Jailbait (14 page)

And then, before anyone can stop her, Cheryl Healy reads off everyone's reactions to Donna's gifts:

“That's enough.” Donna's mother stands up and glares at Cheryl Healy like she's going to kill her, but she doesn't
want to cause a scene and ruin her darling daughter's party, which in my opinion is finally getting interesting.

“Thanks a lot, Cheryl Healy,” Donna says, her face as pink as the dress Marlene Pinkus is wearing. “You've ruined my entire party!” Donna bursts into tears and Cheryl sits down with this huge grin on her face. I guess that'll teach Donna Rizzo to rat on her for smoking in the girls' room.

“Oh, lighten up, Cuz,” one of my tablemates says. I look at her and she shrugs. “It's all just a comic opera,” she says, gesturing around the room with one hand.

“It sure is,” says Donna's other cousin.

And even though I don't know what that means exactly, I nod like I agree.

Somehow I make it through the rest of the weekend okay, but on Monday, I feel totally miserable. The only reason I can usually take school at all is because I know I'm going to see Frank afterward. So Monday is really, really hard. When school is over I walk home, and then—I can't help it—I stop by the fence where Frank always picks me up and I wait, just in case.

I mean, you never know—maybe he changed his mind and decided he couldn't stand being apart from me for this long, like I can't stand being apart from him. But no, he doesn't show. I wait and wait even though it's freezing out and deep down inside I know he isn't coming, but still, it's not like I have anything better to do.

On Tuesday my heart hurts, you know, like I actually have this physical
pain
inside my chest like I'm having a
heart attack or something even though I'm only fifteen. Wednesday is just as bad as Tuesday, and today, which is Thursday, I feel so depressed, I don't even bury my nose in a book at lunch like I usually do so no one will bother me. Big mistake on my part. Donald Caruso, who can always tell when I'm feeling particularly lousy, comes up to my table and immediately starts in.

“Isn't it a little
nippy
out today?” he asks, staring at my chest. I turn my back but of course he keeps at it. “Aw, what's the matter, Dee-Dee?” Donald says in this totally sarcastic voice, like he couldn't care less, which makes me want to scream
My name's not Dee-Dee, it's Vanessa, you idiot.
“What happened, huh?” Donald doesn't let up. “Oh, don't tell me, let me guess.” He walks around until he's facing me, then scratches the side of his head like he's pretending to think, which is an activity he is clearly not capable of. “I know. You had a fight with your girlfriend, didn't you? What a dee-saster. Poor Dee-Dee.”

“Oh, blow me,” I say, like he's always saying to me.

“You want me to … That's dee-sgusting!” Donald starts making these gagging noises like he's going to puke. Then after a minute, he quits choking and chuckles. “It figures. Only a lezzie would say that.”

“Takes one to know one.” I shrug and then make myself busy with my ketchup and fries.

“Oh, go Suffolk yourself,” Donald says, as if that's really clever, “since no one else will anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Shows how much you know.” The words just pop out of my mouth.

“Oh, you've got a boyfriend now?”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don't.”

“Yeah, right.” Donald rolls his eyes. “Like someone in this school would really
find you
attractive.”

“Maybe he doesn't go to
this
school,” I say, thinking Frank will kill me if I don't shut up.

“Well, what school does he go to?” Donald folds his arms.

“None of your beeswax.” God, I feel like wiping the stupid smirk off his face with this packet of ketchup.

“Dee-Dee, the day you have a boyfriend will be the day I do blow you,” Donald says, and then he sticks his tongue out and moves it all around his lips in this really slow, repulsive way. Then he laughs and takes off to sit at a table two rows in front of me, and every time I look up, he moves his tongue back and forth over his lips like he just ate something delicious, and I think I'm going to puke.

I get through the rest of the day, and on the way home, I actually start to feel better because I know tomorrow at this time, I'll be with Frank. I can hardly wait to see him and be with him and give myself to him. What a great birthday present.

God, I miss him so much right now, I could scream. I guess Frank was right to give me a whole week to think about things, you know, like how I feel about him and everything. The truth of the matter is, I'm totally nuts about the guy, I really am. You know what they say— absence makes the heart grow fonder, which I guess is true. I just like everything about him: the way he looks at
me with those dark, dark eyes and the way he says “C'mere” in that sexy, sexy voice. Even his deformed pinkie is okay if I don't think about it too much. And when he touches me, whoa, that's the best. I can't even describe it. It's like my whole body's been sleeping for the past fifteen years and Frank just woke me up. Like he's the prince and I'm Sleeping Beauty, except asleep or awake, I'm not exactly beautiful.

I round the corner and see, much to my relief, that Shirley's car isn't in the driveway. So I let myself in and go straight up to Mike's room, which is where I'm getting the raincoat Frank asked me to bring. I wonder why he wants me to bring a raincoat of all things. Well, it's no weirder than some of the other things he's had me dress up in. He didn't say what kind of raincoat, so I hope Mike's is okay. Anyway, it's the best I can do.

I take it out of his closet and try it on. It's too big, of course, but I hope that won't matter. It looks more like a trench coat than a raincoat; Mike stole it from school one year, from the drama department when they were putting on
Guys and Dolls.
He said it made him look like a gangster, like it was the perfect coat to deal drugs in. It really is a pretty cool coat, kind of like what spies wear. I hope Frank likes it, not that it really matters. Knowing him, I probably won't keep it on very long.

