Cupcake (19 page)

"I think I'm gonna hurl," I said, whether from the release of toxins in my body that yoga supposedly encourages (Lesson: Don't caffeinate before yoga-nating), or from anxiety about Shrimp's haiku, I didn't know.

Not true. January drew to a close and the haiku had let me know--Shrimp was ready to reopen his other habit besides art. He needed the surf. I wanted him to stay. Here we go, Reality, you jerk-off.

"Me too," lisBETH said.

Despite my hurl urge, I said, "Chocolate would help." Sometimes two negatives can equal a positive. "Good idea."

A shared slice of chocolate cake at an Upper East Side café helped my mind avoid the message of Shrimp's haiku, and allowed

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lisBETH and me to finally celebrate the success of our coproduction.

"Well done on suggesting the joint vacation in Key West to Danny," I told her.

"CC, I applaud your dare campaign to Aaron of 'If-you're-really-just-Just Friends-then-why-
wouldn't
-you-go-on-vacation-with-Danny.' You may have a future in the propagation of propaganda."

"Thanks. I think?"

"Please thank Shrimp for the paint color samples he left for me to consider if I decide to repaint my bedroom. He's very talented, your Shrimp. If he ever wanted a stable job to support his art, I could see him having a future in graphic design with his talent. Does he plan to go to college?"

"Hardly. He still needs to get a GED."

"You're kidding me--Shrimp's a dropout? He seems so bright and motivated."

"One has nothing to do with the other. And he's only motivated when he's into some thing or some one. He ignored me when I asked him to design some business cards and brochures for Danny's business."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"What do you mean?"

"Shrimp's threatened by Danny. You looked so traumatized when I asked Shrimp for some help at my apartment, but you

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shouldn't have been startled that he and I got along so well. We have more in common than you think. Shrimp and I share a certain jealousy of you and Danny."

The cake in my mouth could not wait to be swallowed before my lips demanded, "Excuse me?" Neither yoga nor Shrimp's haiku could accomplish what lisBETH had just done--dim my appetite, and make me lose my adherence to don't-speak-with-your-mouth-full-of-chocolate manners.

LisBETH said, "Do you realize how you and Danny act with each other? You finish each other's sentences. You laugh at the same jokes, love the same old movies, watch the same campy TV shows, listen to the same music--from horrible records bought on the street! You even talk alike. And now you work together." If we ever decided to let her play
Dynasty,
lisBETH would definitely be gender-bend-cast in the role of Adam Carrington, the coarse, scheming, and very much misunderstood brother of Steven and Fallon. "When you got that ridiculous haircut, I offered to send you to the salon at Bergdorf to get it fixed; Danny went out and bought a can of blue hair spray to make his look like yours for Thanksgiving Day pictures. He's thirty!" I considered interrupting lisBETH's rant to inform her of my newest hairstyle idea--a short flapper-style bob cut that I'd get streaked in the spectrum of rainbow flag colors, inspired by Aaron's contention that I am possibly the gayest straight girl in all the West Village, but I didn't want lisBETH to have a coronary imagining if

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Danny might try a similar 'do. She warbled on, "You'd think it was you who was raised alongside Danny, not me, given the way you and he get along. Watching you two has been hard enough for me to adapt to as a sibling from the outside looking in, when it seems like previously I was the one on the inside. So I can only imagine how it must feel for Shrimp, loving you, but watching you treat Danny like he's your partner, not Shrimp." LisBETH paused to take a dainty sip from her ristretto (most hard-core espresso shot you can get-- respect). She swallowed, shrugged, and added, "But not to worry, I'm getting used to it. Shrimp will too."

What, did her caffeine come with a truth serum?

I shoved the cake plate away. Count on lisBETH to pull off the impossible--harsh my enjoyment of chocolate.

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***

THIRTY-FIVE

We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Johnny Mold
and Myself.

"You're late," Johnny said upon my arrival at LUNCHEONETTE. He did not look up from the erotic comic book he read at the cash register.

