Circle the Soul Softly (10 page)
“Yeah. If you can. Thanks. I'll be up till eleven.”
The biggest question of all is
why
?
I was a little girl. Only sick, terrible, nasty men do bad things to little
children. My father was not that. My father was a kind man. He loved
me. He loved all of us. He would never do anything hurtful, not on purpose.
He took care of me and he made me laugh. Even during chemo,
when he got so weak he had to stay in bed, he was never cruel, never
mean or awful.
And yet . . .
Robert's attention is so completely focused on the computer screen in front of him, he doesn't notice me tapping on his office door, which is cracked open a couple of inches. I watch a minute; he's a different guy when he's not gazing Puppy Eyes at my mom. He actually looks distinguished! I find it bizarre that I barely know this man and in another month, he's going to be my “father.”
I push open the door and step inside. He glances over, smiles, and goes back to typing. “One sec, Katie.” I stand by the door, willing my stomach to stop turning cartwheels. Why am I nervous again? Maybe because there's nothing in the world we could possibly need to talk about? And it's almost eleven and I have at least two hours of homework left? Just then he shuts his laptop.
“Sorry, I really had to finish that.” His eyes look tired. “I appreciate you coming down. Close the door for me?”
Whoa. Stacey's stepdad lands smack dab in the middle of my brain. The door clicks, but I stay standing.
He indicates the couch.“This won't take long.”
I perch on the arm. If he even hints at inappropriate, I'm outa here. And I don't plan to be quiet about it. But he just rubs his eyes and settles back a little in his chair.
“I'm going to jump right in, okay? I heard Michael on the phone with his buddy from Santa Rosa. He's planning to move back up there after the wedding.”
I blink.
“Do you know about this?” His voice is kind, not at all like someone who wants to interrogate me.
I nod and wish I hadn't; I told Michael I wouldn't tell.
“Do you know why?”
“Uh â¦I thinkâ¦. well, um . . .”
Oh, brilliant.
“Katie, I promise I won't say anything to your mom or to Michael. I just need to know if I did something.”
“No. I don't think so.”
“You pretty sure on that?”
“Uh-huh.” I take a really close look at Robert and realize for the first time how very hard it must be to love a woman with two teenagers. I kick myselfâfiguratively, of courseâfor suspecting him. “He doesn't like LA.”
“That makes sense. Thank you.” I'm just about ready to stand up when he adds, “And how are you doing?”
“I'm okay.”
“End of the year sucks, doesn't it?”
“Pretty much.”
“I'm proud of how hard you're working.”
“Yeah, well, I still might have to take geometry over the summer.”
“So what. That's what summers are for, huh?”
“Actually, I thought they were for swimming.”
He laughs, and I find myself liking how his eyes crinkle up. He reminds me a little of Tess. “Robert, why haven't we met your daughters?” I blurt it out.
Way to go, Kate, one step forward
and five back.
“That's direct.”
“I'm sorry. Forget it, it's not my business.”
“Actually, it probably is.” He shrugs. “You haven't met them because they've chosen not to be part of my life.” His face sags a little. “I can't say I blame them. I wasn't much of a dad. My priorities were definitely skewed. We had a great lifeâbut I was never around.”
“Oh.”
“The divorce wasn't friendly.” He looks embarrassed now and I wish I'd kept my big mouth shut. He reaches across his desk and picks up a picture of two teenage girls. I stand to take it. “That's my girlsâJan and Elizabeth. Of course, that's a while ago.”
The girls are in soccer uniforms that say “Bentley Evans Prep” on the front. I suddenly realize why I was able to get in there at the last minute.
“Maybe if they knew you were getting marriedâ¦?”
“They do. But your mom's only forty, and they're thirty-two and thirty-four. They're invited. Lisa is too, their mom. But I doubt they'll come.”
“Oh.” I hand him back the photo, then settle into the chair next to his desk.
“Bonnie knows all this. She understands.”
“Oh. Good.”
“She's an amazing woman.”
“Yeah, I guess she is.”
“She's changed my life.”
I don't know what to say, so I smile.
“It must have been hard on you all when Tom died.”
“Did you know my dad?”
