn't even have the decency to walk away. I just grab the back of my lip with my teeth, and I bite down until I taste a little blood. I look down at my hands, and I think,
I don't know what I'm doing here,
but I don't know where else to go. Then little miss fucking nameless walks up behind Tommy, and she slides her arms around his waist, and she says, “Hey,” and she sounds all breathy and drunk. She says, “What's taking you so long? I'm getting lonely.”

Tommy says, “Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?” and he turns and kisses her real slow. He's got his hands around her face. Then the two of them walk away, and I just stand there. I think,
Of course.
I think,
Of course. Of course. Of course.

•   •   •

So I get drunk, I get very drunk, much drunker than I should be. I blame Sarah, because she keeps me going, though it's not her fault really. She just thinks we're having fun. She introduces me to someone. I don't catch his name because it's loud, and I'm not really listening. What matters, anyway, is that he is tall and very, very good-looking. He has blue eyes, which I like better than green eyes, and I say this out loud. He's also young. Ridiculously so. He's nowhere near thirty. He has these long fingers, and he trails them along my wrist, and I totally let him. When I send him to the bar for another drink, I say, mostly to Sarah, “I think I will have that,” and she says, “God, I wish my husband were dead.” Then she slaps her hand over her mouth and says, “Oh shit, I'm so sorry,” but we're both laughing. I think it's just the tequila.

When the boy comes back, because really, he's a baby, I say, “I keep forgetting your name,” and he says, “What do you want to call me?”
and he says it really close in my ear. I say, “I don't want to call you anything. I just want you to take me home.”

•   •   •

Sarah calls me first thing in the morning, and my head is pounding. I can feel my heart beating in my temple. “If you're alone,” she says, “you should meet me for breakfast.”

She's sitting poolside, which looks beautiful and inviting, even if it is too cold to swim. She has a full pot of coffee, and she's ordered me toast. “So?” she says, and I shrug.

A strand of her hair falls across her eyes, and she grabs it, tucks it behind her ear. I think we're the same age, but she's just so beautiful. It seems to come so easily too. I mean, she's eating a croissant.

“How was your night?” she says, and her mouth is almost twitching.

“I don't really remember,” I say, though this isn't entirely true. I remember it was a little disappointing. He was rough, but not in a fun way, just in the sense that he didn't seem to understand how much pressure to put behind his hands. But whatever, he's young. I'm sure he's still learning.

Sarah frowns. “Seriously? You're giving me nothing?”

I take a bite of the toast. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you sleep with him?” and she kind of whispers. She sort of looks around to see if we're alone. It's adorable. I feel like I'm in college, and even though my head hurts, I feel better.

“What about that doctor?” she says.

“Phillip?” I say, and I shrug. “I think we broke up.”

“You think?” she says. “How do you not know? You're either seeing someone or you're not.” She makes a face like I'm an idiot, like it's always so simple.

In any case, he hasn't called me since the night we argued, so I guess I'm not.

•   •   •

John and I go in through the back to avoid the mob in front. From inside, we can see Sarah doing her red-carpet shtick. She looks beautiful, and she's wearing this simple red and black dress, but it is short, and she's showing off her legs. And she gets attention, quite a lot, stopping every few feet to answer questions, stand with her hand on one hip, now turn to the side. I almost say,
I don't know how she does it,
but actually I do. She drank a lot of champagne in the car on the way over, and I think she popped a Xanax before that. Still, it's nothing compared to when Tommy shows up. We can hear the screams for a good ten minutes before we see him. He acts like he loves it, and he walks the edge of the carpet, talking to fans, grabbing their hands. I think he poses for more fan photos than professional shots, and he kisses a lot of cheeks. When he catches up to Sarah, he puts his arm around her, and they perform this whole
Look at us, we're old friends
bit. Which of course they are, but they're miming it now, like,
Hey, it's so great to see you, it's amazing isn't it, how beautiful we are and how much we love each other.
I'm so sick of the act.

•   •   •

Tommy and Sarah are still making the rounds as the lights are dimmed, but John grabs my elbow to steer me toward our seats. I move a few spaces in, and he leaves a seat between us for Sarah, but when Sarah comes, she drops right into the aisle seat. I stand up to move closer to John, but then Tommy's standing at the end of our row. They both stand up to let him in, and then we're face-to-face
for a second, though I can feel him not looking at me. I move a step backwards, and he sits in the next seat. I think,
Fuck,
and I look at Sarah, but she doesn't know anything, so she just smiles.

Tommy says, I guess to me because I'm the one sitting there, “I hope you like it.” But I don't say anything. I don't even smile.

I do like it though. It's amazing and horrible and dark, and Sarah fills up the screen with this terrible ache. And Tommy is terrifying. He's so very, very cruel, and I don't even think it's familiar. I just think it's true.

When the credits start to roll, Tommy turns to look at me, and he says, “Well?” but then people start clapping, and everyone starts to stand. I have tears in my eyes. Sarah grabs my hand and squeezes it, and she kisses Tommy. She says, “Look at us, we did it. We pulled it off.” She's holding on to both of us. We're inches apart.

•   •   •

In the lobby, there is champagne, and someone hands me a glass. There are too many people, and the press of them makes me unsteady. I feel myself moving a few steps from Sarah, from Tommy. I know the space will open up the farther I move from them, but there isn't anywhere I can go. Sarah keeps pulling me back, keeps asking for my attention. I don't know why she needs it when she has all these other eyes and hands, but she does. It's like she needs me to help her open a pocket of air. Between flirtations and fawning, she feeds me commentary on every person who comes close enough, every person who leaves. Then the person in front of us is Tommy's girl from last night, and I know she's just working her way past us to get to him. Her dark eyes are outlined in black, shadowed in a pale gray. Her lips are just barely reddened. They almost look naked, and her skin is flawless, unlined.
She moves away, and Sarah catches my eye, mouths,
Poor thing,
and she nods in Tommy's direction. It's terrible to watch. How he extricates himself, moves to take her hand from his arm where she's resting it. He kisses it like it could be anyone's. She starts to talk, and he leans in like he's listening, but he looks over her shoulder, he nods hellos, he fucking waves. The poor girl, she's holding her expression like it's been painted on. He shifts his weight away from her, lets her know she can step away now, and as she does, he turns back toward me, and I give him this look like,
You piece of shit
.

We're maybe ten feet apart, and he takes a step toward me. He says, “You have a problem, Stacey?”

I'm done. I'm just so done. I say, “You know what? I'm just a little sick of the show.” Sarah's talking to someone important on the other side of me, but I see her stop. I see her turn her head. “This whole ‘Tommy fucks a child actress,' I think we've all seen enough of that.”

Tommy's still coming toward me and his jaw is tight, and he's almost whispering. “Oh, I'm so sorry. Is it hard for you to watch? Where's your little plaything from last night? He is not a doctor, by the way. He's too fucking young.”

I put my hands up, and I say, “Fuck you,” and I say it loud, and now there is space opening up around us, and people are turning to look.