by Rachel Cohn
"You wanted to be lured." From the stand below the baking table, Danny pulled out a tray of vanilla cupcakes with erotic icing designs. He teased, "So do you want to be the person to divert delivery of this batch from the gay Jeopardy! tournament in Chelsea to Daddy and lisBETH instead?"
"You know what's weird?" I said, thinking about how when I moved here last summer, we were all single, but things change, we've evolved. The NY bio-fam all rung in the New Year with significant others. "We've all got somebody."
Danny teased again, "We should enjoy it now, because given our histories, and especially Daddy's, surely that will change." He sing-songed again, "Bye-bye, love." He picked up the Cartman cupcake and turned it over onto a plate, destroying the artwork. Poor misunderstood Cartman.
"I know," I said, feeling the happy mood of our morning kitchen space routine turning to knotted stomach anticipation--of what, I didn't know. "There are like mandalas all about it."
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***
THIRTY-FOUR
Truth or dare.
"CC, when are you going to give up your scattershot jobs and give in to a proper culinary school curriculum already?" Silence.
Still being on the outs with Truth, and never one to turn down a Dare, I had no choice but to accept lisBETH's challenge. She dared me to help her inaugurate her New Year's resolution to try a yoga class.
"I like your little man," lisBETH whispered to me as she bent over in Down Dog position. Shrimp oddly can't ignore Danny enough, yet he easily accepted lisBETH's odd-job offer. After a week in her apartment installing new blinds and repainting her living room, Shrimp's rather taken with her. He wants to paint a canvass of lisBETH and Myself standing back-to-back. He'll call
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it Hostile Takeover. That Shrimp had the very idea to create the painting is a good sign, I believe--it means he's considering staying in NYC even after Max returns. That lisBETH would never agree to pose for such a painting is a Reality not factored into the idea.
LisBETH's idea for us to take a yoga class together could have used some Hot Nude Yoga brand of inspiration. A class with hot naked guys, even if they were off limits to us, would have to be more interesting than the Upper East Side Yoga for Uptight Stressmonger Wenches that lisBETH had dragged us to. I did appreciate that even though lisBETH and I share little besides DNA, we were both total yoga spazzes. Our genetically disposed terrible balance had us fumbling and falling through half the postures, though we were outstanding successes at not suppressing our giggles.
"SHHH!" hissed the yoga mommy behind us.
I ignored the Frowning Pretzel. "Shrimp likes you, too," I whispered to lisBETH. "When am I gonna meet your man?" LisBETH and Frank have a romance conspiracy going on; neither will cough up details of how their vacations with their love interests went, other than to say "Fine" and then change the subject.
LisBETH whispered, "Soon enough. I'm not ready yet to introduce him to my family pathology."
If I were a thick-eyebrowed, big-haired, shoulder-padded character on an eighties soap, my suspicious mind would have me
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poised to start a diva catfight here, or at least tantrum-throw my yoga mat in my sister's face: So. LisBETH. (The BETH part spewed extra dramatically.) Are you telling me you haven't yet told your boyfriend about the illegitimate love child-sister who unexpectedly charged into your life, because you're embarrassed by your father's long-ago indiscretion? But I am only an eighties soap character in cupcake-baking time Dynasty reenactment episodes with Danny. (He plays good guy/gay guy Steven Carrington and I play Steven's spoiled princess sister Fallon, the sometimes good girl, sometimes bad girl.) The real world, real time CC wondered if she hadn't met Frank's lady friend for the same reason she hadn't met lisBETH's beau--they could accept her in private family time, but full disclosure with new significant others? Not there yet.
Or maybe my mind stretched into paranoia along with the lotus pose that brought with it dreamy visions of Carringtons and their Denver oil money, which only seemed to buy them grief and truly horrible outfits to go along with their fantastically horrible dialogue.
In lulling voice the instructor at the front of the class said, "Concentrate on the quiet. Remember your deep breathing. Focus your center."
Speak English?
