by Dyan Sheldon
“I think—”
“And what about make-up? Make-up lets women improve what they have and create new looks for themselves. But men can’t do that. In nature, it’s usually the males who are the knockouts, but not in our world. In our world, men are plain and look exactly the way they looked yesterday. Most men don’t change the colour of their hair, or enhance their best features or make their eyes look bigger or more exotic. They don’t even really accessorize. A tie is not an accessory, it’s just a strip of material that falls in your soup. And – if he’s not wearing trainers – nine and a half times out of ten a guy’s shoes are either black or brown.”
At last, I managed to force a few words into her stream-of-consciousness monologue. “But at least they can run in their shoes.”
“So, okay, maybe they can run in them,” conceded ZiZi. “But when they stop running, their feet might as well be in the boxes the shoes came in. Seriously? The boxes would probably be more interesting!”
“Zi, could you please shut up for a minute? I don’t disagree with you. Not about the limits put on men.”
“Seriously?” She looked as if she’d found her closet filled with clothes from the 1980s, a period, she says, when fashion was in a coma. “You don’t?”
“Of course not. Men are just as victimized by gender stereotypes as women – and they have far fewer ways of dealing with it. Men are made to think they have to be tough and powerful and make money to be real men. Why should men be the doers and women the carers? What about men’s nurturing side? It’s not as if they don’t have feelings. But they’re not supposed to show their feelings, because that’s ‘being a girl’.”
“Like caring how you look is part of being like a girl,” put in ZiZi.
“It used to be part of being a man, too. In the past, there have been plenty of societies where men did wear make-up and flamboyant clothes. But our society’s idea of how guys should look is more narrow than a shoebox.”
ZiZi beamed. “So does this mean you’ll get a dress?”
File under the heading: Immovable as a mountain.
Eventually – after we’d been in so many shops that everything started to look the same and I’d lost all sense of time – we compromised. I bought a wrap-around, kimono-style top in black and white; which satisfied ZiZi’s sense of style and my preferences for simplicity.
ZiZi was studying a window display of women’s shoes and I was keeping her company when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall, lanky boy leave the store. He was all in black and his longish dark hair was tied back in a mini ponytail, but I was focused on the outrageous pair of sandals ZiZi was gushing over and not really paying attention. Until the boy stopped beside me and said, “Hey, Loretta!”
I looked over. “Dillon!” Beside me, I felt ZiZi turn away from the window.
He laughed. “I never thought I’d run into you in the mall. Aren’t you the Loretta Reynolds who wrote that article for the school paper about Buy Nothing Day?” He drew his eyebrows together in concentration. “What was the quote? ‘Recreational shopping is less fun than watching paint dry, and a lot less productive’?”
“What about you? Aren’t you the Dil—” I broke off because I suddenly couldn’t remember his last name. “Didn’t you say you hate shopping?”
“I can explain.” He held up his bag. “Shoes for my feet.”
“Me, too.” I held up my bag. “Birthday present for my mom.”
I felt a poke in my back, and ZiZi moved up beside me. I knew what that poke meant.
“Do you know ZiZi?” I waved towards him. “This is Dillon—”
Dillon nodded at ZiZi. “Yeah, sure I know you. Weren’t you in my French class last year? You were the only person Monsieur never ridiculed.”
“And the same tutor group once,” said ZiZi. “And Biology.”
“Right. Biology. You always needed help with your microscope.” He smiled at me. “Well I better get going or my brother will leave without me. See you Wednesday, Loretta.”
“Yeah, see you Wednesday.”
When I looked over at ZiZ, she was staring after him. “See you Wednesday?” She sounded as if she’d just discovered I had a secret life. Possibly one she wished she had herself.
“It’s Film Club on Wednesday. He’s a serious film buff.”
“I had no idea you knew Dillon Blackstock.”
“Blackstock, of course!”
He was out of sight; she turned to me. “So that’s how you got so friendly? From Film Club?”
