by Sarah Miller
"Molly," Gid says, "I read that article the other day too." He actually reads the entire Boston Globe almost every day, at lunch. It's a good way of reminding himself that there are people in the world who have worse problems than being the new kid at Midvale Academy.
"You did? Damn. Anyway. I think the father's totally overreacting. The girl had all these shots and vaccinations. It's not like the bagel was soaked in human blood. Anyway, I thought it was a really good lie."
"It was only an okay lie," Gideon says. "Kind of adolescent."
Totally adolescent.
Now Molly reddens. "I...The truth is that my parents teach at the school I would go to, and they don't want me to go there, so they just use most of my mother's salary to send me here. Buffalo's not exactly expensive." She pokes at some gravel with her foot. "I feel a little stupid that I am always joking around," she confesses. "I sort of exhaust myself. But I just get nervous, and the only thing that makes me feel better is cracking jokes. Except then I get more nervous."
"Uh," he says, wanting to be helpful, "you could see a shrink."
Molly wrinkles up her face with distaste. "Nah. A shrink would be just one more person to be ashamed and embarrassed in front of. Who needs that?"
"Hey, Gee-de-on." No one mangles his name so beautifully. There she is. Pilar. Pilar in her new special fire-escape room. Now hanging out the window, waving, her hair hanging down like an Argentine Rapunzel.
Gid knows he should just wave. But instead he gets up and walks over to stand where Pilar hangs out. As if some force he had no control over were driving him there. Well, I guess you could argue there's a force he has no control over...he is a guy, after all.
But I don't know if I accept that. The whole no control-male libido thing is such bullshit. If Gideon were slightly more mature, slightly less selfish, he could have just waved to Pilar and continued to chat with Molly. But he's not. So he didn't.
"Hi, Gid," Pilar says. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," he says. Whoops. Bad idea. He's torn between keeping an eye on Molly and looking up at Pilar. "We're just talking...we're doing a class project together."
"I was talking to Nicolito earlier," Pilar says. "He eats really weird food, no?"
"Uh, yes."
"Anyway, he told me he was going to be in New York for Thanksgiving. I'm going to be there too." She disappears for a minute, then comes back, pointing a tiny video camera at him. "Salute," she says. He salutes, self-consciously of course, looking over toward Molly. It's dark, but he can see the stiffness in her body, how she stares straight ahead. Gid, she's annoyed.
"I need to go," he says.
"Wait a minute," Pilar says. "I want to give you something. Wait! Wave one more time and say, 'Hi, Pilar!'"
He waves. And says, "Hi, Pilar."
Then she swings the camera over to the left. "Your new girlfriend got cold, I guess," Pilar says.
Gid's head snaps to the right. His jacket is in a neat pile folded on the fire escape's bottom stair. Molly's gone.
"You should maybe go after her," Pilar says. Not meaning it. Taunting, really.
"It's okay," he says. "She's not my girlfriend, by the way." Even though this is true, as soon as it's out of his mouth he recognizes it as disloyal. Lame. "We're just in a play. We'll probably rehearse tomorrow. It's going on in like, less than two weeks." Oh God, he thinks. A little more than a week until Halloween.
"Tomorrow? Aren't you going to be a little busy tomorrow."
"It's Saturday," Gid says. "I'm not doing anything." Holy Christ. Could she be asking him to get together? Could that fire escape indeed have his name on it?
"Oh ho." Pilar laughs. "That's what you think." She waves a piece of paper out her window. "I have to go," she says. "But you might want to see this."
The piece of paper comes floating down from her window. It lands behind the Dumpster, and Gid scoots behind there and grabs it. It's some kind of brochure, printed on white paper. In embossed type, it reads: WELCOME Parents, over Midvale's seal—horse, rider, Latin—giving off beams of light. He opens it and reads: Parents' Day OCTOBER 22.
Ten hours of Jim Rayburn. If he knows his dad, he's washing the Silverado right now. Rinsing out his coffee
thermos. Getting ready for that predawn departure.
Gid sits down. He looks at the paper again, just to make sure it's right. There's something written on the other side. He turns it over. Beautifully, unexpectedly written there in a thick, glittery pinkish-brown lipstick is her cell number, again, and, PILAR!
