Such a Pretty Face (41 page)

“Way to go, Mom,” Polly cheered. “We have a decision!”

“Kickin’ ass,” Lance said. “Spike that football!”

“You think that two men defile traditional marriage?” Aunt Janet said, shaking with fury. “Or two women? What a joke. What defiles marriage is when one person doesn’t respect or love the other. It happens when one person forces another to live in a mausoleum, and pick up his shoes each night, and is expected to roll over for sex every Thursday night at ten o’clock and Saturday night at nine-thirty, on the dot, precisely. And she’s supposed to roll with joy for sex that takes approximately four minutes with no foreplay.” She took off a high heel and threw it at him.

“I’m leaving for Africa with Virginia. I’m calling an attorney before I go. And don’t you dare tell me, again, as you have a hundred times before, that I can’t divorce you, that you’ll take everything and leave me penniless. You used to tell me if I left you that you would take the kids from me because I’m an alcoholic, and because I fell in love with Victor. Well, they’re grown and beautiful people, despite what a lousy mother I was for not leaving you, and I know they won’t leave me, even though I deserve it for what I put them through with you! I’m going to travel, and write, and dance the mamba, and listen to jazz music, and read what I want to read, and I will never, ever wear the smothering clothes you buy me again.”

With that statement, she whipped off this lace veil thing Herbert insisted she wear because it had been his mother’s, whom she hated, and threw it at him. Then she took off the other heel and threw that at him, too, before charging off. “Fuck, fuck you, Herbert!”

No one moved for long, tense seconds, then Polly grabbed a microphone, smiled like an ultrachic gypsy, and said, “Isn’t this pleasant? Welcome to the Barrett family. We’ve tried so stinkin’ hard to appear perfect, but we’re rotting from the inside out. So many secrets, so many problems, so much energy expended trying to pretend. Hello, everyone. I’m Polly. I’m anorexic.” She smile angelically, waved.

About ten people, clearly those who had been in twelve-step programs, automatically answered, “Hi, Polly,” then slunk down in their seats.

Lance, so handsome in his suit, recovered quickly and said, “Hello, everyone, I think you know me. I’m Lance, and I want to take a moment to introduce Lance’s Lucky Ladies, blow-up dolls that all can enjoy. If you all would care to turn around, there are several in the back there, under the first white tent. I have brochures on the tables, and I’m happy to answer any questions…and, oh, I knit. I love knitting. And I cry easily. Whew! That felt good to get that out in the open. Right there.” He pounded his chest. “Honesty feels right.”

And then it was me. What to say? I used to be obese because I ate my grief? I’ve had some ruckus in my childhood? This whole family has been living a lie about how and why I came to live with them and here’s the truth? I think my uncle is hiding something from me in Ashville?

Nah. I thought I’d skip that part.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I announced, smiling angelically, proud of my red dress with the ruffle, delighted that Jake was there, even though he had a close-up shot of the Barrett family insanity, “dinner will now be served. We’ll be having salmon with a light covering of pesto, marinated chicken with teriyaki sauce, salad with no nuts, and pasta salad with tomatoes cut in long strips, as per Herbert’s instructions, followed by wedding cake. It’s all delicious and there’s plenty, so please stay, have a wonderful time—”

I stopped midsentence as a drumroll echoed across the lawn, followed by another drumroll. Electric guitars screeched, then a keyboard, something else that was clangy and loud, and then they all smashed together at one time. Next there was a throat-tingling scream, you know the scream that rockers scream before they launch into some head-banging hard rock tune?

That was the one.

Our musical entertainment had arrived. Only it wasn’t the quartet from the symphony who had crashed into an Adults Only store and knocked over the sex toys.

No, there were no tuxedos and well-groomed men and women, with proper and polite smiles plastered on their faces. There were no violins, violas, or cellos. There were no music stands, no musical notes floating through the air adding peace and tranquility to this hellacious day.

None of that.

Lance had taken care of the problem, as he said he would.