"Why do you care?" I placed the apron over my head and turned on La Marzocco to get it primed for my ministrations. "My hours here are supposed to be on the Whenever, Wherever philosophy."

"Moving past the whole ridiculousness of philosophizing one's life schedule by pop song titles, I'm just saying I think people should respect the idea of punctuality. You said you'd be here at three. It's almost four."

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From behind him I nestled my head into his tattooed neck. "You missed me, right?"

He swatted me off. "Kind of."

I pointed at his magazine. "No woman has knockers that big naturally, even in naughty alterna-realms. It's not physically possible."

"Doesn't mean they're not satisfying to look at."

"Does that mean you go for girls?"

"I go for you to help the people lined up for espresso shots. It's not nice to keep people waiting for caffeine."

"You mean keep
you
waiting? If you bothered to look up from your comic book, you might notice there's no line at the counter."

"You're right." All Shrimp has to do is look at me to make me go warm all over, but Johnny knows the words to get me hot. "Skim latte, please. Make it a double."

"Skim? You watching the pounds so you can prey on one of those big-knocker babes cavorting through your dream landscape?"

Johnny finally looked up from the book, turned around, and pressed his index finger to his lip-ringed mouth. "Silence is as golden as punctuality. Suggestion." His eyes returned to comic book babe.

In my fantasy comic book alternate universe, I will be Super Barista Goddess Girl. Bob Mackie or one of those equally horrific eighties fashion designers will have made a custom-designed superhero uniform for me, maybe a gold lame apron-dress, conveniently

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cut out to reveal as much hip, stomach, and leg flesh as possible. Shrimp will be the comic book artist and he will want to bump me up from my hard-won B cup to a double D, and I will object on the grounds of gratuitous oversexualization of a caffeine icon dedicated to serving the public interest of stimulating hyperactivity via coffee rather than crack. I'll be secretly pleased when the final bound artwork reveals Shrimp ignored my feminist stance. Oh, and stance, Super Barista Goddess Girl is lookin' hot with those long legs and gold lame stiletto books. *Cracks whip.*

When I handed him his latte, Johnny said, "The punctuality thing was actually going somewhere. I gotta head upstate more regularly to see my grandpa. He's not doing so well. I need to know if I can count on you to cover this place when I have to be gone? January is a doldrums business month, and I don't like to go when this place is barely surviving, but Johnny the First comes first."

"Understood, and of course you can count on me. I can work the schedule out with my other job with Danny."

"Message for ya. Shrimp dropped by on his way to his meditation class. He said to tell you not to wait for him tonight if he's late getting to your brother's boyfriend's restaurant to meet you all for dinner. Somebody your sister works with called Shrimp about painting her apartment too, so he's going over there to check out the place and give her an estimate. And he said you know how long

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women can go on with paint color samples, so don't be surprised if he doesn't make it at all." Riiight.

Johnny could easily replace Shrimp as my alterna-realm soul mate. He'd at least arrive to dinner on time. He'd at least arrive at all.

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***

THIRTY-SIX

Return to Dynasty: CC's Trip Down Johnny Way,
brought to you by a late night TV-cable-access-dream-state-nightmare.

INT. LUNCHEONETTE--EVENING

CC

No, you don't understand, Johnny. I must have you!

JOHNNY

CC, that's your multiple personality disorder crazy-talking. You think as Fallon that you want to kiss me, but your true self, Myself, has a true love. I won't do it. I won't let you revert to bad girl ways! I won't kiss you! Shrimp is my friend!

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CC/FALLON

Who's Shrimp?

CC/FALLON
gropes JOHNNY
at an inappropriate groin point, her hand subtly shielded by a fake plant so as not to offend Bible Belt viewers who might have inadvertently flipped the channel to her poorly lit attempt at seduction.

JOHNNY

(squirming with heavy breathing, clearly falling under her spell)

I'm a straight-edge celibate. Not only would I never let you cheat on Shrimp, I would never cheat on my own values. That's what makes me true punk instead of mere goth. Got it?

