Marionette (10 page)

“How are your classes?” Weasel’s voice was high for a male. I thought smoking would have hardened it, but instead he always sounded like a dolphin chittering. Unfortunately, I understood what he was saying, but I think a conversation with a dolphin would have been more edifying. Whenever I heard his voice, I had to combat a strong urge to throw a fish in his face.

“Classes?” I smacked my head. “I knew I forgot something. Tell you what, I’ll do my best to go to one next week, and I’ll write you a letter and tell you all about it. I can do that each week if you’d like.”

Weasel had never gone to college. I figured I was only trying to help the underprivileged.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure your father can ensure you receive all A’s no matter what. Nothing is impossible for a rich brat.”

I was impressed that he had formed complete sentences, for the most part. I stared into his cold, steel-blue eyes. He might have been attractive if he’d had a semi-decent personality, and if he stopped curling his hair. It looked ridiculous. Before I could respond, I heard my name over the PA system.

“Wow, that was fast. Not too many smokers here tonight. Perhaps they didn’t have the energy to lug in their oxygen tanks.”

Mel’s face showed her displeasure.

The hostess sat us down, and all three of us instantly hid behind our menus.

Mel set her menu down first. “How’s Jess these days?”

“Fine.” I didn’t take my eyes off the choices on the menu. Dorm food was getting to me. I wondered how many meals I could polish off if I bought Weasel another pack of cigarettes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Weasel bristled at the mention of Jess’s name. He lit another cigarette, blowing the smoke into my face, and looked disheartened when I didn’t keel over in my seat. Then he flicked his Zippo lighter and singed some of his napkin. Just great, I’m having dinner with an imbecilic pyromaniac.

The waitress took our order and I flinched when Weasel ordered the most expensive steak. I had to save money for therapy. Mel ordered a salad, and I settled on a cheap cheese ravioli. I would have to make more popcorn and Milk Duds to fill my belly tonight.

“So, Paige, how is Jess doing with her internship—‌does that job pay?” asked Weasel.

I was shocked he even cared about it. And I was doubly shocked when I saw Mel kick him under the table. What was I missing?

I looked to Mel, who busied herself folding her napkin into a deformed swan.

“Ah, I think it pays. She doesn’t seem to want for money,” I mumbled.

“Ha! I bet she doesn’t!” replied Weasel.

Again, Mel whacked him. Weasel turned his attention to the buxom blonde at the next table.

My eyes silently queried Mel, but she just shrugged. Was he insinuating that Jess was a kept woman? That I supported her?

“How’s the used car racket, Wesley?”

The fact that Weasel was a used-car salesman tickled me pink. What a perfect job for Weasel. The salad and breadsticks arrived, and we spent the rest of the time listening to Weasel whine about low commissions, cheap customers, and a lousy economy. That he had actually used the word economy in context impressed me. He worked at one of those super-suspicious used-car lots in the bad part of town. You could find a hooker, get new wheels, and buy some crack all within one hundred feet of his day job. It was the type of place that would be perfect for a flick about degenerate gamblers who needed to sell their cars so they could hit the craps table again in hope of finally landing the big score. A real boulevard of losers.

Dinner didn’t last long. Weasel inhaled his steak in four large bites. My cheese ravioli was nothing to rave about, and Mel’s salad contained wilted lettuce doused with Caesar dressing. The meal sucked, but Weasel looked like he had just dined like a king. He dug into his rodent-like teeth with a toothpick while I settled the bill.

The drive home was in silence. Weasel slowed down just enough for me to jump out of the car without inflicting any permanent damage, and before leaping out, I said goodbye and whispered in Mel’s ear that I would call her on Sunday for lunch.

Walking up the deserted stairwell to my dorm, I was just relieved to be alone. Back in my room, I saw the flickering light on my answering machine and, after hearing the message, I sighed. My night was only beginning.

* * *

It didn’t take me long to locate my car in the far parking lot. Jess’s message had said, “I want to see you tonight.”

