“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs and waves her comment away.
“Come on with me, honey. I’ve got you set up in your old room,” she says, taking my arm and ushering me down the hallway to the bedrooms.
My family lives in one of the cheaper houses in the neighborhood. When we moved in, it hadn’t been remodeled or renovated like the other houses. It was original nineteen seventies, and my dad fixed it up by himself—more of that “honor in a hard day’s work” shit. It’s a little quirky inside, with the past three decades coming together in a slightly awkward mishmash of rooms and furnishings. My room, for example, has wooden paneled walls and shag carpeting, whereas Jonathan’s room has this plaid wallpaper and wood trim like some shit a fisherman would have. You’d walk in and expect to see a bass mounted on the wall and a bunch of lures everywhere. Mine was original seventies because I didn’t care—I didn’t spend a lot of time in my own bed, if you know what I mean. His was remodeled in the nineties after we moved in, and he got to pick everything, so he said he wanted a “manly” design. It was so dumb.
“There are new sheets on the bed, and you can put your suitcase up here on the chair,” Mom says, leading me into my old room.
It’s pretty much the same, except they painted the wood paneling white, probably a good choice considering how dated it looked. They kept my old furniture, and it’s kind of nice to get to sleep in my squeaky-ass wooden bed again. The only thing missing is my posters on the walls. I had one for the South Park movie, one of Pam Anderson in that red Baywatch swimsuit, and a cool Bob Marley one I got at a garage sale.
“We saved your stuff,” she says when she notices me observing the new Diego Rivera prints up on the walls.
I shrug. I figured ol’ Pam would have to come down some day.
“Everything’s just in the basement, that’s all,” she adds. “Your father wanted to use this as a guest room for when your aunt and your cousins come to visit.”
“It’s cool, Mom.” I smile at her, brushing it off. “It’s your house. You guys do whatever you want.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, grabbing my face in her hands and giving me one of those smoochy mom kisses. “I’m just so glad you’re home. You know I worry about you, and I miss having my baby boy around.”
“I miss being around, Mom, and I’m really glad to be home. I missed you guys…even Jonathan.”
She chuckles and squeezes my cheeks. Even though I’m taller, I always feel like a little kid when my mom shows me all this warm, motherly affection.
I’ve always been really close with my mom, and I used to spend a lot of time with her when I was a kid. She used to call me Little Prince Charming when I was in elementary school. Dad, of course, thought this was going to make me effeminate, so he said I was a mama’s boy. I’m pretty sure he thought I was gay for the first fuckin’ decade of my life because I got along with my mom and I hung out almost exclusively with girls. He actually seemed relieved when I got caught with my hand down Brooke Landry’s pants the weekend her family invited me on their houseboat in seventh grade. We had a big sex talk, and he practically high-fived me when I told him that I’d already started having sex a few months earlier. He had to pretend to be stern, of course, but he never got all that pissed off when I’d get caught by some girl’s parents because she moaned too loud or I’d sneak home at four in the morning after hooking up with a girl at a party. Mom always pretended that kind of shit never happened and that I was still her sweet Little Prince Charming.
“How have you been out there in California, honey?” she asks me, brushing my hair out of my face.
“Really good, Mom. I made, like, two grand for a commercial shoot the other day, but I think it’s only airing in Japan and stuff.” Actually, it was for a threesome scene with these two hot Japanese girls, but she definitely doesn’t need to know that.
“Really?” She smiles proudly. “That’s so exciting! My Little Prince Charming’s making a name for himself.”
I laugh modestly. I’m making a name for myself, except that name is James Langdon and not James Laird. Still, it just feels so awesome when she’s proud of me.
“How about girls?” she sweetly asks. “Have you met any nice girls out there?”
I have to chuckle at this. Oh, Mom, have I ever! “A few.”
“You know, those LA girls are so pretty,” she says like it’s a scientific fact. “I bet they just love you.”
I snicker and shake my head. “There are a few that I like, but none that I’d want to get serious with, you know?”
