Miss Adventure

by Geralyn Corcillo

  When Frank takes off, Jack takes my hand. “Lisa, you remember this is my mom, Edna. Mom, this is Lisa. You can stop calling her my little friend.”

  “Yes,” I say, shaking her hand, feeling very confused. “Uh, Lisa.”

  “Li-sa!” she says in a sing-song voice. “I remember. What a pretty name! And how do you spell that?” I swear she sounds like she’s talking to a toddler who just learned how to poop in the right places.

  “Mom,” Jack interrupts, “I think I’ll take Lisa around and introduce her to some people, I guess.”

  Edna turns back to me. “Now, Lisa, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  She’s positively cooing. Where’s the Edna from the office? The one who made the final call-back for What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

  “We’re all very nice people,” she continues, taking my hand. “Just say hello and shake hands and everyone will like you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Jack pulls me away right quick, leading me off into the crowd.

  “How much has she had to drink?” I whisper.

  “I don’t know.” He says his words so evenly I know he must be concerned.

  “Does she drink a lot?”

  “No.” He looks around. “Maybe it’s her weight loss medication or something. But that wouldn’t explain my Dad. Maybe it’s some New Age thing.” He stops talking, cocks his head for a few seconds, and then starts laughing.

  “New Age what?” I pull on his sleeve, wanting to be let in on the secret.

  “Or maybe it’s just their idea of a joke.”

  I still don’t get it, and Jack sees as much from my blank expression.

  “I survive my relationship with my parents because I don’t take them seriously. Maybe they’ve decided not to take me so seriously. Man,” he says, looking their way. “This could be fun.”

  I’m struck dumb. Parents can be fun? Parents who criticize, blame, demand? They could be fun?

  Maybe it could happen somewhere over the rainbow where everything black and white turns to color. Maybe. And if so, and Jack’s found it, that makes him Dorothy, the one person special enough to figure out how to get there.

  As I realize how black and white my own world is, Jack reconsiders.

  “Or,” he muses, “it’s possible they don’t approve of you so they’re acting like freaks to scare you off.”

  “Scare me? Me? Why me?”

  “I never bring someone to these things. Never. Now that I have, they must think we’re serious. That is, of course, unacceptable to them. You’re not from any crowd of which they approve. So, they’re trying to scare you away.”

  Must think we’re serious. But are we?

  Jack didn’t exactly say. Are we? ARE WE?

  But before Jack can suspect how desperately I want to know, I bark out a laugh. “Well, their plan would never work. I mean, you’re way scarier, and I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Jack smiles at me. “You are,” he says, pulling me closer. “Let’s dance.”

  Heaven. I’m in heaven…

  I waft like a feather toward the dance floor with Jack, but just as we’re about to step out together, dancing cheek to cheek, Frank comes rushing up to us. “Here, Jack.” He pushes a glass with about two fingers of Scotch in it at Jack.

  “Thanks.” Jack’s brows slam together as he tosses it back.

  Then Frank stoops to get eye level with me. “And here you go, little missy.” Big, scary smile. “It’s a Shirley Temple.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I say, taking the drink.

  “Now, don’t you spill that all over your pretty dress,” he warns.

  “Dad?” Jack takes him by the arm.

  He pats Jack on the shoulder. “Right. Well. Well.” He turns and leaves us, heading back toward Edna.

  I set my drink on the nearest passing tray. “Yuck.” I look up at Jack. “I mean, it was really nice of him, but, well, yuck.”

  “Yeah. Shall we?”

  I take his hand, and onto the dance floor we go. As each song ends, my pulse throbs in time with terror.

  Please don’t let them play a fast song. Please don’t let them play a fast song.

  So far they haven’t. And maybe I’m safe for the night. I mean, it’s an orchestra. The rowdiest they’ve gotten is, “I’m Beginning to See the Light.”

