The Taming of the Drew (25 page)

“No joke,” said Bianca.

Drew had come in only far enough to lean a massive shoulder against the doorjamb. The scowl on his face as he looked at Bianca talking seemed as intense as mine felt. Then conversation halted, like Bianca and my mother suddenly realized the two of us were glaring at them.

“What?” said Bianca and my mom.

Drew and I both said, our words stumbling over each other in shock. “You
know
each other?”

Bianca gave a sideways glance at my mom, who unnecessarily wiped the kitchen table with the end of her long sleeve pulled down over her hand.
 

“Mom!” I said.

She looked up. Then stopped. “Yes. I know Eileen Bullard.”

Bianca added, “They play mah-jongg. Saturdays. Surely you knew that.”

Okay, I knew my mom played at the community center while I worked at Dino-Dog, and that, sometimes, one of the other women would host an evening tournament. It was the only thing my mom did for fun. But my mom talked about the other women like all of them were cut-throats, eager to rip to shreds the unwary player, not to be trusted under any circumstances, conniving shrews you should never turn your back on. And then the light dawned. “NO! You are not talking about Eileen The Bull-Headed! Not
her
! I thought you two were enemies!”

Shocked silence. My mother flushed deep red and gave me a
wait until I get you alone later
look. Bianca’s eyes were dancing with mischief. Drew smiled and straightened from the doorway.
 

My mother said, “Now Kate, we’re friends. With mah-jongg, things just get a little intense. That’s all.”

“How long?” I said, because worlds of horror were crashing over me. Had my mother discussed those pictures with Mrs. Bullard after that day in the Dean’s office? “How long have you two been ‘friends’?”

Bianca said, “Forever. Well, I can remember at least since your dad and mom used to come over for dinner parties.”

I blinked. My mom and dad used to go to dinners at the Bullard’s? Were we talking about The Bullard Home? Which was, by all school-based, hushed reports a 7,000 square foot sprawling mansion with a media room and wings for each member of the family to live in?
That
home?

My mom went back to picking at an invisible speck on the table. “Well,” she said, “life sure changed when Sam got sick. We moved, and you know what it’s like. You lose touch.”

All that my mom didn’t say hung in the air. The fact that my dad didn’t have insurance coverage for “experimental” treatment, that he’d been unable to continue his job, that we’d sold the house to cover hospital debts, and after his death, when I was in sixth grade, mom and I ended up in a rundown two-bedroom apartment on the flat-lander side of town, walking distance to school and light years away from expensive mountain-top-view mega-mansions.
 

“So,” Drew said, “Have you got any food? I’m
starved
.” He strode into the house, dragged out a chair and dropped in it. Mom and I both froze, looks of fear on our faces, not sure if the kitchen-table chair would hold. The chair under Drew creaked and heaved, bouncing and tilting the way those giant exercise balls do when you sit on them. He looked underneath the seat, as if he was certain a spring might be hiding under there, and said, “Neat.”

In the breath-held silence, my mom held out her hand like a policeman stopping traffic and said, “Andrew. Step away from the chair. Easy now. No sudden moves. Right. Whew. Now how about if you three head into the living room and hang out there while I get the brownies out? Okay?”

“Can I help?” I asked, but my mom gave me a look, the skin around her eyes and mouth too tight, the way she looks when I catch her remembering my dad, and hurting. I knew she needed a minute, so I wheeled around and said, my voice too bright, “Living room, everybody!” and headed out the door, pointing arm held high.

Once we were in the living room though, the air got sticky and heavy and I didn’t know where to sit or what to say. Being reminded of the Bullard home made me suddenly aware of the rabbit-ear antennas held together with a rubber band on top of our square-boxed, curved-glass-screen TV.
 

Drew and Bianca also stood, and I caught Drew frowning sideways at Bianca, who abruptly threw herself across our couch, arms out. “Here,” she said patting the cushion and looking up at me, “sit by me.”

I sat on the edge, my hands flat on my knees. “Listen,” I said, “I’m sorry I called your mom bull-headed.”

Drew snorted. “’Bout time someone else took a turn.”

Bianca said, “He means the nickname thing.”

I said, “You don’t like being called the Dog, do you?”

He crossed his arms where he stood, and looked at me, like he was trying to decide if I was goading him or not.

