We Only Know So Much (21 page)

forty-eight

P
riscilla is at work at Express in the mall. She’s always thought Express was pretty lame, but it was between that and Hot Topic, pretty much a no-brainer. She had applied for a job at J.Crew but was told there weren’t any jobs. (Not true: right after this, they hired this uppity bitch Olivia she knows from school. What P doesn’t know is that they rejected her because when she interviewed she had described her former boss as a kind of a jerk, and also answered a text message from Taylor, right in the middle of the interview. It also hadn’t helped that when they asked her about her long-term goals, the pause between the question and her answer was a clear indication of her cluelessness, that by the time she lied and said
Purchasing, I guess
, it was essentially just the first thing that popped into her head that sounded like anything, even though the truth was she hardly knew much more about
purchasing
than that it sounded close to
shopping
.)

More than anything, Priscilla hates folding the clothes. She would prefer to handle this poly-blend crap as little as possible, has gone through way more hand lotion than ever since she started this job. The styles aren’t that bad here, but the cuts and the fabrics, the workmanship, eugh. Pull one wrong thread and all the pieces will fall on the floor like when they’d just been cut, she’s sure. Sometimes she’d even rather be in the back steaming, where she doesn’t have to touch them so much. But Priscilla feels she’s best put to use here with the customers.

This is only partly true. She has a knack for styling, to be sure, but her people skills could use some work, depending on who you ask. The employees have been told regularly that they should do what they can to say only that the clothes are flattering. The idea
is
to sell them. No duh. But Priscilla knows she can sell them minus bullshit. Sometimes this is appreciated and sometimes it is not. Today, for example, she’s dealt with a size-fourteen woman who’s been trying on skinny jeans and a forty-year-old who thinks she’s going to pull off a schoolgirl kilt with tights and the plastic Doc Marten–style boots she rode in on. Size Fourteen had appreciated neither Priscilla’s look of disdain nor the accompanying comment,
Yeah, that’s not gonna work
, but was thankfully too hurt to call a manager to complain, and left red-faced. Which was unfortunate, Priscilla thought, she could have pulled her something that was flattering, modern,
and
age-appropriate—like she did for the Doc Marten lady, who just needed a knee-length skirt and ballet flats, or a tall boot. Plus she’d also sold that lady three pairs of tights and a flattering, drapey cardigan she hadn’t planned on. And this was how Priscilla kept her job: she sold clothes.

Ever since her dreams of being a TV star fell all to shit, though, this job has felt more and more, like, tragic. She hardly wants to move up the ladder at Express. She doesn’t really want to be anywhere on the Express ladder, thanks. But today:
Genius!
the Doc Marten lady had said. Priscilla liked the sound of that word.
You’re like that TV lady, what does she say, “I die”?

Rachel Zoe? You think I’m like Rachel Zoe?

Sure! Look at me! Look at you!

The lady looks good, and Priscilla does have a killer outfit on today, and she knows it. Knee-high Anna Sui boots and a knit dress from Agnes B., a handmade scarf around her neck. The only item on her from Express is a cotton cami and tap shorts you can’t even see under her dress; this doesn’t help her job standing, either.

You’re right!
A rare, nonsarcastic smile from Priscilla.

P’s brain wheel starts whirring. How did she not realize this before
? Make your own reality.
Maybe it wasn’t the craziest thing she’d ever heard. She hadn’t been able to shake it out of her head since the moment her mother said it. She knew Rachel Zoe had the best job on TV; fuck, she’d do that job
off
TV. She’d almost do it for free if it meant she could style celebrities. She’s always dreamed about making over Taylor Momsen. Such a pretty girl, such a freaking goth bullshit mess. Why not do it for a job? How did she not think of this before? How do people get those jobs? Priscilla has no idea.

It’s not helping her that she lives in the middle of Fuckall USA. She could move to L.A. Then what? She could move to L.A. and apply to work for Rachel Zoe. She could get hired by Rachel Zoe and go to Cameron Diaz’s house and style the shit out of her, put things on her even Rachel Zoe wouldn’t think of, and then everyone’d be all
Priscilla Copeland is like a zillion times better even than Rachel Zoe
, and then she’d get her own show and become best friends with Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale and reject guys like Robert Pattinson or even that smokin’ hot Asian dude from
Glee
(Priscilla has masturbated more than once thinking about this guy, but has never learned his name) when they tried to ask her out—when they begged. (Priscilla has always loved a good reject-a-hot-guy fantasy, which fits in nicely with her I-should-be-a-superstar-stylist fantasy.) She would have believed all this was seriously possible until recently, before the TV people became severely misguided and picked Taylor over her to fly to Hollywood. Priscilla’s confidence was down. But this lady, this Doc Marten lady, lifted her up just a little bit today. Priscilla was genius. She was cooking up some badass ideas. She had clue zero how to put them in motion, but would worry about that later. Make your own fucking reality.

forty-nine

I
t has not gone unnoticed by the family that Gordon hasn’t shed a tear since his father’s death. It’s not that this is unusual Gordon behavior, but his endeavors to act strong for the family are typically odd. Gordon, as a rule, is an upbeat kind of guy, but at the moment his cheer is clearly forced, and weirder to observe than ever. Everyone wishes he’d just have a good cry a time or two and get it over with.