“That and he’s in my Language Arts class. Besides that, Magda Hornung’s been taking yoga classes with my mom for a few years. Sometimes Dillon and I bump into each other at the studio or whatever.”
“Who’s Magda Hornung?”
“Dillon’s mother. She’s been married three times. That’s why I can never remember his last name. Everybody in that family has a different one.”
She was giving me one of her scrutinous looks. What’s wrong with this jacket? Are the sleeves too long? Is it a dull shade of blue? “How come you don’t have any trouble talking to him, Loretta?”
“I told you. He’s in the film club. I talk to him all the time.”
“About movies.”
“No. In Film Club, we talk about reforestation.”
“I was just asking.” She was still looking scrutinous. “You seemed really chummy.”
It was the way she said “chummy” – as if she was saying something else. “Excuse me. I may be misinterpreting here, but is it possible that you’re interested in Dillon Blackstock?” Dillon is arty and very smart. Which made him a radical change of pace from the boys she usually liked.
“Only as a person, Loretta.” She shifted the bag she’d managed to fill while we were shopping for me from one hand to the other. “Movie geeks aren’t really my type.”
“That’s funny. I had the feeling that if you were a cat you’d have been purring.”
Her smile was as sweet as vinegar. “There you go exaggerating again. I was just being friendly. It’s not like I never saw him before. We go to the same school, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
File under the heading: Watch this space.
ZiZi
Compared to the rest of my high-school career, my junior year is a ballgown on a rack of plain shirts
I knew right from the start that my junior year was going to get five stars and rave reviews. Seriously? I knew even before it started, because the Summer after tenth grade, I got a job at the Old Clipper Inn. The town has a great diner (known for its burgers and tuna melts) where a lot of kids hang out, a couple of chain places and a handful of small restaurants and cafes, but the Old Clipper Inn is where your average celebrity eats when she’s in town. Because here’s the thing. Howards Walk is just a normal small town in the winter, but come June the rich summer people start to arrive from the city. The Old Clipper Inn is posh and expensive, and it caters to people with luxury boats, second homes and fancy cars. I applied spontaneously. I’d been thinking I should get a job to save for my future after high school (seeking fame and fortune under the bright lights of New York or LA). My parents were of the view that I should get a job to save for college (drudging away under a desk lamp in some state university). Anyway, I was passing the Inn, and I remembered how a lot of actors/models wait tables till they get their big break (a lot of college students wait tables, too, so it would take my parents’ nagging down a notch). And I thought, Why not? It can’t hurt just to ask.
And it didn’t hurt to ask! I lucked out. They were short-handed and needed staff. Even though I didn’t have any experience, Mr Schonblatt gave me a job on the spot because of my outgoing and positive personality. “Any fool can carry a tray,” said Mr Schonblatt. “But not everybody can get along with the customers.” He could tell that I was a natural when it comes to getting along with the customers. “And it doesn’t hurt having a pretty face.” That’s the kind of statement that would have Loretta hissing and spitt
ing, but I took it for the compliment it was. He gave me a big smile, and I gave it right back. Mr Schonblatt put me in the main dining room, where there were always a lot of workaholic businessmen and hedge-fund types (men who can eat and talk on their phones at the same time). They gave me the chance to really work on my charm and my flirting skills. And Mr Schonblatt was one hundred per cent right. I was a natural. Customers loved me. I got good tips, and being friendly and outgoing makes hauling plates of Yankee pot roast and clearing tables a lot more interesting than it is. I was so good that Mr Schonblatt said I was guaranteed a job next summer, too. I figured if I kept that up till I finished high school I’d have enough to move to the city of my choice the day after graduation (whether my parents liked it or not!).
Anyway, I took that as a major sign of great things to come. And I wasn’t wrong about that, either.