Gid sits there behind the Dumpster for a while, absorbing the smell of garbage with the good and bad news. He looks up to Pilar's window. Her lights are on, she paces and talks on the phone. Molly's window, in the same position, on the opposite side of the dorm, is dark.
surprise indeed
Early the next morning, there's a knock on the door. Gideon jumps up from his bed and looks out the window. The quad is empty, vapor coming off the grass, a marine layer hanging low over the brick vista of campus buildings. It is not a civilized time, Gid thinks, to knock on a door. The clock confirms this: 7:30.
He shuffles to the peephole. Sure enough, Jim Rayburn's standing there, thumbs through the belt loops of his black jeans. And also...Captain Cockweed? A most unfortunate pairing, Gid thinks, opening the door.
"I saw your father downstairs," Captain Cockweed says, "and I was kind enough to show him the way up."
"You're a real stand-up kind of guy," Cullen calls out, turning against the wall and hugging a pillow. His parents aren't coming. Colorado's a bit far to fly for a day. Cullen doesn't care.
Nicholas rubs his eyes and pushes himself up onto an elbow. "Yeah," he says, "when I wake up I want to be just like you." Nicholas's mother isn't coming either, because, as we know, she never leaves Manhattan.
Cockweed walks off, muttering.
Cullen gets out of bed, slips on a T-shirt, and comes over and shakes Jim Rayburn's hand.
"So nice to see you again, Mr. Rayburn," he says.
Golly, his father is practically blushing.
Jim leans in quickly before Gid can stop him and grabs him around the ribs. "You're a little fighter! Look at you! You didn't tell me you were working out!"
"I got Gid out on the track," Nicholas says. "And, you know, added some basic nutrition."
Jim Rayburn puts a manly hand on Nicholas's shoulder. "Fantastic," he says. "Fan-fucking-tastic. I thank you for that! Well, son, you had a surprise for me with that new bod of yours, but wait until you see what I have for you."
Gideon is terrified. Rightly so. Surprises can be great from the right person. But Jim Rayburn doesn't know him
or understand him. So whatever it is Jim thinks Gid wants, he is probably way, way off base. Way.
But Gid plays along. "Great," Gid says. "What is it?"
"You're going to have to come out to the vehicle," Jim says.
He did not just say vehicle. No wonder Gid's mother left him for a guy who makes volcanoes out of baking soda and vinegar.
Gid runs into the bathroom and looks at his face in the mirror. He's so incredibly not up for this. What's the surprise? He goes through varying levels of horror, imagining it. Rubbers? A two-for-one coupon for Sbarro? A pony? He splashes water on his face.
In the hallway, Gid's father starts right in again. "Well, well, well, I can't say I've ever seen you looking this good before! Chip off the old block!" He snorts and—in his second aggressive and unwelcome physical act of the day—pokes Gid in the ribs.
Captain Cockweed is crouched at the far end of the hallway, feeding papers into an electric shredder. He grimaces.
Gid sees his father expanding, gearing up for his all-time favorite pastime—demanding attention from reluctant strangers.
"Killing two birds with one stone, eh?" Jim Rayburn bellows. "Keeping an eye on these hoodlums and watching out for that identity theft at the same time. You know, I had a buddy, two Spanish fellas got aholda his information...well,
fourteen TVs, twelve velour living room sets..."
Captain Cockweed frowns.
"And God knows how many round-trip tickets to our Virgin of Guadalupe later..."
Captain Cockweed snaps off the paper shredder switch and regards both father and son.
"Anyway, seriously. On my way in, I saw a very attractive lady out here, your wife, I presume, with an electric can opener..."
On "very attractive lady," Captain Cockweed's eyes harden into gray stones.
"Come on, Dad," Gid whispers.
Unfazed, Jim Rayburn continues, "So I'm guessing you got an electrical situation going on in there. Am I wrong? I didn't think so. Well, why don't you let me take a look?"
"Dad," Gid says pleadingly, "my surprise, don't you want to show it to me?"
