Playground (28 page)

dad just keeps his close,” I say indifferently.

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Playground

We return to the table to find my father outraged. He taps

his watch repeatedly. Who knew twenty minutes had passed? He

waits until we sit down to command our full attention. Then he

points his finger at Skyler.

“I’m only going to ask you this once, lady. Do you want me or

my daughter?” Dad questions.

My stomach drops. Skyler is speechless. I immediately excuse

myself from the table, not wanting to deal with my father’s temper.

Fear and anxiety take over, fueling me to my feet. I ignore my “ew”

feelings as I make a mad exit through the restaurant.

On my way out, I bump into a guy at the bar.

“Excuse me,” I say and regain my balance.

I see the familiar image of a sexy smile out of the corner of my

eye. It’s Hayden.

“Hey, hon,” he says sweetly.

“Hayden?” I manage to get out of my mouth, still flabber-

gasted that I’m looking at my “boyfriend” who hasn’t called to tell

me he’s finished his movie and is back in town after four months

of silence.

“You look good, honey,” he says, knowing he looks radiant in

his Italian suit and European tan.

“So do you,” I hear myself say. “I guess the movie’s finished.”

“Yeah, actually, we wrapped ahead of schedule so I came back

to town hoping to see you,” he says smoothly, sliding his arm

around my waist. “It’s a real shame you didn’t come to visit me on

location. You would’ve loved it.”

“How the fuck do I visit someone in a foreign country who

doesn’t call to tell me where he is?”

“I guess I was kind of mad at you,” Hayden confesses, breaking

out that trademark smile. “The bottom line is we’re together now.

Let’s just move on from here. I’ve missed you,” he says and my neg-

ative thoughts subside.

His arm slips into the small of my back as he pulls me close.

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Then I remember my father and Skyler at a booth a few feet away.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to Hayden.

“Sure.” He grabs my arm and it’s as if no time has passed.

He walks me around to the passenger side of his turbo Porsche,

opens the car door, and makes sure I’m comfortable before he

shuts it. We speed down Wilshire Boulevard and cut up to Sunset

Plaza, straight to Hayden’s condo.

Come New Year’s Eve, I’m at the Arena nightclub, and Hayden and

I are in the middle of the dance floor. Mirrored balls hang from

the ceiling. White confetti and balloons with glow sticks litter the

floor. Banners scream welcome to 1986!

Girls dance suggestively in silver heels and twirl around in

short Vivienne Westwood skirts. Baby-pink and silver sequins

flood the Arena. The men lurk around the room in Ralph Lauren

slacks and tight black T-shirts under Lagerfeld blazers.

I spot Skyler on the other side of the room wearing a miniskirt,

white tank top, heels, and the blond bobbed wig. I laugh, but she

reminds me of Kendall—I wonder what she’s doing tonight. I

think about Kendall all the time. She haunts me.

The following week, Dad and “his girls” fly off to Hawaii so he can

judge the Hawaiian Tropics Beauty Contest. Alone in the house, I

call Kendall, whom I haven’t spoken to for a few months.

“Playboy Mansion.”

“Is Kendall there?” I ask.

“Who’s calling?” the butler says.

“Jennifer Saginor.”

“Hey, Jennifer, just a minute, please.”

I fidget nervously with the buttons on my brown cable box.

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I assume she’ll avoid my calls but am pleasantly surprised when

they put my call through.

Kendall answers in a sexy voice, “Hello.”

“Hey, what’s up,” I say nonchalantly, trying to hide my burning

desire to be with her, to have her hold me. She sounds so distant

and the distance cuts into me as I seek but find no connection. I

yearn for closeness.

“Nothing much, kiddo. What are you up to?”

I want to tell her how much I’ve missed her. I want to ask if

she’s missed me too.

“My father and his entourage left for Hawaii. I’m in this big

house all alone.”

“Is he still hanging with all those bimbos?” she asks.

“I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to wake up to a different

hooker every morning.”

My call waiting beeps and I click over. It’s Hayden.

“Hey, sweet cakes, what’s shaking tonight?”

“Hi, honey. Um, actually, I’m on the other line. Let me call you

right back.”

“When am I going to see you?” Hayden asks, sort of annoyed,

as if he can walk back into my life and do whatever he wants. I

click back over to Kendall.

“So, I thought maybe we could hang out sometime,” I say to

Kendall impulsively.

“Oh, Jennifer, do you really know what you want or do you just

think you know?”

“I know,” I answer.

“You sound so young,” Kendall whines.

“So do you.”

Part of her knows better than to continue this affair while an-

other part of her can’t resist. There’s silence as she thinks.

“Well, I would come over, but I don’t want to take the limo,”

she says after a while, as if a ride has anything to do with why she

hasn’t called in months.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

“Everyone is going to Helena’s tonight but I don’t want to go

with a little girl who may flake on me,” Kendall says.

“Flake? Since when have I ever flaked on you?” I ask.