“Well, that’s all right,” she says. “You’ve got a few years still before I’ll start bugging you about settling down.”
That makes me smile. It would be cool to meet a nice girl and do the whole marriage thing, but I don’t know that it’s in the cards for me. I like women too much, I think, and I don’t know how I’d ever be able to pick just one.
“How are you doing, Mom? You never told me about all these projects that are supposedly taking over the house,” I say, referencing my dad’s little jab at her earlier.
She laughs and shakes her head. “He thinks I’ve lost my mind. He always jokes about the scrapbooks, but it’s only two boxes in the basement. He acts like he’s going to open a closet and a mountain of books are going to crash down on him!”
I chuckle as I picture my dad being buried under an avalanche of sentimental clippings.
“But I really like the decoupage,” she says. “I did that little table in the foyer.”
“No way! That’s really good. I noticed it when I walked in. I can’t believe you did that, Mom. It looks awesome.” It’s a little blue end table and now it’s got birds and orange flowers on it. It looks cool and antique-ish.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She beams at the compliment.
“You’re artistic, though, so I’m not surprised you did something really cool like that,” I say, praising her again.
“You’re just too sweet!” she says, holding my face and giving me a huge smile. “Your father can create all kinds of designs for someone’s yard, but I’m pretty mean with some glue and cutouts.”
I laugh and nod in agreement. She’s been an accountant for, like, thirty years, but she’s always had a creative side. When I was in middle school, she got into painting, and she was actually pretty good. I have a little one she did of the mountains by our house hanging up in my place back in Cali.
“Well, you’re probably tired from your drive,” she says sweetly as she brushes her fingers through my hair again like she can’t believe I’m standing here with her.
I can tell she missed me a lot. I don’t want to say it because I’ll feel like a wuss, but I missed her a lot too. There’s just something about having your mom around to take care of you that gives you a nice, homey feeling.
“There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and I bought you some of that Crew shampoo you like,” she says with a proud grin.
“Aw, thanks, Mom.”
“Your dad’s going to work early, but I took the week off to spend time with you, so let’s you, me, and Jonathan go for breakfast, okay?” she says.
“I’d love to, Mom.” I nod, even though this means spending more time with Mr. Perfect himself.
Even though my brother’s a douchebag, it’s funny how much I missed home. I don’t have any unconditional love in my life on a daily basis now, and it can feel kind of empty. I missed hanging out at Genova’s Pizza with Keegan and Joey, watching movies in Lola’s basement, my mom’s homemade baklava, even my dad bitching about me chasing tail instead of doing homework.
By the time I hop in the shower, I feel the best I have in months. I’ve got my family, I’ve got my friends, I’ve got Lola, and everything seems back to normal. It’s like I can leave the cameras and come-shots behind and be my old self again. I’m surprised by how much I enjoy that feeling.
Chapter 4
Lola
IT’S EARLY MORNING, and my mom just left for work. I’m in t
he kitchen making myself a cup of coffee in hopes of getting some study time before my test this afternoon. One reason to love finals: you only have to show up for the test, so you get lots of free time. As I’m pouring the water in the coffeemaker, the doorbell rings and I already have a pretty good inkling of who it is.
“Well, hey there, sexy lady,” James says in a wildly exaggerated flirty voice.
I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, so sexy.” I roll my eyes.
I’m certainly not a vision first thing in the morning. My hair is messed up, I have no makeup on and probably bags under my eyes, I’m in an old tank top that’s frayed on the bottom from how many times I’ve washed it, and my pajama shorts have paint on the right butt cheek from the time I wore them when I helped my mom paint the hallway bathroom.
“You wanna get breakfast?” James asks in a tone I recognize too well—the casual, nothing’s-wrong tone he uses when his family’s stressing him out.
“Right now?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Mom’s taking me and Jonathan out to breakfast, and I can’t deal with Golden Boy on my own, so I thought maybe you could come too.”
“Is that cool with your mom? She doesn’t want to have quality time by herself with her Little Prince Charming?” I tease.