Jim smiles at him broadly. And poor Gid, for a second, he thinks he may have won. But then Jim says, "This is the kind of surprise you'd probably be happiest discovering on your own! So the Silverado is right out there in the, uh, lot behind that, uh, big building with the pillars out front..."
"That's our Humanities building." Captain Cockweed, company man, can't help but chime in.
Jim's fishing the keys out of his pants and handing them to Gid. Gid stuffs them in his pocket before Captain Cockweed can see the "Fish tremble at the sound of my voice" key chain. He looks at his watch. Eight o'clock. Ten hours and his father will be gone.
Captain Cockweed, defeated, opens his apartment door for Mr. Rayburn. "Won't you come in?" he asks, his mouth barely opening to say the words.
Outside, Gid breathes the cold, leaf-smoked smell of fall. This is my life now, he says to himself. He will leave prep school and then there will be college. Now, and for the rest of Gid's life, as unfortunate as conflict is with his father, at least it will have a beginning, middle, and end. This is the beginning, and that's hard, but he's going to be fine.
Speaking of fine, here comes Pilar Benitez-Jones, flanked on one side by a blonde woman in a short skirt, boots, and a sweater, and on the other by an older man with white hair and darkish skin. Pilar and the blonde woman seem to be moving slowly because of him. Gideon imagines they are her sister and father. But as they get closer, he realizes that, in fact, the blonde woman must be her mother; the dark man, an older grandfather or uncle. Pilar's mother wears a suit, a deep rose color, and boots with heels that taper down to thumbtack-size points. Aside from her slightly lined face, she looks like a girl. The man, in a dark suit and hat, is stooped over a cane and has the bearing of an extremely elegant turtle.
"Hello," Pilar says. "These are my parents."
Why, Gid asks himself, is it so incredibly sexy to him that Pilar's father looks like he's about to drop dead?
Pilar looks more beautiful and even more put together than usual. She's wearing low-heeled blue suede pumps with tight jeans, super low on her hips, and a white shirt, unbuttoned, Gid thinks, and frankly, so do I, to a level farther down than one imagines one's parents might normally approve. Her hair is pulled up on her head in a well-planned cascading mess. Her eye shadow matches her shoes.
Gid tries to give Pilar's parents the kind of smile he thinks might impress them, polite but enthusiastic. They smile back, but mostly, they seem to look right through him. Pilar's father, in particular, seems to be focused on something about one thousand miles in the distance. His clouded eyes don't move an inch as he takes Gid's hand and says what Gid imagines is "Nice to meet you," although it just sounds like "Nun mah."
"So," Gideon says, "have you got anything planned for the day?"
"Maybe we will go into Boston, to a museum or two, maybe have some lunch, and maybe an early cocktail with some friends of ours now living here, who we knew from Barcelona." Mrs. Benitez-Jones, who has no accent and therefore must be the Jones part in this arrangement, gives a tiny shrug. She does say Barcelona the way you're supposed to, Bar-thay-lona. Gid doesn't notice, but I do. "And you? Do you and your family..."
"It's just his father," Pilar corrects her. "Gid's mother is not around."
If most people revealed this information about Gid, he might feel embarrassed. But he's so overjoyed that Pilar has any recollection of anything he's told her that he just accepts Pilar's quick sympathetic smile with a small, shy one of his one.
"Well," says Pilar's mother, frowning slightly at this information, "you and your father will do similarly, I suppose?"
Gid almost laughs out loud at the idea of his father having early cocktails with old friends from Bar-thay-lona. "I suppose," he says, thinking, somewhat randomly, Please let my dad not know there's a dog track near here.
Pilar's mother is checking her watch, a tiny diamond-studded thing with a pink face.
"We really should be going," she says. Gideon looks over at Pilar's father. His face is completely glazed over, he's smiling, but one of his eyes flutters a bit. He's paying absolutely no attention. His wife grabs his arm and shuffles him off a few feet. Pilar stays behind, looking at Gid.
"Wow," Gid says when they're out of earshot. "Your dad is really old." Immediately, he thinks, I'm so stupid. I'm the stupidest person who ever lived. But Pilar bursts out laughing.
"Thank God, someone says the truth. Usually, people say, Tour mother is so pretty,'" she says.
