Call Me Jane (13 page)

“Okay,” I said. “Well, I really like this one guy.”

“But it’s not Ziggy.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t Lucy saying you liked Ziggy? Or Ziggy liked you or something like that? Didn’t somebody like somebody?” she laughed.

“Well, yeah, she did say that.” I took a toke; I could tell it was good dope right away. “Where’d you get this?”

“I can’t tell,” she said. “It’s a secret.”

“It is, why?”

“Ha, ha, ha, you tell me yours I’ll tell you mine.”

I laughed.

“Anyway I like this guy,” I continued, “a lot!”

“A lot. Okay, let’s see. It’s not Ziggy. But who does Ziggy hang around? Who do you guys hang around, you punk rockers?”

“A lot, a lot!” I said.

“Why do you guys dress like that?”

“He’s sooooo cute.”

“You guys look stupid.”

“And he looks so gorgeous on stage.”

“On stage?” Her voice picked up. “He’s one of the Transistors. The band that’s playing at graduation? And aren’t they playing at prom too?”

“They are?” I said.

“So which one? Let me think.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, thinking back to the letter, barely listening to her. I put my chin on the steering wheel and stared out at the lake.

“I have to try and think who’s even in that band. Is Ziggy in that band? He’s not in that band, is he? He’s not cute.”

“He’s the band manager,” I said absentmindedly.

“Well, it’s got to be one of them. Let’s see, who’s in there? Isn’t that Krishna’s brother in there?”

“Raj?” I asked.

“Yeah, so you like Raj? Yeah, he’s okay, he’s pretty cute. Not that cute. He’s got great clothes though. His clothes are cool.”

“No, it’s not Raj. I did go out with him, though.”

“Geez, you bang every one of these guys?”

“No,” I said, “I’m a virgin.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, not kidding. Catholic school.”

“You’re Catholic?”

“No, but I went to Catholic school all my life; you think I’m gonna put out? Gimme a break.”

“Oh come on, haven’t you heard the song? Catholic girls start much too late.”

“Well, see what I mean? They start late.”

“That’s not the right song then.”
 

“I played that song in the classroom,” I said, “really loud!  The nuns came running down the hall in horror!”

“High five!” she said.

The joint was burned down to a roach. I was really stoned. The park looked sooooo pretty. My problem seemed bigger, and yet nicer, all at the same time. I pulled out a cigarette.

“Can I have one?” she asked. “I’m out.” She wadded up her empty pack and looked around for a trash container, shrugged, and threw it out the window. She smoked Marlboro light one hundreds, just like me. Hey, we could bum off each other. I thought of
Casablanca
, the last line. “Louis, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

I gave her a cig; she had her own lighter, but had to search a cluttered purse for it, so I lit it for her while she was searching. She took a big drag off it and blew out a long stream. “Thanks,” she said. “Now, what’s the problem? The fact that you don’t put out? And so this guy is gonna dump you right?”

“No,” I said, shocked, “and if he dumped me for that, good riddance.”

I couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“Boy, you are a Catholic girl.”

“I’m not Catholic. I’m actually an atheist.”

“Oh,” she said, rolling down the window, “then you’re just a prude.”

“Well, I don’t care.”

I don’t know if she realized this, but the thought of sex scared the hell out of some people. I know I wasn’t alone in this. And girls who did have it—even Krishna, who I know did that—seemed sort of foreign to me. Evil. I couldn’t explain it. I still liked Krishna. In fact, I think I just overlooked it about her. But it freaked me out, so I didn’t like to think about it. I think it might have been one of the reasons I didn’t respect Lucy.

And the fact the guys did it didn’t scare me, if that makes any sense. It sort of turned me on, actually. But they weren’t gonna have any from me. That was for sure.

“Well, we still haven’t gotten to your moral dilemma, and you need to start driving me home now.”

That wasn’t going to be easy. I was pretty toasted. This was the kind of weed that made you toasted. There should be weed-sampling places just like there were wine-sipping places. The dope could have little signs in front of it. “Toasted,” it could say, and “Baked,” those were for brownies, and “just plain stoned.” Weed for the common man. I forgot what I was trying to tell her. Oh no, I remembered. That awful letter!

