King of the Screwups

by K L Going

  “You like Andy Warhol?”

  I try to answer but nothing comes out. I nod, then try again.

  “Mom has that same print. We bought it in New York City, but Dad . . .” I clear my throat. “I’d better help out,” I say, and Pete nods like he was expecting me to bail, but I don’t care. I wander into the living room, where I’m greeted by raucous laughter. I’ve got to lose this mood so I concentrate on Eddie, who’s reenacting everything that happened during the day.

  “I’m telling you,” he’s saying, “they bought everything Liam suggested. He’d say, ‘You look good in blue,’ and the entire Pineville cheerleading squad would buy blue bikinis. I swear, one girl bought three bathing suits. Expensive ones, too.”

  Dino hands me a piece of pizza. “Very productive,” he says in his deep, rumbling baritone. I take the pizza and I should be starving, but I don’t feel hungry. I keep thinking about the look on Darleen’s face when Eddie said I could take a break with my friends. I could see what she was thinking. There goes Mr. Popularity.

  There’s a lull in the laughter.

  “You don’t seem very excited,” Orlando says, studying me from across the room. “We’ve demolished one and a half pizzas already and you haven’t eaten a thing.”

  I look up. “What? Oh. Right, I’m excited. Today was great, it’s just . . .”

  Aunt Pete sits down next to the couch and grabs a slice of pizza. “What?”

  I’m not sure how to ask.

  “Well, I was sort of wondering something.”

  “Wondering if you can work for me every day? Why, yes. No problem,” Eddie says, pouring everyone a round of wine. I study the carpet.

  “No. Not that.”

  Aunt Pete frowns. “C’mon, spit it out so you can eat,” he says. “Eddie told us you skipped lunch, and I don’t want to be accused of not feeding you.”

  “Okay. But don’t get mad.”

  Pete closes his eyes. “Uh-oh,” he mumbles, but Dino jabs him in the leg.

  “Ask what you want, Liam,” Dino says.

  “Well, I was just wondering if you guys were ever . . . unpopular.”

  There’s a moment of silence before Aunt Pete opens one eye.

  “What?” Pete says. “You want to know if we were unpopular?”

  “In high school?” Orlando asks.

  Eddie looks offended. “How could you imply that yours truly . . .”

  Now all the guys are laughing. Eddie spills wine on the couch, and Dino’s covering his mouth with his hand. I scowl.

  “Forget it. I just wondered.”

  Aunt Pete stops smiling and clears his throat. “C’mon guys,” he says. “It’s a reasonable question.” He raises an eyebrow. “You really want to know?”

  I nod.

  “Eddie was totally unpopular,” he says. Eddie smacks him with his empty plate, but then he places his hand over his forehead dramatically.

  “Yes, it’s true,” he says finally. “I was very unpopular in high school.” He makes a face. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I was the classic skinny little gay kid. A walking cliché. And remember, this was the 1970s. It was not in to be out. Plus, I wore all the wrong clothes. Even then I had an incredible flair for fashion, only I didn’t exactly have your physique, Liam, to carry it off. Plus, I had this annoying habit of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. I know, I know. Sometimes one is just predictable and there’s nothing to be done about it. I tried to be different. Fortunately, your uncle came along, and then, well, no one was as unpopular as him, so . . .”

  Aunt Pete’s jaw drops. “That is so not true,” he says. “I was incredibly popular. I was a musician, damn it. Musicians are always popular. Glitter was really well-known for a while.”

  Now Orlando’s shaking his head. “That wasn’t until college, Pete. And we were popular for about six months . . .”

  “No way. It was longer than that! Remember senior year? We started the band senior year, and me and Dino started playing together as soon as I moved here . . .”

  “Yeah, but having a glam-rock band didn’t exactly make us popular in high school. It barely helped in college.”

  “Aw, shut up. Fine. All right. I was unpopular in high school. I was going through a stage,” Pete says, “and no one had any appreciation for modern music at the time.”

