Tiger Eyes (11 page)

“That’s nice,” I say.

Jane wasn’t kidding about her room. It’s a mess, with clothes scattered all over the place.

“I told you,” she says, laughing.

“Where’s the bathtub?” I ask.

“You want to take a bath … now?”

“No,” I say, and I start to laugh too. “I want to see it for historical reasons.”

“Oh, that,” she says. “Come on.” She takes my hand and leads me down a hallway, and into the bathroom. “Violà,” she says.

The tub is old fashioned. It stands off the floor, on feet, and has separate faucets for hot and cold water. I look around for a sign that says
J. Robert Oppenheimer Bathed Here
, but I don’t see one. New Jersey is full of signs proclaiming
George Washington Slept Here
.

I try to picture Oppenheimer sitting in the tub. Maybe he got his ideas while he was soaking or maybe he sailed plastic boats, like Jason does. Who knows?

We go back to Jane’s room and I flop down on her bed. She turns on the radio. An old Eagles song is playing. She begins to fold her clothes and put them away.

I hum along with the radio and look around Jane’s room. She has three posters taped to her
wall. One of Jimmy McNicol, one of Eric Heiden on skates, and one of Bjorn Borg. They are all covered with lipstick kisses.

“It’s how I blot my lipstick,” Jane explains, when she sees me studying them.

I understand. I used to practice kissing on my pillow. But I don’t tell this to Jane. Instead I say, “You hardly ever wear lipstick.”

“I used to,” she says. “I was really into makeup in ninth grade.”

I’m surprised. Jane doesn’t seem the type to experiment with makeup. But then I remember that Lenaya and I used to go to Woolworth’s and try out all the samples on the counter when we were in eighth grade.

When Jane has finished putting away her clothes and the room looks reasonably neat, she takes out a Revlon nail-care kit and begins to give herself a manicure.

“Where do you want to go to college?” she asks, as she files her nails.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not as if we’re seniors and have to decide right away.”

“But it’s something you have to plan for early.”

“I don’t even know if I want to go,” I tell her.

“Really?”

“Yes. And I think it’s stupid to worry about it so far in advance. You never know what’s going to happen between now and then.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jane says.
“My father wants me to go to MIT because that’s where he went and my mother is talking up Wellesley because that’s where she went. My parents expect a lot of me.” She is painting her nails a pale peach color. “Linda and Taffy were big disappointments, especially to my father. Neither one of them ever did much in school. So it’s all up to me.”

“Nobody’s going to tell me what to do with my life,” I say.

“You’re braver than I am.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with being brave.”

“I think it does.” When her nails are polished to perfection she holds them up, admiring her work. “Want me to do yours?” she asks, as she blows on her own.

I look at my fingernails. They’re a mess. I haven’t paid any attention to them since last August. I used to keep them clipped short. But now they are all different lengths and ragged at the tips.

“You could use a good manicure,” Jane says. “No offense, but I’ve noticed.”

I nod and agree to let her do my nails. She shapes them with an emery board. Her touch is light.

The phone rings in the hall before Jane has finished filing the nails on my left hand. She rushes out to answer it. I pick up a copy of
Seventeen
and browse through it. The models are all
perfect. I wish some of them had zits, or oily hair. I go to the mirror and examine my face. It is not one of my better days. I look tired and my hair is limp.

When Jane comes back her face is flushed and she says, “That was Ted.”

Ted hangs out with Reuben, the guy who is always looking at me. I have suspected for weeks that Jane has a thing for Ted. This confirms it.

“He wants to come over tonight,” she says, excitedly, “… with Reuben.” She pauses and looks at me. “I said it would be okay.”

Jane sits down and reaches for my hand. I hold it out and she continues to file my nails.

“If it’s not okay with you I can call him back and tell him to make it another time.”

Sometimes Jane is so polite it gets to me.

“We’ll just take a walk or something,” she says. “No big deal. I thought it would be okay with you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said
yes
.”

I can’t bring myself to say that it is okay and I don’t know why.

Jane has filed my pinky nail down to nothing. “Look,” she says, her eyes wide, “just forget it. I’ll go call him and make up some excuse.”

“No,” I finally manage. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

She looks relieved. “It’s not as if you hate him,” she says.

“Right. I don’t hate him.”

Jane holds up a bottle of nail polish. “How
about this one?” she asks. “I think it’ll look really good on you … with your coloring.” She begins to paint my fingernails and the color, which looked almost brown in the bottle, turns out to be a putrid shade of purple.

“Do you have a lot of experience?” she asks.

“In what?” I say, thinking she is talking about my fingernails.

“You know … with boys.”

“Oh, boys.”

“Do you?”

“Not much,” I tell her.

“How much?”

“Some.”

“I don’t have any,” she says. “I’ve kissed two boys and that’s it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it?” she repeats. “What else is there to worry about … not counting school?”

Sometimes Jane seems so innocent I can’t believe we are the same age.

“You know how I found out about sex?” she asks.

“No, how?”

“I looked it up in the card catalogue, in the library.”

I laugh. “Really?”

“Really. You’d think that with two older sisters someone would have given me the facts, but when I asked them they said, ‘Go ask Mother.’
And when I asked my mother she said, ‘You’re too young to be asking about that.’ You’d think that they’d give us sex education in school, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s all in the best interest of science.”

Now we both laugh.

“So how far
have
you gone?” Jane asks.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I examine my nails and say, “Thanks. They look nice.” Then I blow on them, the way Jane did hers, to help them dry faster.

“All the way?” Jane says.

I realize that because I avoided the answer to her question she thinks I have a lot of experience. I try to set the record straight. “No,” I say, emphatically. “Not all the way.”

“Close?” she asks.