Bianca said, a flash of wickedness in her eyes, “Bet you can’t guess how he got it.” Bianca would be a difficult little sister to have.
 

“That’s just obvious,” I said.

They both stared at me. The doorbell rang and I stood, saying, as I went out the door, “Classic elementary school taunting.
Petruchio-Bullard
equals
Pit-Bull,
which eventually morphs into
the Dog
.”

I heard Bianca say, behind me, “You hear that? You’d have a hard time pulling one over on
her
.”

My mom wasn’t in the kitchen, which meant she was probably going to be having a bad week now. Tio, Helena, Viola, and Phoebe had all carpooled and stood on the steps together. Tio said from the back, “
They’re
here, aren’t they?” and I nodded, knowing exactly who he meant. As Helena, Phoebe and Viola trooped through the doorway, I realized the three of them were more dressed up than they usually were to come hang out at my house. Helena had large hoop earrings, Phoebe wore thick make-up and Viola, for some reason, wore a tiara. When Tio, at the back, moved into the kitchen, well, he wore a suit, complete with jacket, tie and new dress shoes, making his feet look gigantic and shiny. I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see my face. My heart ached for him. Once in the kitchen, Tio edged away from the others, and I realized he didn’t want to appear, to Bianca, like he’d arrived with three girls.

Phoebe said, “Sorry, Kate, we really wanted to get here to help you set up.”

Helena interrupted, “And get ready.”

Viola finished, “But you know how work is.”

Yeah, unfortunately, I did. We each had our own version of Gremio to deal with. I never thought they could have managed getting the afternoon off, so I was touched they’d thought of it. The bottom line was that I was just grateful they’d all adjusted shifts and arranged rides to be here on time. Tio edged into the living room as Helena leaned into our circle of heads and said, “Boy, Tio’s got it bad.”

Phoebe, watching him go, said, “If she hurts our little guy, I’ll rip her head off.”

I said, “Um. Guys, have you noticed he’s not as short as he was, even a couple of months ago?”

They all blinked at me.
 

“Wow,” said Viola, and produced a tiara-matching wand, “his puberty fairy came to visit.”

Thankfully (since the words Tio and Puberty fell into the category of too much information), someone rapped at the screen door. We could see the outlines of Alex and Robin on the steps.

Alex walked in first, wearing a Team Aniston tee-shirt, a swingy skirt, and heavy guy-boots with fold-down thick construction-worker socks. Robin wore a Team Jolie tee shirt, guy-droopy cargo pants…and heels.

No one said a word. Not us, not them. Helena gave me a look and I knew the four of us girls were all thinking the same thing. This was a new frontier for Alex and Robin. For the first time since we’d known them, Alex and Robin were dressing as (sort of) different genders.
 

Alex and Robin exchanged nervous glances and stood in the doorway, not coming in, like they were afraid of what we might say, whether or not we’d understand, or respect…whatever this meant.

Betty Boop’s eyes were tsk tsking from where she hung on the wall, and she was disapproving me, my fear of doing something wrong on this momentous occasion, and my reluctance to be the first to say anything. So I said, my voice a little too loud, “Don’t you guys look great?” I swallowed hard, hearing my own words hanging in the air. “I mean, not necessarily you
guys
…you
pals
…you…you
friends
of ours…oh, what the hell, you LOOK GREAT!”

There was a collective sigh of relief, as though we’d all, as a group, somehow negotiated a scary minefield, full of hidden traps which could have blown at any second.
 

At that, Alex and Robin moved into the kitchen, mingling and talking and admiring Viola’s wand, some of that fragile, vulnerable look disappearing from their faces.

We bumped our way through the narrow doorway from the kitchen to the living room, and Tio’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Alex and Robin. Bianca didn’t seem to notice anything, merely half-rose from the sofa and introduced herself. The Dog, however, instead of looking surprised about Alex’s and Robin’s outfits, looked incredibly relieved, a kind of
Oh Thank GOD
look, which bothered me. A lot. For some reason, this cold greasy feeling now sat in the pit of my stomach, and I had an irrational urge to tell Alex and Robin to flee, now, before something bad happened.