Obstruction of the Quiet (yet another excellent band name)
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lost the instructor her contemplative focus. "What's that beep?" she asked. She looked directly at me from the front of the room. "I know someone didn't bring a cell phone into this class!" Her not-so-lulling tone suggested I was a kindergartner in her class and not a fully-evolving eighteen-year-old spreading her effulgent yoga wings.
I unspread my arms and returned them to my side to pull my cell phone out of my pants pocket. A text message flashed on the screen from Shrimp, and my heart rate shot up even higher than the level my pre-yoga espresso shot had accomplished. Shrimp does not approve of the cell phone, says his one major goal in life is to be accessible to mind and body but not to technology. Luckily, he does believe in the power of the haiku, and he's not above hijacking Johnny Mold's cell to text a daily love poem to me. I hoped Shrimp's latest installment would be a haiku'd announcement of his intention to ground a stick into the Big Apple; at the very least, I hoped it would be as sigh-worthy as the previous day's haiku:
Cyd charisse dances
Cc espresso prances--
City does not sleep.
But the latest installment did not herald Shrimp's adoration. The haiku was a first--about Himself, instead of love for Myself.
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Snow falls on flap ears
How long before the wave break?
Shrimp out of water.
"That's a first," lisBETH said as we placed our shoes back on our feet in the lobby area of the yoga studio. "I didn't know it was possible to be kicked out of a yoga class. Thank you for hastening our departure out of that misery. Check yoga off the New Year's resolution list."
"I think I'm gonna hurl," I said, whether from the release of toxins in my body that yoga supposedly encourages (Lesson: Don't caffeinate before yoga-nating), or from anxiety about Shrimp's haiku, I didn't know.
Not true. January drew to a close and the haiku had let me know--Shrimp was ready to reopen his other habit besides art. He needed the surf. I wanted him to stay. Here we go, Reality, you jerk-off.
"Me too," lisBETH said.
Despite my hurl urge, I said, "Chocolate would help." Sometimes two negatives can equal a positive. "Good idea."
A shared slice of chocolate cake at an Upper East Side café helped my mind avoid the message of Shrimp's haiku, and allowed
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lisBETH and me to finally celebrate the success of our coproduction.
"Well done on suggesting the joint vacation in Key West to Danny," I told her.
"CC, I applaud your dare campaign to Aaron of 'If-you're-really-just-Just Friends-then-why- wouldn't -you-go-on-vacation-with-Danny.' You may have a future in the propagation of propaganda."
"Thanks. I think?"
"Please thank Shrimp for the paint color samples he left for me to consider if I decide to repaint my bedroom. He's very talented, your Shrimp. If he ever wanted a stable job to support his art, I could see him having a future in graphic design with his talent. Does he plan to go to college?"
"Hardly. He still needs to get a GED."
"You're kidding me--Shrimp's a dropout? He seems so bright and motivated."
"One has nothing to do with the other. And he's only motivated when he's into some thing or some one. He ignored me when I asked him to design some business cards and brochures for Danny's business."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"What do you mean?"
"Shrimp's threatened by Danny. You looked so traumatized when I asked Shrimp for some help at my apartment, but you
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shouldn't have been startled that he and I got along so well. We have more i
n common than you think. Shrimp and I share a certain jealousy of you and Danny."
The cake in my mouth could not wait to be swallowed before my lips demanded, "Excuse me?" Neither yoga nor Shrimp's haiku could accomplish what lisBETH had just done--dim my appetite, and make me lose my adherence to don't-speak-with-your-mouth-full-of-chocolate manners.
