So just as the movie begins, I tell her, yeah, maybe Burn, being Burn, and knowing that he did see things more deeply than, like, anyone, maybe there was some kind of connection.
And with this, she leans into me and kisses me gently on the mouth. It felt like honest-to-god magic until the guy in the row behind us kicked our chairs and said:
“Watch the fucking movie, you two.”
Only I couldn’t watch because my mind was spinning like it does when I overdo bong hits, only this time it’s spinning with questions—as in, what am I doing with this girl and why do I feel so good when I’m with her and what does she mean by connected and how good did that one boob feel for the ten seconds that she let me touch it and how experienced exactly was she and what if I screwed this up because, let’s face it, I have never actually had a girlfriend, unless you count Roxanne, but you can’t count Roxanne because that was an entirely different thing than everything else in the world, but then so is this, in its own way, an entirely different thing. And now that we kissed, should I try for it again, and how far should I go next time? Not in the parking lot of course, since she already made it clear that parking lots were not her thing, and as for actual sex, did she say before that she wasn’t going to have sex with me at all or just not have sex with me for now? And if it’s the second one, what did I have to do to get to the next level?
All this while the Joker was doing his best to baffle Batman.
And all the time that I’m thinking about her and about Burn, my cell keeps vibrating in my pocket. While I’m tempted to take it out and find out who it is that is trying to reach me, I know if I answer it, the guy behind me is going to crap out a kitten.
Afterward, we are walking back to the car, and both of us go for our cells. Mine is loaded with messages and calls. This was probably the single longest time I have ever gone without answering my cell, and it felt pretty good not to be tied to it, but now I have hell to pay and have to sift through lines and lines of text messages. One after another from Claudia, all about the picture, did I see it yet? And sorry, it wasn’t her fault.
And then Newman.
It’s all over.
I text back.
whats all over?
And Kenny. And Evan. And even Bosco.
r u OK, man?
Even Lindsey, and Lindsey never ever calls or texts me.
Where r u? Call Dad. Now.
Christina is going through her own messages, but looking at me like I’m a serial killer or something.
Buzz back from Newman.
U R all over the news.
“I think you better take me home” is what Christina is saying, as I’m calling Newman and getting a call from him at the same time. I pick up Newman, and then Jacob is buzzing in, so I reluctantly pick him up instead.
“You’ve gone too far.”
“I have?”
“Where are you now? How soon can you get here?”
“Here? Where?”
“My apartment. I’ve been waiting for you to call back all night. Have you talked to anyone?”
“Like who?”
“Like the press.”
Now my gears are spinning. With all the earlier talk about connections, I figure out pretty quickly that Burn has probably escaped from wherever they are keeping him and probably he is coming after me because he somehow knows that me being with Christina is inevitable. I am instantly in panic mode. Reaching total panic as I start driving, almost sideswiping another car as I absentmindedly zip through the parking lot.
Wait a minute. What did Jacob— I went too far?
“I haven’t talked to the press. I haven’t talked to anyone,” I tell him. “Why would I talk to the press?”
“Good. Get over here now. Before you make this any worse. And call me when you are in the neighborhood. You are not to talk to anyone, do you understand? You call me first. I’ll tell you where to park, and I will have you escorted up. Do you understand me, Steven? Please confirm that you understand.”
I hated when he said that, which was like every time we talked. In this case, how could I possibly understand? Understand what? “Sure” is what I tell him, as always, just to shut him up. I had, at that moment, no intention whatsoever of going to his apartment.
He hangs up and Newman has been on hold all along.
“Alex, what the fuck is going on?”
I’m stopped at the light now.
Christina pushes her iPhone at me. And there on her display is a crystal clear photograph of me with my arms around Claudia and one of the other Westchester Mall girls, with me holding up a perfectly rolled blunt, the smoke billowing up from it, and the girls’ faces have been fuzzed out so you can’t make out who they are. But you can most definitely tell who I am.
It takes me a minute to get to the caption: “Hero to Zero.” I scroll down and read the next sentences, none of which are all that flattering, to say the least, me with the blunt and my famous Crash smile, flashing a horizontal V peace-sign formation with my right hand.
Back to my phone. “I’m looking at it now. What’s the big deal, Alex?”
“The big deal is that drug use is illegal, and they have you in a photo with a blunt dangling from your mouth, dude. Where are you?”
“At the movies with Christina.”
“Take me home, Steven,” she says again, loud enough so I can’t hear Newman. I pull over to the side of the road, letting other cars pass me. Why was she upset? What difference did it make? Was it me, or was the whole world out of whack on this? I never said I didn’t smoke weed, so what was the big deal?
“Alex, I’ll call you back,” I told him. Then, turning to her, I said the most absolutely brilliant thing I could have possibly said, or at least I thought it was brilliant.
“Come with me to my father’s apartment.” Me thinking, if I had a girl there, a remarkably responsible one, then Jacob would have to control his temper. I was thinking, this was my insurance, in case Felicia wasn’t there, and even if she was. I was thinking mostly about me, but here’s what I came out with:
“Come with me. This could be very good for you.”
