I told Julie the whole story, and she said, “Wow. That’s so cool. We’ll have to go back there together next weekend or something.”
“Totally,” I said. “It’s kind of a store for old ladies, so there’s, like, no security.”
“And Christmas season is key. I’m telling you,” Julie said.
“Totally,” I said.
“I can’t believe your mom didn’t notice!” Julie said. Then, it was so weird. Just at that moment in our conversation, as if my mother had ESP, she picked up the extension in the kitchen.
“Julie!” she said in her angry voice. “Please come get the shoes you left lying on the living-room floor and all the other stuff you left on the couch!”
I heard Julie go “Oop—” and then try not to laugh.
“Mom! I am on the phone! God!”
“Well, your father and I are going to watch
Masterpiece Theatre
, and I don’t want to always have to clean up after you—”
“All right! Can you wait one damn minute? Can I have a little privacy, for Chrissakes!” Mom didn’t seem to care when Ellie or I cursed. That was one good thing.
Click
went the kitchen phone. She’d hung up. It was official, my mother was nuts. Julie started laughing out loud.
“Oh my God, that was so embarrassing,” I said. Part of me wanted to laugh, too, but I was so mad. “Do you think she heard us?” I could feel my heart beating and my cheeks were hot.
“Probably not,” said Julie.
“Frankly, I don’t give a shit. I just want to strangle her with this phone cord,” I said, winding my hands up in it.
“Yeah,” Julie said. “Well, don’t let her get you all riled up. That’s what they, like, totally try to do.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are to have the mother you do,” I said.
“Yeah, well, she’s a nut-job, too,” Julie said, sounding sympathetic. “Do you want to know what my mother said to me last night?”
“What?” I said.
Julie paused for a second. Then she lowered her voice and said, “She asked me if I’d ever had an . . . an
orgasm
.”
“What?!” I half-screamed.
“Shhhh!” Julie said. “Keep it down! You don’t want your mom picking up again, do you?”
“Sorry,” I said, giggling and holding my mouth. “Why did she ask you that? Just, like, out of nowhere?”
“Totally. I mean she’s completely crazy. She wanted to know if I knew how to ‘take care of myself.’”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I had no idea, until my mother explained it. ‘Taking care of yourself’ is, you know,
masturbating
. Or ‘pleasur ing yourself,’ she said. I mean, ewwww! Then, are you ready for this? She said if I didn’t learn how to ‘take care of myself,’ I could never expect a man to.”
I gasped. “Oh my God. Julie, you have
got
to be kidding me!”
“Nope, I swear. How could I possibly make this up?”
“So what did you say to her?”
“I told her to please shut up because she was completely grossing me out. That even if I wanted to talk about that stuff, she was, like, the last person on earth I would talk to about it.”
“Totally,” I said. “I can’t even imagine my mom saying something like that. She’s too uptight.”
“Or maybe it’s just ’cause she’s not as crazy as my mom,” Julie said. Then she paused and said, “Nah . . . your mom’s nuts, too!” And we both started cracking up.
“I know!” I said, laughing and starting to feel better. “So, wait.” I was thinking about the orgasm stuff. “How did she say you’re supposed to learn?”
“Oh. From this book,” Julie said, sounding annoyed.
“When Women Explore.”
“She gave it to you?”
“Yes!” Julie said, laughing.
“Ewwwww!” I said, and then we paused for a second, like, kind of giggling, kind of not knowing what to say. I had this image of Julie under her covers with no underpants on holding
When Women Explore
and a flashlight.
“Gross!”
she screamed when I told her, and we got totally hysterical. Julie was laughing so hard I knew there were tears streaming down her cheeks. She was a crier-laugher. When we finally started to quiet down, Julie said, “Have you ever had one?”
“What?” I asked.
“An orgasm,” she said.
“No! Are you kidding? I haven’t even
made out
with anybody, remember?” I said, a little offended that she forgot this important fact.
“Oh, right. Sorry. You will. It’ll happen soon, I’m sure of it,” she said.
“Have you?” I said.
“Have I ever masturbated? Or ever had an orgasm?”
“Well, both,” I said.
She giggled a little. “I mean, I’ve felt around down there, you know. . . .”