LisBETH said, "Do you realize how you and Danny act with each other? You finish each other's sentences. You laugh at the same jokes, love the same old movies, watch the same campy TV shows, listen to the same music--from horrible records bought on the street! You even talk alike. And now you work together." If we ever decided to let her play Dynasty, lisBETH would definitely be gender-bend-cast in the role of Adam Carrington, the coarse, scheming, and very much misunderstood brother of Steven and Fallon. "When you got that ridiculous haircut, I offered to send you to the salon at Bergdorf to get it fixed; Danny went out and bought a can of blue hair spray to make his look like yours for Thanksgiving Day pictures. He's thirty!" I considered interrupting lisBETH's rant to inform her of my newest hairstyle idea--a short flapper-style bob cut that I'd get streaked in the spectrum of rainbow flag colors, inspired by Aaron's contention that I am possibly the gayest straight girl in all the West Village, but I didn't want lisBETH to have a coronary imagining if
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Danny might try a similar 'do. She warbled on, "You'd think it was you who was raised alongside Danny, not me, given the way you and he get along. Watching you two has been hard enough for me to adapt to as a sibling from the outside looking in, when it seems like previously I was the one on the inside. So I can only imagine how it must feel for Shrimp, loving you, but watching you treat Danny like he's your partner, not Shrimp." LisBETH paused to take a dainty sip from her ristretto (most hard-core espresso shot you can get-- respect). She swallowed, shrugged, and added, "But not to worry, I'm getting used to it. Shrimp will too."
What, did her caffeine come with a truth serum?
I shoved the cake plate away. Count on lisBETH to pull off the impossible--harsh my enjoyment of chocolate.
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***
THIRTY-FIVE
We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Johnny Mold and Myself.
"You're late," Johnny said upon my arrival at LUNCHEONETTE. He did not look up from the erotic comic book he read at the cash register.
"Why do you care?" I placed the apron over my head and turned on La Marzocco to get it primed for my ministrations. "My hours here are supposed to be on the Whenever, Wherever philosophy."
"Moving past the whole ridiculousness of philosophizing one's life schedule by pop song titles, I'm just saying I think people should respect the idea of punctuality. You said you'd be here at three. It's almost four."
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From behind him I nestled my head into his tattooed neck. "You missed me, right?"
He swatted me off. "Kind of."
I pointed at his magazine. "No woman has knockers that big naturally, even in naughty alterna-realms. It's not physically possible."
"Doesn't mean they're not satisfying to look at."
"Does that mean you go for girls?"
"I go for you to help the people lined up for espresso shots. It's not nice to keep people waiting for caffeine."
"You mean keep you waiting? If you bothered to look up from your comic book, you might notice there's no line at the counter."
"You're right." All Shrimp has to do is look at me to make me go warm all over, but Johnny knows the words to get me hot. "Skim latte, please. Make it a double."
"Skim? You watching the pounds so you can prey on one of those big-knocker babes cavorting through your dream landscape?"
Johnny finally looked up from the book, turned around, and pressed his index finger to his lip-ringed mouth. "Silence is as golden as punctuality. Suggestion." His eyes returned to comic book babe.
In my fantasy comic book alternate universe, I will be Super Barista Goddess Girl. Bob Mackie or one of those equally horrific eighties fashion designers will have made a custom-designed superhero uniform for me, maybe a gold lame apron-dress, conveniently
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cut out to reveal as much hip, stomach, and leg flesh as possible. Shrimp will be the comic book artist and he will want to bump me up from my hard-won B cup to a double D, and I will object on the grounds of gratuitous oversexualization of a caffeine icon dedicated to serving the public interest of stimulating hyperactivity via coffee rather than crack. I'll be secretly pleased when the final bound artwork reveals Shrimp ignored my feminist stance. Oh, and stance, Super Barista Goddess Girl is lookin' hot with those long legs and gold lame stiletto books. *Cracks whip.*
When I handed him his latte, Johnny said, "The punctuality thing was actually going somewhere. I gotta head upstate more regularly to see my grandpa. He's not doing so well. I need to know if I can count on you to cover this place when I have to be gone? January is a doldrums business month, and I don't like to go when this place is barely surviving, but Johnny the First comes first."
"Understood, and of course you can count on me. I can work the schedule out with my other job with Danny."
"Message for ya. Shrimp dropped by on his way to his meditation class. He said to tell you not to wait for him tonight if he's late getting to your brother's boyfriend's restaurant to meet you all for dinner. Somebody your sister works with called Shrimp about painting her apartment too, so he's going over there to check out the place and give her an estimate. And he said you know how long
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women can go on with paint color samples, so don't be surprised if he doesn't make it at all." Riiight.