Sometimes, when Jess drinks, she gets somewhat insecure. I was hoping this wasn’t one of those nights. Mind you, when she was in one of these moods, I tried to be as supportive as possible, but I probably didn’t help her insecurities at all, since I was in the closet and she wasn’t. She did her best to understand why I didn’t tell anyone, and I tried to understand why she told everyone. I mean
everyone
: colleagues, friends, her pastor, the mailman, and even the clerks at the drug store. She didn’t scream lesbo either. Not to stereotype, but Jess was extremely feminine and certainly not the type you’d see playing on a college softball team.

I hadn’t even realized she was gay when I first met her. I should mention that I have terrible gaydar. Jess likes to put my skills to the test, but unless a guy is flaming or a girl is so butch that I feel like pissing my pants in fear, I invariably fail the test. I suppose that helps Jess feel more secure, since she knows I’m not attracted to really butch types. She teases me constantly. “I know you won’t cheat on me, since you couldn’t find a lesbian even if you tried.”

I have zero attraction to men. I have no problem with bisexuals: I’m just not one.

Jess also has a fear of being abandoned. I’m no shrink, but I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s an orphan. She didn’t grow up in foster care. She lived with an aunt during high school, an aunt who wasn’t all that nice. Not an abuser, just overwhelmed by suddenly living with a sullen teenager who was trying to cope with the loss of her parents after a drunk-driving accident. The aunt was the type who had never wanted to settle down so was doing her best to travel the world by teaching English in faraway places. She didn’t have any money, and she was suddenly thrust into supporting two people. It was too much for her. As soon as Jess had walked across the stage to receive her high school diploma, the aunt had hightailed it out of the States. Jess hasn’t heard from her much since, except for the occasional random postcard from somewhere like Oman.

I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted that Jess thinks I won’t cheat. Obviously, I found one lesbian.

Okay, I didn’t. She found me—‌in a bookstore. There I was, in my local Barnes & Noble store, reading an excerpt from
Pride and Prejudice
when this stunning woman approached me and said, “Oh, that’s a classic. If you don’t buy it right now, I’ll buy it for you and force you to read it.”

Shyly, I had lowered the book and mumbled that I had to read it for class.

“Don’t let that deter you. You’ll love it. If you don’t, I’ll buy you twenty books of your choice.”

Her smile was infectious. I didn’t know what to do. I was used to men hitting on me, but not girls. But by then, I was sixteen and I knew I liked girls. Knowing that and acting on that were two different things. I don’t want to think about how red my face must have gone on that day. Despite that, I had attempted to act cool. “Oh, really.”

Jess had laughed. “What college do you go to?”

I knew it was too good to be true; she thought I was a college student. “Um, I’m not in college. I’m still in high school.”

“Oh! I thought you were taking a class this summer.” She continued smiling, undeterred.

I explained that we had been assigned some books to read over the summer.

Jess was wearing a long flowing skirt and a white tank top. I soon realized that she only wore skirts. She didn’t own a pair of jeans, not one!

She spied a Sue Grafton novel in my stack of books.

“Is that on your list?” She gestured to the Grafton. “Have you ever read
The Maltese Falcon
? Sam Spade is one kick-ass detective.”

We located a copy. Before I knew it, Jess had piled five books onto the stack I already held. I could barely peer over the top of them, but I was doing my best to steal glances at her whenever I thought she wasn’t looking.

Then she shocked the hell out of me by asking if she could buy me a cup of coffee. I hadn’t even liked coffee back then, but I’d started to that very day. It tasted bitter, but I drank three cups. And I paid for one of the rounds. I wasn’t
that
clueless.

We talked for hours in the coffee shop inside the store. It was easy to talk to her, since she did most, if not all, the talking. She was in college and would be graduating early. She’d traveled to Europe earlier in the summer, spoke French and Spanish, and planned on learning German. She loved foreign films. I pretended that I enjoyed them as well, even though I had never seen one.

That was when she asked me on a date. I had never been asked on a date before. I didn’t think anyone at my school suspected I was gay, but I didn’t put out the vibe I was interested in dating anyone either. I had a few close friends but I mostly stayed well out of the high school scene. Books were my best friends.

