Diva (15 page)

"Hey, watch it."

"You're just mad you didn't think of it first."

"Am not." I glance at the microwave clock. "Be quiet. We have to listen to the popcorn now."

So we stand there listening to the pops, inhaling the smell. When the pops slow down to five seconds

between them, we take the bag out of the microwave. I reach for it.

"Thought you weren't having any."

I stick my tongue out at her.

"What's the Toe-Jam update?" she asks.

"She still thinks they're getting married."

"Are they?"

"He's still with his wife."

"I wonder what she's like."

"I don't know. I looked up his address on the computer."

"Really? You know where his house is? Have you gone there?" Gigi asks.

"Too chicken."

That's all Gigi needs to hear. As soon as she washes out the hair dye (she looks really pretty, but I don't

mention it since I know she's not happy about looking so conventional), we're in her Mom's car heading

there.

The house is an ordinary very nice, house, like Dad's. But one thing I notice is there's a yellow Lab in the

backyard. I always wanted a yellow Lab. I used to ask Mom for a dog every year for Christmas. ("Dogs

are creatures that eat their own puke, Caitlin," she told me.) What I wonder now is,
Is it Arnold's kids'

dog? Did he get it for them for Christmas or Hanukah or whatever they celebrate
?

"Nice place," Gigi says.

"Yeah." I chew my cuticle. "Can we leave now?"

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: The Kind of Thing I Love About This School

Date: November 2

Time: 8:14 p.m.

Listening to: "The Lullabye of Broadway" (finale for our show)

Feeling: Amused

Weight: 115 lbs.

In English class we're reading this book called Stargirl, which is basically abt. embracing non-conformity

(like people at this school need a lesson in *THAT!*). The whole grade is reading it. Anyway, today the

principal, Mr. Cirrone, actually came 2 school *dressed* as Stargirl, wearing a wig and a long prairie

dress, and carrying a ukulele. In my old school, people would have def. thought that was tres lame, but

here they thought it was funny.

One of the group numbers in
Welcome to New York
is "Christmas Bells" from the musical
Rent
. That's good because there's no dancing but bad because it's a rock opera. I started out playing a homeless

person, but Miss Davis said my voice stuck out too much on the high parts (Story of my life), so I got

switched to playing a junkie, belting out, "Got any X, any smack, any horse?" My mom would be so

proud. I haven't even told her the performance dates yet. Gigi's a junkie too, and Sean has one of the leads

and stands near us. We listen to Gus and Rex, who play two gay lovers, making homophobic comments. I

start to whisper something to Gigi, but she isn't paying any attention to me. "What are you staring at?" I say. "Would you just look at that?" She gestures at Gus. What?" But I think I know. Gus has on these tight sweatpants which make, um, certain things very… and I mean
very
apparent.

Someone should tell him to buy a jockstrap," Gigi comments.

"Oh, okay, why don't you tell him?" I joke, before I realize that she might actually do it.

Gigi nudges Sylvanie, and Sylvanie nudges the girl by her, and soon, we're all pretty much staring at Gus's

crotch. In fact, we do it any time Miss Davis yells "
cut
."

"We should give it a name if we're going to talk about it so much," Gigi says.

"Woody?" Sylvanie suggests.

I say, "There was a comic who used to call his thing "Mr. Happy." Maybe we should call Gus's Happy?"

"How about Doc?" Gigi suggests.

"Definitely not Bashful," I say, and everyone laughs. My mouth's still moving when Miss Davis notices us.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are drug addicts in desperate need of a fix. No giggling-"

Which sends us diving to cover our mouths with our hands. Except Misty, who isn't in on the joke, She

says, "I think that's very unprofessional."

You would
. Misty's playing a homeless person. When I got sent to the junkies, she got my solo line. Oh, well. I'm happy to stand with my friends.

When Miss Davis looks away, Gigi whispers, "Happy it is. Pass it on."

The last group number is in the "classic Broadway" section of the show. It's from
A Chorus Line
, and it's all dancing. After a few rehearsals, Ms. Wolfe says maybe the non-dancers can sing by the side of the

stage. I pretend not to know she means me. I am
not
dancing by the side of the stage with this girl

Anastasia who weighs over two-hundred pounds and got a doctor's note to get out of Dance because she

doesn't want to wear a leotard. I can do this.

