Second Helpings (32 page)

Comment?!

(What?!)

Jai dit, Jaime une fille avec un peu de jonque dans le tronc

(I said, I like a girl with a little junk in the trunk. )

II y aun probleme avec ta traduction.

(Theres a problem with your translation.)

Jaime une fille avec un booty.

(I like a girl with a booty)

Oh. Je le regois maintenant .

(Oh. I get it.)

Oh, tu las regu!

(Oh, you got it!)

Junk in the trunk must be why Pepe has this hopeless crush on Bridget, who has looked bootylicious and legal since seventh grade. It took me eighteen years, but I finally look like a girl, albeit one five years younger than I am, but even this is an improvement. The point is, when I looked in the mirror, I thought I looked pretty good. For me.

Unfortunately, I did not pass my mothers white-glove inspection.

You cant go dressed like that.

Why not?

Because its a tea party , Jessie, my mom said, not a keg party.

But look, I said, lifting up my leg. Im not wearing sneakers.

You go upstairs and change into something more appropriate this minute!

Mooooooommmmmm , I whined unattractively. I thought this was appropriate.

Then my mom hustled upstairs and made a beeline for my closet.

No, no, no, no she said as she pushed hangers from one side to the other until she reached the inner recesses of my closet, the darkened comers reserved for clothes I never, ever wear.

Mom, I said. Theres nothing back th

This is perfect! she said, whisking out one of Bethanys cast-offs, a charcoal-gray suit covered in dry-cleaning plastic.

No way! I shrieked. I was completely horrified at the prospect of looking like someone who works on Wall Street. Make that the non-working wife of someone who used to work on Wall Street.

Jessie, she said. This is from Barneys. Its a very expensive, very well-made suit. Youre lucky your sister got her colors charted and discovered that gray doesnt suit her hair or complexion. She chuckled, pleased as punch about her discovery. Suit her. Thats funny.

There was nothing funny about this.

It was very nice of her to give it to you, and since youve put on some weight, it just might fit.

Ive already got the scholarship, Mom, I argued. I dont see why I need to dress to impress.

Then my mom went on and on about how the tea was being held at the home of Ms. Susan Petrone, a very high-falutin Piedmont University alumna, Class of 1986. Shes a big-time district attorney, and even if I chose not to attend Piedmont, she could be a perfect addition to my Rolodex (?!) and someone I could turn to for a reference four years from now when I need a job blahdiddyblahblahblah.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression, she said.

I love it when my mom drops deodorant commercial wisdom.

Mom?

Yes?

Another perfect opportunity for my Columbia confession.

Nothing.

Thats right. I pussed out and put on the itchy, ill-fitting suit. I suck.

You look very professional, my mom said when she looked me over.

Yes, its very important to look professional when the only job on your resume is serving frozen custard and other heart-attack snacks for fatty boombalatty bennies at Wally Ds Sweet Treat Shoppe on the Seaside Heights boardwalk. Christ. How did I let myself get into this?

So we drove to Oceanhead, which is a very hoity-toity waterfront town. Its probably the classiest town in Ocean County, which is really not saying much. Ms. Susan Petrone lives in one of those slate-and-blond-wood houses with floor-to-ceiling windows exposing grandiose views of creamy sand and crashing surf. Its a private beach that has never seen a cigarette butt, beer cooler, or a bennies plastic flip-flop.

Needless to say, my mom was very impressed. Do you have any idea how much I could sell this for? she asked, drooling over the potential commission. Three mil at least.

Also needless to say, I was the only fool wearing a damn suit. The room was awash in pastels and floral church dresses. I looked like a bull dyke at the Easter Parade. Yet I made a very unlesbianlike observation.

Why arent any guys here? I asked myself out loud.

This is a tea for the girls of Westlake College, Piedmont University, said Ms. Susan Petrone, a tall, lean woman with newscaster hair, tasteful jewelry, and a no-nonsense demeanor.

But Piedmont is a coed school

Indeed, interrupted Ms. Susan Petrone in the very authoritative tone she must use in the courtroom. One of Piedmonts greatest strengths is the coordinate system of education, which enables you to grow and share with each other in a women-only environment.

Oh, I replied, vaguely remembering reading something about this in the brochure last year. At the time, when I was fed up with Marcus and malekind in general, and not in my right mind, the coordinate system had sounded like a good idea.

Gather round, ladies, she said, as I explain to you the benefits of the coordinate system, one of the most misunderstood components of the Piedmont University educational experience.

For the next half hour, she went on to explain that Piedmont was the only coed school in the nation that separates the sexes on campus. Much like at summer camp, guys and girls reside on opposite sides of a lake, the guys on the Piedmont College half and the girls on the West-lake College half. They have separate dormitories and student govern-ments, but all classes are coed. According to Ms. Susan Petrone, the greatest advantage of the separate-but-equal living arrangement is that it allows women to live and work together without the pressures of the patriarchy.

That is exactly the kind of backward, pseudo-feminist bullshit Manda slings. Ive never understood the grrrls who believe that the only way to get ahead as women is to exclude men. Dont get me wrong, the Y-chromosome set is teeming with total morons. But how can we expect to make our mark on the world if we alienate half its population? Its like Paul Parlipiano said about PACO: The best way to change the system is to work within it. (Hed be so proud of me! Less than three weeks until the Snake March! Whee!)

The oddest thing about Ms. Susan Patrones pro-separation-of-the-sexes spiel was that it drew so much attention to what made the coordinate system a fundamentally doomed concept. I dont think its a coincidence that the glossy, colorful Piedmont University brochure mentions the coordinate system almost as an afterthought. I think the publicity people know the truth: If a single-sex environment is your thing, fine. But why would any guyor girl for that mattergo to a school where two thousand menstrual cycles get in sync? What a nightmare!

