A Mess of Reason (28 page)

“Let’s not make this a drama. It happened
when I was a kid. They’re burn scars, and yes, front and back.
Scout knows and now you do. Oh, and Striker. Nice, huh? I’m pissed
at Scout because he told me he thought I was beautifu…beaut….”
Clearly my core competencies these days don’t include any form of
emotional management. I can’t even finish my sentence. My sobs are
coming at me in hurricane-like waves as I’m realizing a few things.
Most importantly, I may have chased away my very best friend—the
only man I have ever loved.

“He told me I was beautiful, you know, when
he saw me…naked, and then…then I overheard him talking about how I
should be re-skinned or wrapped or whatever and that I needed new
cans…and he was showing Striker photos of me naked—
naked
.
The only way Scout would fuck me was if I trusted him enough to
show him, and then he betrays me like this…. I’m so—I’m so
mad.”

Rox is holding me in her arms, the two of us
crying like we both just lost our best friend. I’m sure Rox is
crying out of pity, which I hate and love at once…but mostly
hate.

“I’m sorry I just showed you that. I just—I
needed to explain and…I know it’s so ugly. I…”

She grabs me by the shoulders as she
interrupts me.

“What is wrong with you, Tess? I love you. I
don’t think you’re anything but beautiful and brave, and the fact
that you showed Scout…Tess, I’m sorry, but…”

“Stop it.
Stop it!
” I’m a wreck; she
is, too. “Please don’t—don’t placate me. I know what I look like
under there. It’s why you’ve never seen it. Don’t try to turn this
into anything it isn’t…certainly not a beauty pageant.”

She pours half her margarita into my empty
glass and we clink the salty rims together.

“At least you have your wit. Honey-girl,
listen to me. I’m sorry you’re so hurt, and for whatever happened
with Scout. This is just one part of you—we love you for you. Maybe
you misunderstood him?”

I smack her in the arm while rolling my eyes
in obvious disdain. “No! I’m clear. I was right outside the door
and they were having a good old time chatting it up about how he
wanted to surprise me with a perfect designer wrap. I want to
euthanize both of them. Anyway, I’ve decided to go ahead and have
it—the surgery. You know, skin grafts, so I look normal.”

“Normal for whom, exactly? For you? For
Scout? For whom? What’s normal, Tess?”

“Normal for me…someone…I don’t know who. I
don’t even know if Scout still wants me. It’s been two weeks since
our fight. We haven’t talked once; maybe he’s moved on.”

“Two weeks? Good Lord, you two need an
intervention. Why didn’t you tell me? Neither of you has said a
word. What the hell? What about you: do you still want him?”

“I still want to kill him—awful, right?—but
I can’t stop loving him. Being away from him hurts more than
anything, maybe even more than his words. He was just saying what I
already know. I just wish it hadn’t been behind my back. Like, in
order to fuck me he has to lie and tell me I’m beautiful…and I
swear to you, it was so sincere. So if I do this, maybe it will
make everything okay between us. His words, I swear, were ‘She
needs a new skin.’ I guess if that’s what it takes… Funny thing is,
I was planning on it, then I waffled a little before the
appointment—I almost cancelled—but then once I heard them, I
knew.”

“It just doesn’t sound like something Scout
would say. He’s just such a compassionate guy. But this is between
you two. I’ll deal with Striker on my own. He may be eating his
nuts for dinner tonight.”

“No! Oh God, no! I need you to promise me
you won’t tell Scout or Striker that we had this conversation or
that you know I overheard them. I’d feel even more humiliated if he
knows we had this conversation. I already feel pathetic that I let
his words get to me. I’m better than this. Tougher than this.
Please, I need one person to trust right now, Rox—please let it be
you? The only other person I trust is my hunky doctor, or as I call
him, my boyfriend, because he’s seen me naked about four times
now.”

“A new boyfriend. Nice…that’ll make Scout
jealous. Listen, you know can trust me. Of course, not a word,
honey. I promise you. But, don’t you think Scout would want to know
that you’re going ahead with surgery? This is no outpatient thing,
right? I mean, you’re having your whole torso skin grafted? With
what, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A human cadaver,” I say, laughing, knowing
she might vomit now. Then she makes the universal
one-finger-down-the-throat sign to confirm it.

“Oh dear God, Tess. Are you sure? I thought
they used animal skin. What? It’s so sci-fi. A cadaver?”

