Story Girl (14 page)

I thought of James, and wondered just what I’d do to be in his arms at this very instant. Would I swim across raging rivers, crawl into a vat of teeming spiders, eat a barrel of bugs? And what I wouldn’t give for his short script about a John Lennon hippie liberal at this point.

“This is just like you, Tracy – the nutty girl who rational people avoided in school. Fitting that you moved out to Holly-
weird
. It’s such a shame, because your mother has always been the picture of what a
real
woman should be – a woman who cares about her family and her country.”

Rejecting his movie-popcorn combo turned out to be a mistake I’d have to pay for – but I was pleased that he was glorifying my mother in a way that she would appreciate, something I was never really capable of. He was also lessening some of the guilt I felt at ruining her best-laid plans, although I really wanted to scold her for daring to understand me so little.

“You’re calling my daughter
a nutt
y
girl
under my roof?” my father asked. The veins on his forehead were bulging, a warning of things to come if the seas didn’t settle.

“And what if I am a little nutty, Kyle? What would you like to do, point a big missile at me?”

“Tracy – enough!” my mother said – as though I were the only one having the conversation. But I suppose it wasn’t polite to spook the gentleman caller in such an unpleasing way.

A vision of my parents’ bedroom suddenly loomed in front of me. Something had changed between them – something they weren’t telling me. And yet my mother still expected me to sit here and recreate a pattern that was fraying at the edges.

“Maybe we should bomb Canada for spending so much time watching hockey, or taking part in that laughable pastime known as curling. That way we could cut down all the trees even faster, and
build more ridiculous houses like this one for people to imprison themselves in.”

Shit. Crap. Piss.

I had stopped talking but the momentum of my words seemed to pummel everyone at the table. And it was too late to take it back.

“I didn’t mean it like that at all,” I said, unable to look at my parents. “That came out so wrong.”

“No worries,” Kyle said. “That’s what happens when you think you’re better than everyone else.”

“But I don’t.”

“It sure sounds like it.”

“I’m really just an aggressive pacifist.” I tried to laugh but nobody joined me.

“That’s what happens when you forget your roots and live out there with a bunch of deluded and self-absorbed twits,” Kyle said. “But I’ll take good old regular folk any day of the week.”

I felt guilty and sheepish, and knew I’d have to endure his attacks unassisted. My mother’s silence was especially grim, and I figured she was probably regretting her decision to have me in the first place.

“Just a bunch of left-coast loons, if you ask me.”

I tried to ignore Kyle and focus on appeasing my parents, “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired from the plane, and the alcohol doesn’t agree with me – clearly. Makes me say some very strange things.”

“Snotty elites who look down on the rest of the country.”

“Listen, Kyle,” I snapped. “I don’t even own a vacuum cleaner. So snotty elite is a bit of a stretch.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Tracy – your take on things is pointless.”

And that pretty much summed up my life.

I knew I deserved whatever it was I had coming – I just didn’t want it coming from Kyle. I’d rather my parents take turns slapping me in the face with a dirty spatula.

“Have you ever fought for anything, Kyle? Other than your myths about the glory of fighting?”

He shrugged at me like I wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

“I’m talking about a dream.”

“I don’t have your kind of dreams, Tracy.”

“Have you ever wanted to create something?”

He bit a dinner roll in half.

“Challenge your boundaries or expand what you thought was possible for yourself?”

Now he was looking at me with such intensity that I was almost hopeful he was deeply engaged in the process of self-reflection – that he was sifting through his past and turning himself inside out. So I was surprised when he held out his hand in an almost aggressive gesture.

“You should give me back the pin.”

It took me a second to remember what he was talking about. I handed him the appliance broach and he quickly gave it to my mother as if she’d more than earned the right to wear both of them.

“I’ll stick to fighting the bad guys,” he said.

Part of me wanted to make fun of him, and tell him that he’d just deprived me of a bona-fide source of self-importance. I wanted to wish him endless success selling new and used appliances and assure him that he was, indeed, the King of the Kitchen County – and that I would soon come to regret missing out on his generous discounts.

Another part of me wanted to make fun of my mother and declare it a relief that she hadn’t set us up on a date or something, given our utter lack of chemistry, attraction, and philosophical compatibility.

But as I stared deeper into Kyle’s eyes, I realized that his life probably hadn’t unfolded like a celebration either. Maybe he simply dreamed of a woman who would love him.

“One day, Kyle, you might discover that the scariest bad guys you can conjure up are a creation of your own wounds.” My voice was cracking, and I had to leave or have all of my own wounds exposed.

“And so – if you’ll excuse me – I’m going to go and unpack my pajamas, and then sleep for at least eight hours. The flight from Los Angeles was a long one. Kyle, it was nice seeing you again.”

“You too, Tracy. Let me know if I can help you with your vacuum cleaner issue – we have layaway plans.”

“That’s kind.”

The evening had gone off like a bomb, and I contemplated what my mother could have been thinking to arrange it in the first place. Was she really so panicked about the state of my life? I stood abruptly and left the three of them to deal with the debris.

As I walked up the stairs to my old bedroom, I felt my guilt evaporating. It was an odd feeling of lightness, especially since I was so good at feeling horrible for falling so short of my mother’s expectations. But tonight it was my mother’s very expectations that felt so off and utterly divorced from reality, as if she were desperate to make a fish walk on land. And for the first time ever, I now realized that her desperation was more about her than me.

chapter
19

A
T LEAST SHE
’
D
left my bedroom alone.