  “Except Dino, and we all know how popular he was,” Eddie adds. Dino shakes his head.

  “Don’t listen to them, Liam. I was maybe a little overweight . . .”

  The guys get laughing again, but Orlando’s watching me quietly from across the room.

  “Were you unpopular?” I ask him. He nods.

  “Yup,” he says. “Not terribly unpopular, but . . . I don’t know. I guess I took everything too seriously in high school. I was one of those kids who wore a suit and tie to the debate club meeting and studied way too hard for the SATs. You know what I mean, don’t you?” For a second I think he’s referring to the announcements—like he’s figured it out—but then he says, “Why do you ask?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems like a good thing to be, but it’s not as easy as I thought.”

  The laughter dies down and Aunt Pete scratches his head. Dino studies the pizza box and everything gets quiet.

  “I’ll tell you who was unpopular,” Pete says at last. “Your father was unpopular.”

  I nod. “Because he was so smart, right?”

  Pete snorts. “No,” he says. “Because he was completely and utterly socially inept.”

  Now that surprises me. “Dad? He’s great with people.”

  “Not always. Your people-schmoozing, donation-wrangling, award-winning father was a freshman the year I was a senior, and I had to rescue him every freakin’ day. Trust me, Liam, your father was not always the big man he likes to think he is. Your grandfather was away for months at a time in the service, and your dad was a total mama’s boy and everyone knew it. Kids teased him mercilessly. When you’re the new kid everywhere you go, you have to be tough or good-looking, and your father wasn’t either of those things. I suppose it didn’t help that he had a glam-rocking, gay older brother,” Pete mumbles.

  Then he stops. “We were all sort of unpopular,” he says. “Okay, except for Eddie, who was really unpopular, but your father was the kind of unpopular people do not get over. That’s why he just had to have your mother. She was the most beautiful woman any of us had ever laid eyes on. She’d never been unpopular a day in her life—couldn’t be if she tried—and he knew if he had her, he’d be in.” Pete pauses. “You want to know where he took her on their first date?”

  “It was the concert . . .”

  “No, that wasn’t a date. The first place your father ever took your mother was the homecoming dance at Pineville High School. One year after he graduated.”

  He has got to be kidding.

  “What?” I say. “Nobody who’s graduated ever goes to those things.”

  Pete nods. “I know that,” he says, “and you know that. But your father didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to show her off to all the people who used to mock him.”

  I shift positions, wondering how come Mom never told me. She always acts like Dad was so perfect.

  “That’s a good thing,” I say. “He was proud of her.”

  Pete considers.

  “You think your mom had a good time that night?”

  “Well, she married him, didn’t she?”

  I don’t mean it to come out as harsh as it does, but Pete gets up off the couch.

  “Yeah,” he says at last. “She did.”

  36

  IT’S A RAINY THURSDAY AFTERNOON, and Mom and I are at the boutique. No one’s come in for hours, so we’re sitting on the counters eating carrot sticks. We ought to just close the shop, but neither of us wants to go home because Mom and Dad were fighting all morning. Mostly about my report card.

  I watch the rain make tracks down the windows.

  “Mom,” I ask after a long silence,
“do you love Dad?”

  Mom looks up. “What?”

  “You and Dad. Do you guys still love each other?”

  “What kind of a question is that? Of course we do.”

  I hop off the counter and walk over to the window.

  “But you’re so different. You don’t even like the same things, and Dad’s so . . .”

  “Smart?” Mom laughs. “And I’m not?”

  I was going to say “angry.”

  “This rain is making you morose,” Mom says. But then she stops and sets down her carrot stick. “It’s like this,” she says. “Sometimes two people get together for certain reasons, but over time things change. That doesn’t mean you stop loving each other.” She pauses. “You know, when your father was pursuing me, I was so flattered. I had a hundred guys knocking on my door, but there was no one like your dad. I just knew he was going to go far, and he has. We’re both so proud of him, right?”