“No, but I feel like I did. Your mom's talked a lot about him. He sounds like a wonderful man.”
Okay, explain this: I have to blink to keep from crying. Robert stands and reaches across the desk to touch my arm lightly, briefly, then settles back. His voice is gentle.
“I'm sorry, Katie. I shouldn't have said anything. I know you loved him very much.”
“No, it's okay.” I smile. Again. Of course.
“Listen, I'm not trying to take his place, all right? Because no one could. Butâ” He grins, in a mischievous way.“I would like to do a couple of dad things. If it's all right with you.”
I shrug; I'm not quite sure what he means.
He winks and reaches for his wallet. “How about we start with Prom. You're going with your boyfriend, right?”
I realize he doesn't miss much. “Yeah.”
“Got a dress yet?”
“No, I haven't had time to think about it.”
“Good. Dad thing number one.” He hands me a silver credit card. “No limit, whatever you want. I mean that. Dress, shoes, hair, jewelry â¦everything. My treat.”
I fall asleep that night around two, trying to figure out what exactly happened, why I feel calm now instead of frantic. My homework isn't finished and nothing's solved, but something fundamental seems to have shifted and settled, like the floor of a house after a small earthquake.
Only eight days till Prom, and either I tell David I've changed my mind or I go and buy a damn dress. But where the hell do you find such a thing, and what is it supposed to look like? Being your basic jeans and a T-shirt girl, I can't recall the last time I wore anything resembling “fancy.”
I ask my mother for help and get the lecture about waiting until the last minute and can't I see she's just a little tied up right now planning her wedding? Yes, of course I can see this, but I press on anyway: “Maybe I could wear the dress you got me for the wedding?” I smile hopefullyâI really like it and then I wouldn't have to shop. She rolls her eyes and flounces out of the room, announcing as she goes that this dress costs more than three months' rent on the blue and white house.
Which apparently is infinitely more significant than the fragile psyche of her kid. Obviously she doesn't hear
my
angst; Prom is now, the wedding is whenever, and having the Perfect Dress has unexpectedly become my Most Pressing Issue. Pretty much all I can worry about right now.
Michael takes pity on me. After explainingâ
in graphic older-brother
language
âthe circumstances
under which he'd even
consider
shopping with me, he suggests I call David's sister, Casey. She goes to Harvard-Westlake, and if anyone knows how to shop, it would be her. I do, she agrees, and we arrange to go the next day, the very last Saturday before Prom. Casey brings a friend, Kira. They ask a bunch of questions about color, style, etc.âdo I want vintage or couture or do I have my own ideas? Stupid Kate smiles. They ask me what David will be wearingâI hold palms up and smile bigger. Finally they ask, “Okay, do you have a budget?” and I present Robert's platinum Visa. One out of three. Phew. I'll settle. Ten points for the stepdad.
Casey exchanges a fairly wicked glance with Kira.
“I know,” Kira agrees. “With
that
body . . .”
I can only hope she means something good.
Casey winks at me. “This is going to be fun.”
We arrive at Fendi in Beverly Hills and a valet parks our car. Inside I smile at the salesgirl, who looks exactly like Zooey Deschanel in
The Good Girl
; she sighs as if I've seriously interrupted her day. As Casey and Kira flit through the racks and pull out this swirly lovely thing and that flimsy sexy thing, I check out a T-shirt that's pretty cute, wondering if there's such a thing as casual at a prom. I glance at the tag and have to look again. $313!
“Katie,” Kira commands, and hands me a pair of high heels they've snagged from Zooey Girl. Casey follows with five dresses and points me toward the changing room. Which is pretty much the size of my bedroom in Santa Rosa.
The first twoânot so goodâI wouldn't be seen in public in either one. The third is killer: black, fitted, simple, and elegant, with an extremely low back. Suddenly being Skinny with No Tits works. I glance at the tag and once my heart starts again, I choose to ignore it. Robert said anything I want. Good for me.
When I come out to show the girls, they actually jump to their feet. Even Zooey Girl likes it.
“Oh yeah,” says Casey, nodding.“Oh very yeah.”
Kira sweeps my hair up off my shoulders, and we all three admire how I look. Zooey Girl brings over a necklace and earrings. They're perfect.
