Jailbait (15 page)

“Listen, you moron.” I go right up in his face. “This is a family heirloom and it's the only thing I have from my great-grandmother who died in the Holocaust, so just lay off, you hear me?”

“Sorry.” Donald actually looks apologetic as he backs away. Of course, what I said wasn't true, but I'm especially not in the mood for Donald today. I'm not in the mood for anything except that final bell, which is taking forever to ring. I keep looking at the clock and this is how I tell time: four hours and twenty minutes till Frank, three hours and fifteen minutes till Frank, two hours till Frank, one hour till Frank …

Finally school is over, thank God. I don't think I could sit still one minute longer. I grab my knapsack and peek inside to make sure Mike's raincoat is still in there, which is silly, since it can't exactly open my locker and walk away. Then I head out the door without even buttoning up my jacket and it's not exactly July. But I don't care. I get to the spot where I usually meet Frank a little early, hoping that he'll be there already because he just can't wait to see me, the way I can't wait to see him. But he's not here yet, which doesn't really surprise me. Frank isn't one to mess with our routine.

I stamp my feet a little, trying to stay warm while I wait for him. It's so cold out, I wish I was in Bessie's barn with her, but I'm sure I won't be out here much longer. Frank will be here any minute. While I wait for him, I
look at my new locket. I open it and shut it, and then for some reason, I decide to take it off and put it in my pocket next to my lucky shell, because what if Frank sees it and thinks some guy gave it to me instead of Shirley? Then he'll get all mad and jealous. Yeah, like what guy would ever give me a locket, Batman?

So where is Frank already? I don't have a watch on, but I know it's past the time when he usually gets here. I can't even think about the possibility that he's not going to show up, so I start walking up and down a little, waving my arms to keep the blood flowing, and then, just because I feel like it, I break into this ridiculous cheer: “Frank, Frank he's our man, if he can't do it, no one can!” And I shake my hands out in front of my chest like I'm holding two pompoms or something. And then, just as I start in with, “Two, four, six, eight, Frankie Boy is really great,” I hear his car take the corner and my heart starts beating so fast I'm afraid it's going to explode right there in my chest.

“How come you're late?” I ask as soon as I get in the car. God, what a moron I am. I sound just like Shirley when Fred gets home late from the office. Shirley says I never think before I speak and for once in her life she's right.

But Frank doesn't get mad, which is a nice surprise; you never know with Frank. “I just wanted to give you one last chance to change your mind,” he says, putting his hand on my knee as he starts to drive. “This is a very serious thing, Vanessa.”

Duh, like I don't know that. I mean, you could get a horrible disease like syphilis and die from what we're
about to do, or you could get pregnant and have a baby if you're not careful. Which is weird when you think about it. Sex really is a matter of life and death.

“I didn't change my mind” is all I say, since I don't want to get all intense and heavy on Frank. Then I sit back in my seat and stare at his hand. It's so good to see it again—weird pinkie and all—I feel like, I don't know, picking it up and squeezing it or kissing it even. I also feel like peeking into the backseat to see if Frank got me a birthday present, but I don't dare turn around.

Frank doesn't say one word the rest of the way to the house and I'm worried he forgot it's my birthday, but now isn't exactly the time to remind him. I mean, he did show up and everything, didn't he? Yeah, but he hasn't even wished me a happy birthday. It wouldn't kill him to at least say that. I'm kind of mad, but when we get to the house I see what a big fat idiot I am because Frank has decorated the entire downstairs of the house with streamers and balloons and everything. There's a banner that says
Sweet Sixteen
hung up in the kitchen too, and on the counter there's even a little cake with pink and white frosting and sixteen candles in it.

“Frank, you're the best,” I say, giving him a hug, and even though he's not usually into big displays of affection, he holds me close and strokes my hair for a minute. Then he gets out his matches and lights all the candles and while I think of a wish, he lights himself a butt. I don't know what to wish for since I already have Frank, which is everything I want. I think a minute more and then wish that this year would fly by so I'll
turn seventeen and then Frank and I won't have to sneak around anymore and we can be together forever. Then I take a deep breath and blow out all my candles on the first try, which means my wish will definitely come true.

I take the candles out of my cake, cut two pieces with my Swiss army knife, and serve them to us on plates that say
Sweet Sixteen.
Frank only takes one little bite of his, and you'd think I'd be too nervous to eat too, but I actually finish my piece and have another.