  When the musicians take a break, Jack gets me a sparkling water and leads me to a table. “Hang on,” he says, and before I know it, he’s gone. I start nibbling at the salad in front of me. I look at the couple across the table. They’re both wearing chic black and their teeth are blinding. They smile when I look their way.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m Lisa.”

  “We saw you dancing,” the woman says. “You’re very good.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “It’s wonderful for you to get out like this,” the man says. “Not many… uh… not many have this kind of chance.”

  As the lady elbows him, I just stare. Is he seriously saying that I should be honored to rub elbows with the Orange County elite? Maybe I was right and they’re not so nice after all.

  “That’s a beautiful dress you have on,” the woman jumps in to say.

  But before I can answer, Jack is back, sliding into the chair next to me. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “You’re on.”

  “On what?”

  But just then I hear it, the throbbing beat of Jimmy Eats World. I swing my head around. A DJ at a table in the corner is taking over for the orchestra on break.

  “Jack….”

  “Go on,” he says, smiling. “The DJ’s playing it just for you.”

  “By myself? Fast dancing? Right after I ate?”

  “You can do it.” His quiet voice belies the intensity of those damn eyes. Tonight, Jack isn’t challenging, goading, or demanding. He just believes in me.

  You can pull this off.

  I smile, grab my boa, and take off for the dance floor.

  I get to the center just as the lyrics kick in.

  Hey, don’t count yourself out yet…

  At first, I just kind of vibrate, trying to feel the rhythm in my heart, like they do in Strictly Ballroom. But before I can get a bead on the beat, my leg starts this kind of thumping, making my toe tap. Adrenaline shoots through me, and as the chorus kicks in, I close my eyes and start hopping around.

  But it makes me dizzy, so I open my eyes just in time to see myself careening off the dance floor into a potted palm. I grab at the branches to stop my momentum, hop back to the dance floor, and keep right on bouncing my butt all around.

  I kick out my feet and flick my boa. At one point, I think I’m channeling Molly Ringwald from The Breakfast Club.

  I wave my arms in the air, then drop them to swish my feathers like a mermaid tail. I am one with the song. I am skipping, I am spinning. The world is a blur and I am on fire.

  No one joins me on the dance floor but I don’t care. I am music. I am rhythm.

  When the song ends, I stop with a flair, then let the feathers settle. I stand there breathing hard for a split second, like Troy Bolton at the end of “Breakin’ Free.” Then everyone erupts into applause. There are even a few whistles and shouts of “Lisa!”

  My face splits into a huge, unstoppable smile. I did it!

  I search for Jack, but his chair at the table is empty. A split second later, he sweeps me into his arms as another song begins.

  Jack spins me around and hugs me tight. “You did it, Lisa! You really did.”

  Jack smells really good. And feels really, really awesome. Wow. I never get this close to him. Even with all the sex we’ve had, we don’t touch all that much. Except that one time in the shower. But that was naked and wet and very different. I sink into him until he finally lets me go.

  “How did I look?” I ask.

  “Like you were having the time of your life.”

  I swear I want to kiss him, right here in front of his parents an
d everyone.

  The DJ’s voice booms across the music. “Let’s hear it for Little Lisa!”

  My head whips toward the bandstand. Little Lisa?

  “Jack,” I ask, “was your last date to one of these things fat, or really tall, maybe?”

  “No,” he laughs, pulling me into the dance. “I guess it’s just that you’re so damn cute.”

  We dance into the next song, and as we do, people keep floating by telling me how much they love my dancing and my dress and my boa. One lady even calls it a ‘feather poof.’

  After the next song, I go back to the table while Jack brings the DJ a drink, to thank him for playing a song just for me. While I try to be discreet about sucking down my sparkling water, the woman at my table glitters at me. “What an incredible dance,” she says with a sigh.

  “Yes,” the man joins in. “You really are amazing.”