“My brother won't have a chance,” Casey says.“We'll take it,” she tells the girl, then quickly looks back at me. “Oh, Katie, sorry. Do you like it?”
Do dogs poop?
We find the perfect shoes and something truly wicked for After Prom, then do a quick stop at Casey's stylist to make an appointment for me to get my hair, nails, and makeup done. The girls fill me in on Proper Prom Protocol, and I finally remember my upbringing and offer to buy them lunch. They opt for mocha Frappuccinos. One drawback. Since the afternoon has been entirely too awesome, the Universe sends us to the very same Starbucks Layla and Stacey happen to be visiting. They're deep into conversation on the patio, sipping chai and smoking cigarettes.
Layla sees me and waves as we walk by. Stacey sends over her usual f-you expression and arrogantly turns away.
“Bitch,” Kira mutters, loud enough for them to hear. “You know them?”
“Sort of. They go to my school.”
“That's right, they do. I know them too,” Kira says. “At least, I know
about
them.” She smiles a deadly smile.
“The redhead's a slut,” Casey tells me. “She slept with Kira's boyfriend.”
I think: No doubt he fought her off.
I say: “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” Casey looks at me over her sunglasses. “You're not like good friends or anything, are you?”
“No, we were just in a play together.”
“Omigod, that's right!” Casey says. “They were in David's play. They were actually good.”
Prom. Me. Damn.
I had doubts about going to my own prom, and here I am, in
tenth grade
, watching my Beautiful Boyfriend walk up to the door of my Brentwood mansion, dressed like I'm Kate Hudson, feeling pretty much able to conquer the world.
Who knew?
Mom and Robert take 3 billion pictures and finally we get in David's car to rendezvous at someone's house I don't know, with our “limo group,” more people I don't know. They're all seniors and not theater kids, giving Stupid Kate her chance to go to Prom too. I begin Kate's Infamous Smiling Silence. David doesn't seem to notice.
More pictures. The limo arrives and Mr. Charming (real name completely unpronounceable), our slick-haired, middle-aged, gangster-looking driver, has us each sign a “no drinking or drugs” agreement. He assures the moms who are there to see us off that he will take good care of us. But a block down, he pulls over and lays out the rules againânot exactly as polite as he was with the moms. The girls in the car assure him we are Good Teenagers and show him we've only brought Arrowhead, in case we get thirsty, and Gatoradeâto replenish our systems from all the dancing, since we are all avid dancers. Bottles are opened and reluctantly, as if he thinks we might overpower him and steal the car, he sniffs, sips, and nods. Finally we're on our way.
Do I catch on that the rest of the Arrowhead bottles are filled with
vodka?
Um, that would beânot a bitâuntil I see their contents poured into the Gatorade bottles. I glance at David, who grins as he shrugs and offers me a sip. I take one for the sake of company, make a face, and cause everyone in the car to burst into giggles. Except David, he's very patient. He puts his arm around me and gives me a little squeeze.
We arrive at the old Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. The combination of my geometry teacher in a red formal gown and my half bottle of “Gatorade” start me giggling. David likes this; he takes my arm and we find a place to sit. As if they were at some overaged dress-up party, people float from table to table, saying nice things. Even Stacey drifts by and mumbles, “Good dress,” though I don't think she realizes she's talking to me.
By eleven most of the girls have changed to After Prom outfits and the boys have summoned the limos. I've spoken maybe four words. As we wait for Mr. Charming to make the turn into the hotel driveway, a police car beeps its warning siren, and flashing lights appear on two sides of one of the smaller limos. Jake comes barreling out of the hotel line with a girl I don't know. “Hey!” he hollers. “What the hell's going on here?”
“Step back, please, sir,” an officer tells him as another hauls the limo driver out of his seat. As Jake paces, shaking his head, and the dean hovers, the limo driver is given the Walk the Straight Line exam. He fails. We clap and whoop. A tow truck hooks up his limo, he's plopped into the police car, and Jake makes a scene. The dean threatens to call his parents. Jake says, “Call my lawyer while you're at it,” and keeps on with his entitled assholeness until Layla appears and drags him and his date off with her.