"To be honest," Gid says, continuing with this train since it seems to be a crowd-pleaser, "I didn't really notice, because I was so blown away by how old your father is. Wait a sec. He can't possibly be very cool about stuff like dudes. Like letting you date a rock star who is a lot older than you."
Pilar frowns. "Oh, they don't know about Dennis. They would kill me. After I finish college, I am supposed to get engaged to this Argentine guy. A Porteno"
"Is that a sports team?"
Pilar shakes her head. "No, it means a person from Buenos Aires. We are from Bahia Blanca. Anyway. He is thirty-six already. His father and my father own a company together."
"What kind of company?" Gid asks.
Pilar puts her hands on her hips. "Are you ready for this? They make industrial solvents out of beef fat."
"Holy shit." What else do you say to that?
"Anyway. That's not important. He will be around forty or forty-two then..." Gid blanches. That's how old his dad is. He imagines Pilar marrying his dad. Yuck.
"Pilar..."
"I have to go..." She reaches out and takes his hand. "Please don't tell anyone about what I told you," she says. She runs off, once again, inserting herself between her parents.
She confided in him! Wait a minute. Does she not want anyone to know about the industrial solvent made out of beef fat or the arranged marriage?
He decides he won't mention either.
It's only a three-minute or so walk to the parking lot, and Gid occupies himself daydreaming of interrupting Pilar's wedding six or so years from now. He's picturing the wedding taking place in a church in the middle of a big field. It must be the cow thing. Anyway, just as Pilar's father hands her off to the guy at the altar, Gid storms in. Pilar, resplendent but red-eyed in her white dress, faints into his arms. He revives her and they rush from the church. At the bottom of the church steps, a giant pile of cow shit obstructs them, and Gid lifts Pilar up and carries her over it. Pilar's mother watches from the church steps, glowering, resenting that her daughter will get to spend her life with someone so young, strong, and courageous.
Gid wishes he could just live inside that fantasy for the rest of his life, but he's arriving at the Silverado. And the surprise. He's approaching the pickup from the back. As Gid gets nearer, he swears he can see a bulge around the passenger seat neck rest. Is it a plant? It is a giant inflatable bottle? Oh Lord. It turns slightly to the right. It's a person.
Not just any person. A wronged person. Danielle. He sees her face in the passenger-side-view mirror. She sees him. She gets out of the car.
She's gained weight in the right places. Her hair is shorter, and those awful highlights that she did at home, with the help of a plastic pull-through cap and her frie
nd Gillian Loh, have grown out. She looks pretty good for her. But she's not Midvale pretty. Her face has the hard look of a girl who has to share a room, beg for the car, and make and eat a fair share of frozen dinners when her parents are working late. Danielle just stands there, looking at Gid, for a good two minutes. A group of students in ripped jeans and ratty sweaters appear on the path behind her, smiling, pointing things out to their parents, who are identical versions of their kids but in neat pants and nice sweaters. They regard her quietly and quickly and move on. This girl standing there in the parking lot with a black corduroy purse from Old Navy is definitely no one they've ever seen before. They just keep walking, registering that this person probably isn't quite supposed to be here. But they're not all that concerned. Then Danielle starts screaming.
"You asshole! You chicken shit! What is your problem? Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I couldn't handle it if you just broke up with me?" Now she's walking toward him. Before, the people passing by regarded her with mild curiosity and moved on. Now people are staring. She's a show. They're a show.
Gid backs away from her. But the parking lot's full of cars and there's really nowhere to go. He panics. She's still screaming. He needs to get her to be quieter. Midvale's a quiet place. She's at least four times as loud as anything I've heard here.
"Danielle, I understand that you're upset..."
"You don't understand shit. You think you could just fuck me, no, excuse me, you think I could just offer my virginity to you, and then you could just leave, and never talk to me, and that would be fine?"
It's amazing, Gid thinks, that she has such a specific story about what happened between them. When she said offer, does she also suspect it didn't quite happen? For him, it's haze and free-floating anxiety, but it's mostly just forgotten. He's never really—as she so clearly has—taken the time to put it all together. What a bad, unfair thing. He thinks—he can't help it—of Pilar, how awful it is to love her and not know if she loves him back.
