“Yeah, but I have a cool car,” Liselle says.
“None of your nitwit friends will be in it with me, right?” I say. Liselle lights yet another cigarette. If Marlboros were ice cream, Liselle would be twice my size.
“Okay, Marcie. We have a deal. Until you decide you like my friends, they will not be in the car when I drive you around. Which I won’t have to do, because you’re going to lose the bet.”
“Fine, but I don’t see what you get out of this either way,” I say.
Liselle smiles again. “That’s okay—I do.” Then she takes another puff and inhales deeply. “You know how your grandmother talked about her boyfriend, Michael? You know—how wonderful and successful he was. How he kept her in fresh flowers? Her whole ‘he was the love of my life’ rap?”
I nod. “They were together for over ten years or something—ever since my grandfather died. What about him?”
“Well, did you know that when your gran first got sick, she told Michael that she didn’t want him to watch her waste away, that she wanted him to leave now so that he would ‘always remember her as beautiful’?” Liselle’s doing the air quotes thing. I let out my loudest snort ever.
“No, I didn’t know that. What a drama queen!”
“Marcie,” Liselle says softly. “He did it. He went away. Just like that. No more visits, no more telephone calls, no more flowers. He just disappeared. He didn’t even show up to her funeral.”
“He did it?” I am absofreakinglutely incredulous. “When Gran said, ‘I want you to remember me as beautiful,’ that was his cue to say, ‘Darling, you’ll always be beautiful to me, no matter what you look like.’ ”
“Of course!” Liselle says. “That’s my point! Can you imagine how awful that was for her? Can you even begin to imagine how abandoned and alone and unloved she felt? It took your grandmother her entire lifetime to discover that beauty doesn’t guarantee happiness, and that it doesn’t guarantee finding love. Not one that lasts, anyway.”
I hadn’t realized Michael wasn’t in her life anymore. She must have been heartbroken! And as heartbroken as she must have been about him, it was me she wanted to talk to at the very end.…
A lump begins to form in my throat, but then Liselle sniffles and I pull in closer and see that her eyes are wet. “Liselle, are you crying? You didn’t do anything to Gran—you were really sweet to her.” Liselle waves me away with her cigarette like she’s fine, but then she starts crying even harder. “Liselle?”
“After I heard that story, Marcie, I felt so sad, and I needed to talk to you.” She wipes her eyes with my snotty napkin.
“You needed to talk to me? That’s why you came downstairs? You didn’t take me out here because you knew I needed to talk to someone?”
Liselle shakes her head, sobbing harder. “It was about me. And then, when I saw you crying, it became a little about you too. But mostly, actually, it was about us.”
I shake my head. “I have no idea what—”
Liselle interrupts with a combo laugh/sniffle. “Marcie, I envy you because you know who you are. I’m practically done with high school and I still have no clue who I am or what I’m good at. I was a complete spaz at cheerleading—I was only captain of the team because everyone voted for me. And that leaves me alone like your grandmother when I get old, because if people like me only for my looks, then what happens when I’m a shriveled-up hag?”
“Or if you get hit by a bus?” I add, probably not too helpfully. Liselle laugh/sniffles again.
“When I was up in my room crying, I thought if you knew I felt like this, maybe you wouldn’t hate me anymore. And I didn’t want to go off to college in September without taking one more stab at that little-sister fixation of mine.”
Liselle wipes her nose again and looks up at me so sweetly—with such hopefulness in her eyes—that something in me cracks, and I erupt into sobs.
“See?” Liselle laugh/sniffles. “Gran’s story changed how you feel. Time for Marcie to take her head out of her butt.”
I take off my glasses and wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “Sorry, Liselle. You’re driving me around all summer, even once I get my license. Gran didn’t make me cry really. You did.”
“Oh no!” Liselle shrieks.
“Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I’ll consider removing my head from my butt anyway. Or at the very least, I’ll make up with Jen—if she can ever forgive me for being such a horrible selfish person, that is.” Liselle nods and wipes her nose again on my skeevy snotrag.
