Second Helpings (17 page)

Uh no?

He ran his fingers through his rooster tufts, making them stand up at insane angles all over his head.

I didnt tell you that I knew a lot about you because I had eavesdropped on your conversations with Hope when I was hanging at her house with Heath. And when I told you last New Years Eve, it was too late in our relationship for such a confession, so you told me to fuck myself, which I did. He raised an eyebrow. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Of course.

Literally speaking, that would be quite a feat. And he paused, no doubt imagining himself in whatever contortionist pose would accomplish such an anatomical impossibility.

So the two things I need to tell you are as follows.

He stopped speaking again, and in the silence in between one Yaz song and the next, I could hear the scratch of his chin stubble against the leather. I thought about his razor-sharp cheekbones, and how they could slice up that chair straight through to the stuffing. I held my breath. I had no idea what he was about to say. None.

Number one: I know your grandmother, Gladdie.

What?

The old fogues home, where I work

Is Silver Meadows?

Yes.

Holy shit.

I didnt know that she was your grandmother until the other day, when you visited her. I happened to see you walking down the hallway together. Suddenly, everything Id been hearing about her granddaughter, the smart cookie with great gams, made perfect sense. You were J.D.

Smart cookie with great gams. Marcus had effectively complimented me on both an intellectual and superficial level. Sort of. Right?

So youve been talking to my grandmother? And my grandmother has been talking to you? About me?

Yes, yes, and yes, he replied, his dark eyes daring me to look away. I wanted you to know that so you couldnt accuse me of doing it all on purpose and tell me to go fuck myself again.

But why would it matter? We arent or uh werent

Which is it, Jess? Arent or werent? Present or past tense? Now or then?

We havent been talking to each other.

Past imperfect tense. How appropriate. Ha. In more ways than one.

No, Marcus replied.

So you couldve kept this to yourself. Or waited for me to find out on my own. Why tell me this at all?

He rose from the chair. Theres too much tension in the world, he replied solemnly. What hope is there in the Middle East if you and I cant make peace?

This whole scene was just so bizarro that I had no clue whether he was kidding or not. I had no idea what to say. Alison Moyets voice filled the silence.

Sometimes when I think of the move and its only a game I And 1 need

you

Christ. I was falling now. Falling, falling, falling.

And number two

Oh, dear Lord. Id forgotten there was a second thing he had to tell me.

Len likes you, he said.

Marcus was almost out the door, when he turned to say one more thing.

Be easier on him than you were on me.

And with that, he was gone. Poof !

A millisecond later, my mom was knocking at my door, bubbling over the possibility that another catch was courting her younger daughter.

Jessie, that was the nice b Why are you on the floor?

At some point during my conversation with Marcus, Id sunk so low, so deep, that my molecular makeup was indistinguishable from that of the carpet.

I like it here.

My mother didnt know where to even begin to interpret this, so she blithely pressed on. Was that the nice boy from New Years Eve? Marcus?

I believe so, I replied. Yes.

What did he need to talk to you about? Mom kept doing and undoing the top button on her cream-colored cardigan, a clear sign that she was getting impatient. What did he say?

I dont know.

She rubbed her temples. Honestly, Jessie. Why cant you ever give me a straight answer? Why do you have to make things so difficult?

I wanted to ask Marcus those same questions. Even at his most candid, hes confusing.

Then Mom babbled about having just gotten off the phone with Bethany and how she and G-Money have decided to fly out to New Jersey for Thanksgiving and how marvelous it is that the whole family is getting together and how she cant wait to see the golden couple because she simply could not imagine celebrating another holiday without them

When I didnt respond, she walked out the door in a huff.

The song came to its end, with the last plinks and plunks of the synthesizer, with the final line.

And all I ever knew , she sang. Only you .

I stayed on the floor for a long, long time.

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November 1st

Hope,

We are what we pretend to be.Kurt Vonnegut (via Mac)

Halloween is a fascinating holiday. Costumes almost always reveal the wearers secret or not-so-secret desires. Who or what they choose to be on October 31 reflects who or what they want to be during the other 364 days of the year:

Scotty was an FDNY firefighter, which I thought was appropriate considering my unpublished Hero Worship editorial and all. It turns out that Manda (done up as Like a Virgin -era Madonna) made him dress like that because it turns her on. Ack. Ack. And more ack. Sara was a generic, anorexic Miss America in a low-cut evening gown, stilettos, and a crown. Bridget was Gwyneth Paltrow at the 1998 Oscars. Len was John Lennon, but he had to tell people which of the Fab Four he was trying to be. Until the administration made him take it off, Pepe was a reservoir-tipped condom ribbed for her pleasure, one of the goddiggitydamnest sights ever seen.

But there is no example better than Marcus, whose costume consisted of jeans and a new black T-shirt decorated with white iron-on letters. It barely deviated from his days-of-the-week uniform. Instead of Wednesday, the shirt read, game master.

Thats right. You read that correctly, game master.

Not even self-proclaimed lifelong lovers of all things eighties (like Ash-leigh) know about Midnight Madness. In fact, I daresay that there are only three people on earth who dont need an explanation for the shirt, and thats you and me and Michael J. Fox. We are the only three people on earth who would recognize the game master T-shirt as the costume worn by the Leon character in Michael J. Foxs film debut, the obscure 1980 college comedy Midnight Madness, which you and I enjoyed during a particularly memorable Friday Night Flick and Food Fest. And since you and Michael J. Fox were unlikely to grace the hallways of Pineville High, I can guarantee with 100 percent certainty that Marcus wore the costume for my benefit alone.