He gives me a pretend scowl. “Just come with me, please. I can’t sit there and listen to the many accomplishments of The Great Jonathan Laird without puking.”
“Yeah, okay,” I reply. “Let me get clothes on and brush my teeth.”
“Okay,” he says, following me into the house.
I ditch the coffee idea and head straight to the bathroom to clean up a bit. James sits on the edge of the bathtub and smiles at me through the mirror.
“This is gonna be a fuckin’ scene, man,” he says. “He’s getting his real estate license, which my dad’s thrilled about because it gives him an in to do landscaping for the houses Jonathan sells. I’m sure we’ll have to hear all about that brilliant idea.”
“I’ll counter it,” I say, looking at him through the mirror. “Let’s get a cover story going and I can brag about you.”
“Okay.” He smiles broadly like he’s touched by that plan.
“I can’t exactly tell them you’re an up-and-comer in the porn business,” I say, putting extra emphasis on the last word in the term.
He gives me that sweet, modest smile and chuckles as he bashfully looks down at the ground. I can so rarely get him to be shy like this that I relish every moment of it.
“So what should we go for? How about a pilot for a TV show? Or maybe a workout commercial? You’re totally jacked now, so it’s believable that you’d be selling Ab Doers and Tae Bo DVDs.”
Again, the modest, cute look.
“Oh! Or maybe modeling,” I volunteer. “What if you were the face of some new clothing line? We can make up a designer from, like, Germany or something, and we can say that you’re going to be in print ads for their fall campaign.”
“You think they’d buy that?” he asks.
“Dude, look at you,” I say, stopping in the middle of brushing my hair to turn and smirk at him. “You’re totally male model material—and more than romance novel covers and shit. You’re shirtless-dirty-oiled-up-Calvin-Klein-Jeans-ad with that body and that face. Besides, those ads are basically like couture porn anyway. Everybody’s half naked and lying on top of each other, kind of like what you really do.”
“Kind of.” He chuckles. “Except I highly doubt that there’s any double penetration going on at high fashion shoots.”
I laugh and shrug my shoulders. “You never know,” I reply with a playful grin.
He follows me into my room and sits on my bed while I go into my closet to find something that doesn’t scream “I just woke up and I don’t give a shit how I look.” This is breakfast with James’s mom and his arrogant brother, so I don’t want to look like a total mess. I opt for a casual, white sundress and some espadrilles with a heel, since I’m going to be in the land of the giants with James’s tall family.
“Bringing out the big guns, eh?” James smiles when I emerge.
“Huh?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to look hot for Jonathan,” he teases.
“Yuck! Your brother’s a douche! He would never influence my fashion choices,” I say, crinkling my nose at the thought of Jonathan being attracted to me.
James laughs loudly and stands up from the bed. “Well, no matter who it’s for, you look gorgeous, kid.”
“Aw, you’re too kind.” I smile up at him as he comes to put his arm around me.
He kisses the side of my head, and then we walk to the door and across the yard. James opens the door to his house and ushers me inside, where his mom and Jonathan are waiting in the front room.
“Oh, Lola, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you!” James’s mom says as she comes over to hug me. “We don’t get to see you enough these days. You know you’re always welcome to come over for dinner.”
“Thanks, Brenda. It’s really nice to see you too.”
Jonathan walks over and gives me the kind of obligatory hug normally reserved for an annoying little sister. “How you doing, Lola?”
“Great. How about you?” I ask him as I part from the hug.
“Great, really great. Getting my real estate license, and I’ve already got an in with Everleigh Real Estate,” he says with a cocky smile.
“Oh, that’s cool,” I politely reply. It’s starting already. I can see why James didn’t want to deal with this by himself.
“How does Sunnyside Café sound?” James’s mom asks, breaking my mild annoyance with The Great Jonathan Laird.
“Sounds great,” James and I reply in unison, which draws a subtle eye roll from Jonathan.