“Uh, Big Sistah?” I say. “Now that I’ve listened to you whine about your problems, something major happened with Char at group tonight, and before I do something head-up-my-butt selfish again, I need to talk. Would that be okay?” Liselle smiles and nods. And then she bursts right back into tears.
28
The Unforgiven
Friday, August 7, 2009
Marcie (−14 lbs)
Marcie Mandlebaum here, riding back into town with my faithful steed Carlo. My mission is to right a terrible wrong, and I’m packing a weapon far more powerful than a pistol—information. As soon as I can shoot some into East—and good aim will be critical because she, like Jen, hasn’t returned one of my texts or phone messages all week—she’ll have to forgive Char. Just like Jen will have to forgive me. And then, together, we’ll set things straight with Teenage Waistland so that Char can return and get her surgery.
“Miss Marcie,” Carlo says, “I hope you brought your shovel. That girl is in some deep you-know-what.” Deep I-know-exactly-what. I’m still reworking my pitch for East when Carlo pulls up in front of Park Avenue Bariatrics.
“Same bat time, same bat-channel,” I tell him as I open the limo door.
“Miss Marcie, you must wait for me to come around,” he says, reaching the passenger side in time to close the door behind me. Don’t bet on it, Carlo. Miss Marcie’s last name isn’t Rescott.
I get to the room about fifteen minutes early, but East is already there, along with Michelle, Lucia, and Alex. East’s huddled in her seat away from the others, and I head straight for the chair beside her. Mobilizing East to see Char’s side is going to be a nightmare—she looks dour.
“Looking good, East,” I say as I plop down and stow my cell phone and my bag under my seat like I’m on a freaking airplane. “I bet you’ve lost more weight than anyone.” She forces a smile. “Speaking to Char yet?” I say in a more hushed tone. Given my nonstop conversations with Char, though, I already know the answer.
East lowers her eyes. “No. And I’m not going to.”
“Ever?”
East shakes her head.
“Never ever?” I say, eyes wide. East shakes her head more violently. “Wow, that’s a crazy long time.” For a split second, I think I have her, but East quickly purses her lips and fixes her eyes on the floor. “East,” I say, “this is serious and we need to talk.” I stand and gently take her arm. “Let’s go out into the hallway.”
East shifts her shoulder forward as if to escape my grasp, but I hiss, “Please,” and when we spot Bobby coming into the room, she reluctantly follows me out. We walk down the corridor in silence and turn down another hallway so we’ll be out of view from the rest of the group as they arrive. When we stop, I move in to comfortable talking distance, but East backs away like a cornered animal, tears brimming.
“East,” I say softly. “I know how awful this thing must be for you and I don’t want to upset you further, but talking out what happened with Char will make things better.” East looks me in the eye without bothering to hide her crying.
“Marcie, I’ve already talked it out. With my mother. And Char can go to hell! She goes after what she wants regardless of how it affects anyone else. After my father died, Char practically moved in with us, to comfort me, I thought. But she was really there to screw my bob—my brother. She was there to screw Julius!”
“You’re shouting, East,” I say. She’s actually frothing, but I don’t say that nor do I comment
on the Bobby slip. The only one who isn’t aware of East’s crush on Bobby is probably Bobby himself, but if I even hint that East’s anger toward Char might also have something to do with Bobby, she’ll really flip out.
“Sorry, Marcie, but the truth is the truth. Char gets pregnant, but Julius has to leave town because her mother threatens mine with criminal charges. That doesn’t make what Julius did right—my mom and I know that. But Char’s not innocent either. She knew what she was getting into. She wanted him—she went after him! Julius was having enough trouble staying above water—we all were. Because of Char, I didn’t just lose my father, I lost my brother too! And even my mother—If Julius had been around, maybe my mother wouldn’t have shut herself up in her room. So you tell me,” East hisses the last part, “how can anything make this better?” Tears are streaming down her face, and she crosses her arms tightly.
“I agree. It’s horrible, and nothing can make that story better,” I say softly, marveling at the sheer volume of East’s verbiage. “But, that’s the story from your perspective, East. Char has her own story, and it’s only fair that you hear it before you end your friendship.”