When I tell Sean this after rehearsal, he says, "Of course you can.

"Oh, of course," I say. "I'm a legendary talent in dancing."

"I can work with you. Our duet's coming along. Maybe if you'd deign to let me go to your house Sunday

after church, we could go over the steps."

"Really? You'd do that?" I feel like busting a cheerleader move, and I tell myself it's because I'm excited about getting some dance help, but I know it's really because I'm excited about seeing Sean on a weekend.

We've become really good friends, but I wonder if I want it to be more than that.

That night after rehearsal, I'm in my bedroom. Mom's not home, and I've been Googling opera trivia. I

found this cool website about the opera legend Maria Callas. I want to send Sean the link, but he hasn't

answered my last e-mail, and there's a limit to how many e-mails you can send a guy without looking

stalker-ish. I log off so I won't send it, even though I know I'll be back on in five minutes.

Other than Sean, my e-mail box has been pretty much empty. I never hear from my old friends. I don't

know why that bothers me. What's the use of outgrowing people if they don't even notice you've outgrown

them?

But the phone rings. It's Sean. "Hey, I just got home and I thought I'd call you."

"Cool. I found this really cool Maria Callas site. I'll send you a link."

We talk a while, me, wracking my brain trying to think of stuff to say so he won't hang up. But finally, it's

time, and that's when he says it:

"Love you."

What
? But I heard him. I remind myself that
love you
(or was it even
love ya?)
isn't
I love you
. Not at all.

I shouldn't read too much into it, like in that Tom Cruise movie where all the girls are talking about how

he says
Love ya
when he can't commit.

So I say, "Love you too," trying for the exact same inflection.

Then I hang up.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Love Ya

Date: November 3

Time: 11:13 p.m.

Listening to: "
Che gelida manina"
(hallway scene from
La Boheme)

Feeling: Tired

Weight: 115 lbs.

Or was it, I love you?

Not coincidentally, I scheduled Sean's visit for 11:30, on Sunday. Mom's open houses are usually at noon,

but she goes early to make sure the homeowners cleaned up and didn't leave anything tacky lying around,

like black velvet Elvis paintings. (She says she throws the extra junk in the garbage can.) Coast should be

clear by eleven-ish.

But at 11:15 she's still home. At 11:25 I go to investigate. She's in her room wearing a pink thong bikini

and full makeup.

I say, "Have open houses gotten a lot more casual lately?"

Inside, I'm panicking. Panicking, I tell you.

"Oh, darn client decided not to sell—after I told another client I couldn't take her around. Can you believe that? So I have a free Sunday for once. I'm catching some rays.

"At the beach?" I ask, hopefully.

"Nah, just outside. I have a client at three. Want to join me?" She looks at my legs. "You've gotten pasty since you started that arts school."

"Um, no." If she goes out right now, I can sneak Sean past her. I pick up the suntan lotion. "Here you go."

"I'll put it on in here, let it sink in. UV rays can destroy the skin, Caitlin."

"I know, I know."
Get her outside
. "Here, I'll do your back."

Three skin preparations later, she's out the door. I didn't have to worry, though. Sean's late. At 12:15 the

phone rings. I pounce on it.

"Hey, my mom let me borrow the car. "Want to hit the beach?"

It's Gigi. I glance at the clock. If Sean's coming, I should wait. But what if he forgot and I'm stuck here,

with Valerie, the Hawaiian Tropic babe?

"Caitlin, if you don't want to go, just say so. I'm a big girl."

"It's just… Sean's supposed to come over."

"He blew you off?"

"Not necessarily."

"Don't move. I'm coming over." She hangs up and doesn't answer when I call back… Repeatedly.

It's almost 12:45 when she shows up, giving a confused glance at Harold the flamingo, who's dressed like

a pilgrim now. Still no Sean. "Well, screw him," she says.