“All right, fine, but don’t come here. Pick me up outside of

Nicki Blair’s in forty-five minutes” she says.

“Okay, you better be there” I tell her.

“Okay, child. ’Bye,” Kendall laughs.

“ ’Bye.”

I toss down the phone and want to scream because I’m so ex-

cited to see her.

An hour later, Kendall and I strut into Helena’s wearing sequined

halters, colored Day-Glo miniskirts, and black fishnets. “Jam on It”

by Newcleus blares through the joint as we walk around, drunk and

uninhibited. We touch each other innocently, our hands finding re-

connection. Our longing, our need for attention, so apparent. We

lean against a flourescent light.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell her, searching deeply into her eyes for

something, though I’m not quite sure what.

“I’ve missed you too.” She clasps her hand tightly around mine

until I pull away suddenly because I am standing directly in front

of my friends from Beverly High.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” I ask, hoping they didn’t see us all over

each other.

“Whatever, dyke,” Sonya says, flipping her hair as she walks

away.

Michelle won’t even make eye contact as she mutters “disgust-

ing” under her breath. I try to reach for Hunter’s hand but she pulls

away repulsed. The others trail behind laughing, pointing, and look-

ing us up and down as my eyes fill with tears. How quickly my It girl

status and popularity has plunged to my being a total freak show

and outcast.

Kendall grabs my hand.

“Fuck them. Let’s go do a bump,” she says, and as we head toward

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Playground

the bathroom we run into my sister with the club bouncer, who’s

twice her age. I’m taken aback by how stylish Savannah looks.

She’s wearing a tight white minidress, Chanel heels, and tons of

makeup. A Nolan Miller Roman coin pendant hangs around her

neck.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my eyes glaring up at the

muscular bouncer towering over her.

“Same thing you are,” Savannah answers.

“Does Mom know you’re out this late?”

“Does Dad?”

“You’re fourteen!”

I shoot poisonous glares at the tough-guy bouncer, who con-

tinues chomping on his bubble gum.

I pull Savannah to the side.

“This is insane! He’s twice your age! What are you doing?”

“What are you doing with that lezzy Kendall?”

“She is not a lez!” I declare with conviction.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, totally grossed out. “Everyone

knows you’re having an affair with her,” she informs me.

“Not even! Why would you say that?” I gasp as if the thought

horrifies me.

“Probably because you spend so much time with her and

everyone knows she’s into girls, duh.”

“You’re starting to sound like Mom.”

“You’re starting to act like Dad.”

We search each other’s eyes for a few seconds. We used to be so

close. I miss who we once were. I want to say something but don’t

know how and instead blink the tears out of my eyes.

The bouncer pulls her away.

She is gone. My heart aches as I watch my sister blend into the

crowd.

On our way home, Kendall talks to me but I don’t hear her; my

mind is racing.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

It’s clear to me now that my sister is searching for a father in

her choice of older men while I am searching for a mother in my

relationship with Kendall.

They say our lives are shaped not by those who love us but by

those who refuse to love us.

Perhaps it is true that we find our parents in other people, re-

creating the same dysfunctional family we are used to.

192

Sixteen

I wake up to someone knocking incessantly on the front door

downstairs. I lie in bed pretending that no one is home. A faint

voice begs, “Please, is anyone there? I’m looking for my daughter.”

I tiptoe downstairs, place my eye into the peephole, and see a tan

European man in his fifties.

“Hello?” he repeats.

“Can I help you?” I finally ask through the door.

I’ve never seen him before.

“Is your father here?” he asks.

“No, he’s not.”

“I understand he has a daughter named Jennifer. Would that

be you?”

“Can I ask what you want?”

J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

“I’m very sorry to trouble you, but I’m trying to locate my

daughter,” he explains, still speaking through the door.

“I’m the only one home right now, so I can tell you that she’s

not here.”

The man shifts his weight. He looks very tired and weak and

truly seems harmless.

“My daughter’s name is Paulina Svenson. Do you by chance

know her?” he asks, pulling out a small photograph of his daughter.

I can’t take my eyes off the peephole. This kind-looking man is

the father of the girl who overdosed at that party.

“She is a model from Sweden. She was visiting the States and I

was told she knew your father. I have been to a Mr. Don Michaels’

estate.”

“I knew a Paulina once, but I think she was from Connecticut,”

I answer almost too quickly, afraid he may see right through me.

The father leans in closer to the door.

“Are you sure you never met my daughter Paulina from Swe-

den?” he asks in a really nice voice. My palms are sweaty. I try to

stop my hands from shaking as I recall the image of Paulina’s life-

less body on the bathroom floor.

“No, really, I’m sorry. I don’t know your daughter. Wish I could

help.”

The words are pressed against the tip of my lips and so much

of me wants to say something, but the fear of someone finding out

I’ve exposed them keeps me silent. The man lowers his head,

thanks me, and walks back over to the blue Dodge rental car

parked along the side of the house.