  “Right.” I nod. “It’s just . . . sometimes I think I’d rather be like you when I grow up. Maybe I could be a model or—”

  This time Mom’s face is a hard mask.

  “Don’t say that,” she says. “No one should be like me. Everything I’ve ever tried to do has been a mess.”

  I’m thinking, Even raising me? But I say, “Even modeling?”

  “Especially modeling. That was a horrible career choice. Your father always says it brought out the worst in my character, and you know what? He’s right. I drank too much. I partied too hard. I never concentrated on my marriage . . . I want more for you, Liam,” she says. “If you just try a little harder at school, your father can open doors that would make you successful.”

  She pauses. “Maybe you’ll be a world-renowned businessman someday! Wouldn’t that be great? You could still travel all over the world, but you’d be doing so much more with your life than I ever did.”

  I wonder why there has to be more, but I nod.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

  Mom comes over and puts her arms around me.

  “Come on,” she says. “Let’s close up early and get out of here. We’ll make a nice dinner tonight, and your father will forget all about that report card.”

  She laughs lightly at the words we both know are a lie.

  When Dino drops me off the trailer is quiet. Too quiet. It’s eight o’clock and Pete’s gone to work. I sit on the kitchen counter in the dark, not bothering to turn the lights on. Instead I dial my cell phone over and over again.

  “Mom? Are you there? Can you pick up? I need to talk to you. Are you home?”

  Beep.

  “I tried the shop, so I know you’re not there. How come you’re not picking up? This is important.”

  Beep.

  “Mom? Could you pick up this time? Please? Listen, you know I got this modeling job working for Eddie. Well, we did this whole bathing suit sale. I want to tell you about it. Are you there?”

  Beep.

  I sit in silence and wait for the phone to ring. An hour later it finally does.

  “Hello?”

  “Li?”

  “Mom? Did you get my messages? Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you called me?”

  “What?” she says. “I just got in.” She sounds rushed.

  “Why isn’t your cell working?”

  “I shut it off.”

  “How come you never call me?”

  “I did call you. Just now.”

  I lean against my bedroom door.

  “Did you wait until Dad wasn’t home? Is that it?”

  Mom laughs. It’s one of her fake laughs, high-pitched and too loud. “Why would you think that? I told you I just got your messages.”

  “But you haven’t called me in a long time. I left you a bunch of messages last weekend. And the weekend before that. Did Dad tell you not to call?”

  She makes a scoffing noise. “Of course not. I can call you if I want to. I just thought you needed time to settle in. Get to know your uncle and the guys. They’re fun, aren’t they?”

  I frown. “Mmm-hmm. Listen, I want you to tell Dad I’m doing good here. Tell him I joined the AV club, and I got a job modeling at Eddie’s shop. Eddie says I’ve got talent. He says I could do this for a living.”

  I wait, holding my breath, but the other end of the line is silent.

  “Mom? Are you there? Did you hear what I said?”

  There’s a long pause. “I heard you.”

  “Well, you’re excited, right? I wish you could have seen the display I put together. Eddie said he sold more bathing suits today than the rest of the summer combined. Isn’t that cool?”

  Mom is quiet, then she says, “That’s great, Liam. I could’ve told Eddie you’d be good at this.”

  I frown. Then why didn’t you?

  “Will you tell Dad?” I ask. I can hear Mom moving through the house, and her voice gets lower.

  “Let’s not tell your father yet,” she says. “I mean, I’ll tell him about you working at the store, but let’s not mention the modeling part.”

  I’m silent for a long time.

  “Why?” I ask at last.

  She laughs. “Oh, Li,” she says flippantly, “it’s a fast life, and your dad worries.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “We’re not talking about Paris or Milan. We’re talking about a shopwindow in Pineville. And I’m good at it. Besides, you modeled and Dad was proud, right? Why is it okay for you and not for me?”