  Amazing? Jeez. Did Jack tell them about my fear of dancing? I can feel myself blush. “Thanks,” I murmur, looking over toward Jack, wondering if he betrayed me to perfect strangers. Sure, he looks so innocent, smiling with the DJ, but–

  Suddenly, from across the room, Jack looks angry. And he grabs the DJ by the collar! Jack’s arm knocks into the mike, and his voice reverberates through the room, through my head, through my skin.

  “–THINK SHE’S MENTALLY IMPAIRED?”

  She’s mentally impaired.

  Oh, God.

  Is she okay without her helmet? … Li-sa! How do you spell that? … I’m his daddy … feather poof … What’s the name of the center where you met? … little missy … Little Lisa ….

  “It’s okay, folks,” the DJ says into the mike. “We all know about the acci–”

  Jack rips the mike out of his hand and flings it toward the bar.

  I feel icy sick all over.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” the woman at my table begins.

  I whip my head toward her. “That’s why you’re being so nice and said I was a good dancer. You think I’m….”

  But I can’t say it. I can’t. My night of crowning glory has been ruined by something far worse than a bucket of pig’s blood.

  Everyone is quiet now. I look across the room at Jack.

  Jack.

  He thought his parents were getting fun. But really, they just thought I’m some brain damaged charity case of Jack’s. Oh, God. And Jack actually thought his parents might be trying.

  “Jack,” I say across the silent room. “Let’s go.”

  He walks to me, takes my hand, and we head toward the door.

  When applause breaks out across the room, we start to run.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jack and I don’t say a word, not the entire way up the freeway toward home.

  I’m frozen through. Solid, numb.

  Once again, my life has spiraled into uncontrollable humiliation. But this time, I’m awake. And this time, I’ve sucked Jack into it.

  As I watch the lights on the side of the freeway flash by, I wonder how I could have been so blindsided. I’ve been trying hard to pay attention to my life.

  That damn helmet. It all started that afternoon in Jack’s office, when his mother saw me wearing that damn helmet. And the mouth guard. I hadn’t wanted to take it out in front of her. She was so elegant and posh that I couldn’t just take out the slobbery thing then shake her hand. And all my politeness did was make her think I have some sort of speech impediment.

  The ridiculously inappropriate dress tonight with the saloon-whore boa iced my cake. Jack’s “little friend,” the fashion-challenged half-wit.

  When Chick pulls the car up in front of my house, he has the sense to keep quiet. I want to thank him or something, but I can’t. I don’t even look at Jack or tell either one of them goodnight.

  I get out and slam the car door. I walk up onto my porch, let myself in, and close the door behind me.

  After stumbling into the living room, I lean my butt against the back of the couch and look around. All the cats are hiding. All the dogs are out back. I hear the car drive away. I’m alone with my stupid feather boa.

  The front door opens and Jack walks into my house. He looks at me. “It’s my fault,” he says. “I never told my mother why you looked and sounded so weird that day in my office. I don’t trust anyone in my family when it comes to Into the Wild. No way was I telling her about our project. So she must have thought you were… special.”

  Special?

  I open my mouth to say something cutting, but instead, I start laughing. And sobbing. I’m choking on the absurdity of it all so hard that I fall over the back of the couch.

  “Aah!”

  “Reow!”

  I land right on the inconspicuous Blanche, making us both spring up from the cushions. Blanche darts under the couch, bringing the boa with her. But half of the fat feather snake still trails out from under the couch. I just stand there and watch as the limp boa slowly disappears inch by inch as it’s pulled under the couch. Jack moves closer, also compelled to watch the boa’s fate.

  Once it is gone, we look at each other.

  “I never get to see stuff like that at my house,” he says.

  I wipe away a tear. “It’s a fitting end to the night, I’d say.”

  He moves around the couch, getting closer to me. “None of it matters. You were unstoppable tonight.”

  I put my hand out, against his chest, to keep him from coming any closer. He takes my hand and keeps coming.

  “Jack,” I say, using two hands, both of which he folds in his.