“Good for me?” she responded with a shocked look. “How do you figure that a picture of you getting high with some lame girls translates to being good for me? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
OK, it took me a couple of seconds to get over Christina actually cursing. Not because of the language itself, but because she made the word “fucking” actually sound musical. I kind of wanted to hear her do it again. I also didn’t want her to go home. I was pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t hear from her again.
“If there’s press, then you get your picture in the papers,” I rambled, realizing that the idea played out a whole lot better in my head than it sounded when I tried to explain it. “And your name.”
“Yeah, associated with a druggie.”
“It’s just weed. Everybody smokes weed.”
“Steven, who are those girls?”
“Just some randoms that we met earlier in the week, based on me being a hero and all.”
“And you want to know why I’m not having sex with you,” she said matter-of-factly. “Isn’t it evident?”
“I did not hook up with those girls,” I said, so convincingly that even I believed it. Thank you, President Clinton.
“Why should I believe you?” she said, and I realized that, for some reason, it mattered to her, which meant that if I got the answers right, maybe I could still get with her before the end of the summer.
“You already said you weren’t having sex with me, so there’s no reason for me to lie,” I lied, wondering, as I said it, if it made any sense at all.
“You always get your way, don’t you,” she said, and I knew that she wasn’t buying, but she was calming down. Point was, whether I was incredible at persuading people or had some great instinctive talent to relax them, I did almost always get my way, part of my magic, which made this entire catastrophe seem like no big what
soever. I just wasn’t seeing how this was a problem. Well, except for having to deal with Jacob, which was where she could be supremely helpful.
“Take me home, Steven.” And despite all my magic, we were back to square one.
I started to drive.
Then stopped.
“Please come with me, Christina. Not because it’s good for you or anything. Because the absolute truth is, I really need you,” I told her, surprising myself with my own honesty.
An hour later, we are on our way into the lobby of my father’s building and yes, there is a TV crew outside in the street and, sure enough, they stop me as I head into the building with Christina. She walks ahead, pretends not to know me. I hear questions being asked and a microphone is thrust at me, but almost instantly, the doorman to my father’s building whisks me inside.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
There is nothing quite like hearing Jacob’s voice to bring you back to reality. I am sitting on the couch, across from Christina, who is adjusting her skirt and, just for a second, I think I see all the way up. Sorry, Christina.
“What part of ‘call me when you get close’ did you not understand?” He sits on the coffee table between us, quickly glances at Christina dismissively, like he’s sure she’s just another airhead girl, which she must be, in his mind, if she’s with me.
“Where’s Felicia?” I ask, not willing to go through this with him unless I have backup.
“Inside.” He sneers. “She has to be up early tomorrow. If she misses her flight back to Prague, it’s on you. As it is, I was supposed to go with her, and now I will be here doing damage control. Do you understand? So this is definitely on you, Steven. Own this, for once.”
“It’s always on me, Dad.”
“It is always on you, Steven.”
“In your opinion . . .” I’m in his face. He’s in my face.
“In my opinion, it was a dark night in hell when you were born.”
Yep, here we go again. The dark night in hell routine that I used to get when he lived with us. That’s right, Jacob, remind me again that I’m not like the other kids, remind me that I don’t listen, don’t sit up straight, don’t learn, don’t clean up after myself, don’t dress the way I should, don’t do my homework, don’t work, don’t respect authority, don’t care about rules, don’t turn my music down, don’t try to see things your way, don’t take care of myself or my sisters, don’t stop disappointing him, don’t stop embarrassing him . . .
Point is, no matter what I do, he will always believe that I’m just lazy and pampered and that there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with me, as in my learning disability. According to him, I have used my diagnosis all my life as an excuse not to work hard, not to excel in a way that he believed that I should be capable of.
I have to wonder if he’s at least partly correct. If his assessment is right, then I’m probably smarter than I think.
“Excuse me, Mr. Crashinsky . . .” A timid voice from behind him. “Did you forget that your son is a hero? If it wasn’t for your son, I might not be here today.”
Jacob moves to the left. My eyes meet Christina’s and, with my eyes, I tell her this: Thank you, Christina, for being here, because as mean and nasty as he sounds, this is nothing compared to what it would be like if you weren’t here with me.
And her eyes shoot back: You are covered, dude. It took a lot out of me to admit that I needed her, but she instantly responded to it, like total forgiveness, nothing else mattered.
And all this between us is shot to hell in a heartbeat, because Jacob snaps his head back to her. “KEEP OUT OF THIS” is what he tells her.
I take a long, slow breath.
Wheewwwwww. Blow the air out of my mouth.
Slowly.
Years ago some therapist taught me to do this in order to control my sometimes out-of-control anger. Anger that I have been mostly in control of ever since Jacob moved out, but anger that is deep and quick and sometimes just below the surface. I am angry enough now to leave or worse, because maybe it’s time to show him that he can’t treat me like a child anymore. I’m about to get up when Christina shoots me another look, like it’s all right with her. If I didn’t see that look, I possibly could have hit him hard enough to knock him out.