When I'm done eating, Frank says, “Let's go upstairs,” so we do. I thought maybe he'd tell me to go upstairs first and put on the raincoat, but it's weird, he made such a big deal out of me bringing it, but he hasn't even mentioned it yet. I take my knapsack upstairs anyway and follow Frank into the room where the sleeping bags are.

“Get undressed,” Frank says, unzipping his jacket.

I drop my knapsack in the corner. “Don't you want me to put on an outfit or something?”

“Yeah, your birthday suit, birthday girl,” he says, and then he chuckles at his joke, which is so funny I forgot to laugh.

“Can't I put an outfit on?” I ask Frank, and even though he's annoyed, he says okay. I don't know why, but I feel a little scared to be totally naked if he's going to be totally naked too. I change into my black lace outfit, come back into the sleeping bag room, and then for the first time ever, watch Frank take off his clothes.

First he bends over to take off his work boots and
socks, but as soon as his bare feet hit the floor, he puts his socks right back on. “Criminy, it's cold in here,” he says, like that's news to me. It's been freezing for the past month, but how would Frank know that? He's never even taken off his jacket.

Next he unbuckles his belt and drops it on the floor, where it curls up like a sleeping snake. Then he undoes his pants and lets them drop to his ankles and I don't mean to stare, but Frank has the hairiest legs I've ever seen. He's wearing white boxer shorts and he leaves them on while he takes off his shirt and his undershirt, and I try to keep my face still so I don't look shocked because Frank is just one big fat hairball, he really is. I mean, Fred has some hair on his chest and so does Mike, but Frank— I hate to say this—he's like a total ape. He's got thick dark hair on his chest, his stomach, his arms, and even his shoulders, too.

Frank drops his clothes on the floor and then just stands there in his underwear. “Don't be scared, Vanessa,” he says, so I guess he can tell I am. “C'mere, baby.” He speaks in his nice, soothing voice, which makes me happy. I go to him and let him hug me a little. Then he releases me and speaks gruffly. “Get the raincoat.”

I bend over for my knapsack and pull out Mike's trench coat. It's pretty wrinkled from being balled up all day, but I don't think Frank will notice. I shake the coat out and hold it up. “Do you want me to put it on?”

Frank startles and looks taken aback for a minute. He stares at the coat and then at me. His eyes go back and
forth—the coat, my face, the coat, my face—and then this look comes over him that I've never seen before. He seems puzzled or confused, but he's kind of sad too, or maybe even a little scared, and then he starts to laugh. And I mean really laugh, not his usual snort or chuckle or smirk. Frank is completely hysterical. We're talking hyena here. He actually has to hold on to the wall for support, and his whole body shakes as he laughs, roars, guffaws; he even doubles over and slaps his knee. I don't even have a clue here and I wish somebody would please tell me what in the world is so funny. I feel like a complete imbecile standing around almost naked holding Mike's wrinkled raincoat while Frank gets his jollies. And I'm mad, too, because this is not the way I thought my birthday would be.

Frank straightens up, looks at me, smiles, and then— I can tell he doesn't want to, but he just can't help himself—he loses it again. “Oh, Vanessa, you poor baby.” Frank finally gets it together and drops down to his knees on top of the sleeping bags. “C'mere, birthday girl.” He holds out his hand and I take it, even though I don't really want to, and let him pull me down on the floor.

“A raincoat”—he smiles and I'm afraid he's going to lose it again but he doesn't—“a raincoat is slang for a condom.”

Oh my God, I don't believe it. He meant a condom? I feel like such a moron holding Mike's raincoat, I want to just rip it to shreds, or ball it up and chuck it out the window. I am just so unbelievably stupid.

“Frank,” I say, trying to control my voice so I don't cry. “Why didn't you just say condom if you meant condom?”

“Vanessa, I thought you'd know what I meant,” he says. “Why in the world would I want you to bring a raincoat?”

Because you're weird, Frank
, I want to say but of course I don't.

“When I was your age, we always called them raincoats,” Frank goes on, and I feel like asking,
When was that, Frank, 1922?
“You know, raincoats, rubbers, anything that keeps you dry.”

I can hardly even look at him, I feel so dumb. “I'm sorry, Frank,” I mumble into his chest. I wouldn't even blame him for getting mad, but he doesn't.