When we were kids, Jonathan was a real asshole. He acted like I was delicate and weak, like my smarts and tenacity were adorable instead of admirable—like I was a newborn kitten instead of Rosie the Riveter. He’s always been cocky, popular, and a little chauvinistic despite his phony politeness to girls. James’s father, Jon, and his older brother seem to believe that women are these precious little flowers incapable of existing without the help of men. All the guys in that family have this instinctual compulsion to protect women, which is a respectable quality, but those two treat every girl like she’s a damsel in distress in need of constant rescuing. James might treat me like a princess on a pedestal, but he knows I can hold my own and kick a little ass if I need to.
We hop in Brenda’s Jeep Cherokee, and James sits in the back seat with me. He puts his hand on my knee, but not in a flirtatious way. Instead, it seems fueled by genuine fondness and appreciation that I agreed to be subjected to Jonathan-Fest. In response, I rest my head on his shoulder. We pull up to the restaurant, and Jonathan opens my door for me, which could be seen as polite, but just seems annoying when it’s coming from him. James gives me an eye roll on the sly, and I suppress a snicker.
Our pretty, brunette waitress blatantly scopes James as she takes our drink orders, which seems to annoy Jonathan. That alone amuses me. Jonathan isn’t a bad looking guy; the men in that family are all very handsome, but his self-important vibe is an instant turn-off, at least for me.
“So, sweetheart, how has school been?” Brenda warmly asks me. She’s always just a ray of sunshine, and being around her will make you smile, even if you’re glum.
“Great.” I nod as I take a sip of orange juice. “I’m so ready for graduation. Just a few more finals and I’m all done with high school.”
“That’s wonderful,” she replies with a proud smile as she takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze.
“It’s not that hard to graduate high school,” Jonathan smugly adds. “It’s the first year at college that’s tough, because you have to have the discipline to go to class and work hard. You’re on your own and you have to be a grown-up.”
James shoots him a look, and I internalize my mild loathing and give him a false smile.<
br />
“I’m really excited about it, actually,” I retort. “I think it’ll be nice to get a change of pace, be in a real city out east. Plus, my AP stuff will help me get into the upper level classes right out of the gate.”
“Just don’t get distracted,” Jonathan says like he’s in Mensa.
You got into the state school with a football scholarship and suddenly you’re Stephen Hawking?
“She’s not gonna get distracted,” James chimes in. “Lola’s really smart and she always has been. She’s going to a way harder school than you, but I’m sure she’s gonna do really great next year.”
“I’m sure she will, too.” Brenda smiles encouragingly.
“Thanks,” I reply.
I notice James glaring at Jonathan out of the corner of my eye. They might be brothers, but they can be like Israel and Palestine sometimes.
“So did James tell you guys that he landed a fashion campaign?” I say, changing the subject.
“Well, you didn’t mention that! That sounds so exciting!” Brenda smiles proudly at James.
He gets this wonderful look on his face like he’s overjoyed at her reaction.
“It’s this designer—Timothy Müller, was his name, right?” I say, pulling that completely out of my ass.
“Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything because it’s not all the way locked down yet, but it looks like it might be a go.” James nods, letting me roll with this lie.
“He’s really new. I looked him up and I couldn’t find a lot of info about him, but people think he might be the next Karl Lagerfeld.” I smile, patting James on the back. James’s family isn’t too into fashion, but Lagerfeld’s enough of a household name for them to understand.
“It’s gonna mostly be print ads, but they’ll probably only run in the European high-fashion mags,” James says, diving right into this cover story with me. “It’s great because it pays a lot, and it’s one of those things that could really launch your career.”
“I always knew you could do fashion.” I turn to him and pretend to snap shots like a fashion photographer. “Give me Blue Steel,” I joke, giggling when he pulls the classic Zoolander face. “How about Ferrari?” He does the same look, perfectly emulating the movie. “Le Tigre. Work it!” He turns his head to the side, but maintains the Zoolander pout as I laugh. “So hot right now!”
Vice, Virtue & Video: Revealed (The Vice, Virtue & Video Series) Page 3