These “musicians,” who were dressed in leather and torn clothes, with long, stringy hair, dark glasses, an assortment of tattoos, various piercings, and makeup, were from the band that was playing tomorrow night for Lance’s Lucky Ladies hard rock party. Black liner and black lipstick were de rigueur.

Another head-banging scream pierced the evening, followed by a roll of the drums and the thrum of the guitars. “Hey! You guys wanna party?” Rock star cackling. “You guys wanna rock? You guys wanna jam it out and shake your titties?” More rock star cackling. “Let’s see you guys showin’ some skin! Get down, everybody,
get down!
”

Drums. Bass. Screeching. Those guys rocked out.

Oh, how they rocked.

Herbert gaped at them, then at his stunned audience, and at us, eyes wide open. He was more stunned than if I’d hit him with a Taser. The man was gobsmacked.

Humiliated under his virginal white roses.

“Happy anniversary,” I told him.

“Congratulations,” Polly said.

We smiled angelically.

“I think you need one of my dolls, Dad,” Lance said. “You can try out Thunder Thighs and Patrice. I think they’ll fit your needs.”

“Shake your titties!”

It was Mrs. Bunce who had the last word, though. She played what she wanted, which was the death march. Nice and gloomy. Three times.

The party did make the paper the next day, but not in the way that Herbert had planned. The decorations, the food, the cake, even the hard rock band made the news. All of that, however, was dwarfed by Herbert’s rant against gay marriage before the ceremony and Aunt Janet’s screeching diatribe against Herbert and his anti-gay initiative, complete with the heel-and-bouquet-tossing incidents, the blue glass flying through the air, the African safari, the mamba, scheduled sex, and jazz music.

Herbert’s support plummeted. Soon after that, his political party asked him to step down. He did.

Me, Jake, Lance, and Polly had an amazing time, along with the three hundred other proper, uptight guests who decided to let it all hang out. It’s amazing how people will talk to you when you are honest about your own problems. By the end of the night, we learned of a shoplifting habit, a drunken mother, a father who was jailed for being a serial killer, a husband who had a cheating wife on his hands, and another one who was addicted to painkillers.

For the first time, I actually enjoyed a few of Herbert’s stuffy friends. Herbert hid out in his home, but the rest of us danced, laughed, ate, and drank champagne. The guests loved the mermaid with the enlarged nipples, Lance got a lot of orders, and it did rain, as if buckets were being poured down from above, but the tents held.

At the end of the night, when all the guests were gone, me, Jake, Lance, and Polly each danced with Lance’s Ladies, in the rain, while drinking champagne, until we were soaked through.

Lance told me later, “Stevie, I talked to Jake.”

“And?” I bit down soft on my lower lip. He liked him, didn’t he?

“My left ankle twitched. Three times.” Lance sighed, so relieved. “I trust my left ankle. You’re good to go, Stevie.”

Polly told me later, “Stevie, I talked to Jake.”

“And?” I wrung my hands together. Polly liked him, didn’t she?

“I think he’s like Grandpa.”

I nodded. Definite similarities.

“But he’s Jake, too, and I like him a lot.” She grinned at me. “I’d wrap that man up pretty quick if I were you.”

Portland, Oregon

I
t was time. I would plant the corn. I would do it. I could do it. I had gone to the nursery the previous week. I told them I wanted to plant corn. I bought the kernels and there they sat, waiting for me.

That morning I ran the dirt in the upraised bed through my fingers and didn’t bother wiping the tears that fell into that dirt as I dropped the kernels in.

As I smoothed the dirt over each kernel, I saw my grandparents’ cornfields, the green leaves, the yellow and white kernels, the stalks swaying in the wind, the pathways they’d plow through it for corn mazes at Halloween for me and my cousins and friends before we carved pumpkins.

