Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake (16 page)

Backing away, Kim casts me an ‘oh boy’ look. I don’t even flinch. For me, this is nothing compared to the scenes Jenny has caused in the past. Take last New Year’s Eve. After accepting an invitation to stay the night at my house, Jenny mixed her meds with five shots of tequila and was up all night trying to impregnate Puddy with a vibrator she’d stolen from her mom.

“Jenny, I need you to calm down and listen to me. Did you take Ralph today?” I ask.

“Ralph, schmalf,” she replies.

“Ok then. Do you want me to call Greg? I’m sure he’d be happy to get you cleaned up.”

“Greg, schmeg,” she sneers.

And me, I’m finally at a loss, wondering what went wrong in her life. Why does she act like this? She doesn’t have it that bad.

Let’s see.

She has a flashy house, flashy car, and a flashy boyfriend, making her a triple threat. So what’s the problem?

Who knows? Maybe it’s too much flash. Maybe the flash burned out and the truth lies in the darkness. Oh, I can’t believe this. Here I am dissecting Jenny when I can’t even dissect a frog in biology class, let alone turn him into a prince.

“Tye,” Kim calls. Locating the make-up kit under Mr. Dolby’s purple man-purse, she approaches with hesitation. “Are you ready to head inside or should I go without you?”

“Go without me,” I say, maintaining eye contact with Jenny.

“Sounds like a plan,” Kim hastily replies. Then entering the bathroom, she nearly collides with Billy as he pops his head out.

“What’s the hold up?” he asks.

“Billy Greske!” Jenny screams.

“Yeah?” he says, confused.

“Silly Billy, belly jelly,” Jenny giggles. I tell her to shut her mouth, but it’s pointless. It’s her turn to be in the spotlight, and no director or script will be necessary for her to pinpoint her next move. “Oh Billy, why do you have to be so sexy?” she asks.

Bewildered, Billy looks to me for guidance.

“Don’t listen to her,” I tell him. “She’s just....”

“Bub thinks you’re sexy too,” she announces, slapping my butt.

“Jenny, stop it,” I warn.

“Oh, don’t be modest,” she laughs. “All you want to do is roll up like a pretzel with him in bed and do your best impersonation of a dead cockroach. That’s what you told me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

When the world ends, there shall not be a bang but a whimper. That’s what they say. And though I don’t know who they are, I finally understand what they mean. Whereas I should be screaming, I’m sulking. Here I stand with my hands covering my face, hiding my disgrace.

Still, in my head lies a dream where Billy and I escape into a meadow full of daisies. Me, I have all these secrets, all these desires, but I dare not share them all at once. Instead I peel each away, one petal at a time, when Billy least expects it. This is how I maintain mystery. Now, Jenny has taken away the suspense, spiting me for ignoring her, and I can’t hide behind the illusion that I want Billy as just a friend anymore.

“So how about we rent a movie tonight?” Jenny suggests. It’s like her manic switch turned off and she’s back to normal. “Are you up for it?”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Giving up and going on are both the same dead end so I roll with the insanity. “I can’t. My dad is making me have dinner with my mom.”

“Oh yeah, I met her yesterday when I was at your house. Cool chick,” Jenny says. “I’m so happy she’s back. You have to fill me in on all the blanks later.” Then she shoots out of the room like a cannon ball, and I’m up to my knees in smoke and ashes.

“You don’t look good,” Billy observes.

“Welcome to my nightmare.”

“Is she ok?”

“That’s the scary part. I can’t tell anymore.” Flopping on the couch, I rest my head in my hands.

“Hey, chill,” he says. Taking a seat beside me, I feel the warmth of his knee brushing against mine. “She’s just going through something. We’ve all been there.”

“Yeah, well, I’m worried about her.”

“You’re a good friend,” he says, playfully tapping my knee. “So listen, about last night….”

“Forget it. Everything turned out fine. Let’s just drop it.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to drop it,” Billy whispers, brushing his lips against my ear. “I liked it. That’s why I can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You’re just trying to be nice,” I tell him, eyeing his sexy soccer shorts and beautiful bronze legs

“No, I’m serious.”