Until it actually happens.

This is how it goes down: Gordon finally has a free afternoon after things settle down and goes out to the garage to look at the progress he’s making with his paintings. There’s still a good bit of work to do to get them where he wants them. He pulls the drop cloth off the one of his dad, mixes some reds and browns, looks at the painting again, dabs at it here and there, and within minutes he is on his knees sobbing as though sobbing has just now been invented—water pouring from his eyes, bizarre, unbidden animal moans coming up from his chest. Gordon allows this to happen largely because he now seems to have no control over it, and in a way he doesn’t quite understand, it feels good, letting this wet, colossal sound thing out; it feels like an entity that’s been in him for all of his forty-seven years that he had no idea was there. After a few minutes on the cold floor, the sobs mutate into a more manageable weep, enough for Gordon to move himself off the garage floor to the ratty La-Z-Boy that Jean banished here years ago, and he weeps there for he doesn’t know how long, until he falls asleep. Jean comes out to call him for dinner, sees him asleep with a wet face, wipes the tears from his cheeks and brings him the afghan from the sofa, lets him sleep through it. Jean hasn’t seen Gordon cry since they were married; had thought, at the time, hoped, he had maybe been a little misty saying his vows, but he’d been so under control that she attributed his one tiny
for better or worse
sniffle to allergies (a correct assessment). But this is promising, Jean thinks. This has been a long time coming.

Maybe a little too long. Because when Gordon wakes up and decides to start painting again, feeling strangely refreshed but still weeping, what he doesn’t know—what no one knows right now—is that now that the faucet has been turned on, it’s not going off anytime soon. Gordon quickly senses that these tears are not going to stop of their own volition, and decides to allow them to come.
It’s natural
, he thinks. Why
has
he resisted this feeling for so long? This is a wonderful feeling indeed. He retrieves his paintbrush from the floor, invigorated.

fifty

F
ollowing the apple-picking trip, Otis follows Caterina’s lead. He does not know what is expected of him in his new status as boyfriend, but is willing to go to great lengths. The truth is that Caterina doesn’t really know, either. “Boyfriend” is kind of just a word, something that you have, something that makes things better just by the wordness of it. So, for most of their first official day as boyfriend and girlfriend, Otis kind of just quietly shadows Caterina, doesn’t want to make any sudden moves. They sit on the playground together; she shares her jelly beans, even the good flavors. He watches her eat them. Again, it would have seemed unthinkable just a short time ago that the way she eats jelly beans could be even more fascinating, but Caterina-as-girlfriend eating jelly beans in three bites is truly even more miraculous than it was before. He so wants to ask her why she does that, but suddenly worries that it might sound weird, doesn’t want to rock the boat. He has seen what has happened with third-grade boyfriends and girlfriends. There aren’t a lot of examples, of course, most of the boys do not really like girls yet, or won’t admit it, but of the ones he’s seen, the longest-lasting was about a month. Supposedly those two had kissed
and everything
,
and everything
being alarmingly nebulous, but he’s nowhere near ready for kissing, much less the things his mother has described to him. It’s a length Otis is not sure he’s willing to go to. For sure he won’t be the one making any sudden moves, might, might, might not push Caterina away if she tried to kiss him, but it’s not going to happen. It’s not the reason she wants a boyfriend. Bethany and this dumb kid Tanner were boyfriend and girlfriend for all of two days before he yelled at her to shut up right in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Otis wants to imagine that this is about Bethany, which of course it pretty much is, but still, he’ll pull back on the talking just a little bit at first, just in case.

Otis and Caterina sit down together on the playground, watch the other kids for a while. Thankfully Bethany’s tied up with another girl today or she’d be right there with them, yakking. Mostly, they sit there in silence for a while until Caterina finally speaks. They have a playdate set up for this afternoon.

What are we doing after school today?

The amazingest word in this sentence?
We.
Me and Caterina are We.

I could show you my room, and my stuff and things.

I’d prefer to watch TV.

