Perfect (41 page)

he’s gone now. What’s going on?

“It’s Sean. He called. He saw us

kissing and he got all weird and went

off on me. I hung up on him and now

I’m afraid he’ll tell everyone.” She

goes off on me too.
So? God, Cara
,

why do you want to hide? What are

you afraid of? That people will know

who you really are? You take pride in

the way you look. The clothes you

wear. Excelling at everything
.

But you’re embarrassed by loving

me? That is totally messed up
.

“I know. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.

Please? Can I see you? I need you.”

Need a megadose of courage.

I grab my keys, run to my car.

What Am I Afraid Of?

Good question, one I’ve asked myself

before. Mostly, I am afraid of failing.

But why? Everyone falls down from

time to time. Why must I always stay

on my feet? I am afraid of not

meeting expectations. But whose?

The answer to that is easy. Suppose

I choose a far different future

than the one my parents require

of me. Will I have made a mistake?

Done something regrettable? Or

will I have set myself free? Am I

afraid of freedom? Of being cut

loose from my family, such as it

is? Would they sever the tie, and

if they did, what do I really have

to lose, especially considering

how much I have gained with Dani.

If I have to be honest, though, I am

afraid of being stained by the lesbian

label. Some girls wear it proudly,

a giant “this is who I am” tattoo.

And much of mainstream society

now accepts the idea of two people

in love, whatever their genders.

My challenge is to accept it myself.

And, a bigger one, to embrace it.

I’ll try. And I’ll start right now.

This is the first time I’ve actually

been to Dani’s house, a small brick

beauty in an old southwest Reno

neighborhood. Tall, naked trees line

the street like big-boned skeletons.

Dani’s dad opens the door.
Come in!

He grabs my hand, pulls me inside

and across the blemished oak floor

to the living room.
Make yourself at

home. Dani! Your girlfriend is here
.

I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve got

a golf score that needs improvement
.

Dani Comes, Smiling

Into the room. After a few minutes

of three-way small talk, she leads me

back to her bedroom, which is mauve

and sage green. I fall into her arms,

strangely not worried about her dad

suspecting what we’re up to. We are

kissing, and there is strength in that,

power in the “two” of us, deepening

connection. In the truth of our love.

She lays me back on her bed, lifts

my sweater over my face so it covers

my eyes.
Don’t be afraid. Trust me
.

Traffic hisses by on the street beyond

the window. And here, on this side

of the glass, in the darkness behind

closed eyes, I put away my fear, place

my faith in Dani. She makes love

to me with borderline ferocity, awakens

something inside. Something completely

new, and at the same time, primordial.

Kendra

Borderline

It’s the latest, greatest

twenty-first-century buzzword,

tossed around freely in

certain circles. Oddly, it

means

different things to

different lexicologists.

It is defined as the line

separating two

almost

identical qualities, i.e.,

between frankness and

rudeness. Definition two:

not

clearly belonging to one

or the other of two

categories, i.e., neither

here

nor there. Finally, it means

emotionally unstable, self-

destructive, and erratic.

Maybe, like me.

Food Is Not My Friend

My stomach wants nothing to do

with it. But if I don’t at least pretend

to eat, Patrick’s talking lockdown

rehab. In fact, Mom had to argue him

out of taking me straight to Aspen

Springs. They had a pretty big fight.

She’s
my
daughter. I’ll handle it, okay?

You just worry about orthodontia.

Mom made me promise to consume

at least one thousand calories per day.

Meat. Vegetables. Whole grains. You can

skip dairy, but have to take a calcium

supplement. You’re begging for brittle

bones, not to mention bad teeth.

Okay, she got me on that one. I should

have been taking calcium all along.

No calories there. And a perfect

smile is a necessity in the industry.

Meat? I’ve sworn off anything red.

One boneless, skinless chicken breast,

broiled. Two hundred calories. One-half

cup steamed broccoli. Fifteen. One slice

whole wheat bread, seventy. There. Two

eighty-five. That’s as good as I’ve done

in six months. A thousand calories?

Not going to happen in one day. Thank

God she’s not standing over my shoulder

watching. If she decides to, I’ll eat plenty

of veggies. Then I won’t have to rely

on laxatives, my last-resort backup plan.

I Really Don’t Get

Why everyone’s so worried anyway.

God, until that stupid anesthesiologist saw

me without my clothes on, no one had

ever noticed a problem. And I still don’t see

one. When we got home (me, still wearing

an ugly nose bump), I went into the bathroom,

stood naked in front of the full-length mirror

I’ve avoided for months. I guess my arms
are

pretty thin, and my legs look just about right.

But my stomach still bulges, and my waist

poofs out on each side. I’ll try some

extra crunches and sit-ups. And, since Patrick

seems deadly serious about the rehab

threat, I’ll run more. Exercise is healthy, right?

And I’ll call Sean. See about the Clen.

Something to make my muscles lean. Strong.

Can’t Do That Right Now

Xavier is on his way to pick me up

for an audition.
This one is important,

he said.
Dress sexy as hell, but we’re going

for the modest look with the makeup.

This client is developing a new younger

teen line, so the work will reflect that.

I go for a micro skirt, tights to sheath

my legs. Tank top, no bra. Short, zipped

hoodie. Gentle with the makeup. Hair

smoothed into a ponytail. The mirror says

Young. (Baby fat.) Fresh. (Early crow’s-

feet.) Pretty. (Bump, still there.) Teen.

So why do I feel tired? Worried?

Stressed? Anxious? Why do I feel old?

Guess I Don’t Look

As old as I feel. When I get into Xavier’s

Caddie, he nods.
Perfect. You’ve got

exactly the look this guy’s going to want.

He punches the gas pedal like he’s mad

at the car. Cadillacs sure are smooth.

So what happened with the nose job?

Not that I’m unhappy. You couldn’t even

try out for this job if your face was all

bruised and swollen. I’ve seen a few

girls post-op. It’s not a pretty sight.

Not sure how much to tell him, although

Xavier almost always takes my side.

Might as well fess up. “The anesthesiologist

decided I was too thin to risk knocking me out.”

He turns toward me, seriously taking

his eyes off the road.
Really. I think you

look positively the way you should.

Did he know you’re a model?

“It was a she. And yes, she knew.

She and Dr. Kane tried to convince

Mom that I’m anorexic. Patrick even