“So it’s not the camera?” I ask, lifting my head.

“No.” He brushes my knuckles with his fingertips. “It’s you.”

Overwhelmed by his revelation, I’m speechless, and I wonder if Billy is on anti-psychotic medication too. Bipolar, schizophrenia, what’s about to jump out of the hat? After all, this is too perfect to be happening.

“Was it true?” Billy asks. “What Jenny said? You know, about the way you feel about me?”

“Please! Not even close!” I blurt out. “You can’t listen to Jenny. She’s delusional.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, circling my knee with his finger. “Cause I thought it was kind of cool, and I wanted to see if you’d be free after rehearsal. But I guess you have plans with your mom.”

Mom? What mom? Oh, you mean the stranger I found in my kitchen yesterday, the one who dresses like a clown and claims to see the future? No, you see, she made me wait. Now she can wait too. “Did I say I had plans? I meant tomorrow. Mom and I have dinner plans for tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Sure I’m sure,” I smile. “Now exactly what kind of plan do you have in mind?”

Here we go! We’re on the open highway known as I-75. It’s Billy and me and we’re northbound in his father’s old coupe. The windows are down and the hot wind is roaring through my curls. I’m breathing in the autumn heat and though the sun, the scenery, can trick the untrained eye, summer has long since faded and the season has truly changed. Much like a change has occurred in Billy. Just last night he seemed uncertain about our love. He’d pull away when I’d make advances. He desired a kiss based solely on the sanctity of the script. But my, what a difference twenty-four hours can make. Right now, he’s holding my hand and telling me about our destination: his favorite Italian restaurant, hidden inside a luxury hotel forty miles away.

“The owner is from the old country,” Billy says. And though I don’t know what that means, the owner sound exotic, like he uses linen napkins to wipe his butt.

Oh, I can’t wait to be alone with Billy, and to ensure there are to be no interruptions, I phoned dad before we left school. Filming is running late due to technical difficulties, I told him. True, I lied. But dad didn’t seem too concerned. He said he planned to entertain mom until I return.

“Excited?” Billy asks, tickling my palm with his thumb.

“Totally,” I tell him, as we soar past acres of broccoli-limbed trees and white cows. In knee-deep grass, two heavy-eyed cows graze off the land. That can’t be good for their complexion, I think. Then I empathize with the cows, wondering if they ever get bored and wish for light conversation. This propels me to wonder what’s appropriate to talk about on a first date.

For straight kids, proper etiquette and societal roles are outlined. Parents prep their kids for years. The male opens the car door and pulls out the chair at the restaurant. The female crosses her legs and finishes no more than half of the meal. The male is never too pushy. The female, never too needy.

Where that leaves me, I can’t tell. Should I let Billy take the male role? Should I finish my meal? Should I let him know that my butt is the best-kept secret in town? It’s all so confusing. So I wonder about other matters. Like will mom wait for me to have dinner? And why is Billy’s favorite restaurant so far away?

Arriving at the restaurant, located on the second floor of a gray stucco hotel on the Gulf of Mexico, Billy neglects to open my car door. And when I attempt to grab his hand in the parking lot, he jumps away like we’re playing a game of tag. I roll with the punches but when Billy selects a secluded booth, I wonder if he likes me or if this is all a hoax. If he liked me, he would have opened my car door, I think. If he liked me, he would have chosen a small table over a large booth.

Maybe I’m thinking too much. Maybe I should focus on the wonderful atmosphere and enjoy the moment. This is how I find comfort. I study my surroundings, noting the portraits of Italian movie stars lining the interior. Glass chandeliers light up the ceiling like diamonds, and each table, each booth, is set with white linen and a single red rose. Waiters wear black ties and walk in a rushed manner. From the kitchen, the scent of onion and garlic.

Placing a breadbasket on the table, our waitress says her name is Sara. The trendy type with uneven bangs, she rattles off the specials. Billy sticks with the basics, ordering lasagna. I follow suit, preferring to read Billy rather than the menu.

