Buddha Baby (21 page)

She wasn't sure why she felt such pressure to be clever around Dustin. Maybe it was a psychological remnant from their combative sixth-grade relationship. Although they had just talked about so many similar experiences and found things in common, she now found that they'd suddenly regressed and resumed their roles as preteens who could rely only on taunting to ease the sexual tension.

She was wondering what Michael was doing at this very moment when Dustin said, "Hey, want to go for a ride on my motorcycle? If you come with me, you'll be the first Asian girl on my Norton. I've had a lot of different motorcycles and a lot of girls who rode with me, but no Asian ones. See, you're all snug in your minivans. You Asian girls never say yes to a ride, especially if it means you have to spread your legs." He shot her a lascivious grin.

She scoffed, unable to decide if he was being a jerk. Keeping her wits, she said, "Maybe we just don't want to ride anything
with you
."

Dustin ignored her scolding. He looked around the room as the crowd emptied out, then turned to her and said,

"Well, do you want a ride or not?"

She felt the need to disprove his impression that Asian girls were no fun. In spite of herself, she wanted to distinguish herself from the imaginary crowd.

"If I go, it's just a ride home, okay?" She freshened up her lipstick.

Dustin grabbed his jacket and stood to leave. "I know, I know. You love your boyfriend, blah, blah, blah. C'mon."

They walked to his motorcycle and she put on his spare helmet and threw her leg over. He revved the engine, and before zooming into traffic he turned around and said over his shoulder, "Try not to cream your panties!"

She felt awkward having her arms around a guy who wasn't Michael. She tried not to embrace Dustin too closely, but his erratic driving, especially with the sharp turns, made a firm grip necessary. As he careened through traffic and she held on for dear life, she was aware that she was squeezing him. She was not at all comfortable with the way the motorcycle engine vibrated through the leather seat against her crotch and thighs. Dead kittens. She told herself to think about dead kittens.

Once they arrived at her house, he took off his helmet and waited for her to get off. For half the ride she had been planning what she would say at the moment of dismount, so it confused her momentarily when he, not she, uttered the exact words she was thinking.

He said, "Look, I really hope you don't expect me to kiss you good night. You know, I'm with someone."

She actually felt a strand of jealousy until she realized he was making fun of her.

"Oh, buzz off," was all she could think to say.

He got off his motorcycle and propped it on its stand. Following her to her door, he said, "I love you, Lindsey," mocking her in a singsong voice as she ascended the stairs. "Maybe we'll get married and I'll buy you a
minivan
…"

She was fairly annoyed and was planning on shutting the door in his face when Dustin suddenly called out, "Wait!"

He caught up with her, grabbing her hand.

"Hold on a second," he said. "I'm just joking. Don't be mad."

She turned around and looked at him.

"Look," he said. "I'm really sorry about being a jerk to you in sixth grade. I only acted that way because I had a big crush on you."

"Really?" she said, her voice creaky.

He said, "I'm sorry we didn't get to know each other… before. Maybe if we'd been in high school or college together, neither of us would have felt like such freaks."

As they stood in the cold stairwell, Lindsey looked at Dustin and suddenly felt a tenderness toward him. The side of him that was a swaggering jerk temporarily melted away, and she saw something of herself in him—a little bit of a misfit, but doing what he could to figure things out.

After a moment he said, "After all we've shared, how about a kiss good night?"

She shook her head and said, "I don't think so."

He took a step closer to her. "Oh, c'mon. You're not married
yet
. In fact, there's still time to… marry
me
instead."

She knew he was just teasing her, but nonetheless, she was flattered and embarrassed by his suggestion.

"I don't even know you," she said, swatting at his jacket.

"I could 'know' you right now. Upstairs."

Lindsey crossed her arms. Since it was chilly, and he was kind of getting to her, she didn't want him to see her raisinettes peeping from her thin, cotton sweater.

He changed tactics. With puppy-dog eyes, he said, "I got beat up for you."

"Mork, you brought that on yourself."

He laughed. "C'mon!" he said playfully. "Have you ever kissed a Chinese guy? Are you saying you're gonna get married and live your whole life without kissing a Chinese guy?"

"That's not going to work, either."

"Hey, you're racist! Just one kiss. Or maybe you're afraid you'll like it too much."

"Bye, Dustin."

She closed the door behind her, and bounded up the interior stairs. Mmm. She was definitely afraid she'd like it too much.

Jacked up on caffeine and giddy with flirtation, Lindsey put on an apron and decided to clean the whole apartment. She swept and mopped the floors, scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom sinks and the bathtub, and even sprayed that foam stuff in the oven and wiped it down. When she finally exhausted herself, she took a shower and flopped onto bed.

An hour later she was still awake. She still wasn't used to being in bed without Michael, and besides, something about that sixth-grade boy who was now a well-muscled braggart with amazing cheekbones had gotten under her skin. After another hour of lying awake she felt like the punch line in that joke about the agnostic, dyslexic insomniac—but instead of lying awake and wondering if there really was a dog, she lay there and wondered what it would be like to kiss Dustin just once. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Tossing and turning, she finally gave in to temptation and touched her Monchhichi.