I was back in my grandma’s kitchen, bringing the corn to the table on the white platter. I was sitting with Sunshine and Helen, painting on the deck, the corn tall and straight in the fields. I was running through the corn, chasing a cat, and driving along the edge of our property, knowing we were home when I saw those green stalks. I was smiling at Grandpa as the butter on the corn slipped down our chins, The Family talking and laughing around us.

My tears watered the kernels and my hands shook with lost memories, but it wasn’t too bad, and remembering all the happy memories, well, it reminded me that I had let the hard memories suffocate all the joyful memories that had come before it. I vowed not to let the suffocation go on anymore. I had had enough suffocation in my life.

I gardened until I had to get ready for Lance’s Lucky Ladies Hard Rock Party. By the time I was done, I felt so much better, cleaner, my thoughts less jumpy and chaotic. At the end I was thinking of the earth and, my, isn’t that a slinky worm and, oh, there’s a red-feathered bird at my bird feeder, and I think I’ll pull some zucchini for zucchini bread and pick blueberries for breakfast.

I stared out at the raised bed where I’d dropped the corn kernels in. They would grow, green and strong, with floppy leaves, and those leaves would turn to yellow and white corn cobs.

I would eat them with a light coating of butter and salt. And maybe I would think of Helen and remember her in the garden, the floppy yellow hat on her head, without the rage and sadness that had followed me my whole life.

Maybe I could.

Maybe I would.

“We rock,” Lance said in wonderment.

“We do,” Polly agreed, as we all admired each other in the mirror.

When I had agreed to dress up as a hard rocker for Lance’s party, I was actually scared to death. It’s a scant bit out of my comfort zone, but I had to say that with the costumes Lance rented for us, and the makeup artist he had hired to completely paint our faces in black and white and red, the three of us could go out there and bust a move and bang some music.

“There’s something awesome,” Lance breathed, “about being unrecognizable. Awesome.”

“There certainly is,” I breathed. “I love it.” Stevie was gone. Hard rocker was here. I mimicked playing an electric guitar, then I jumped in the air and thumped my head up and down. Ouch. But still. I tried.

Polly hit imaginary drums, Lance picked up a banana and started singing into it, and then each of us picked up a nearby blow-up girl, outfitted much like us, the sextuplets, and danced with her.

I got Canada Katie. My, wasn’t she so squishy soft.

The huge ballroom on the McMannis Brothers’ property had been transformed. A long white and black banner read, W
ELCOME TO
L
ANCE’S
L
UCKY
L
ADIES
H
ARD
R
OCK
P
ARTY
! At the entrance there was a guitar wreath made of flowers sitting between two blow-up ladies outfitted in black leather. One had a whip in her hand.

There was a blow-up girl at each of the tables in the main room, which were covered with black tablecloths. In the center of each table was a three-foot-tall, white skull with a candle in it, surrounded by red and black flowers. Guitars hung from the ceiling. Outside, steaks were on the grills and the tables practically bent with potatoes, salads, and breads, Lance’s favorite foods.

Hundreds of people filed in, all decked out in rock’s finest. The band was as sizzling hot as they had been the night before at Herbert and Aunt Janet’s party.

It was, without question, the funnest party I have ever, ever been to.

I danced all night with Jake (the sexiest rocker I’ve ever seen), Lance, and Polly.

Me, Stevie, who had been afraid to dance, danced all night.

In the middle of the evening I noticed that Lance was hanging out exclusively with one person who was dressed up like the KISS band member with the silver star makeup and a black wig.

It was Zena. I could tell by her size and her strut.

Lance and Zena. They weren’t speaking, but they were standing next to each other, sort of gazing into each other’s eyes, and one time I saw them dancing, close, Zena chatting, Lance nodding. Even through the makeup I could tell that Lance had a stricken expression on his face.

Now, why hadn’t I thought of them together before?

Lance called me at three in the morning.

The phone woke me and Jake up. No, I had not used a sparkly condom. I hadn’t needed one, because I had been honest with Jake.

“I’m not ready.”