School started and on the first day I walked into my Media class and there was Dillon Blackstock, like he’d stepped right out of one of my better dreams. I could hardly believe my luck. (Be still, my stampeding heart!) But it was true. He was sitting by the windows with his best friend Tobias Tuten. The two of them were having an intense conversation with the teacher, Mr Ethan. That’s when I remembered that Dillon was in the Film Club and a movie geek and everything (everything meaning a friend of Loretta’s, proving that she’s right and the universe is pretty random!).
And to think I almost didn’t take Media as my elective. I thought it was a good idea because of maybe being an actor someday, and I was pretty much born watching movies, but this course was a combination of theory and practice. You got to work on projects, but you also had to analyse a lot of films. So I kind of went back and forth about it in case the analysing part sucked all the joy out of the motion-picture experience. And then, on the day we had to hand in our options for the next year I went for it. Just like that. More or less on automatic. Media! Done! I reckon what swung it was all the movies I watched with Loretta (they had to give me an advantage!), but as soon as I saw Dillon in the class I knew in my heart that wasn’t the reason. I’d made that last, fateful decision because my guardian angel (who takes a lot of days off) was saying “Go, girl! Go!” and shoving me in the right direction. If my heart had been a cheerleader it would’ve done a double cartwheel and a split.
Because here’s the thing about Dillon Blackstock. On a scale of 1–10, he’s a solid 9.8 (and that’s just because nobody’s perfect, there’s always a flaw, and I don’t want to be unrealistic). He is not just awesome-looking, he’s part of the arty, sophisticated crowd (more sushi than pizza), and so cool being near him is like standing in front of an open fridge. In classes, he’s always interesting and funny, but not show-offy. I’d been kind of into him in a general, that’ll-never-happen kind of way for ages. (Not something that made me unique. He was on the wish list of half the girls in school.) But, to be really honest, the younger, less mature me was more pizza than sushi. Plus, he’d been going out with one girl for ages (we all figured she was super hot and everything but she went to some other school and no one had ever seen her). I would never go after a boy who has a girlfriend because of what Catie Coulson did to me (and that wasn’t even my boyfriend she stole, it was just somebody I was interested in). So I could imagine how you’d feel about as happy as a gutted fish if your boyfriend dumped you for someone else (someone who ignored the already-taken sign).
Anyway, those are the reasons I never did anything about liking Dillon. Not even after I found out Loretta was so friendly with him (seriously, who’d have thought?).
But there he was. Fate had brought us together. I couldn’t bite the hand of Fate just because Dillon Blackstock had a girlfriend. I figured the least I could do was show my gratitude by being friendly. Without thinking even once, I crossed the room and sat down next to him. Mr Ethan smiled at me. Tobias smiled at me. Dillon said, “And he’s a director who never forgets the importance of music in creating mood.” Tobias and Mr Ethan nodded, and I nodded too (even though I had no idea who they were talking about).
And then, not a week later, he broke up with his girlfriend (it was the talk of the girls’ toilets). Quel new hope for the previously hopeless!
Dillon was the star of the class. Mr Ethan loved him. And you could see why. He always knew what Mr Ethan was talking about. (And don’t think I was the only one who didn’t!) He always had something to contribute. (Ditto.) When you had to explain why you liked a movie, Dillon always knew. So I followed his lead. I never paid so much attention in a class as I did in that one. My mind never wandered the way it did in some lessons. I took notes. I asked questions. I had opinions. I never missed an opportunity to tell Dillon I agreed with him about whatever, even if I wasn’t totally sure what it was I was agreeing with. Plus, I had a secret weapon. I had Loretta Reynolds. Not only was she someone Dillon and I had in common (“Loretta says hi,” “Loretta told me about that…”), but, without Loretta, getting friendly with Dillon would’ve been a little like me trying to climb a mountain by myself wearing a summer dress and platform shoes and without a map. But now I had a fully equipped guide to get me up those steep and treacherous slopes! Because I’d already watched a lot of movies with her, there were plenty of times when Dillon or Mr Ethan mentioned a film and I could say, “Oh, I saw that!” Winning me points from Mr Ethan and (sometimes) a smile from Mr Blackstock (or at least a nod). And if something was said in class that I didn’t understand or someone mentioned some movie or director I’d never heard of, I went straight to Loretta and got filled in so that next time, I was ready if it came up again. Here’s the thing: even though I was tempted to join the film club, I decided against it. I didn’t want to be too obvious. Plus, I didn’t want Loretta to know what I was up to, and she was already suspicious from the time we ran into Dillon at the mall. (You can tell. You can see her thinking.) I figured she’d be negative. She’d either believe I wasn’t serious about Dillon (because of the boys I’d dated in the past), or she’d try to discourage me (because of the pizza–sushi thing).
