by Norma Klein
We walked around together. Pam and Maria held hands, so we did too. It felt good to be with Joshua again. I feel like at least he’s the same and so I’m the same when I’m with him and the rest of it doesn’t seem to matter so much one way or the other. We went into the cafeteria for a snack afterward.
“Hey, listen, I thought of an ending for ‘Now-times,’” Pam said.
“It’s great,” Maria said. She seemed sort of quiet. Pam was very intense and talked fast. “Read it, Sookie.” For some reason she called Pam “Sookie.”
Pam said to me, “This is a poem I’ve been working on for ages . . . since I was eleven, practically. And this magazine said they liked it, but they weren’t sure about the ending. But even before they said that I’d thought something was wrong with the ending and I’d changed it.”
“I liked the ending,” Joshua said. He was still holding my hand, under the table.
This was the poem. Pam read it in a quite loud voice. I saw some people sitting near us look our way and listen.
now-times for people with now-dreams
slightly
over to the right
a little to the left
you can bottle perfection
and it will sell
all you have to do
is mark down the price
then again
maybe it won’t
you can talk faster and still
say less than we do
or you can talk slower
and say more
either way
we’re saying the same things
sometimes love is another
anecdote for what happens
between things
over here a little more
that’s right
but no—wait—over a little more
there, that’s perfect
perfection is a stepping-stone to imperfection
dreams are stepping-stones to realities
spilling coffee on the newspaper
and putting on your shoes too fast
is another way of saying
slow down
is another way of saying good-bye
there, it’s perfect now you’ve got it
don’t move it
or we’ll have to start over again.
I guess I can’t imagine ever writing a poem. Even if someone put a gun to my head and said: Write a poem or I’ll shoot you, I just couldn’t. “That’s really beautiful,” I said when she was done.
“Do you like it?” Pam looked pleased. “What do you think, Josh?”
“Well, I liked it the other way,” he said judiciously. “But this is good too.”
I didn’t feel so jealous, having actually met Pam. Not just that she was gay, but I got the feeling she and Joshua liked each other more in a brother-sister way.
“You going to be in another movie?” Maria asked me. She talked with a little bit of a Spanish accent.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
They all, including Joshua, looked at me in surprise.
“The thing is, it really disrupts your life,” I said. “I didn’t realize that so much with the first one. You have to travel and miss school and everyone looks at you differently. It’s just . . . I don’t know if I like it.”
“My mother,” Maria said, “she is an actress . . . on the stage, you know? She says it eats up her life, that the theater is like a cannibal, it eats you up alive.”
“Well, writing is like that,” Pam said, “if you mean it takes a lot of time and energy.”
“But with acting you are giving yourself,” Maria said, intensely. “Your body, your person.”
“That’s right,” I said, relieved she understood. “It’s like that. It’s you.”
“I could never do it,” Pam said. “I once had two lines in a school play and I muffed both of them.”
“I could never write a poem,” I said shyly.
“Me neither,” Maria said. “I have no artistic talent. My mother doesn’t understand. She says it’s as though I was born without a soul.”
“She sounds like a bitch,” Pam said, reaching over and taking a forkful of her pie.
After they left, Joshua and I walked hand in hand to Fifth Avenue.
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not positive I really understood Pam’s poem.”
“Well, poems are . . . What didn’t you understand?”
“I didn’t understand that part about perfection is a stepping-stone to imperfection and—”
“‘Dreams are stepping-stones to realities’?” he quoted. “Well, I think it means that you can’t want things to be perfect, even though you do, in a way. You have to accept the ragged edges of things because things are always changing. Even if they were perfect, one second later they’d be different . . . like you.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, like me?”
“Well, I mean, like our relationship. I want it to be just a certain way. I want to control you, and I can’t . . . and it makes me mad. It’s frustrating because you have all kinds of feelings and ideas that are you, not me. I have to learn to accept that.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I didn’t know you wanted to control me.”
“Sure . . . I want to put you in a cage and be the only one with the key.”
“I don’t want to do that with you,” I said.
“You don’t have a thing about controlling people,” he said. “You just flow with things more.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I never thought of that.
“Pam is like me,” he said. “She wants order, she wants perfection. She gets angry when people don’t do what she wants.”
“She’s nice, though. She reminds me of Deel in a way.”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated. “I don’t mind that you slept with her,” I said, then added, “that much.”
“Well, it wasn’t one of the great sensual experiences of all time,” Joshua said, smiling down at me.
“You mean, like with Marjorie?”
Joshua laughed. “Oh, Marjorie! Marjorie was just pretending I was a horse.”
We had to use condoms that night, but I promised Joshua I’d go back to the doctor next week and get a new diaphragm. I think it’s not just that it feels nicer for him. I think it’s that my getting it shows him I care about doing it with him, something like that. But it was good, even with the condom. It just seems like since that time in California it’s been different. I remembered what Felix said about Marvin. “It’s not just that sex is good. Everything is good. Talking is good, not talking is good.”