“I know, honey.” He smoothed my hair back.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make love to you. I don’t know when I’ll be able to.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need a commitment from you on that.” He kissed me. “Stevie, you’re not going to be able to make love to me until you’re able to trust me. And I’ll know you’re able to trust me when you tell me about yourself, and your past, everything that’s happened, all of it, not bits and pieces. I want to know. I want to know you.”

“It’s a lot.”

“I had a feeling it was.”

I about drowned in those eyes. “Stevie, it’s gonna almost kill me to sleep next to you tonight and not make love to you, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this again, so enjoy it while it lasts,” he joked.

“I will,” I said, “I will.” I snuggled up to him, and went to sleep, and had no nightmares.

When Lance called, I fumbled for the phone. “Did you see me? I danced with a lady! I didn’t know what to say. She did most of the talking, which is good. I couldn’t even open my mouth. We ate together, but I was nervous, so nervous, I couldn’t even eat my steak. She invited me to her roller derby competition. You have a friend that does roller derby, don’t you?”

“Yep. I do.”

Lance groaned. “It’s Zena, isn’t it? This is a tragedy. A tragedy! She’s too much for me. I met her downtown that one time with you. She wears the beautiful clothes and her hair is so pretty—it’s liquid black gold—and her smile is friendly and she’s funny and smart…. This is a tragedy.”

I knew he was getting teary.

“Lance, you can do this.”

“No! I can’t. I don’t know what to say around her. I’m intimidated. I’m scared.”

“Lance, you own companies, you’re a successful businessman. I’ve seen you give so many speeches, you’re in command of the whole room, you know all the numbers off the top of your head, you know where your business has been, where it’s going, you get all the technical stuff….”

“That’s business! This is…this is”—hard exhale—“…
this is a woman!
”

After a half hour of reassuring Lance he was a stud, I hung up the phone and snuggled next to Jake. “I like your cousins,” he said sleepily. “I do not, however, care for your uncle, and that’s not going to change, Stevie. The man’s a disease.”

“I don’t like him, either. Give me a kiss.”

Zena said to me, “I met someone at your cousin’s party.”

I feigned innocence, took a container of fruit out of my bag, and stared straight ahead at a bunch of men in kilts playing bagpipes in Pioneer Courthouse Square. They had nice legs. A man in a skirt is kinda sexy. Do all women want to flip that skirt right up or is it just me? “Who did you meet?”

“It was a dude dressed up in this way-out rock outfit. I mean, it was one of the best ones there. His face was all painted in black and white and red, same as your face, now that I’m thinking about it. Anyhow, I said hi, and he said hi, but that was about all he said.” Her brows came together. She was puzzled, baffled. “Anyhow, I asked him to dance, and he said yes. The guy’s huge—building-sized—but he could dance okay, sort of rigid and robotic. After we danced I asked if he wanted to get something to eat, and he nodded, so we sat down and ate these incredible steaks—my favorite food—and he still didn’t say much at all, but he kept smiling at me.” Her brows came together. She was puzzled, baffled. “Actually, he didn’t eat.”

“So he was a quiet sort?” I handed her some carrots from my garden.

“Yeah, so quiet.” She crossed her arms, figuring that one out. “So, anyhow, I told him about roller derby, and he seemed to enjoy hearing about that. I invited him to come to the next match and I gave him my cell number, and he nodded. He seemed nervous. What’s there to be nervous about? I dunno. Maybe he won’t come. I don’t even know his name or what he looks like. He doesn’t know what I look like, either, because I was a KISS band member, but he knew a lot of people there because people kept coming up and talking to him, hitting him on the back…. So a lot of people think he’s cool. That’s good, it’s a good sign. Probably not an ax murderer.”

I tried to figure out what to do here. Should I tell her? If she knew he was my cousin, would that interfere with how she felt about him? Would she think that was weird to be dating my cousin?

“I don’t think he said much of anything at all to me. Maybe he didn’t speak English?” Her brows came together. She was puzzled, baffled. She pulled at her fishnets, her purple boots crossed at the ankle, then shrugged. “Well, whatever.” She handed me a cookie.