East laughs bitterly. “Char always has a story—she has millions of them. I’ve watched her spin her webs of lies since we were toddlers. So I’d advise you to take Char’s ‘story’ with a whole tablespoon of salt,” she spits out—literally. There’s a tiny bit of spit on my glasses. “Sorry,” East mutters, and hands me a tissue from her pocket.
“Granted, Char has a knack for schmoo,” I allow, “but can you remember even one time that Char lied with the intent to hurt someone?”
East frowns, a look not dissimilar to Liselle’s if you’re so smart, why are you such an idiot? expression. “No one lies to hurt other people, Marcie. They lie to protect themselves.”
“Or to protect people they care about,” I say. “Like you.”
East puts on a tight smile and shakes her head. “Is that what Char told you? That she lied to protect me? Or was she honest about her lies? They’re always just about her getting what she wants.”
I shake my head. “East, I’m not here to justify Char’s actions. I just want to tell you her story. Both your stories share the exact same facts, so Char’s lying has nothing to do with this, okay?” East turns her face from me and crosses her arms again, but she doesn’t move her body. I calculate that I’ve got maybe a minute before she storms off, so I decide to go with the abbreviated version.
“So, yes, Char did practically move in after your father died to comfort you, East. But she was a twelve-year-old girl who fell under the influence of an eighteen-year-old adult she had known and trusted all of her life. He gave her drugs and alcohol and then had, er, unprotected sex with her and got her preg—”
“So Julius is a pedophile and a rapist?” East rages. “Is that Char’s story?”
I put my hand up to fend her off. “Wait—that came out wrong, East. Let me tell you a completely different story. About people you don’t even know. Okay?” East slowly eases back against the wall.
“Once upon a time, there were two little girls named Mary and Elizabeth. They’ve been best friends since they were babies because their mothers were best friends since high school. Mary has a big brother named John—and Elizabeth has a huge crush on him. Nothing unreasonable about that—Elizabeth and Mary grew up together, so Elizabeth has also spent a lot of time around John.”
“Group starts in three minutes.” East is looking at the floor now and tapping her foot.
“So we’ve got two best friends, one with a crush on the other’s brother,” I continue, my words racing to meet the deadline. “On the day Mary turns twelve, there’s a terrible tragedy in her family, and the world is turned upside down—for everybody, including her brother, who starts spending a lot of time in his room drinking beer and getting high. One night when Elizabeth gets up to go to the bathroom, she notices the light on in John’s room. His door is slightly open. She pokes her head in to see if he’s okay and they end up talking. She thinks she’s being good company, and to be nice, he tells her she can try his weed. No pressure at all. To be nice back. Of course she accepts—he’s treating her like someone his own age, not like the stupid-little-sister treatment she gets from her older sisters. The next time Elizabeth sleeps over, she gets up in the middle of the night and visits John again, and again, they smoke together. It’s fun, but remember—even though Elizabeth developed early and looks way older than she is, she still has no experience as far as anything—drugs, boys, nothing!” I pause to take a breath. East is still with me—she’s even looking at me now and her foot tapping has stopped.
“So John and Elizabeth are in his room, high. They kiss, and she’s over the moon. He tells her it’s a mistake, but the next time she visits, they take it further, and soon they’re getting wasted and fooling around a little more every time Elizabeth spends the night. And even though John keeps saying, ‘No more, never again,’ it happens—again and again. And he’s really so nice to her, never pushing. Elizabeth thinks John is in love with her like she’s in love with him.
“One day soon after, though, John stops talking to Elizabeth. Stops cold. Won’t even look at her. Elizabeth is heartbroken. In her mind, John has stopped talking to her because she’s too young to go all the way. Obviously John stopped because he sobered up and realized that not only what he was doing with Elizabeth was wrong—it was illegal. He was eighteen and Elizabeth only twelve. That’s statutory rape.” I pause and quickly try to assess if my emphasis on statutory let rape slide in without ruffling East up too much. She’s still watching me intently, so I move on.
“Elizabeth is devastated and tries to visit John during her next sleepover with Mary, but his door is locked, and he doesn’t open it when she knocks. One night a few sleepovers later, though, his door isn’t locked, and Elizabeth enters and says she wants to be with him. She takes off her nightgown, and drunk, with Elizabeth standing there naked, John gives in.