“It sounds like you got pretty friendly with him,” Joshua said, “if he told you all those personal things.” We were lying in his father’s den.
“Why shouldn’t he have? You tell Pam personal things.”
“Yeah, but . . . I didn’t realize you were that close to him.”
“It was just—out there I didn’t know anyone, and Felix is easy to talk to. He’s gay, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Who’s worried?” Joshua said. After a minute he said, “Is he gay or bisexual?”
“I guess you’d have to call him bisexual,” I said.
“Why would I have to?”
“Because he’s done it with girls.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me!”
Joshua narrowed his eyes. “Did he try to do it with you?”
I hesitated just a second. “No.”
“Why didn’t you answer right away?”
I sighed. “Joshua, come on! He has a lover. His name’s Marvin and they really love each other.”
“Was Marvin out in L.A.?”
“No.”
“Gays don’t have any sense of fidelity,” Joshua said, his lips tight. “They just do it with anyone who appeals to them physically.”
“You’re really prejudiced, you know that?”
I said. “They’re just as faithful to each other as we are!”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said . . . they love each other and, well, sometimes they have fights, but—”
“Shit,” Joshua said. “Felix was at that party after the screening, right?”
“I introduced him to you!”
“He was that thin, blond one?”
“Joshua, you saw him in the movie. He was Warren.”
“The one you were fucking with?”
“In the movie!” “Life imitates art.”
“What does that mean?”
“People who act lovers end up falling in love.”
I just looked at him. “You’re really an idiot.”
“And he’s really handsome,” Joshua said morosely.
“He’s not that handsome,” I said. “He’s sort of the limp, sensitive type . . . like Leslie Howard.”
“That’s your type. You love Leslie Howard.”
“I don’t love Leslie Howard.” I felt really mad. “And I don’t love Felix. He’s just a nice, friendly, understanding person.”
“As opposed to me, I guess. I’m just a mean, unfriendly, not-understanding person.”
“I didn’t say ‘as opposed to you’! You’re always picking fights! You’re doing just what you said. You’re trying to control me. Stop it!”
Joshua looked taken aback. “Yeah, I guess I was,” he said quietly.
“You have to trust me,” I said intensely.
“Okay.”
“I mean, really . . . not just say it.”
“Okay, I will.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “I trust you,” I said. “Even though maybe I shouldn’t, but I just decided I’m going to, and I do.”
Joshua pulled me close to him. “You look so pretty with your hair short.”
“I thought you liked it the other way better.”
“I like it both ways.” He began kissing my neck. “Stop being so pretty, Rust.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I had a talk with Daddy the next morning. Mom had dyed my hair back more the color it was to begin with. “I think I’m getting used to it,” he said, looking at me. “It’ll be nice for Ariel . . . delicate.”
“Anyway, in six months it’ll grow in,” I said. “If I want it to.”
“True,” Daddy said. “A lot can happen in six months.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Maybe he’s still hoping I’ll stop seeing Joshua so much or stop fucking. I don’t know. “Daddy?”
“What, darling?”
“The thing is, remember what you said about how girls my age don’t get orgasms and how that shows they shouldn’t be having sex because it’s all due to peer pressure—?”
“Well,” Daddy started to say. “I didn’t mean—”
“Well, the thing is, I do now, I started to . . .”
“You—” He looked bewildered.
“I thought it would make you feel better.”
“In what way?”
“Well, you said . . . Now you know I’m doing it for myself.”
Daddy didn’t say anything. He gave a deep sigh. “It’s not a matter of orgasms, Tat.”
“It isn’t? I thought you said it was.” I felt mixed up.
“No, that’s one . . . factor, of course, but . . . my real point was that girls your age are influenced by a number of things, the media, what their friends are doing, movies . . . It makes it hard to do something just for its own sake.”
“Don’t you believe Joshua and me are in love?”
He looked cautious. “I believe you . . . think you are.”
I felt angry. “We are!”
“Thinking something doesn’t make it so.”
“We don’t just think it!” My cheeks were flaming. “We do love each other. It’s not just sex. We love lots of things about each other. We love each other just as much as you and Mom do!”
Daddy was silent. We just looked at each other.
“What I feel is this,” Daddy said carefully. “Teenage boys have a very strong sex drive. That’s been documented many, many times. Due to that, they may try to drag their girl friends along with them, as it were, and the girl friends may go along . . . just to be nice.”
“But I’m not like that, Daddy,” I said. “I don’t do it just to be nice.”
“You’re sure?”
“Anyway, that’s just a prejudice!” I said, flushing. “Teenage girls like sex just as much as boys do.”
He smiled helplessly.
“They do, Daddy. You just have all these prejudices from the time you were that age. Things are totally different now. Anyway, Mom says she was interested when she was my age.”
He sighed. “Amanda is . . .”
“What?”