Over the following two years, Jess introduced me to her favorite books, movies, restaurants, plays, musicals—‌she knew so much. I was probably the most well-read student in my school, even though I didn’t let on. She had me read all of Austen’s novels, the Bronte sisters, Dickens, Hardy, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Doyle, Faulkner, Twain, Camus, Thomas Mann—‌the list goes on and on. She read me
The Little Prince
in French to help me with my homework.

Jess knew all of the best restaurants in town; I don’t mean the expensive ones my parents dragged me to, but the little holes in the wall with the best food. I didn’t even know our town had Lebanese anything, let alone a restaurant.

We watched tons of foreign films and classic black-and-white films from Hollywood’s heyday. Jess even had season tickets to the opera. It wasn’t all intellectual pursuits either. She loved being outdoors: hiking, biking, and skiing. I had never met anyone like her before. There were times I felt like I was in a fairytale and had found my own princess.

I mentioned already that during my senior year, I practically lived with Jess. I would check in at home after school and then go around to her place. My family wasn’t the kind that had sit-down meals together. After the Lego incident, we all got used to having separate lives. Even after Mom recovered, for the most part, we didn’t resume being a family. None of us really liked each other. I got into the habit of going home after school to eat something and be seen by one of my parents, and then I would go upstairs to do homework. Jess always picked me up outside so my parents wouldn’t notice my car was gone. Mom wasn’t an early riser and Dad was in the office before the sun rose over the foothills. Abbie was never home either. I didn’t have to worry about being discovered sneaking in before school in the mornings. I hadn’t snuck out every night, only the majority.

Through it all, I marveled over Jess’s energy levels. She never seemed tired and always had something planned for us. It wasn’t always a night at the opera or fancy shit like that. There were nights when we stayed in and watched movies, or read books; rather, I read while Jess studied. She was finishing up a business degree and wanted to get into an MBA program. Jess had a thirst for life and for the finer things. She thought business was her yellow brick road. Ironic, huh? My girlfriend was desperate to experience all that life had to offer, and I wanted to kill myself.

Things started off slow in the sex department. I think my age was a huge stumbling block for Jess. We didn’t even hold hands or kiss for the first six months. I started to think we were just good friends, and I was cool with that. More would have been nice, but having someone to talk to was great. I found her exciting. Just hearing her voice put me in a tizzy. And I started having fantastic dreams about her. Do girls have wet dreams? I didn’t have anyone to ask. Abbie and I weren’t close and asking my parents was out of the question. I didn’t even have any cool high school teachers to confide in. And, I would never try to find out the information on my own. What if I got caught with a lesbian Kama Sutra or something? My parents would have killed me.

The night we kissed for the first time was one of the best nights of my life. I know—‌cheesy! Let me explain, though. When I first realized I was gay, I thought I would always be alone. After watching my parents and their fucked-up relationship, I wanted no part of that. My mom was a little like Miss Havisham from
Great Expectations.
She always told me that men would ruin my life and to stay away from them. Luckily, I agreed with her, and I did stay away. This doesn’t mean I’m gay because I hate my father, and I hate people who make that assumption. It doesn’t mean I was raped or anything either—‌another idiotic way of thinking. If all of the women in this world who were raped turned to lesbianism, well, the human population would be much smaller. Think about it. I don’t hate men. I’m just gay. I can’t explain why. All I can say is that I don’t feel any different. I don’t bang my head on the wall and wish I were straight and plead with God to take away my sinful desires. Actually, God, if it’s all the same to you, please don’t take away my desires—‌they’re fucking hot.

I realized I was gay while I was sitting in my homeroom class first thing one morning. The thought struck me like a lightning bolt.
I’m gay. I like girls.
That was it. It didn’t bother me at all, but I had never planned to act on it either. Not until that day in the bookstore.

I’m in the closet out of fear, not societal pressures, which are sort of big in my hometown, but I can live with that. I fear my parents. They are bigwigs in town. If they found out, they would ship me off to one of those conversion places. It would be ruinous for their reputations to have a lesbo in the family. Maybe they’d even have me whacked. My father knows some shady characters. And my mom…‌don’t get me started.