“Oh, Vanessa.” He lays me down and takes me in his arms, the way he knows I like. “You really are sixteen, aren't you?”

No, Frank
, I think,
I'm a hundred and twelve
, but I can't stay mad for long, especially when he holds me so soft and so tight.

“Are we still going to do it?” I ask after a while.

“Oh, baby, I want to, you know how much I want to. But we can't.” Frank's voice is sad, and I feel like crying again, I'm such a total failure.

“But it's my birthday and I wanted it to be special,” I say, and then I can't help it, I do begin to blubber. “Can't we do it anyway? I won't get pregnant, I promise. And even if I do, I'll take care of it.”

Frank stops stroking me and sits up sharply, making
me sit up too. “Now you listen to me, Vanessa,” he says, and he's not mad exactly, just stern. “Don't you ever
ever
think of not using protection, you hear me? You've always got to look out for yourself. I don't care what kind of line a guy gives you. Guys can't be trusted. Believe me, I'm a guy. I know.”

Frank's eyes are blazing, like he's really mad at someone, but I don't think it's me. And what is he now, my father? What's with the lecture?

“Frank, what are you talking about? What guy? I don't want to ever be with anyone but you,” I say, hoping he'll say, I
don't want to ever be with anyone but you either
, but of course he doesn't. He just shushes me and tells me to lie down.

“Shut your eyes now and I'll give you your birthday present,” he says and then he finally does what I've wanted him to do since the day I met him: he kisses me. A nice soft, sweet, wet, juicy kiss that practically takes my breath away. I don't even mind the cigarette taste so much because Frank's mouth is just heaven.

“Did you like that?” Frank asks, and before I can even answer, he says we need to get going and pulls away from me. I turn my back and change into my regular clothes and put Mike's raincoat back in my knapsack. We leave the house kind of messy—there's nothing to even cover the cake with—but Frank doesn't care, so why should I? All I care about is whether I'll see him on Monday or not but of course I'm too afraid to pop the question. But Frank reads my mind as usual because the minute we're back in the car he says, “Do you think you
can bring a raincoat on Monday, Vanessa?” And he slows down his voice and raises his eyebrows when he says the word
raincoat
just to make sure I know what he means.

“Can't you bring it?” I ask as he puts the screwdriver into the ignition. The VW starts up right away, so maybe his friend Lloyd finally fixed it.

“Vanessa, it's always the woman's responsibility to take care of that,” Frank says in his stern voice.

“Okay,” I say, even though that isn't fair. But if you really think about it, I guess fair or not fair, it's true, because I'm the one who could get pregnant, not Frank. And anyway, I have other things to worry about besides what's fair and what isn't. Like where in the world am I supposed to get a condom? Luckily I have all weekend to figure that out.

After Frank drops me off and waves, I wave back and start
walking home fast, not because I'm in a rush to get there but because it's pretty chilly out. While I walk, I think about Frank, of course. It's funny; you'd think I'd be all happy to see him today—and I was, don't get me wrong, but part of me felt mad, too. I guess I'm not really mad at him so much, I'm mad at the situation—you know, how we have to sneak around and stuff. If Frank and I were allowed to have a normal relationship, he could take me out to dinner or something (yeah, right, like Fred would ever let him). As it is, we have to keep our relationship a secret for another whole year, which is really, really hard.

I pick up the pace because it's getting colder by the minute and some snowflakes are even coming down. And then, as soon as I turn our corner, I see something that almost gives me a full-fledged heart attack: in addition to Shirley's car beached in its usual spot in our driveway, Fred's car is parked out on the street. I don't ever remember Fred coming home this early. Something must be wrong, really wrong, like World War III broke out when I wasn't looking, which is exactly what would happen if Fred ever found out about me and Frank.

I drag myself up the driveway and reach into my pocket for my keys but before I can even fish them out, the door opens.

“Surprise!”

“Mike, wow!” I can't believe it: Mike flew home for my birthday. I'm so happy to see him I start to cry a little, like that makes sense. He gives me a huge, squashy hug, and then I hang up my coat and go into the kitchen, where Shirley is, of all things, cooking. And I don't mean just warming up a TV dinner in the toaster oven either. She's actually standing at the stove, wearing an apron, with a spatula in her hand. And Fred is sitting at the table, reading the
New York Times.
This is so weird, it's like I'm on a movie set and everyone knows exactly how to play their part except me.