“Some girl told me to leave the guy I like alone. To cease and desist!”

“Cease and desist?” she hollered. “What the fuck? Was she a lawyer?”

“No, she’s–anyway, it’s for kind of a good reason.”

“What, she wants to fuck him for herself?”

“No, that’s not it. It is a good reason.”

“Okay, what possible? He’s a psycho?”

“No.”

“Well why then?”
 

I guess I could tell her, so long as I didn’t tell her who it was.

“I–he was dating someone else.”

“So, he’s not married to her right? So he likes you right? So this is high school.”

“Well, he sort of got this girl pregnant.”

“Oh I know who it is!” she started laughing. “I know exactly who it is!”

“No! You couldn’t possibly.”

“Never mind,” she waved away my concerns with her hand, “your secret is safe with me,” and she made a key motion on those Kewpie-doll lips with a mock smile. “Need some more Black Beauties?”

“Sure.” I reached out my hand.

TWENTY SIX

I went over to Krishna’s with my handful of Black Beauties.

I put my feet up on her coffee table.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, putting on a record. “You look all bummed out. You’re starting to bum me out.”

“Nothing,” I lied.

She put on some Ramones. We sometimes called it bubblegum punk.

“Well,” she said, “whatever it is, cheer up. Smoke some pot.”

“I just did. It was great–God damn that girl gets great dope.”

“Which girl? Where’d she get it?”

“Oh, she’s in my pottery class. I don’t know where she gets it.”

“Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about. Hey, I have an idea,” she said, “I have a great idea for a party. You know how we’re always arguing over the Beatles and the Stones?”

“Yeah,” I said, glad to have something else to think about besides my moral dilemma, my hurt feelings over Glinda’s nasty letter, and my crush on Paul.

“Let’s have a Beatles-Stones-off, and decide once and for all who’s better.”

“Okay, sounds fine with me,” I said. Then after a pause I said, “Why does Glinda hate me?”

“What?”

“Glinda. Why does she hate me?”

“God you’re paranoid.”

“No, really,” I said.

“Ugh. What would you care if she did?”

“I don’t know.”

She really had me here. Why did I care so much? Why couldn’t I make that go away? Why didn’t she?

“But, Glinda is cool,” I said, lighting a cig and a joint at the same time.

“So are you,” she said.

I guess I’d never thought of myself that way before. I had to take a moment and soak that thought in.

I looked out at her backyard. The birds were singing, the cool breeze came in through the window. I looked at all the magical things in Krishna’s room; the mirrored little boxes and trays, the strange things, the candle arm, the colorful ashtray, the incense holders that she burned in threes and fours when Gay wasn’t there, the exotic furniture, the tapestries and the plants everywhere.

“Who waters your plants?” I asked.

“What?”

“Who waters your plants, Krishna?”

Krishna shrugged. “I do, I guess. So what did you think of my idea?”

“What idea, that I’m cool?”

“Ugh. Get over yourself. What did you think of my idea for a party?” she asked.

“Oh, that.”

“We could have it in three weeks. I can’t do it this weekend. I’m going to Minnesota to see my grandparents. And not next either, I think that’s the weekend Ames wants me to go with him to see his friend who’s joining the army. But the week after that?”

“Yeah, but what about prom? I just heard the Transistors are playing at prom.”

“I think that’s the following weekend. Anyway, we’ll have everyone vote, and at the end of the night we will know once and for all who’s better. And of course, it will be the Stones,” she said and smiled.

I went home, and there was now a second note that said Paul called, and this one had his phone number written next to it. I called him back.

“Can you drive out here to my house?” he asked. He gave me directions. It was a ways out of town, and a pretty drive. It was nice to be out of the city. You had to take Highway 45 to go there, the dangerous highway with the left turns coming out of nowhere.

“Turn left at the old graveyard at the corner of 45 and Baker’s Road. You’ll see it. It’s got a really tall iron gate around it. I’m just two farmhouses from there, but it’s another five miles.”

All the way there I kept thinking, should I say anything to him about this? Did he know? Of course he knew. Why wasn’t he doing the right thing? Maybe he wasn’t a good person. Maybe I should confront him. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t know what to do. I really liked him a lot, and I couldn’t wait to see him.