“No. Not even close.” I don’t tell her about Hugh. I don’t tell her about the hot, sweaty summer nights. About the salty taste of his lips. About his body pressed against mine. That is not for sharing. Not with Jane. Not with anyone.

B
efore dinner I take a bath in the famous tub. I soak for a long time. My hair fans out in the water, which comes up to my chin. Usually, I try not to think about Hugh and how it was with us, because then I get all worked up and I don’t want to deal with any of those feelings now. But I do remember. I remember everything. Especially the last night …

“S
o what’s new, Davina?” Hugh asked. He knew my real name but called me Davina as a joke.

“Not much,” I said.

We were sitting on the railing, overlooking the beach, eating soft ice cream cones. We’d already cruised the Boards in a motorized wicker chair and now it was dark. I clicked my feet together and one of my flip-flops fell off and landed on the sand. Hugh jumped down to retrieve it. As he put it back on my foot he caressed the inside of my leg. “How about a walk on the beach, Davina?”

“Come on, Hugh … you know I can’t.”

“I can’t … I can’t …” he said, mimicking me.

“You know it’s a rule.”

“And rules are made to be broken, right?”

“Not this one,” I said. “But you can come back to our place.”

“Your father will be there.”

“So? There’s always the backyard.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take a walk on the beach with Hugh. I did. I loved the idea of the moonlight on the ocean, the sand beneath our feet, of being alone, really alone, with him. But I’d promised my parents that I wouldn’t.

So Hugh and I walked home and went directly to the small yard behind the store. I leaned back against the willow tree. The single light from the store cast a shadow on the scrubby
grass. Hugh’s arms were around me, his lips on my face, my neck. His breath was hot. I clutched his damp T-shirt as he slid his hand from my shoulder to the top of my halter, to my waist, and then back up again. The smell of my
Charlie
was in the air.

From the store we could hear a symphony playing on my father’s radio. We were both breathing hard. Hugh’s body was pressed against mine and he whispered, “Davey … oh, Davey …”

My knees were so weak I wanted to lie down. To lie down in Hugh’s arms and let whatever might happen, happen. Whatever …

But then we heard a firecracker, and another, and another and another. Hugh pulled away from me, saying, “What the hell …”

Then both of us were running, running toward the store.

TWENTY-ONE

“Davey … are you almost done?” Jane calls, knocking on the bathroom door. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Be right out,” I call back, swallowing the sob that was working its way up into my throat. I splash my face, step out of the tub, and dry off.

Downstairs, everyone is seated around the dinner table. They are waiting for us. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

“That’s all right, dear,” Jane’s mother says.

Jane’s father is at the head of the table. He is a big man, with jowly cheeks, steel rimmed glasses, and gray wiry hair that is cut short. I notice the scar across his forehead. Jane told me that a year ago he was in a serious auto accident. I try not to stare at him as I take my seat. He says, “Hello, Davey.” Then he and Howard engage in a lengthy conversation about the Lab. I don’t even try to follow what they are talking about.

Robby sits in a high chair next to Linda and she feeds him bits and pieces from the table. I see that Linda is pregnant again and wonder why Jane hasn’t told me.

The conversation at our end of the table centers around skiing. Linda and Jane both hope that it will snow early so that the ski area will be open before Christmas.

“Do you ski, Davey?” Jane’s mother asks.

“No, but I’d like to learn.”

“I don’t either,” she says, “but Dr. Albertson is an outstanding skier and all three girls have followed in his footsteps.”

At first I’m not sure who Dr. Albertson is. Then I realize it is Jane’s father. I tend to think of the word
doctor
as meaning medical doctor or even dentist, but Los Alamos is full of Ph.D.’s who call each other
doctor
.

“And don’t forget Howard,” Linda says. “Howard’s a fantastic skier. He practically grew up on skis. He’s from Canada.”

I wonder if Linda will ski this winter even though she is pregnant. I decide not to ask. Maybe she isn’t pregnant after all. Maybe she’s just fat.

“Robby’s going to learn as soon as he’s three,” Linda says, giving him another bread crust.

We have chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream for dessert and when we are finished Jane’s father stands and says, “Very nice, Brenda.” Then he disappears into his study and the rest of us do the dishes.

At eight-thirty Ted and Reuben ring the bell. Jane lets them in. They wait in the entrance foyer rubbing their hands together. Their breath
is smoky. We get our jackets and then the four of us take off, with Jane’s mother calling, “Button up … it’s very cold.”

Outside, Ted reaches behind a tree and comes up with a bottle of vodka. “Didn’t think it was wise to carry it into the house.”

“Good thinking,” Jane says.

Ted opens the bottle and as we walk along it is passed back and forth. I am not into booze and take only one swig. It burns going down my throat and then again as it hits my stomach. Reuben takes a couple of swallows and says, “Can’t stand the stuff but it does warm you up.”

I keep my hands in my pockets. I have the feeling that if I don’t, Reuben will want to hold hands. It’s not that I don’t like him. I think he’s okay. But I don’t want him touching me.

Ted has his arm around Jane and they are drinking from the bottle and nuzzling each other. The next time Ted offers the bottle to us, Reuben shakes his head and says we’ve had enough.

There is no place to walk, except to town, and there is nothing open there, except the Pizza Hut and the movie. But the movie began at eight-fifteen. Besides, I saw it two years ago and it was a bore. The boys are starving so we go into the Pizza Hut and choose a booth near the back. The boys count their money. Between them they have eight dollars and sixty-four cents. They decide to split a medium pizza with extra cheese
and sausage. We order a pitcher of Cokes and after the waitress brings it, Ted takes the bottle of vodka out of his jacket pocket and pours a couple of shots into his Coke and then, into Jane’s.