Really, Caterina could have said
I’d prefer to watch the ceiling fan
and it would have been no less perfect.

Sure! We can watch TV!

Priscilla picks up Otis today, Jean is out at some—church thing? Priscilla doesn’t really want to know. Otis has his little friend with him; she’s awfully cute.

Priscilla, this is my girlfriend, Caterina! Caterina, this is my sister, Priscilla! Priscilla, Caterina is coming over today for a date to watch TV!

Yeah, I know
—she stops herself, she’s about to call him Baby Freak but thinks better of it with his “girlfriend” there. Huh, that’s new.
Mom told me.

AT HOME, PRISCILLA FIXES the kids a snack, parks them in front of the TV in the living room, figures they’ll watch
Dora the Explorer
or maybe a rerun of
The Brady Bunch
, goes to her room.

Mott joins the kids on the couch, puts his big head on Otis’s lap. He sniffs Caterina, licks her hand. Uh-oh. This could be bad. He hadn’t thought to ask her where she stood on dogs. But Caterina just giggles, pulls her hand away, wipes it on her skirt.

Otis picks up the remote.
I think ‘Spongebob’ is on.
He’s not a huge fan of
Spongebob
, doesn’t even watch that much TV.

‘Spongebob’’s kind of babyish, actually. Can I see the remote?

Otis hands Caterina the remote, she flips channels, can’t find anything but dumb kid shows. Checks the TiVo.
Oh! I like this show. Have you seen it?
Caterina hits play. It’s
Nip/Tuck
.

I think my sister watches that show.
Otis knows he’s not allowed to watch this show, and has not ever wished to before this, but Priscilla’s upstairs.

The opening sequence alone is enough to make Otis a little queasy, but he toughs it out.

The first scene is a giant close-up of a man’s ass, bobbing up and down. At first Otis laughs, butts are funny, but he doesn’t know what’s going on. Finally it’s revealed: he’s pushing into a lady on a bed. That doesn’t look good. That doesn’t look good at all.

Otis can’t hold back a gasp. It looks like he’s hurting her, and plus also she’s naked.

What is he doing to her?

They’re making love.

Otis has never heard the term “making love” before, but recalls his mother explaining to him about lying down together. But this does not look special, not at all.

You can probably fill this out yourself, right, where Otis goes with this from here? He flashes back to
goopy soupy delicious
, which in no way describes what he’s seeing right now. He hadn’t liked the sound of goopy soupy delicious in the first place, but
this
, this is something else entirely. He will never participate in anything like this, not ever in his whole entire life. That is a true fact. He wants to watch something else, anything else. But it’s Caterina. She likes this show. He’ll just stare into the popcorn bowl for a while, pet Mott until it’s over. Unfortunately the next scene is almost worse. It’s another close-up, this time of a woman getting her boobs done, although Otis doesn’t know what that means, he just sees boobies and blood. It’s everything Otis can do not to scream.

See, that’s an “augmentation.” They’re doctors.
Caterina is not squeamish at all; she pays close attention to
Nip/Tuck
, thinks maybe she’d like to be a doctor someday. Or a mom.

This is not what Otis has experienced at the doctor’s. There are no boobies and there’s no blood.

Do you want to play a game? Or I could show you my room?

Shhh
, Caterina says without taking her eyes off the TV.

Otis knows that Caterina wants to be a doctor, and the fact that she’s not easily grossed out, even though he is, for sure is just another thing that sets Caterina apart—most girls will squeal if a bee buzzes past them—but he doesn’t want to be there in the operating room with her. So for now he just closes his eyes until the scene is over. Otis will do what he has to do for the love of Caterina. He’s going to stay with her forever no matter what.

For the rest of their time as boyfriend and girlfriend, Otis and Caterina have dates almost every day after school. Most times, after the first day, they end up going to Caterina’s house. Otis sits through a couple more episodes of
Nip/Tuck
and one episode of
Jersey Shore
, which seems like a romp to him after
Nip/Tuck
. As the end of the week approaches, Caterina mentions to Otis that it’s almost their two-week anniversary. Otis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about that, doesn’t know he’s supposed to do anything about it.
I would like you to take me to Applebee’s.
Otis would like to take Caterina to Applebee’s.

Okay
, Otis says.

When Jean picks him up from Caterina’s house, he mentions the anniversary.
Oh! That’s so sweet, Otis.

She wants to go to Applebee’s.

Well, then, we’ll go to Applebee’s!

Otis is not sure how excited he is about the group We here, doesn’t know who’s included in this We, likes the Otis and Caterina We much better, but realistically, he’s nine, and he doesn’t drive and has no money.