“Well, I wanted zebra, but I guess it’s
illegal now. Python might be an option and would look great with my
wardrobe! But no, I’m just getting some plain old dead person’s
skin. I know, sounds gross…might not even work. But I have to try.
I’m as sure as I’ll ever be. I have a date with Dr. Babelicious at
the hospital tomorrow, then the surgery a few days later.”

Big tears roll down Roxanne’s face, and you
know how it is when one of your best friends is breaking down in
front of you because they love you that much. Dammit, and now I’m
crying too.

“I love him, Rox. I’ve waited my whole life
for the right guy to come along, and you know, well, I just…this
might seem drastic, but…”

“There’s a reason you’ve never met the right
guy: he was always there. He was waiting for you to see him, you
were waiting for him to see you. Funny thing is, you both saw each
other the whole time, but neither of you had the balls to admit it.
You’ve got to trust timing, and if this is what you want to do for
you or for him or whatever your reason is, then you’ve gotta trust
your gut, too.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SCOUT

“Two weeks, Rox. Not one call, text,
drive-by shouting, smoke signal—nothing. I went from nirvana to
hell. I’m as desperate as a damn fly on sticky tape. Come on…where
the hell has she been? Tell me she did not go back to him.”

Rox has been edgy all night. It’s how she
gets when she doesn’t want to spill the beans on something she
knows she should. This dates back to our high school days. We’ve
been sucking down shots for two hours, avoiding the
low-hanging-fruit topic of Tess—until now. As for me, I’m wearing
my heart on my sleeve, and sure, she might go back to Tess with all
of this, but the magnitude of the fucks I don’t give is off the
Richter scale. She has to know something. I figure if I get her
drunk enough, she’ll spill details, any clue. Miss Scarlet in the
kitchen with the lead pipe? I’m tired of waiting. She can’t hold
out for too long if I keep dipping her head underwater.

“She’s been busy, I guess. Bottoms up! Whew,
that makes five! You’re getting me shlammered! You wanna dance,
Scout? We can put something on that jukebox and bust a move on the
dance floor.”

“Rox. Please. Don’t act like an idiot. You
know something, You have avoided the Tess topic all night. If I
have to dance it out of you, I will, but I’d rather ply you with
free drinks. Give me something or I’ll give you a titty twister for
old time’s sake.”

“Oh, that sounds nice, ha ha. I’m too drunk
to tell you. Plus I promised I wouldn’t blow her cover. It’s a
seeeeecret. You know what those are, don’t you?”

“Promised what, exactly? Spill it. My
fingers are getting twitchy and your tits are gonna ache if my vise
grips clamp on.” I start at her with my fingers in pinch mode.

“Promised I wouldn’t say things about
things.”

“Drunk and cryptic. Does she miss me? Moved
on? What? Please fucking give me anything. I’m begging you now.
I’ll bribe you. When’s the last time I begged or bribed you for
anything?” I’d give her this bar right now, keys and all, if she
asked. That’s how badly I need to know.

“Bribes work with me, you know. I’ll throw
you a minnow. She misses you.”

Misses me? I’m melting. Fuck, I beyond miss
her. I’m dying a little inside every day without her.

“Thank fuck! Has she been with anyone? What
do you want? Anything—name it!”

“I don’t know…” She’s tapping her fingers on
the bar and I’m doing all I can not to crush them into little
pieces as I wait for another morsel.

“Liar. Who?” I swear to you, I will go
ballistic if she has slept with someone. I mean fall-off-the-floor
ballistic.

“One guy she’s been seeing regularly.”

My hands slam on the bar. I think it shifted
into the ground a little.

“Seriously? She’s been with someone? Are
kidding me?” I’m yelling at her and she has this crazy-girl smile
on her face as if we’re playing some pantywaist game. Mars/Venus
much?

“Bribe me.”

“Oh my
God
, woman. What do you want!
Should I un-crack an egg, lick my elbow, eat with my mouth glued
shut…what? How about you and Striker get the jet for a weekend.
I’ll even kick in a penthouse suite anywhere you want to go. But I
want
all
the details.
Start talking
before I cut you
into little pieces and feed you to the coyotes!”

“Eww, you’re like serial killer creepy now.
She’ll kill me. I promised. I can’t.”

If her lips don’t start flapping, I’ll kill
her first—my threats are going to feel less idle in a second. Maybe
my tactics are to hard? Too “guy speak”? Fine, I can dial it back.
I need to go for the jugular. Or in “girl speak,” the
heartstrings.