“Well sure, me, too. . . .” I said.
“But I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm. I’m not sure,” she said.
“Has Mandy?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I never asked her. I bet she has. She’s already slept with a few guys. She’s pretty experienced. What about Ellie?” Julie said.
“I have no idea. I could never ask her
that
!” I said, thinking about the impossibility of a sex talk with my sister. “It’s pretty unlikely.”
“Right,” Julie said, a little lost in thought. We paused again, mulling all of this over. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? I am starting to get creeped out.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking. “My mom told me she liked you today when we had lunch at Lord and Taylor. She said you were
lovely
.”
“Oh. Cool,” Julie said, sounding flattered.
“No it’s not!” I protested. “I mean, what does that mean, ‘lovely’? It’s, like, so pretentious or something.”
“You’re just mad at your mom ’cause she interrupted our phone call. Which totally makes sense; I’d be mad, too. Why don’t you go clean up your stuff and we’ll talk tomorrow?”
“All right,” I said, feeling kind of depressed.
“Talk to you later,” she said. “And congratulations on that good score!”
“Thanks,” I said. I was glad she said that. I stomped into the living room and scooped up my stuff. I could feel my parents look at each other, but no one said a word.
9
This Is What Everyone’s Raving About?
The next Monday in French, Tim Haas told me Josh Heller had strep throat. He had already missed three days of school. So that’s why he wasn’t in class last week. When I heard this, I felt so relieved, but I couldn’t help thinking,
Why is Tim Haas telling me? Did Josh Heller tell him to?
It was kind of a big deal since Tim and I had never really spoken before.
“He might be back tomorrow,” Tim said.
Two days later, the last day before Christmas vacation, the school was buzzing with excitement. You could just feel it. Kids and teachers noisily passed me in the halls as I made my way to French. I overheard conversations about various New Year’s Eve plans—the rich kids’ ski trips and the guidance counselor, Mr. Silver’s, plans to sleep until the morning of January 2, 1982.
Then all of a sudden, there was Josh Heller walking in step with me up the stairs to the third floor.
“Hello,” Josh said. He was wearing his knapsack on one shoulder and holding a small paper bag.
“Hi,” I said, without a second even to hide my surprise. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” He grinned his gorgeous grin at me.
“I heard you had strep. I guess you’re better now?” I said. That sounded like such a boring thing to say.
Think, Julie, think! Say something smart or funny.
“Yeah, thanks, I feel much better,” Josh said.
“Good,” I said, realizing I sounded too relieved. “It would be such a bummer to be sick during vacation,” came out of my mouth next.
“No kidding,” he said. We got to the French classroom entrance and just stood there awkwardly for a second, with other kids walking around us.
“Well,” Josh said, looking a little self-conscious. He was about to say something else when Madame Craig pushed passed us, saying,
“Entrez-vous! Entrez-vous! Vite!”
and some other French that I think meant, “Take your seats and hurry up.” Josh and I sat down next to each other. I noticed Julie wasn’t there yet, and it wasn’t like her to be late.
Madame Craig started class by telling us to turn our desks to the person on our right and begin a conversation in French. This meant I was assigned to Josh! Madame Craig went around the room telling everyone the assignment was that we were two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. As Josh settled into his desk, putting his school bag and small paper bag under his desk, he said, “Uh . . . should I start?”
“En français!”
Madame Craig shouted.
“Seulement en français!”
“In French,” she was saying.
“Uh,
bonjour
!” Josh said and we both cracked up. Most of the class was laughing ’cause of course
“bonjour”
was all anyone could think to say at first.
“Bonjour,”
I said back.
“Comment
. .
.”
—I had to think—“
Vas-tu?
Um . . .
Il ya longtemps
,
non?
” “How goes it with you?” I was saying. “It’s been a long time, right?” At least that’s what I was trying to say.
“Oui,”
Josh said, smiling, and I was psyched he understood me.
“Uh, très, très longtemps. Cinq ans?”
he added carefully.
“Peut-être?”
“Yes, it’s been a very long time, five years maybe?” he was saying.
“Oui, oui,”
I giggled. Saying “wee wee” sounded so funny. “
Vous . . .
uh
, tu . . .
