Towelhead (14 page)

I didn't say anything.

He sighed. “Sorry. I know that's my fault.”

“I'm your girlfriend,” I said. I wished I could say I was his wife, but that was already taken.

“You're too young to be my girlfriend.”

“You did that thing to me,” I insisted. “I'm your girlfriend.”

He took a long sip of his drink. “That thing,” he muttered.

I stared at him.

“Jesus,” he said, and he rubbed his eyes a little.

By the time we'd finished our drinks and Mr. Vuoso had ordered us new ones, the man from the front of the restaurant came to tell us that our table was ready. It was near a tiny fake waterfall surrounded by plastic plants, and Mr. Vuoso said the whole setup was going to have him pissing all night. He got up to go to the bathroom, and while he was gone, I switched our drinks. His made me feel dizzy after a few sips, and I liked it. By the time he returned, I still hadn't switched them back.

“Did you look at the menu yet?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“See anything you like?”

“I don't know what this food means,” I said.

“What it means?” he said. “What are you talking about? There's enchiladas, burritos, tamales. Don't you know Mexican food?”

I shook my head.

“Well,” he said, “then you should get chicken enchiladas. Everyone likes chicken enchiladas.”

The waiter came, and Mr. Vuoso ordered for us. Afterward, he took a couple of sips of his drink, then looked at his glass funny. He looked at my glass and reached over and took a sip from it. “Jesus, Jasira,” he said, switching them back.

“I'm drunk,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“I feel happy.”

“Oh yeah?” he said. He smiled a little. “You think being drunk makes you happy?”

I nodded.

“Well,” he said, “I guess it does. Sometimes.”

“Can I have another sip of your drink?”

“No,” he said. “That's enough.” Under the table, his leg touched mine for a moment, then he pulled it away.

“Why do you like me?” I asked.

“Why?” He sighed. “Oh, I don't know.”

“I know,” I said.

“Why?”

“My boobs.”

He took a sip of his drink. “Maybe,” he said. “But that's not all.”

“My hair.”

He nodded. “You have nice hair.”

“When I grow up, I want to be in
Playboy
,” I said.

“No, you don't.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said. “It's for sluts. Are you a slut?”

“I don't know,” I said. I didn't think so, but I wasn't sure.

“Well, you're not,” he said. “That's why you're not going to be in
Playboy
.”

The food came, and we put our napkins in our laps and started to eat. After a few minutes, Mr. Vuoso said, “If you keep going around with that black kid, you'll be a slut.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” he said.

“He's better than you,” I said. “He only touches me when I say he can.”

Mr. Vuoso didn't say anything to that. He didn't even eat. He just sat there. I knew he wanted me to look at him or feel sorry for him that he felt so terrible or ashamed, but I didn't care. I was drunk and my enchilada was good, and I could feel my knife in my pocket, and Mr. Vuoso's drink made me think I could maybe use it if I had to.

For dessert I ordered fried ice cream, which was melted ice cream with a crust on top. Mr. Vuoso said he didn't want anything, but when my dessert came, he asked for a bite.

“No,” I said. It was really delicious, and I didn't feel like sharing.

I thought he would take a bite anyway, since he was paying for everything and technically it was his, but he didn't. He just looked disappointed and put his spoon back on his coffee cup saucer.

On the ride home, I took his knife out of my pocket again. “You like that?” Mr. Vuoso asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “I'm glad.”

“I guess you can have it back,” I said.

“You trust me?”

I shrugged. “We're almost home.”

“Keep it till we get there,” he said.

Suddenly I worried that this was it. That he'd bought me dinner and lent me his knife and not eaten my ice cream in exchange for having done a mean thing to me. In exchange for me not telling on him. I'd had a good time that night, and now I was afraid that it would never happen again. “I still might tell on you,” I said quickly. “I haven't decided.”

Mr. Vuoso nodded. “I understand.”

When we got home, he pulled into his driveway and turned off the car. We sat there for a while, our seat belts still on. “We're going to war with Iraq,” Mr. Vuoso said finally.

“I know,” I said. Daddy was always talking about it these days. How stupid it was to wait until after the holidays. How Kuwait was burning, but the president wanted to make sure that people spent money on Christmas presents. In protest, Daddy said he wasn't going to buy any presents this year, for anyone. He said my present would have to be knowing that my father was not a pawn of the regime.

“I'll probably get called up,” Mr. Vuoso said.

“That's too bad,” I said.

“Will you write me letters?”

“Sure.”

He nodded. “That would be nice.”

I reached in my pocket. “Here's your knife.”

“See?” he said, taking it from me. “You can trust me.”

“I have to go,” I said, and I got out of the car. It was dark outside except for the streetlights. A lot of the new houses on our block remained unsold, and I hated how there were never any lights in the windows.

As I headed home on the sidewalk, I heard someone call my name. I turned to see Gil at the foot of his driveway, taking out his garbage. “Oh,” I said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, looking over at the Vuosos' minivan. Mr. Vuoso still hadn't gotten out. “Were you in that car?” Gil asked me.