Alone again, Billy tells me his family’s connection with the restaurant. That this is where his dad proposed to his mom, and that this is where his mom performed before she got sick. “She sang torch songs over the piano,” he says, pointing to black baby grand in the far corner.

When Billy speaks of his mom, I notice a sharp change in his affect. His voice cracks like old wood and his eyes wander to the ceiling. Right now, he can’t look at me. So he butters a bread roll and hums to the music playing in the background. Passing by, a man in business attire escorts a young girl to the bathroom. No more than three years old, the girl has on a puffy, blue dress and skips more than walks. Eyeing our booth, she stops to say she just turned four. It’s her birthday. Then she adds, “I got to go potty.”

“That’s where we’re headed,” the man smiles, gently tugging her hand. The instant they disappear, Billy and I burst into laughter.

“I can’t wait to have kids,” Billy says. “They’re so honest.”

“Yeah, they’re cool,” I agree.

“Do you want kids?”

The truth is I try not to think about it because the thought scares me. Dad says everything changes when you have a kid. The kid becomes your life. Your career takes a backseat. That’s why mom left. Dad said he couldn’t stand to watch her choose a career, the type where she would need to travel, over me.

“Maybe I’ll adopt one day,” I say.

“What about having a kid of your own?”

“The kid would be my own. I mean, I’m not about to knock-up some woman.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Do I need to draw a diagram?

“I’m gay, remember?”

“Shh, try not to talk so loud,” he says, nudging my leg under the table. “The waitress is coming. She’ll hear you.”

Setting down our order, Sara warns us that the plates are hot but that’s nothing compared to the heat rising from my collar. “What do mean ‘don’t say that’?” I ask Billy. Sensing the tension, the waitress refills our water glasses and darts off.

“I mean...” he begins. “Let’s eat.”

“No, I want to talk. Is there something wrong with being gay?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just....”

“What?”

“You know, you were awesome today during filming.”

I can’t believe this. Billy must be taking pointers from dad. Once the smoke rises, he blankets it with a bucket of water. But the fire is not out. Not by far. And what better than a cover-up can make a situation all the more crystal clear?

Being taken miles away from home.

Being secluded in a public setting.

Being asked to keep quiet.

This isn’t a date.

I’ve been gay-napped.

“I’m gay, Billy. Gay, gay, gay!” I exclaim. I know I’m acting crazy but I get enough of the ‘keep it quiet’ routine from dad. I’m not about to clam up because I’m at a fancy restaurant where the owner is from the old country. This is me in the here and now.

“Will you chill?” Billy asks.

“I will not chill. Stop telling me to chill. I thought this was a date!”

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Billy sighs and calmly sets down his fork. “You’re making a scene.”

“My life is series of scenes.”

“Well, are you through with this one?”

“Completely.” Tossing my napkin on the table, I stand without haste. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be exiting, stage left.”

“Wait,” he says. Reaching across the table, he takes my hand. “I know. I need to think before I speak. I’m being a jerk, but....”

“But?”

“You make me happy.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Releasing my hand, Billy doesn’t say anything. Externally, he does his best to ‘chill’ before whispering for me to sit back down.

“I’m not ready,” he utters. “You know, to say it.”

I should leave him. I should leave him right here and never look back. This is going through my mind, that if he’s not ready to say the word ‘gay’ then he might not be the man for me.

God, if only I were smart enough to know I’m worth more than being kept secret. If only I had the courage to look that hurricane called love in the eye and walk away. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be tough in the next life. But in this life, I take a seat and tell Billy not to worry; it’s ok.

Barely speaking, Billy and I sit for the remainder of the meal. Here we use our big mouths to fill the holes in our lives when we should be filling our hearts. Even the sweet dessert, the chocolate crème brulee, can’t coat the bitter aftertaste, the realization that I’m the boy so overly concerned about someone pulling out my chair, I never considered my heart would be pulled out instead.