I smiled.

The bagpipes blared.

I did want to flip those skirts. One flip. One peek. A small peek.

Cherie had a divorce case that was “on fire,” so to speak.

She was representing the wife, Claudia.

Claudia wanted a divorce.

Terrence, the husband, did not want a divorce, although by all accounts he was a difficult son of a gun. He had agreed to move out only because Claudia told him she
might
think about a separation, not a divorce, if he did.

The Colliers had a sprawling home in the country, horses, and a popular pumpkin patch called “Collier Family Pumpkin Farm.” The place came complete with a train that took kids out to the pumpkin patch, hay rides, a barn filled with goodies, jellies and flowers and gourds, and a petting zoo for the kids.

“I respect this client because she’s so creative,” Cherie told me. “You’ve got to love the ingenuity I’ve seen here.”

Cherie had me come to the meeting between them and the husband’s attorney to “enjoy the fireworks. This’ll crack up your day.”

“I don’t want a divorce,” Terrence said. He had a gut and a balding head, and his attorney resembled a dazed crocodile. “I know you’re upset about the porn, Claudia, but we can reach a compromise on it.”

“No compromise,” Claudia said. She was elegant and refined. I could not imagine how those two got together. “I will not have women in my home with their legs spread, tickling boobs the size of Rhode Island. I told you last year when I found out about your porn to get rid of it.”

“And I did!” He spread his arms out wide, like a drunken eagle, his eyes earnest.

“Dumping it in a storage locker is not getting rid of it.”

Porn Husband went pale.

“Yep. I found it.”

“I was…I was…” He struggled. “I was going to sell it.”

“Sell it?” She arched her eyebrows. “Great. And what were you going to do with the money?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes jittering back and forth. “I was going to take you to Hawaii.”

He was a poor liar.

Claudia shook her head sadly. “Well, no Hawaii for us.”

“Why not?”

“I used the pickup truck to unload all your porn for you.” She made the sound of a revving pickup truck.

Porn Husband made a strangled sound.

“Then I used the tractor to gather it all in one place.” She snapped her fingers three times. “I lit a match. Burn, baby, burn.”

He gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I did!” She grinned at him. “Whoosh whoosh! All up in flames. And then!”

“You burned my porn collection?” He was appalled. Mystified. Devastated.

“Yep. And then I accidentally drove your motorcycles into the pond.” She made the sound of a motorcycle, low and deep. A close likeness of the engine.

He slapped a hand to his forehead. “You drove my motorcycles into the pond?”

“Yep. And I learned that our pumpkin shooter can do a lot of damage. Bang, bang, bang.” She imitated shooting the pumpkin shooter.

“How does our pumpkin shooter do damage?” He started to sweat.

“Especially to your Ferrari.” She made the purring sound of a Ferrari. “When pumpkins are shot at it at high speeds, it dents. Me and my girlfriends had a Shoot the Ferrari Party. It was so much fun. We had daiquiris while we did it. Coraleen got so drunk! Bang, bang, bang.”

“How could you do this to me?” Porn Husband was distraught, poor dear.

“Here’s the thing, Terrence.” Claudia leaned forward. “You’re trying to roadblock this divorce. I want out. I’m dating a gorgeous guy ten years younger than me, and I don’t want you in the way. I need vigor and a man with staying power in my bed from now on, you get what I’m saying? I need a man with hair who’s not carrying a dead deer in his gut. I want a man who can hike and boat and doesn’t want to sit in front of his computer jacking off. It’s not attractive. You seem old to me. Rigid. Unexciting. Dry. I want to feel young again, and he makes me feel young and sexy and vibrant, like I’m the coolest woman he’s ever met. I’m keeping the Porsche, by the way. I need a sports car to drive fast.”

Porn Husband was shrinking in his seat. “You’re leaving me for a younger man?” He was aghast! He had never in his wildest dreams believed his wife would leave him! She simply needed time to get used to his porn collection!