The same posters were staring down at me: Bowie, Morrissey, Kate Bush, Annie Lennox, and Tina Turner. All of my high-school heroes were still here, and I stared at their powerful images. It was odd that my current fixations were such lighter fare compared to these icons I used to look up to – the ones who represented awesome strength and counter-culture. I imagined Tina Turner in the ring with McDreamy and knew she could deliver a wallop he’d never recover from.

Maybe I had lost courage over the years. Maybe it had taken these people to launch me out of here, and maybe I had gone soft in the aimlessness of L.A., a place where it was hard to know whose dream was whose. Dreams were generic there, and the city seemed to draw people
away
from something. Hollywood was the preferred destination for anyone fleeing the soul-sucking dread of the predictable mundane.

I closed my bedroom door and frantically tore at the bun – immediately relieving my tension headache. I wanted to call James and tell him all about my mother’s attempt to normalize me, but I fell into bed instead. The sheets smelled freshly laundered, and I marveled at her knack for detail. Not one fine point of home management ever escaped her.

I opened my bedside table and pulled out a blank notebook and marker. I wondered how I could shrink the swelling heartbreak of my life into a tag-line, or a hook-line.

Dear Tracy,

You’re drowning – hook, line, and sunk.

Tagline = Tag, you’re it. Now get on with your failed life.

Tracy Johnston was
here
(but you wouldn’t know it – because she failed to leave her mark;(

Beautiful boy comes to his senses and abandons Ms. Hopeless in the park.

I tossed the journal across the room and rolled over onto my side. I couldn’t believe I lost out on the William Morris job. How was I ever going to get
Space Boy
into the right hands now – but maybe I should worry about that once it was finished. Besides,
Morbid City
was still simmering over at the Bloodhound Group – an executive assistant was surely reading it at this very moment. And it was probably only a matter of days before I got the call informing me that they were going to go ahead and shoot the damn thing.

If that didn’t happen, I could always get a job at a posh eatery – and slowly ingratiate myself with the movers and shakers based on sheer charm. Just exactly like the kind I’d exhibited tonight.

The twin bed was too small for my large frame, so I bent myself up as best I could. I watched my kneecaps hang over the edge and understood that this room wasn’t so different from the one in Hollywood. Finding a comfortable position was not easy, and I felt my skeleton creaking and popping as I shifted on the small mattress, an awful sign of my gathering physical mileage.

And to punctuate the thought, there were two grey hairs basking naughtily on my pillow. An existential gong must go off at thirty, reminding the cells to just throw in the towel. It was especially grim given the fact that I knew less about myself now than I did at fourteen, when I was so cocksure of whom it was that I was not.

Lucy emerged from under my bed and jumped up beside me to lick at my aching temples. I quickly fell into a light slumber
where I remained until a gentle knock at the door alerted me to my father.

“Come in, Dad.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Because Stinky hates me and so does Mom.”

“No one hates you.”

“I’m really sorry about what I said – about people imprisoning themselves.”

“No worries, no worries,” he said, as if discussing such things might cause him to disintegrate.

“How’s Mom?” I asked this like we’d all just survived a natural disaster.

“We had our dinner and our cobbler, and now they’re having tea.”

He studied the posters, “When did guys start wearing makeup?”

“Before we kept records. And you ask me that every time we’re in here.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you guys talk about me?” I asked.

“I just said that none of us would’ve had the courage to skedaddle to L.A. and make it on our own.”

I wanted to admit that the only thing I could make on my own was a mess.

“Was that supposed to be a date?”

“I don’t know. She just worries, that’s all. Your mother wants what’s best for you.”

“With Kyle?”

He didn’t answer.

“That wouldn’t be what’s best for me. I’d shoot myself.”

“Me too.”

“I mean – he’s not that bad. But we’re clearly not a match. And it irritates me – how she could arrange something so far off the mark.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Everyone seems to know who and what is best for me.”

“She wasn’t even planning on it until last night,” he said. I could tell by his expression that he’d just let the bee out of the jar.

I sat up, “What happened last night?”

“Nothing, sweetie. Why don’t you put your pajamas on and come and have a piece of cherry cobbler.”

“What happened last night, Dad?”

“Jenny called and told us that she thought you might be a lesbian. Your mother panicked a little and called Kyle. And the only reason it was Kyle is because she just bought a second-hand microwave from him last week, so he was fresh in her mind.”

“A lesbian?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re my daughter and I love you.”

“And who the hell buys a used microwave?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Your mother does.”

“You think I’m gay?”

He nodded that he did.

A huge part of me wanted to come barging out of the closet, and force my parents to deal with the fact that my life trajectory could no longer be expected to parallel theirs.

“Give your mother time. She’ll need some time.”

I studied his face for signs of silliness but could find none. He was shifting his weight from side to side like a nervous contestant unsure of his answer.

“I’m not a lesbian, but tonight’s set-up could have truly pushed me in that direction.” I laughed at my mother’s ludicrous attempt to ignite my already raging heterosexuality.

“Are you really sure you’re not gay?” he asked.

“Not if Kyle’s my only option.”

“Well. I’ve opened that closet door.”

“And it’s empty.”

“I wonder why Jenny would say such a thing then.”

“Because I went on a date with a woman.”

“Good reason.”

“But only as a lark.”

“A lark?”

“Yes. Now can we please change the subject?”