“Fast-forward six weeks after this all began, and Elizabeth realizes she’s missed her period and she’s peeing all the time. She goes online and suspects she’s pregnant. So when Mary and Elizabeth go shopping with Elizabeth’s mom, Elizabeth shoplifts a pregnancy test. And, lo and behold, she is pregnant. But before she has a chance to figure out what to do, her mom finds the positive pregnancy test wrapped in newspaper in the garbage in Elizabeth’s bedroom and goes ballistic—she’s got two daughters in college, but her baby is pregnant!”
East is crying, but her fist is pressed up against her mouth so that she doesn’t sob out loud. I move in closer and gently push the hair out of her eyes, and she doesn’t even flinch. It’s happening. I am getting to her.
“So Elizabeth’s mom whisks her away for an abortion. And as soon as they get back home her mom confronts Mary and John’s mom. She demands that John be kept away from Elizabeth or she’ll report him to the police—John would go to jail, not college. And by then, he has already been accepted into, er, Columbia University. Mary’s mom, sick with grief and with concern over little Mary and, of course, John’s sudden drinking, responds with ‘So keep your slutty daughter out of my house, then!’ and hangs up on her now former best friend.
“At this point, Elizabeth’s mom has no choice. She forbids Elizabeth to set foot in Mary’s house again or have anything to do with her entire family. Elizabeth goes insane and it takes her mother hours to calm her down and get her to rest. Later, when Elizabeth’s mom hears a thud from upstairs and runs up to check on her daughter, she spots a bottle of painkillers. Unable to rouse Elizabeth she calls an ambulance just in—”
East starts shaking her head violently and making like she’s about to take off. “Enough, Marcie, enough! I can’t be late for group.”
“Please, East,” I plead. “Group can wait a couple of minutes. I’ll hurry up and finish.”
East relents, shrugging like I’m free to knock myself out if I feel like it. I hightail it to the finish line.
“While Elizabeth’s in with the doctors having her stomach pumped, her mom completely loses it and calls Mary’s mother, screaming that Elizabeth just attempted to kill herself.
“But a few days after Elizabeth and her parents get home from the hospital, her mom and Mary’s mom meet at the corner to talk things out. Everyone’s calmer now and the moms both agree that Mary and Elizabeth really need each other—now more than ever, and that to forbid them from being together would be too damaging to them both. Mary’s mom promises Elizabeth’s that John will finish the last half of his senior year at a boarding school hundreds of miles away and that she’ll ensure he never sees Elizabeth again.” I take a deep breath and close in for the kill. “You see how tragic this situation was for Char too, don’t you, East? How everyone just wanted to protect you?”
But East’s suddenly holding her hands over her ears and my mind races to remember other points I had planned to make. She cuts me off before I can formulate something else.
“Stop!” she cries. “I get the stuff that happened three years ago. But what about all the lies Char’s fed me just in the past week? How about all the lies to everyone? Explain that!” East abruptly takes off down the hall and I dash off after her and grab her arm.
“Char wanted to tell you everything! The real story! From day one! The mothers made a pact to never tell you any of this, and they forced Char to swear to it—it was what your mother wanted. She said you had already been through too much. Don’t you see, East? In order to protect you, she sent Julius away. It was almost like a choice—between you and your brother. And she chose you!”
East’s eyes are brimming again, but she yanks herself free and breaks into a run. I take off again after her, but we both freeze as we round the corner. Abby is talking to Bitsy in the hallway in front of Teenage Waistland. They both spot us at the same time and watch as we approach. Mom’s eyes are red.
“What? What?” I screech, breaking into a run again. My voice is shaking in panic, my mind racing with all the possible reasons why she’d be here. It’s not Dad—we spoke just a couple of hours ago. And then, a vision of Jen standing alone in the middle of the city in the middle of the night crying for help pops into my head, and in the pit of my stomach, I just know.… Even before Mom wraps me tightly in her arms and murmurs, “Oh baby, thank God I got to you first.”
Teenage Waistland Page 19