Johnny could easily replace Shrimp as my alterna-realm soul mate. He'd at least arrive to dinner on time. He'd at least arrive at all.
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***
THIRTY-SIX
Return to Dynasty: CC's Trip Down Johnny Way, brought to you by a late night TV-cable-access-dream-state-nightmare.
INT. LUNCHEONETTE--EVENING
CC
No, you don't understand, Johnny. I must have you!
JOHNNY
CC, that's your multiple personality disorder crazy-talking. You think as Fallon that you want to kiss me, but your true self, Myself, has a true love. I won't do it. I won't let you revert to bad girl ways! I won't kiss you! Shrimp is my friend!
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CC/FALLON
Who's Shrimp?
CC/FALLON gropes JOHNNY at an inappropriate groin point, her hand subtly shielded by a fake plant so as not to offend Bible Belt viewers who might have inadvertently flipped the channel to her poorly lit attempt at seduction.
JOHNNY
(squirming with heavy breathing, clearly falling under her spell)
I'm a straight-edge celibate. Not only would I never let you cheat on Shrimp, I would never cheat on my own values. That's what makes me true punk instead of mere goth. Got it?
CC
(pressing closer, her mouth almost touching his)
Mold, don't you get it? Let me give your values an analogy. That's a fancy word for a fake but similar situation. The analogy is this: You may think you're a straight-edge celibate, but in my imagination you're a devil's food cake with mocha buttercream frosting, and I am a lactose intolerant diabetic, and it's like I can't resist you. I must have a piece! I know you don't
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belong to me, I know I have no right, I know the whole world order could collapse from one taste of you, but you're just too delicious. I only want a little sample, and I promise I'll send you right back to asexual world after I've tried a piece ...
JOHNNY grabs her into his arms and they share a passionate kiss, or as deep a mouth twirl as his lip rings and tongue stud will allow before CC must separate Herself from him.
CC
So that was okay. But, dude, stop kidding yourself. You cloak yourself in asexuality not because you don't want to be labeled straight or gay, but because you're really just undecided.
>
JOHNNY
How do you always know me better than myself, Myself?
CC
(now cloaked by FALLON-evil, pulling a Swiss Army knife from her waitress uniform)
I've had it with indecision.... Shrimp either decides
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we are in this, and by we I mean he accepts my brother along with all the other people in my life, or I'll have to go fishin' elsewhere.
JOHNNY
(looking toward the script supervisor on the other side of the camera)
Line? I think she went off script?
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***
THIRTY-SEVEN
My movie star namesake sister has betrayed me. Yvette Mimieux
chose her side, and that side is nestled beside Shrimp wherever he may be in Max's apartment, whether he's sitting on the piano bench painting at his easel, making coffee in the kitchen, or staring at the Wall of Sadness. I think she even follows him into the bathroom. I wonder if Yvette sneaks peeks at the sketchbook he left on the bathtub ledge and resents that Shrimp has forsaken artistic study of her in favor of the written word. His sketchbook is experiencing a spiritual conversion, now being used during his increasingly frequent visits to Tibet House and Buddhist temples in the city to jot notes more than to draw images of Yvette and me in the city. If Yvette did sneak peeks, was she pleased by Shrimp's sketchbook musings, or concerned that given his lack of spelling and punctuation skills, maybe he should save his talent for images rather than words?
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The four nobel truths spoken by the Buddha after his enlitenment: the fundamental truths govern our lives in samsara and provide the means for releese.
1) In life their is suffering
2. suffering is from attachment (desire/craving).
Three--attachment can be overcomme
4) Their is a path for achieiving this; the path is the Dharma. the teachings of the Buddha.
Who knew my boy shared an interest in actualization? And
how could I stay mad with a true love on such a path? What kinda shrewish Super Barista Goddess Girl would that make me?
It's not like Shrimp promised to come to dinner with Danny, Aaron, and me. He'd said "Maybe." I hate technicalities like that.