” I always mixed up the formal “you” and the informal “you,” and I was searching for the verb “to live.”
“Tu habites à Paris, non?”
I asked him if he lived in Paris now, thinking I probably said it wrong. I was just making stuff up.
“En fait,”
Josh responded slowly. “
Je ne . . . vais . . . pas à Paris. Je habite à
New York.” I thought he was trying to say that he never went to Paris and lives in New York.
“Vraiment?”
I said, impressing myself that I remembered the word for “really.”
“Vraiment,”
Josh repeated. Then he reached under his chair and pulled out the small paper bag. He looked around a little like he was trying to hide what he was doing.
“Alors, voilà! Café pour toi!”
he said, seeming proud of himself. “Well, here it is! Coffee for you!”
“Wow,” I said. “Uh
. . . comment dit-on,
‘cool’?”
“Comment dit-on”
meant “How do you say?” It was, like, the first thing we learned.
“Merci!”
I continued, feeling kind of stunned.
“Vous êtes . . . très . . . gentile.”
“You are so nice,” I said, wishing I knew how to say, “
That
is so nice.” “
You
are so nice” sounded really stupid.
“De rien,”
he said, which means, “It’s nothing.” Then we both looked at each other and cracked up again, realizing that most of the other students were spending a lot of time laughing, too. None of us spoke French very well. Then I could tell Josh was trying to tell me to hide the coffee under my chair, but he just pointed and said,
“Ici, ici!”
meaning “Here, here!”
“Oh, right,” I said in English. “I mean,
oui.
” I put the coffee under my seat. I could feel it was still hot.
Then Madame Craig saved us all by clapping her hands to get our attention and telling us to turn our desks back to their original positions.
“Hey,” Josh said, in English, as the class made a lot of noise with their desks. “Are you going to Kahti Fearon’s party tonight?”
“Yeah. I am,” I said.
“Great,” Josh said, smiling again. “Me, too.” Then I caught him sort of scanning my face. He looked at my hair and my earrings. I happened to be wearing the chandelier ones.
“Cool earrings,” he said.
“Alors! Alors!”
shouted Madame Craig, then she said something else about our conversations and the homework.
The bell rang, and Josh said, “See you later.” As soon as he was out of sight, I had the urge to scream. I was dying to scream, but I couldn’t; I had to rush to my next class. I barely had a minute to take in all that had just happened between Josh and me. And where the hell was Julie?
At the beginning of acting class everyone was talking, so Mrs. Zeig shouted over the noise. “Hello, hello! Let us begin! Find your rehearsal spots! Get with your scene partners! If your partner is absent, please see me.” Everyone took their spots in some corner or area of the basement while I thought to myself,
How will I ever be able to concentrate when I can’t stop thinking about Josh? Am I gonna see him at Kahti’s party tonight? Josh and I just kind of flirted in another language!
Julie was absent, it turned out, because I saw her scene partner, Liliana, go up to Mrs. Zeig. How would I last the whole day without talking to Julie?
My scene partner, Max, was dragging an army duffel bag toward our spot. We had been bringing in props from home and leaving them in our lockers. He took out a blanket that we threw over two chairs to make a bed, some old books for the night table, a plastic vase, some clothes, and a pair of old-fashioned lace-up shoes that I hadn’t seen before.
“Wow, those are cool,” I said, picking up one of the shoes—actually, it was more like a boot.
“Yeah,” Max said in his slow stoner voice. “Aren’t they? They were my great uncle’s.”
“Are you gonna wear them? Do they fit you? Or are they just a prop?” I said.
“No, I’m gonna wear them. They’re a little small, but you know, ‘The clothes make you feel,’” he said, and laughed a breathy laugh.
We were learning from this book called
An Actor Prepares
by Stanislavski—he was this Russian guy who developed a method of acting—that specific clothes or shoes that make up your costume could make you feel like a different person, like older or younger or fatter or whatever. Kind of like if you start chewing gum, you feel like a character who chews gum. It was a totally cool acting trick. One time for an improv, I had to be an old lady, and I put about ten marbles in each of my Keds sneakers and it made me walk really slow and uneasy like an old person. Not to mention, it actually killed my feet.