“No.”

“You weren't?”

“I'm just taking a walk,” I said.

“I thought you were in that car.”

“I was on the sidewalk,” I told him.

He didn't say anything.

“Well,” I said, “good night.”

“Good night,” he said.

I felt a little nervous that he had seen me, but I was more nervous about whether or not Daddy had tried to call. When I got inside and checked the answering machine, though, there was only a message from my mother. I called her back and she said, “Where have you been?”

“In the shower,” I said.

“An hour-long shower?”

“I just forgot to check the machine when I got out.”

“Where's your father?” she demanded.

“At Thena's.”

“Does he stay over there? He doesn't stay over there, does he?”

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“You're too young to spend the night alone.”

“He never stays over,” I said.

“He'd better not.”

“Don't worry.”

“Don't tell me not to worry. I don't like it.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Are you excited about Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“You don't sound it.”

“I am.”

“I hope you like your presents,” she said. “I spent a fortune.”

“I'm sure I will.”

“Don't get me anything,” she said. “I don't want anything.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn't tell her that even if I had thought about getting her something, which I hadn't, Daddy wouldn't have allowed it. He wouldn't even let us buy a tree, in protest of the timing of the war. Instead, he'd put some tiny white lights on a large ficus plant by the front window.

“Listen,” my mother said. “Do you like living there? With your father?”

“It's okay,” I said. I tried to sound like it didn't matter either way, since I wasn't sure what the right answer was.

“Barry and I broke up,” she said.

“What?”

“He moved out.”

“Oh.” I tried not to sound sad, but for a second it really hit me, that I'd probably never see him again.

“I guess it's just a little lonely here without you,” she said.

“Well,” I said, “that's too bad. About Barry, I mean.”

“You know what?” she said. “It's not. Because he was an asshole. I have to say, Jasira, I feel terrible about what went on here last summer. When I took his side over yours.”

“That's okay.”

“No,” she said. “It's not. Not at all.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess I really should finish out the school year here. I like my school.”

“Oh,” she said. “I hadn't realized that.”

“I learn a lot there.”

“I thought you didn't like it.”

“No,” I said. “I do.”

“I thought you didn't like Daddy.”

I didn't know what to say to that. She was right, in a way. I didn't like Daddy. But I was used to him. And I didn't want to have to leave and get used to her all over again. It was too much work.

“Well,” my mother said curtly. “I guess I must've misunderstood. Okay then. See you next week. Sleep tight. 'Bye.” And she hung up on me.

I knew she was mad. I knew she was trying to make sure that I knew this, and to scare me, too. Normally it would've worked. Now, though, I just felt lucky. Lucky that Daddy hadn't called or come home while I was out. Lucky that my mother was mad and would stop bothering me about coming home. Lucky to find a little bit of caramelized sugar between my teeth, and to pick it out with my tongue, and to remember how sweet the night had been.

 

When Daddy came home from Thena's the next morning, I told him about my mother and how she wanted me back. “What?” he said. “Who the hell does she think she is?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“You have to finish the school year.”

“That's what I told her.”

“You like it here.”

“I know.”

“You're not going anywhere,” he said. “I can't believe she's pulling these kinds of tricks. Calling you behind my back and trying to steal you.”

“I don't want to go,” I said.

“Of course not!” he said. “Why should you?”

We had one of our nicest days ever then. Daddy told me a little about his evening with Thena, how they were making plans to go to Cape Canaveral. There was a launch coming up in March, and since they had both designed parts for the shuttle, they would be invited to attend. I worried for a second that I would have to go, too, but then Daddy said, “You can stay by yourself for a couple of days, can't you?” and I said sure.

Later he asked me what kind of meal I thought he should cook for Christmas. I said I liked turkey, and he said, “Fine. That's what we'll have.” He left to run his errands, while I went for a walk. Mostly I was hoping to see Mr. Vuoso. He wasn't outside, though, and my waiting on the sidewalk in front of his house wasn't making him come out. It made Melina come out instead. “Jasira!” she called, standing on her front steps.

I looked at her. “Yeah?”

“C'mere,” she said, like I should've already known to do that.

I walked over to her front yard.

“Were you in Mr. Vuoso's car last night?” she asked me.

“What?” I said, trying to act confused.

“Gil said he saw you last night in Mr. Vuoso's car.”

“I wasn't in his car.” I looked her right in the eye, since I had seen a TV show that said liars always looked to one side.

“Uh-huh,” she said. I could tell she didn't believe me.

“I wasn't,” I said.

“Come with me,” she said, heading inside.

I followed her into the house, then upstairs, where I'd never been before, and down the hall. There were more pictures on the walls of Yemen and all the toilet holes Gil had dug.

Melina's bathroom didn't look anything like the Vuosos'. It was simple and modern, and the words
CHAUD
and
FROID
were written on the hot and cold sink taps. “Here,” Melina said, reaching inside the cabinet beneath, and she offered me a box of tampons. “I was wrong not to give you these before. I'm sorry.”