  There’s a long pause. So long I wonder if she’s still there.

  “Well, it wasn’t always okay.”

  I grate my fingers against the door frame.

  “You said it was your decision to quit. You told me you wished you’d made other choices. Is that the truth?”

  Mom starts to laugh, then stops abruptly. The sound bursts forth and shatters like glass.

  “Aren’t you inquisitive today,” she starts to say, but I don’t let her finish.

  “Did you stop modeling because Dad was angry at you? Angry like he always is whenever we try to do anything . . .”

  Mom interrupts. “I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be like this,” she says, her voice sharp.

  I pause. Like what? I’m not being like anything.

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know, Liam,” she says at last. “If Allan was angry, it was my fault. Mine. You were too young to remember everything . . .”

  “Mom—”

  “We made compromises, your father and I. For your sake. You can’t second-guess our decisions.”

  “Were they though? Your decisions?”

  Mom is quiet and when she speaks again her voice is steely. “I’m not going to talk to you about this anymore,” she says, “because you weren’t there and you don’t know what it was like.”

  Only I was there. For some of it, at least.

  I press the phone tight to my cheek, but it’s no use.

  “Okay, Ma,” I say at last. The silence is heavy between us, but finally I take a deep breath.

  “Eddie and I are putting together a fashion show for homecoming,” I offer at last. I say it lightly, as if we never stopped talking about my day. Mom doesn’t say anything. “Since you guys had your first date during homecoming, I thought maybe you’d want to come.”

  This time Mom groans. “Oh god!” she mutters. “What a disaster. Did the guys tell you about that?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I thought you said Dad swept you off your feet.”

  She sighs. “Well, he did. Just not that night.”

  I grip the door frame even more tightly until my fingers begin to pulsate.

  “Well, I was hoping you’d come. Maybe you could donate a couple items or something.”

  There’s a long pause. “Of course I’ll donate something,” she says at last. “I know just what would look good on you. I got these new pants in at the store from a German designer, and there’s a jacket that would look perfect with them.”

  “And you’l
l come see the show?”

  Silence again.

  “God, I need a cigarette,” she says at last. “All right. I’ll think about it.”

  “And you’ll ask Dad?”

  “Liam,” she says.

  I pause. “Mom,” I say, “why can’t you do this for me?”

  Silence echoes back.

  37

  I SET DOWN MY PHONE, feeling like all the oxygen has been sucked from the trailer. I’ve got to get out of there, so I step outside into the cool night air. I close my eyes, breathing deep, and that’s when I decide that I’m going to the pool party at Rob’s house.

  All I can think about is getting buzzed.

  I call Joe and he agrees to swing by and get me. At first, while I’m waiting, I make up elaborate justifications about why it’s actually a good idea that I’m going to this party. I promise myself that as soon as I arrive I’ll take over some hyperresponsible role. I’ll be the guy who takes everyone’s car keys and stops people from having sex. I think all this, but deep down I know I’m lying.

  Once Joe and I arrive, it takes about an hour before I loosen up. I’m standing there drinking, watching everything through a mellow haze and it’s like I’m not really there—I’m this detached observer, a party scientist or something. That’s when it occurs to me that there’s a lot of pure, untapped potential here. I see it the way I see what a person ought to be wearing. Like when I imagine someone reaching their full fashion potential.

  I’m standing there thinking, This is an awesome night. The weather is perfect. It’s early fall, so the air is crisp but not cold. There’s still a summer vibe, but people are just standing around talking. Drinking. No one’s swimming. Nothing is organized. And it’s segregated. Joe and the football guys are in one group, a huddle of girls are talking about cheerleading, and Raymond and Simon are on the patio looking like deer in headlights. I’m not saying people aren’t having a good time, but they’re not having the time they could be having. I look at the swimming pool and realize there could be contests. The music could be louder. Some of us could be making out in Rob’s parents’ bedroom.