"Right. I'll get my suit on." I go to put on my bathing suit, a tank. I own bikinis, but I sort of hate having people look at my body. Nick used to tell me to wear a T-shirt over my suit because I looked fat. Now I

realize he just didn't want other guys looking at me—another level of his BS. I was skinny. Today I look

in the mirror. I weigh one hundred and sixteen now, eleven pounds more than I weighed when I left fat

camp last summer. I haven't binged since that night with the baking chocolate, and I'm keeping away from

the cookies… mostly. Now I survey my body. One-sixteen isn't as heavy as I thought. It's fat in Ashley-

land, or if you're Mom. I don't wear a size zero, but I bet if I ate normal meals, I could maintain this, no

problem. And I look good. Normal good.

I put on a bikini, but I put a long T-shirt over it for some added coverage.

"What?" Gigi says when I come out. "Not a thong like Momzilla?" She gestures toward Mom in the yard, who's giving a full moon to the world.

"Please die," I tell her. I head to the kitchen to get some Diet Cokes.

Of course that's when the doorbell rings.

I try to run in before Gigi opens it, but I'm too late. Next thing I know, Gigi's saying, "Caitlin gave up on you an hour ago." I look out and see Sean and Rudy. Gigi checks Rudy out. "Who are you?"

"He's a friend of Sean's." I'm trying to usher them… somewhere, but it doesn't work because Gigi's going to the beach while Sean and Rudy are heading to my room to practice dance steps. So the next thing I

know, Mom's sweeping in from the yard.

Worlds… colliding… Duck! Take cover
! Caitlin," she says. "Did you throw a party and not invite me?"

Of course she comes in when any guys show up. And of course she didn't put on a cover-up. And of

course she's wearing high-heeled sandals, the better to flex her butt muscles. In fact, the living room is

quite full with me, Gigi, the guys, and Mom's butt.

"Um, no. We were just leaving… for the beach."

I say this even though it's fairly obvious we're not
all
going to the beach. Rudy and Sean are dressed for church. But I have to get them out of the house before Mom—

"You haven't introduced me to your friends."

Too late! Mom's advancing on Rudy. "You're the nice young man who drove Caitlin home a few weeks

back."

Gigi raises an eyebrow, Rudy backs away, and Sean attempts, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. McCourt."

"Call me Valerie. Mrs. McCourt sounds like a teacher."

I find my voice. "Mom, you know Gigi." I wait for her to make eye contact. "And this is Sean and Rudy.

We were just leaving." I hand Sean the cooler.

He gets the hint and leaves. Gigi and Rudy follow, then Mom says, "You're welcome to stay here. I could

make sandwiches."

"No, that's fine, Mom."

So we go to the beach. It turns out that Sean, who practically lives out of his car, has swim trunks with

him, and Rudy rolls up his pants. We stop at Mr. Pizza and order one to go. Then we head to Bill Baggs

Park and choose a spot near the lighthouse. I used to come here all the time with my friends from Key, but

it's been a while.

"You should come to Choral Camp this summer," Rudy tells Gigi and me. "It's at the University of Miami, and they're already planning for it. I'm going to lead a small ensemble group. So of course I'm trying to

recruit good people so my group will be the best. Sean's already coming. I assume you're brilliant too."

"Good assumption." Gigi smiles.

"Rudy knows everything about opera," I tell Gigi.

"I guess someone has to," she says.

I kick some sand at her, then freeze. Walking about five feet away from me are all—and I mean
all
—my

old friends from Key, including Nick. Three football players, two cheerleaders, and a partridge in a pear

tree.

Omigod. I'm in ex-boyfriend hell. I wish I'd left the T-shirt on. I suck in my stomach.

Saint, the guy I dated after Nick, is carrying a cooler that I know is filled with beer (hidden under the

Coke cans). "Hey, Caitlin," he says.

Can't talk. Dying
. "Hey."

They reach our blanket where they salaam like extras in a production of
Turandot
and I introduce them to my friends.

"I remember you from Wendy's," Ashley says to Sean. "Nice bathing suit."

Sean doesn't put down his
pizza
., but salutes. Finally, the only one left is Nick. I'm holding my pizza
and
my breath, wondering what he's going to say. But he just nods and trudges along after them. I watch,

frozen, until he's about ten feet away.