“I don’t need this,” I announce. Another breath. I’m thinking that I am not getting through this one without Felicia. Where is she?
“Listen to me very carefully.” He turns back to me, more controlled. “You and your indiscretions will hurt my business, because if clients believe that I can’t control my own son, they will lose confidence in me. These are not easy times, Steven. I can’t afford for you to continue to be a loaded cannon. So here’s what’s going to happen. You are sleeping here tonight. A limo will be by in a few minutes to collect your friend and send her back to wherever she’s going.”
“Princeton,” I yell out. “She’s going to Princeton, Dad. My friend is going to a school that didn’t even accept you.”
I saw his hand come up and I was thinking, good, hit me. I will definitely hit you back, Jacob, and you will go down. Instead, he turns to Christina, tells her congratulations, and I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier, I was wrong, but there is a line in the sand and my son has just crossed it.
Looks like Princeton quiets him down. Yes, Dad, I have friends in high places too.
Then, back to me. “I assume she’s not going to Princeton tonight. So there will be a car to take her home. Tomorrow morning you will wake up at seven. By eight we will be having breakfast with a woman named Olivia, from a PR firm I work with, who will strategize with us on the presentation to the media. Most likely she will issue a statement from you apologizing for your irresponsible behavior. By nine we will consult with my attorneys to prevent charges from being brought against you for whatever crimes you may have committed, and by ten we will be on the phone with your publisher to convince them not to invoke the morals clause in your agreement and not to request a reimbursement of the advance. We might have a shot; they seem to be moderately satisfied with the chapters that you have produced so far, so we might be able to salvage that relationship. But any endorsement deals will be gone, and I was close to negotiating one.”
Christina perked up at the sound of an endorsement deal that I apparently lost without even knowing about it. Me on a box of cereal, or sneakers, or whatever, not going to happen. All because I got high. Thank you, Afroman, you warned me.
“Then, by noon, we will get you out of town, to a rehab program, where you can stay until you finish your commitment to deliver the rest of the book, and hopefully you can start school on time.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “No way I’m going to rehab, Jacob. I’m not fucking twelve anymore.”
“You will do what I tell you to do.”
“No way am I going to rehab for smoking weed.”
“Get over it. It is long overdue. Time for you to grow the fuck up.”
“Fuck you, Jacob.”
I’m on my feet. He is on his feet.
This one is going the full distance.
“Fuck you, Steven. You spoiled, irresponsible brat.”
“I fucking hate your fucking guts, motherfucker.”
“You will learn respect.”
We are totally in each others’ grills now. I am using everything I have to control my anger, but I am losing it. The heat is rising from my collar, sweat dripping down from my armpits. I am going through meltdown.
I have seconds . . .
“Stop it! Boat ov you.”
An entirely different Felicia than I have ever seen before was standing on the far side of the living room. No makeup, barefoot, wild hair pressed back in a headband, she was dressed in an oversized Mickey Mouse T-shirt and nothing else. She was holding a plastic bag in her hands, which I couldn’t make out, but I wasn’t actually focused on it, because the woman looked so remarkably different from any time that I had seen her in the past that she just didn’t appear to
be the same person as the hot model who walked into my living room a few years earlier. This version of Felicia was equally enchanting, but in an entirely natural way. She looked like a kid, but also like a woman in her thirties at the same time, if that was possible.
“Allo, Cresh,” she said as she approached me, glazing my cheek with a soft kiss.
Without her high heels, she was actually smaller than me, and sexy in a way that I had never experienced before. I looked down at Christina, preparing to introduce her, and also doing a quick mental comparison. While Christina looked as hot, in her own way, as a girl my age could look, she was nevertheless completely outclassed by my stepmom, who needed absolutely nothing to make her more beautiful or more perfect.
Felicia crossed between us, and I noticed the plastic bag again, which oddly didn’t surprise me, as there had been another time in my life when she gifted me with something in a plastic bag that changed things for me forever. So now I was very much in anticipation mode as she dropped this particular plastic bag on the coffee table.
I looked down at it, looked up at her, looked at my father, then looked at Christina.
No one said another word.
I sat down on the couch, picked up the bag, and could see through it to Christina, who was watching me. I glanced back at Felicia. No contest, even without a stitch of makeup.
I was hit by a spark of true love, like a lightning bolt, and the object of my deepest, most profound affection was neither the woman beside me nor the girl across from me.
Because inside the bag was the purest, dankest weed that I had ever seen in my life.
I opened the bag and sniffed gently, wafting in the almost minty skunk-smell that instantly intoxicated me.
Now, I know weed. I can tell blindfolded, just by one sniff, the aromatic scent of sour diesel and the difference between white widow and purple haze. But this stuff, with its complex combination of musky fragrances, defied recognition. It had no name, was so unique that it astounded me with its perfection. This stuff was magic weed.
Crash and Burn Page 16