“No, look, I have one foot in my mouth already . . . I better quit while I’m ahead. It’s just that I have a certain nostalgia for what one might euphemistically call the good old days.”
“But Mom says they weren’t good old days. She says girls were really miserable then because if they did it people wouldn’t marry them and they had to pretend they wanted to wait for their one true love when they were just horny. She says it was all hypocritical and made people do awful things, like marry people they didn’t even like!”
“Oh, darling,” Daddy said.
I smiled. “What?”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Daddy.”
“You know, celibacy isn’t such a bad thing. There are times when sex is important and times when it’s perfectly fine and natural to abstain.”
“Sure,” I said. “If I didn’t have Joshua, I wouldn’t be doing it with just anyone.”
We went into the kitchen. Daddy poured himself some coffee. I got out a bowl of blueberries and began eating some. I realized I hadn’t even had breakfast. I had the feeling we’d reached a sort of stalemate, that we hadn’t convinced each other, but didn’t feel like going on.
“Tat?” Daddy said. “I wondered—have you given any more thought to Lolita? I spoke to Helen again today. They’re evidently really wild about your doing it. She said they’d up their price to two hundred thousand.”
“Do you think I should do it?” I said. I hate arguing with Daddy. I wanted us to be on good terms again. “Do you want me to?”
“Well, I think it’s quite an opportunity. They’re very well thought of, the script is marvelous . . . I think you could learn a lot.”
“Wouldn’t I have to leave school?”
“You can make that up. Possibly Amanda can stay out there with you during the filming.”
“But she wouldn’t want to leave her show,” I pointed out.
“I think she might . . . for something like this.”
“But, Daddy, I got such a slimy feeling when they were interviewing me . . . I don’t think they care about my acting at all. They were just watching me jiggle around.”
“I can’t believe that’s all they wanted to see you do.”
“I just felt awful,” I said despairingly. It made me feel terrible that Daddy didn’t understand. “I’ll be ogled by millions of people. I’ll be an oglee.”
Daddy looked at me. “A what?”
“It’s a word for someone that people stare at a lot in a kind of awful way.”
“I never heard of it. Interesting. I wonder what the derivation is.”
“Will you be mad at me if I turn it down?” I said.
“I want you to do what will make you happy, and you’re the best judge of that.”
“Do you really think I am?” I asked. “You don’t act like you do . . . about everything.”
“Well, I think you can be very stubborn at times . . . Tat, I just want to help you with these decisions. I’ve seen so much more of the world than you have. I—”
“I don’t think I want to do it,” I said.
“That’s a considered opinion?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “Well, I won’t call Helen now. Let’s wait a week or so. That’ll give you a bit more time to think it over.”
“Okay.” I put the blueberries away. I was afraid I’d eat all of them if I didn’t. “Daddy? You know I’ve been looking at The Tempest and . . . do you really think I can do it? It looks so hard, speaking in poetry like that.”
“You can do it, Tat. I’m sure of it.”
“Will you help me, though?”
He softened. “Of course. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
“How was Mom in it? Was she good?”
Daddy looked thoughtful. “Yes, Amanda was good . . . she had a kind of coltish quality, like Peter Pan. It’s a pity really . . .”
“What?”
“Well, just that she never continued, that she got so caught up with . . . all this other nonsense.”
“Do you think it’s nonsense?” I said, knowing how much Mom would hate that description.
“Between you and me,” Daddy said. “Yes.”
It wasn’t so bad about my hair at school as I’d dreaded. I didn’t get teased half as much as I had about being in the movie and being on the cover of People. And I’m glad I did it. Now I can walk down the street and not so many people recognize me. A few times someone has come up to me and said, “Aren’t you . . .” and I just said “No” and walked away. I wonder if most people will think I’m crazy if I turn down Lolita, throwing away a chance to earn two hundred thousand dollars. But what would I do with all that money anyway? Daddy’d just make me save it. I just don’t think I’m the type for Lolita. She didn’t sound like such a nice person to me. Mom says she loves playing people that in real life she’d absolutely hate. She regards that as a challenge, to try and understand them, to get under their skin. Maybe that shows I’m not cut out to be an actress, I don’t know.
Tuesday afternoon something really strange happened.
I came home from school the usual time after Shellie and I had gone for pizza. I walked into our apartment. It was quiet so I figured no one was there. Then I walked in toward the kitchen. When I was just at the entrance to the dining room—the kitchen is about ten feet away—I saw this: Mom and Simon were standing there with their arms around each other. They weren’t kissing or anything. They were just standing like that, perfectly still, like they were statues. I stayed perfectly still too. I didn’t know what to do! My room is through the kitchen. I thought I might turn around and go outside again, but I was sure if I moved, they’d hear me. Finally Simon opened his eyes and saw me. Then Mom opened her eyes. But they didn’t pull apart and rush around, trying to make it look like they were really just scrambling eggs and happened to bump into each other. Mom just smiled at me and said in a regular way, “Hi, Tat.”