I know broken hearts take time to mend. Plus, you don’t want to get somebody on the rebound, because there’s a really big chance they haven’t stopped bouncing yet. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t prepare the ground for new seeds of love. When his broken heart was mended, I wanted Dillon to turn and see me sitting next to him (or walking beside his good friend Loretta). There I’d be, a girl who shared his passion for film (as proven by how many movies I’d seen, including ones with subtitles). A girl with a talent for style, colour and design (all my Art teachers said so). A girl who knows what a McGuffin is. (Yes, I had to ask Loretta, but I know!)
Life being the way it is, the road to love, happiness and Dillon Blackstock wasn’t one that went downhill. It was straight up, steep and winding and there were things in the way. I’m really good at letting a boy know I like him without sending up flares, but I always wait for him to make the first move. Only Dillon isn’t like the boys I usually dated, the Duanes of this world. They’re nice guys and everything, but mainly I dated them because they’re good-looking and popular. Not because I thought God could give Himself a pat on the back for making them. Something He absolutely could do for making Dillon Blackstock. Dillon’s never boring (yes, Loretta, like Duane can be) and I really liked talking to him. That’s another thing. Because he’s so into being a filmmaker, Dillon really listens to other people. And watches what’s going on like he’s mentally taking notes. But because he was different from my usual, I wasn’t sure I knew how to read him. He didn’t flirt like normal guys. There was no showing off or being super nice with Dillon; he was the same with everybody (except Mr Ethan – Mr Ethan he called “sir”). If I saw Dillon when I was with another boy, Dillon never looked like he wondered what was going on, or like he wished it was him I was with. So if he was making any moves or dropping any hints, they were so subtle that I totally missed them. Even though I was looking for them like a detective looking for clues.
Media was pretty ch
ill. We were more a crew than a class (helping each other with projects and sitting around discussing stuff), so it was all very friendly. But, like I said, there was no sign that Dillon was friendlier to me than to anyone else (he was even friendly to Miles Kinko, who was obsessed with alien invasion movies and could empty a room faster than a fire drill). And Dillon always had a bunch of people around him. So although I felt like I was making progress as the year went on (lots of smiles and nods and walking from class with him – and at least four other people and Tobias) there was no offer of “You want to come over and watch that Norwegian film we were talking about?” or anything like that.
And then, one Friday towards the end of the year, a few of us went for a coffee after school like we sometimes did. That’s when Dillon said he had this great idea for a movie. He was going to spend the summer in Howards Walk working on a documentary about his brother’s wedding.
I’ve always loved weddings, so that really grabbed my attention. “Is it going to be one of those big, romantic, fairy-tale weddings?”
“Oh, it’ll be big. But fairy-tale depends on what kind you’re thinking of.” Dillon laughed. “Me, I’m pretty sure it’ll be dark and scary, and everybody’ll wish someone had put a spell on them so they slept through it. Because if anybody’s going to turn into a bridezilla, it’s going to be my future sister-in-law. She’s a total princess. You’d think she’d be dizzy all the time, having the world revolve around her the way it does.”
I figured sympathy was the best response here. “Your poor brother.”
“What can you do? It’s his life. And she’s the kind of high-maintenance girl he likes. All moods and drama and demands.” Dillon shrugged. “About the only thing my brother and I really have in common is our mother.”