The front door opens, which means Shirley's arrived upon the scene, so I take off Mike's raincoat, stuff it into my backpack, and head into my room before she can come upstairs and see what I'm up to. I guess now everything's in order for tomorrow's big event. I'm not really
sure what to expect but I'm sure Frank will know what to do. And even though I'm not his first girl, I hope I'll be his last. I hope after tomorrow, he'll want to be with me and nobody else forever. That's what I'm going to wish for when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake. I'm sure Shirley will at least get me a cake, and birthday wishes have been known to come true. I mean, I didn't even wish for Frank, and he just showed up in my life like a miracle. So if that can happen, who knows what else life has in store?

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday tome …
I know it's
pretty corny, but I do feel special today, even though it's just a day like any other day. December 17, 1971, my sixteenth birthday.

I get out of bed, shower and dress, and then pause at the top of the stairs because I hear someone in the kitchen, which is very unusual. Normally at this time Fred is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway and Shirley is snoring away to beat the band. I stall as long as possible but I can't stay up here forever, so I finally go into the kitchen and there's Shirley in her green velour bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers and there's Fred in his work clothes.

“Happy birthday,” Fred and Shirley say in unison, like they rehearsed it.

Shirley's even set the table like she's Donna Reed or we're some other TV family from the fifties that actually eats breakfast together.

“Want a bagel?” she asks, which is totally bizarre because whenever Shirley makes me breakfast, which is pretty much never, she offers me Special K and skim milk, and if I'm lucky, half a grapefruit or a piece of plain dry toast. I guess everyone's on their best behavior today, so I don't say
Shirley you jest
, like I'm tempted to; I just say yes and sit down. But before I can take my first bite of bagel, Fred hands me an envelope.

“Thanks,” I say, and when I tear it open, I almost have a heart attack because there, taped to the pink, flowery card that says
Happy Sweet Sixteen to Our Darling Daughter
, is something I never thought I'd see in my entire life: a car key.

“What's this?” I ask Fred, since I know better than to think the Rents are giving me wheels for my birthday. Mike doesn't even own a car yet, and he'd totally blow his stack if his baby sister got one first.

“It's a key to my car for when you get your learner's permit,” Fred says, and then he attacks his fried eggs, which are totally runny and disgusting so I try not to look. “I'm going to teach you how to drive, just like I taught Mike.”

Oh great. This is not something to look forward to, because if I remember correctly, there was a lot of screaming and door-slamming and stormy silences at the dinner
table between the time Mike got his learner's permit and the time he got his driver's license.

“Thanks a lot, Fred,” I say, pocketing the key. I figure we can discuss the driving lessons another time.

“And here's another present,” Shirley says, handing me a little box all wrapped up in silver paper and tied with a shiny white bow. Usually we wait and do presents at night, but I guess sixteen is more special than regular birthdays.

I take off the wrapping paper and almost gasp because the box is exactly the same as the one Shirley keeps her wedding ring in. Same size, same shape, same color, same everything. Shirley's never said anything about the ring so I'm pretty sure she hasn't noticed it's missing, but still, this box makes me nervous. The lid even creaks exactly like Shirley's wedding ring box, which freaks me out even more, but I just make myself act normal, whatever that means, and peek inside.

It's a locket. A gold locket shaped like a heart with tiny flowers etched into it. I have to admit it's really pretty, even though it's not exactly my style. I'm not the kind of girl that goes in for hearts and flowers, which Shirley would realize if she ever bothered to open her eyes. But for some reason, I don't want to hurt her feelings today, so I don't say anything. It's weird, but like everyone else, I'm on my best behavior, too.

“Here, I'll put it on for you.” Shirley takes the locket out of my hands before I can say anything and steps behind me. I lift all my hair off my neck so she can fasten the chain.

“It looks beautiful,” Shirley says when I turn around. “My mother got it from her mother when she was sixteen and she gave it to me when I was sixteen. I've been saving it for you ever since you were a little girl.”

“Thanks, Shirley.”

“You're welcome.” She tilts her head a little to the left, the same way Ronnie's toy poodle does when you say to her, “Pompom, want to go out?” I know that's my cue to give Shirley a kiss on the cheek, so I do. And then before I can step back, Shirley grabs me with both arms and gives me this enormous, bone-crushing hug, which is something she's never done before. And believe me, for someone as skinny as a cigarette, Shirley's a lot stronger than she looks. I put my arms around her and hug her back because I don't know what else to do, and I'm surprised at how fragile she feels. Like I could snap her bones in half if I wanted to.

Finally Shirley releases me and steps back. “Do you really like it?” she asks, reaching out to adjust the locket.

“Yeah, Shirley,” I say, and I mean it too. It's pretty cool to think that Shirley had this present waiting for me even before I was born. Though I wonder if Shirley was really saving it for Melissa, my sister who died. Since she was older, she would have turned sixteen first. Maybe we would have shared it. Or fought over it. Except that if she didn't die, I wouldn't even be here, so I guess that's all beside the point.

I eat my toasted bagel and then hurry off to school. And who's the first person I see when I get there?

Donald Caruso, of course.

“Ooh, Dee-Dee,” he says the minute I take off my coat. “Your girlfriend sent you a locket. You must be
dee
-lirious with joy.”