At least this time I can explain for his actions, its not a case of inexplicable intuition. I know he must have seen the DVD on my bookcase when he came to my bedroom the other night. He didnt even have to know anything about the character or the movie itself. All that mattered was that I knew what it meant. This brings me to the more significant point, which is how this costume perfectly sums up Marcuss life ambition: messing with my mind. So I responded to the Game Masters maneuver by not responding at all.

So, there!

What did I wear for Halloween? Well, it just so happens that I didnt wear a costume. I went to school as myself. If you buy into my whole theory, it was indeed the perfect costume, wasnt it?

Inauthentically yours, J.

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november

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the third

I decided not to make a move, even though it was my turn. I swore that I wouldnt give in to the Game Master.

This lasted three days, thirty-six hours longer than I thought it would, which is pretty damn good.

This morning, however, I just couldnt take it anymore. I just had to tell Bridget all about the Game Master costume and getting grambushed in my bedroom and the news that Len liked me. I was already agitated, and since Bridget is the only other person who ever saw the fall poem, I figured I might as well vent just how much it bothered me that their bands name is Chaos Called Creation. Whats with that, anyway? Theres no way that of all the lines, in all the poems hes ever written, Marcus just happened to choose a line from the poem he wrote with the sole intention of seducing me. You know, the one Marcus wrote to thank me for peeing into the yogurt cup. The one that began, We / are Adam and Eve / born out of chaos called / creation. And ended, I know we will be / together again someday / Naked / without shame / in paradise / My thanks to you / for being in on my / sin. That one. Its been ten months since the New Years Eve cockblock, but hes still thinking about it.

This is more or less a synopsis of the rant I greeted Bridget with when I arrived at her house this morning. Her response? She thwacked me on the head with a copy of the fall fashion issue of Vogue which is nine hundred pages thick with advertisements, mind you.

Get over it. Hes a dreg.

But he doesnt use anymore, I argued.

Once a dreg, always a dreg, she said.

Bridget was just expressing the opinion shared by the Pineville High majority. Once youre put into one of PHSs neat little categories be it Upper Cruster, Jock, Groupie, I.Q., 404, Wigga, Hoochie, Hick, or Dregits difficult, if not impossible, to get reassigned.

And Len? I asked.

Hes cute. Hes smart. And hes a virgin, she said. Youre, like, a match made in heaven.

How do you know hes a virgin?

Everyone knows Len is a virgin, she said, as matter-of-fact as ABC and 1-2-3. Just like everyone knows youre a virgin.

I was outraged. And how does everyone know Im a virgin? Maybe I shared very specific intimate moments with the Lucky Seven this summer! Is that so unfathomable?

Yes.

Why?

She laughed. If you were getting laid, you wouldnt be so, like, tense, she said. And neither would Len.

This is coming from my closest friend at Pineville High. In all of New Jersey, actually. Make that the Northeastern Seaboard. Very sad.

Then again, maybe she has a point.

So you still havent, like, talked to your grandmother yet?

No.

Well, you should. You never know what that freak might talk to her about.

Or vice versa!

Gladdie has never been discreet. Throw two strokes into the mix and there was no telling what she would say. Or what she had already said. Once I realized this, I couldnt drive over to Silver Meadows fast enough. Literally. By the time I got there, I was already too late.

This is the dollface Ive been telling you about, Tutti Flutie, Glad-die bellowed. My granddaughter J.D.!

Marcus, Gladdie, Moe, and a very sour-looking woman wearing a Richard Simmons Sweatin to the Oldies sweatshirt were in the middle of a card game. Cards are a spectator sport at Silver Meadows, as is anything that involves my grandmother.

Youre here on purpose, I said.

Well, yes, he replied.

Aha! I blurted, thrusting an accusatory finger in his face. So you admit it!

Of course Im here on purpose, he replied. I work here.

Duh.

You two know each other? Moe asked.

Yeah, I replied, glaring at Marcus. We know each other.

Well, thats just swell because now you can replace Irene here, and we can get down to playing a real game of hearts.

Would you, Jessica Darling, care to join me in a game of hearts? Marcus asked, wearing an expression that was as aggressively innocent as those posters of babies dressed up like bumblebees and sunflowers.

Game of hearts . Har-dee-har-har.

Well, I replied, you are the Game Master, arent you?

What? You dont like hearts? Moe asked, oblivious to the stare-down. Then lets play poker.

You with your poker, chastised Gladdie. You just dont like it when I shoot the moon.

Marcus sat there, coyly batting his eyelashes at me.

You liked my costume, huh?

Yeah, I liked it as much as I like your days-of-the-week T-shirts, I said. Whats with that, anyway?

Well, Ive always admired days-of-the-week underwear, he replied.

Ill bet he has. Ill bet hes admired many pairs of days-of-the-week underwear. Three dozen girls worth.

But, you see, I dont wear underwear.

Gladdie and Moe rocked with ribald merriment.

Whoo-wee!

Yowza!