CC

(pressing closer, her mouth almost touching his)

Mold, don't
you
get it? Let me give your values an analogy. That's a fancy word for a fake but similar situation. The analogy is this: You may think you're a straight-edge celibate, but in my imagination you're a devil's food cake with mocha buttercream frosting, and I am a lactose intolerant diabetic, and it's like I can't resist you. I must have a piece! I know you don't

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belong to me, I know I have no right, I know the whole world order could collapse from one taste of you, but you're just too delicious. I only want a little sample, and I promise I'll send you right back to asexual world after I've tried a piece ...

JOHNNY grabs her into his arms and they share a passionate kiss, or as deep a mouth twirl as his lip rings and tongue stud will allow before CC must separate Herself from him.

CC

So that was okay. But, dude, stop kidding yourself. You cloak yourself in asexuality not because you don't want to be labeled straight or gay, but because you're really just undecided.

JOHNNY

How do you always know me better than myself, Myself?

CC

(now cloaked by FALLON-evil, pulling a Swiss Army knife from her waitress uniform)

I've had it with indecision.... Shrimp either decides

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we are in this, and by
we
I mean
he
accepts my brother along with all the other people in my life, or I'll have to go fishin' elsewhere.

JOHNNY

(looking toward the script supervisor on the other side of the camera)

Line? I think she went off script?

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***

THIRTY-SEVEN

My movie star namesake sister has betrayed me. Yvette Mimieux

chose her side, and that side is nestled beside Shrimp wherever he may be in Max's apartment, whether he's sitting on the piano bench painting at his easel, making coffee in the kitchen, or staring at the Wall of Sadness. I think she even follows him into the bathroom. I wonder if Yvette sneaks peeks at the sketchbook he left on the bathtub ledge and resents that Shrimp has forsaken artistic study of her in favor of the written word. His sketchbook is experiencing a spiritual conversion, now being used during his increasingly frequent visits to Tibet House and Buddhist temples in the city to jot notes more than to draw images of Yvette and me in the city. If Yvette did sneak peeks, was she pleased by Shrimp's sketchbook musings, or concerned that given his lack of spelling and punctuation skills, maybe he should save his talent for images rather than words?

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The four nobel truths spoken by the Buddha after his enlitenment: the fundamental truths govern our lives in samsara and provide the means for releese.

1) In life their is suffering

2. suffering is from attachment (desire/craving).

Three--attachment can be overcomme

4) Their is a path for achieiving this; the path is the Dharma. the teachings of the Buddha.

Who knew my boy shared an interest in actualization? And

how could I stay mad with a true love on such a path? What kinda shrewish Super Barista Goddess Girl would that make me?

It's not like Shrimp promised to come to dinner with Danny, Aaron, and me. He'd said "Maybe." I hate technicalities like that.

I hate that neither of us will say how in this or not we are--too scared to ruin our January love nest hiatus in Max's apartment.

Yvette didn't appear concerned that Shrimp should be holding me close in the middle of the night after I'd woken up from my nightmare, petting her while she lay next to him on the living room carpet in Max's apartment. My head turned to her as I lay flat on my back, and I shot her the evil eye from my position on Shrimp's other side. Yvette spared me a hiss in return; she purred her supremacy inside Shrimp's hand instead. Diva.

Shrimp murmured, "Should I be worried that you cried out

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Johnny's name in your sleep?" Hair falling to the sides of his face, blond stubble surrounding his cherry lips, he looked almost painfully beautiful in the light of the dozens of candles he'd placed around the carpet sanctuary he'd created for our night's sleep because my body hurt from the yoga class.

I answered, "Should I be worried that you're a Shrimp out of water who dodges my brother at every opportunity?"

"You answer my question first."

"You shouldn't be worried about me and Johnny Mold. He's my friend. I admit I'm curious about him, but not in a way like I want to experience him physically. More like I want to know what he wants to experience. Make sense?"