His cat, it turned out, had just had kittens and he wanted to know if I could take one of them. He showed me the big brown cardboard box where they were playing and cuddling and looking so cute.

“I like the orange one,” I said.

I already had a cat at home. Her name was Chuckles. Chuckles was the cat I finally received after about ten years of begging and pleading.

“No,” my dad kept saying, “it’s a terrible thing to get a cat.”

“Why?”

“They die, and when they die it is so painful,” he said.

But in the end I received the cat, and now I wondered if I could bring home another. I remember Chuckles as a kitten. I played with her; she was so cute, so tiny. She was grey and black and white. That was also when I moved down into that back room that never felt like a room.

“I like the orange one,” I said.

Paul picked her up, “This one’s a she,” he said, and put her in my arms.

“Aww,” I cooed.

Paul started stroking my hair the same way I stroked the kitten’s fur. We stood next to the counter in his large orange and tan kitchen. His mom came in the room and Paul introduced me to her. She seemed really nice.

“Come out here with me,” Paul said, “and bring the kitten. What do you want to name it?”

“Hmm,” I considered. I felt so happy. Then suddenly I thought about the problem, the letter, Lucy.

I didn’t say anything. We walked out into the yard. He had a great big field to run in. There were cornfields and big trees. I imagined this was a pretty great place to grow up. We sat out on a porch swing that hung inside a gazebo.

We kissed a little, then we cooed over the kitten together.

“How about you name her, and I’ll take her home.”

“How about Sunshine?”

“Okay, I’ll call her Sunshine.” I smiled up at him. He leaned over and kissed me again, and he kept stroking my hair.

“You’re so pretty,” he said.

Should I say something? I felt this huge, compelling desire to blurt out everything. How could you do this to Lucy? Why are you sitting here with me? I should go. Do you know what Glinda thinks of me?

But I didn’t say anything. Later that night I took Sunshine home in a box. He walked me out to my car and we stood cooing over the kitten by the door, kissing some more, and with the sun setting behind him he looked even more gorgeous than he did normally.

I drove home in a dreamy state, listening to the Beatles on my tape deck.

Chuckles hated Sunshine. She hissed whenever Sunshine tried to eat from her bowl. She refused to play with her. I felt so sorry for Sunshine. I petted her and said, “I’m sorry Chuckles is so mean, it just takes a while for her to get used to you.”

When I comforted Sunshine, Chuckles sat in the corner glaring at me and hissing. I tried for several days to patch things up between them. Paul and I talked about it on the phone. We talked on the phone a lot now, every night. I never mentioned Lucy and the letter. I even managed not to think about it all the time.

Chuckles finally allowed Sunshine to eat from her bowl, but once that happened it became worse. Chuckles refused to eat at all. She would sit and watch the tiny kitten eat but never eat herself. She was in a real depression. My mom said the obvious. “We have to take the new kitten back. It’s the right thing to do. We can’t betray Chuckles like that, it isn’t right, and she just won’t accept this new kitten.”

I was so sad. I sat with Paul on his couch petting her and saying good-bye.

I also knew I would need to let Paul go too, eventually. But not yet.

TWENTY SEVEN

It was the scariest movie I’d ever seen. It was called
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
. We all saw it in a drive-in movie theater.

“Ow,” Ziggy said. “I don’t mind your squeezing me, but that’s a little too hard.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were Paul,” I said.

“That’s quite alright. You can squeeze, especially if you wanna go lower down.”

Walt and Gay had all the room in the world in his red convertible next door, but they wouldn’t share even a smidgen of their space with us.

Just then a couple more teenagers squeezed into the backseat, forcing me completely onto Ziggy’s lap. I couldn’t move back onto Paul’s, because for one thing I was squashed nearly underneath him, and he was turned with his left hip digging into my stomach, grinding me deeper onto Ziggy’s lap, and besides, someone was now sitting on top of him, on the other side of his hip.

“Ow, move over,” someone said. It sounded like Dave.

“Who all is in here?”

It was so crowded, hot, and muffled you could not hear the tinny sound coming from that cheap metal speaker that hung over the partially opened window.

“Turn up the sound of the movie. Would somebody turn that speaker up?”