Helllooo Kitty.

Mid-May was turning out to be downright hot in San Francisco. As Lindsey walked to work at eight it was already seventy-five degrees and the temperature was steadily rising. A pleasant wind rustled through the bottlebrush trees across the street, and overhead, acacia pollen, like bright yellow, powdered sugar, wafted down onto her head.

Pinching her nose to avoid a sneezing fit, Lindsey spotted her stalker in the intersection. The old, white woman was chasing a silken shawl that had gone airborne in a sudden gust of wind. With her hair blown loose and her blue-veined hands thrust skyward in pursuit of her scarf, the withered lady looked like the wicked witch of the Western Addition conjuring a tornado. Before the creepy granny could spot her, Lindsey detoured down Baker Street.

Arriving at St. Maude's, she gave a little nod to Mary in the foyer before heading to the office. On her desk she found a stack of papers and a note from Sister Constance that read,

Confirm faculty expense reports. Give to registrar when complete.

She slumped in her chair and frowned. It had never occurred to her that holy people like nuns and priests shopped till they dropped or were even responsible for buying their own clothes or necessities. She really wasn't looking forward to approaching her superiors face-to-face to ask things like, "Sister Boniface, did you really need these tummy-trimming support hose for a sleek silhouette, or are you really using them to make a bomb?"

She looked at the multiple lists with attached receipts and saw that Sister Constance had already made V-shaped checks next to obviously fine purchases such as five nightlights in the shape of Jesus's head for $7.89 and thirty plastic figurines of saints for $23.89 at the religious supplies bookstore. Other items were marked with red question marks, such as the gym teacher's
butt floss, black
for $18.99 at Thongs 'R' Us and Sister Hubert's
mustache wax, chestnut brown
for $14.67 at Hair Hut, A Place for the Distinguished Man.

Picking up the phone, Lindsey dialed the interoffice extension number for Mrs. Grupico, the registrar. Mrs. Grupico was not the type of person who had time for idle chatter so she bluntly asked Lindsey what she wanted. Lindsey said, "Sister Constance left the expense reports on my desk. Are you sure I'm the right person to confirm these?"

She heard Mrs. Grupico take a long drag off a cigarillo. In her hoarse, smoker's voice the woman replied, "Listen, hon. I typed your job description myself. This task falls under 'duties as needed.' Good luck, kid." And with a cackle, she hung up.

Lindsey sighed and replaced the phone receiver. Flipping through a few pages, she found the following:

Father Hanson had purchased Odor-Eaters, bunion cream, and an Odwalla Mango Tango smoothie at Walgreens. Lindsey made a blue checkmark next to the amount of $ 22.75 and flipped to the next page.

Miss Mullen, the second-grade teacher, had submitted a receipt for crayons, construction paper, and Dixon Ticonderoga pencils from Rite Aid. Printed on the next line was a four-ounce tube of K-Y jelly, but Miss Mullen had had the good sense to cross it out. Lindsey made checkmarks next to the school supplies and moved on.

Sister Rita had bought thirty-six cans of chicken and liver senior cat food at PETCO. Lindsey wondered if nuns were even allowed to have pets. It crossed her mind that maybe Sister Rita was stowing the cans beneath her mattress for late-night snacks. She drew a question mark in the margin and flipped ahead.

The last submission was Monsignor Rathburn's. Lindsey scanned the items, which, among other things, included a pair of shoes for $320 at Bruno Magli, and a receipt for
Special Ordr. Case Whisk, Sing. Malt
at Plenty O'Jugs that set St. Maude's back $420.

Compared to the others' modest expenditures, Monsignor Rathburn's receipts suggested that this most humble servant of the Lord spent his evenings partying like it was 1999. Lindsey knew it was not her place to judge, but it
was
her job to confirm the validity of his items' necessity. She was suddenly outraged by the audacity of the man's luxurious shopping spree. Determined to ferret out injustice, she pulled up her socks and, like a foolhardy Eliot Ness, sprang up and headed straight for the lion's den.

The easiest way to the rectory was across the schoolyard and down a short alleyway near the church. As she made her way down the mezzanine-level steps she wondered about the other passageway that led to the rectory, the one that was connected to the convent by the small chapel. The only reason Lindsey knew about it was because her class had gone there in the eighth grade.

One afternoon Sister Constance had announced that the soon-to-be-graduating class was to be rewarded with a special treat. As all the kids excitedly anticipated cupcakes or an excursion to Great America, the nun built up the surprise by saying, "You've all been extra good, so I think you deserve it."

They all gleefully lined up outside the classroom as instructed. Were they taking a bus to the movies? They excitedly whispered about where they might be headed. Sister Constance said, "I know you are aroused, children! Patience, and you will be rewarded!