Chatter broke out, then the doorbell rang and I went to answer, with Helena trailing behind me, saying, “Where’s the food? Tio and Drew demolished the brownies and everyone’s starving.” Her voice died off. My mom had beaten me to the kitchen and was opening the screen door, smiling at the newcomers. Who were (urg) Curtis and Nate. Some (naïve) part of me had hoped that when I said I’d host, they’d realize that they weren’t actually invited.

Nate wore a Hugo Boss button-up collared shirt, and actually carried a leather man-purse. I got the idea he thought he looked like David Beckham, instead of a kid with too much money.

Curtis wore a UCLA sweatshirt, as though he thought we’d assume he was taking classes at UCLA (although we all knew it was physically, and probably mentally, impossible for him to be doing so).
 

My mom turned and gave me a look — the
why weren’t they on the list of guests?
look. That pause was all Curtis and Nate needed. They weaseled their way past us into the living room before either me or my mom could open our mouths.

I said to my mom, “If you have
any
suggestions on how I can get rid of them, just let me know.”

There was a long silence while my mom looked uncomfortable. Helena said, “Those are the tutor guys?”

My mother said, “Oh, well then, that’s okay, if they’re
tutors
,” and disappeared.

Coward.

The party had been going less than half an hour, and already I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots. People were
starving
and there was no sign of Gonzo, who’d promised to bring all the food. This wasn’t like him. Helena said in an aside to me as the conversation noise kept cranking up around us, “I think maybe we should call and check if Gonzo’s okay. He could be sick, or in an accident, or something.”

She and I headed into the kitchen, right as the doorbell rang again.
 

On the top step stood Gonzo, in a coat, tie and tennis shoes, holding three stacked platters of food with a garbage-can-sized canvas bag slung on his shoulder. Clearly Gonzo and Tio had discussed what to wear. Maybe Tio bullied Gonzo into wearing a suit too so Tio wouldn’t be alone. Gonzo’s face looked stricken and I opened the screen door, saying, “Are you all right?
Where
have you…”

Then Gonzo moved into the kitchen and, just like that moment in the movies when the person with the pleading eyes steps aside to reveal the villain who’d been hiding behind them all along with a ray-gun and an evil sneer, there stood Celia. Helena and I both gave a gasp.

Gonzo, head down, arms full, fled to the living room

“Oh, no you don’t!” I turned to say, but he was gone.

Celia shimmied in the kitchen, giving it a look, like maybe my kitchen had B.O. or something. I said, “Celia, you are not—“ but my mother interrupted from behind me.

“Kate, is this another tutor?” Her voice was full of hidden meaning, meanings such as
hell will freeze over before you have another party, young lady
.

Celia dropped the sneer as suddenly as you can bat an eye, and walked toward my mom, radiating a charm so powerful, it could knock you over. “Mrs. Olivia Baptista, how really nice to meet you. I thought you were so patient at that meeting in the Dean’s office. God, if only my parents were more like you.”

It was incredible to watch. My mother hesitated for a second, then began to turn to Celia and open up, the way a flower tilts and relaxes under sunshine. How could she betray me like this?

“Now, really, I’m sure your parents are the same. Everyone thinks theirs is difficult.”

Celia leaned forward with a twinkling smile, like she was confessing a hideous secret to my mom. “They’re
lawyers
,” she whispered.

“Ah,” said my mom, smiling back. “I can see the difficulty.”
 

“Excuse me?” They both turned to stare at me, like I’d interrupted them at a restaurant table.

Celia immediately turned back to my mom, “Mrs. Baptista, I soooo hope I’m not putting you out, showing up like this. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m, well, I’m Gonzo’s first, sort of, date.” She actually blushed.

My mother gave Celia a look, like Celia had just achieved sainthood. “Gonzo’s an incredible young man. It’s not every girl your age who knows how to recognize what’s important in guys at this age.”

Celia looked a bit disconcerted, like she hadn’t expected my mom to be such a fan of Gonzo’s, then said, “I thought, you know, if we went to a group party and hung out together as a first step, a party where there’s excellent parent supervision, then…” she let the phrase dangle.

I could see that Helena, like me, was getting a spit-up feeling in the back of her throat, if not actively fighting the need to heave. Celia made it sound like she and Gonzo could be tearing each other’s clothes off if there weren’t rigid controls in place.