  “The car is gone,” he says, trapping me with a look that’s hot and steady. “I want to stay.”

  “STAY?” I push him away then fly across the room, putting as much distance between us as my living room allows. “Stay?” I turn on him. “All night? Are you NUTS?”

  “Lisa.” He takes a step closer.

  “Don’t come near me!”

  “Lisa, I’m sorry. For everything.”

  “I KNOW. That’s why you’re not allowed to touch me!”

  “It’s not like that.” He stops and just looks at me. “I mean, I’m sorry, but that’s not why I want to stay.”

  “Oh no?” Now I sound all bitchy-bitter, and I’m in my element. “You and your mom manage to orchestrate my hyperbolic humiliation. You did it. You saw it. You were part of it. And now I’m going to let you into my bed for a pity fuck? Are you KIDDING?”

  He just stares at me, looking all mad. “Pity you? Jesus, Lisa! You have six million dollars. Why the hell should anyone pity you?” His voice is solid black granite. “Your life isn’t so bad, Lisa.”

  “I know!” I blink at him. I take in a breath. “Come on,” I say, walking past him toward the front door. “I’m taking you home.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  I turn around. “And I don’t want to believe that you want to stay out of pity, but I do. So suck it up and let’s go.”

  “Lisa. It doesn’t matter. What they think of us.”

  “But it does matter,” I cry. “It must. When you showed up here tonight, you just wanted me out of my dress. Now you want to make me breakfast? Please. Something had to happen between then and now to make you want to be with me.” I turn back to the door.

  “It did,” he says, but not in an intense arguing voice. He’s quieter. “You talked to Chick.”

  I stop with my hand on the door. “Chick?”

  “You sat up in the seat, and just started talking to him. Nobody does that, Lisa. Nobody I know, anyway.”

  I turn around to face him. “Chick? The driver? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He takes a step closer.

  If I back away, I’ll hit the door, making myself cornered.

  “Lisa,” he says, stopping a few inches away. “Don’t do this. Please.”

  “Don’t do what? Drive you home?”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “You’re going,” I say, snatching my car keys off the hall table.

  He doesn
’t move. “We come up with so many reasons for not being together.”

  “We?” The word rips through every other feeling raging around inside me. “All the reasons we come up with?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean you have reasons,” I say, making sure he is clear on this. “You thought about us and decided against me.”

  His voice is quiet. “Yes.”

  I stand up much taller. “But tonight I finally passed muster when I talked to Chick. Lucky me.”

  “Give me a break, Lisa. We’re nothing alike. Nothing. And you can be so clueless and selfish. It took me a while, but I got here.”

  “Bravo,” I say. “Like you’re Mr. Perfect.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “I have a list!” I cry. “That’s right,” I continue, unable to stop. “I have a list! Of all the reasons we can never be together. But it didn’t matter. I still wanted you.” I take in a shuddering breath, and he moves closer.

  “Really?” His hands are on me, in my hair. “So we both had our reasons.”

  He kisses me then, but lightly enough that in a few seconds I have enough wits left to defend myself. I push him away using all my might. “But mine didn’t matter. Not compared to how I felt when I was with you.”

  “Felt?” Jack looks at me, swipes a knuckle across the corner of his lower lip. He’s breathing hard, looking like a prizefighter ready to come in for the kill. “You still feel it. And you’re still running away.”

  I open my mouth but only a squeak comes out.

  “And then there’s how you always fight with me after we have sex,” he says.

  “Me? You’re twisting everything! You always run away! And you always fight with me after we have sex!”

  “I know.” He exhales. “I know,” he says much more quietly. “I am so messed up.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You are.”

  “But I want to be your boyfriend. For real, Lisa. You and me.”

  He looks at me, and I look back.

  I step to him just as he moves into me. The kiss is real. Me and a guy who really likes me.

  He stops kissing me but our foreheads still touch. “Lisa,” he says.