It made me hate the Piedmont publicity people, for being so underhanded and sneaky about something that could have such a huge impact on happinessespecially since I almost bought into it. It just goes to show you how little we really know about the schools we pin our hopes on. I cant believe I actually considered going here before Paul Parlipiano intervened. I dont know if I know Columbia any better, but I do know this: Its the diametric opposite of Piedmont, which is a step in the right direction. Thank you, Gay Man of My Dreams, for helping me narrowly avert certain collegiate catastrophe. (Just nineteen days! Im so excited! Im sooooo excited that I wont even dwell on how absolutely pathetic it is that the highlight of my spring break social calendar is attending a social protest with a homosexual! When other girls are island hopping, Ill be protest hopping!)

And isnt part of the point of going to college getting to know all different kinds of people, includinghorrors!guys? At Columbia (if I

get in, please let me get in), Ill be peeing next to the opposite sex on a daily basis because even the bathrooms are coed. I cant see how Piedmont could possibly promote anything but unhealthy relationships between the sexes. Guys are lazy dogs. They are not going to leave the comfort of their own dorms, walk a mileacross a bridge, over a lake, and through the woodsjust to hang out and watch television. No, the only reason they would walk a mile, across a bridge, over a lake, and through the woods, would be if they knew they were going to get their hobs nobbed while they watched television. In summation, the coordinate system rewards whoredom, which really would make it the perfect school for Manda, wouldnt it?

Speaking of heinous skankitude

Look who I found! my mom said brightly. Isnt this a coincidence?

Call Me Chantalle. And her mom.

Holy shit.

This was not a coincidence. This was a sign. Any second now, I expected Ashleigh, she of the broccoli schnozz and aggressively annoying personality, to show up, saucer in hand, nibbling on a dry, tasteless shortbread cookie.

Maybe we could be roommates again! Call Me Chantalle gushed.

I looked around the room. It was full of chattering, excited girls. This was insane. Why was I here, wearing an outfit I hated, putting on a happy face for my mom and the likes of Call Me Chantalle?

So its true, I said.

Whats true? asked Call Me Chantalle.

That psychosis is a symptom of advanced-stage syphilis, I whispered so only she would hear.

What do you mean?

Because youve got to have a sexually transmitted brain-eating virus to think Id ever live with you again.

Call Me Chantalles huge head turned red with anger and she looked exactly like a stop sign. I was pretty sure I could take all seventy-five pounds of her in a catfight, but I didnt want to stick around to find out. My mother and Mrs. DePasquale were too busy bragging about the scholarships Piedmont was offering their daughters to notice the tension. I grabbed my mother by the arm and told her it was time to go.

But Jessie, honey, she cooed. We just got here.

Which has already been long enough for me to realize that I will never, ever go to this school with these people, I replied, without breaking my stride.

When we got to the car, my mother attacked.

What has gotten into you? Ive never seen you behave so poorly in my life!

Mom, I have no intention of going to Piedmont, I said. I should have never agreed to go to this inane event.

Then why did you even apply?

This was the third perfect opportunity to tell the truth. I applied to Piedmont because at the time, I was too scared to apply to the school 1 really wanted to attend, the one you wont let me attend even if I get in . Thats what I should have said.

But for the third time, I pussed out. And I pussed out because I suck. Suckity suck suck.

the fifteenth

Finally a Jessica-free edition of Pinevile Low I could enjoy.

WHAT RICHIE-RICH THROW-DOWN THROWER RECENTLY EXPLODED OUT OF HER EARL JEANS BECAUSE SHE STILL THINKS SHES A SIZE 2?

Sara, of course. Ha!

With one less thing to worry about today, I decided to finally have a talk with Pepe about Bridget. Hes been hanging around her a lot lately, and I just cant stand to see him crushed. Im very sensitive to these types of heartbreaks for obvious reasons. When I accused him of having a crush on Bridget, Pepe issued denials faster than Whitney Houstons publicists after a bout of dehydration.

Connerie! Bridget a eu un boyfriend celebre!

(Bullshit! Bridget had a famous boyfriend!)

Elle a eu une rendez-vous avec Geai de Kay. Et il nest pas si celebre.

(She had one date with Kayjay. And hes not that famous.)

Pourquoi un POA chaude comme Bridget me choisirait? Je souhaite !

(Why would a hot POA like Bridget choose me? I wish!)

Bien, uh Elle ne vapas. Cest pourquoi jetai ditde Ioublier.

(Well, uh She wouldnt. Which is why Ive been trying to tell you to forget her.)

Netinquietes pas de moi. Je suis copacetic.

(Dont worry about me. Im copacetic)

Later, I tried to urge Bridget to spend less time with him so she wouldnt lead him on.

I would never carry on a secret relationship with anyone, especially someone Ive worked with, she said.

Are you sure? I think he might be hot for you.

Jess, thats so, like, unprofessional .

But

Bridget wasnt about to explore this topic any further because she had revenge on her mind.

But nothing. Weve got more important stuff to, like, think about! she said, holding up a page torn out of the New York Times. We are going to finally face off with Hy!

I looked at the clipping. Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace was doing a reading and signing at a bookstore on March 28the same day Im supposed to meet Paul Parlipiano in NYC.

Ill take the bus with you, since Im going in that day already, I replied.

Oh, she said. Is that the day of the big Lizard Walk?

Snake March, I said, so aglow with the prospect of spending the day with my crush-to-end-all-crushes that I could easily ignore her non-chalant ignorance. Its PACOs biggest nondiscriminatory demonstration against all forms of tyranny.