“She’ll never know. Listen to me: I want to
marry her. Are you going to stop that from happening? Are you going
to get in the way of that? Are you going to get in the way of our
future children? You could be messing with fate right this very
minute, Roxanne.”

“Oh, you’re good at this. Fate, a jet
weekend…and you throw in kids for good measure, too? Can you part
water?”

“Get talking. Titty twister is up next…and
that weekend is about go buh-bye.”

“Fine. She’s been at the hospital on the
West Side.” She rolls her eyes at me as she throws her hands up in
the air.

“What for?” My head is spinning at the
thought of Tess in a hospital for any reason without me being with
her. Fuck. A miscarriage…what?

“Come-fucking-on. Did you forget to pay your
brain bill? She’s doing it for you…you practically made her.”

“Doing what?

“The torso-cadaver-sci-fi-skin-graft-surgery
with her hunky boyfriend she’s been seeing.”

“What? She’s getting the surgery now? With
her boyfriend? Straighten up for one minute here. Who’s the
boyfriend? Are you sure she’s getting it?”

“Dude, you are all foam and no beer.
Seriously? I’m gonna chalk it up to deadly semen build-up. The
boyfriend—this is not in code—is her hunky surgeon. Don’t worry,
they’re not Marvin Gaye-ing yet. He’s just fixing her—for you,
dopeus. Because you wanted her re-skinned or whatever you and
Striker were talking about surprising her with. Which, by the
way—such a dick move. What’s wrong with you two shit-for-brains?
Get a heart. You shouldn’t have done that behind her back…told
Striker. Plus, just a word to the wise: don’t ever tell a woman you
think she’s beautiful, then tell your buddy that you think she
needs to be re-wrapped.”

“Holy fuck, I have to get to her. West Side
Hospital. Jesus, thank you, Rox. Thank you. I owe you, baby.”

“Remember: penthouse, jet…. And don’t tell
her I told you, or I will Mike Tyson you up, Scout Steele.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TESS

It was all I needed to hear, that one little
voice, like an angel dropping from the sky.

“Hi, I’m Gigi, wanna see what I just
scored?”

She walked right to me from the giant
bubblegum machine, as though she instinctively knew we were soul
sisters. Everything about her straight out of a movie, an almost
cartoon-like aura of spunk, fun, and whimsy. I wanted to tuck her
into my pocket while flying to the top of the next rainbow I could
spot.

“Hi Gigi, I’m Tess. I would love to see your
score!” I tell her as she climbs into my lap and shows me five
teeny plastic kittens from the plastic bubble in her hands. I tell
her those treasures are some of my favorite things, too, then I
show her my plastic ring from Scout, which I’d worn just for today.
A little shot of courage.

“Why are you here?” Her voice is tiny like
Cindy Lou Who’s from the Grinch movie. To others, I’m guessing she
looks like a melted doll. Her plate-sized blue eyes and pouty,
lollipop-stained lips, along with the sparkle that emanates from
her pores, are all I see, though, when she looks up at me.

“I’m here to have grafts on my burns to make
my skin look normal,” I tell her rather innocently as she prances
the kittens up and down my arms while making little meow sounds.
Her mom shoots me a nod from across the room along with one thumb
up. I wink along with a nod back in answer. This little pixie on my
lap is providing the perfect distraction before I’m called in for
surgery pre-op.

“Oh. You’re already so pretty. I don’t even
see your burns. Mine are everywhere…look!”

She says it almost proudly, like they’re
badges of honor, and I’m stunned as she hops off my lap and does a
quirky circle dance that makes me giggle. Her violet tutu flaps up
and sticks to her T-shirt, which has the words “I Rock” printed in
a glittery heart across her chest. On her partially bald head she
wears a fanciful headband embellished with butterflies, flowers,
and pink satin ribbons. She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever
laid eyes on. Her skin though, is quite possibly the most
terrifying sight and plainly visible to the entire world.

“My burn scars are hidden under my shirt,” I
tell her as I tickle her tiny belly. “I just want to make them go
away because they make me feel…different, I guess.”

Her head is tilted to the side as I speak.
She’s jumping around, giggling, but listening intently, keeping her
eyes on mine all the while. She puts her kitties on my knees,
squats down in front of me, and then a few seconds later looks up
at me and speaks the most profound words. Words I’ve always known,
but haven’t been doing a very good job of applying. Leave it to a
child to take my breath away and provide some much-needed
transparency to my emotional state.