So Not Happening (15 page)
“What?” Lindy squeaks. “Five inches off my hair? Are you crazy?”
“Marco eez crazy about art. And your head eez a canvas vaiting to be painted, no?”
“No.” Lindy steps away from Marco. “Nobody's gonna paint my head.”
Marco crosses his arms and huffs. “I cannot work with zees.”
“You'll have to excuse her. She's very upset.” I put my hand over my mouth and lower my voice like Lindy can't hear me. “She desperately wants to impress a boy. They met as young children and have been best friends ever since. But now . . . “ I look away with a dreamy gaze. “Her heart has changed, Marco. She loves him, but does he even know the real Lindy exists?”
He shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Oh no. No, no, zees vill not do.” He nods his head once. “I vill do zees for you.” Marco pulls Lindy to him. “I vill do zees . . . for love.”
“Give her the amoré special on those brows too,” I whisper to Marco. And I go in search of a foot bath.
Two hours later, Carmina, the shampoo girl, signals for me to follow her. I clutch my toweled head and join her at Marco's station.
I would let my jaw hit the floor, but there's hair on it. “Lindy... you look—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Marco shushes me. “Marco vill now show her vhat she look like. Are you ready?”
Lindy rubs the spot between her eyes. “He tried to rip my flesh off.”
He rolls his eyes. “You had caterpillars taking over your face.” He looks at me. “Zees one ees tough cookie, no?”
I laugh. “Yeah, she is.” I smile down at Lindy, who sits with her back to the mirror. Her face is a mask of calm and nonchalance. But her hands beat a punchy rhythm on her knees.
“Marco geev to you ...” He whirls her chair around. “My neweest creation!”
Lindy gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh.” She touches a piece of hair. “My.”
“You're hot, Lindy!”
“It doesn't even look like me.”
“Of course it does—only better.”
“Marco make your true love crazy in ze head. He vill not stop looking at you, no?”
“Matt's going to flip.” I hug my new friend. “You look great. The blonde and caramel highlights really make your eyes pop.”
Lindy sighs, sending her new bangs flying. “Let's just hope Matt's eyes pop.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping. I take Lindy all over Manhattan, from the ritziest boutiques to my favorite discount stores, like H&M on Thirty-fourth Street.
At five o'clock, we wait outside of Bergdorf's for my Dad to pick up up.
“Bella, I just want to thank you.” Lindy sets her packages down on the sidewalk. “When I said I wanted help . . . I didn't expect all this.”
I take in the revamped Lindy, who now looks nothing like a basketball star. More like a buff runway queen. “I had fun.” And I really did. “Well, except for when I had to chase you through the salon during the eyebrow wax.” We laugh at the new memory. “But you look amazing.”
“I do feel... different.”
“And that's a good thing, right?”
Her answer is interrupted by the arrival of my dad's Mercedes. We climb into the backseat and smother him with girl talk.
He parks his jet black car then escorts us into Tao, a New York City hot spot sometimes frequented hv the Hollywood elite. We sit on the main level by the giant statue of Buddha, which actually is not a very appetizing place to eat some spring rolls. But the whole restaurant is filled with soft shadows, candlelight, and the buzz that is only I found in New York, I just want to freeze it and never let it go.
“Luisa tells me you got in late last night,” Dad says later, spearing a piece of his sea bass.
I shrug and watch Lindy navigate her way to the bathroom in her new heels. “I guess.”
“Your curfew was eleven thirty, was it not?”
“Yes.” I feel my cheeks redden. “Can we talk about this later?” I force the corners of my mouth to lift. “It was only forty-five minutes late.”
“You were past curfew.”
“So were you.” I instantly regret my words. Well, regret that I said them.
“I'm the parent here.”
“Really?” Oh my gosh. This salmon I'm eating ... It's ... it's like truth serum! I can't stop myself.
“You and your friend have been shopping all day on my credit card. I think the least I deserve is some respect.”
I peep over my shoulder to the table next to us then back to Dad. “I am grateful. But what I wanted this weekend was to spend some time with my father. You've been
occupied
all weekend. I haven't seen you in weeks, and we've barely had a chance to talk. I thought you'd
want
to spend time with me. Instead you booked your schedule and handed me your Visa.”
“You know I work long hours.”
I nudge the vegetables on my plate with my fork. “You get me once a month. Couldn't you adjust your schedule?”
“Bella, I work very hard at what I do. I have goals. And right now I'm pursuing some opportunities that I've been waiting a very long time for.” He rests his hand on mine, and I watch our shadows overlap in the candlelight. “Don't you want a dad who succeeds, a dad who becomes something?”
I slide my plate away, my appetite gone. “I just want a dad, period.”
T
hree-forty-five in the morning.
I sit straight up in bed and slam off the alarm.
Exhaustion drags my eyelids down, but I shake it off. I have work to do. Two and a half hours before I have to be up for school... but if my hunch is right, ten more minutes before I have to be out the door—hot on Jake's tail.
I jump of bed, knocking the cat lolhr floor. She meows and slinks away. With my phone as a llashliglil. I find a pair of black sweats, throw my hair in a ponytail. and lace my feet into some running shoes.
I crouch on the floor and peek over the windowsill.
Seconds later, Jake's giant form appears. He looks back toward the house then climbs into his truck.
In a flash, I grab my car keys and sneak down the stairs like I'm a world-class spy.
In the kitchen, I watch Jake's truck pull out of the driveway, and when it's a distance from the house, I run outside and jump into the Bug. Taking his cue, I leave my headlights off and navigate the car using only the moonlight. Which isn't easy.
I see the outline of his truck ahead as I pull onto the dirt road. I keep a safe distance behind him and hope he doesn't even think to look in his rearview for someone tailing him at four in the morning.
When we hit the first paved road, I hold the brake down, letting him get even farther ahead. Though his lights are on, I leave mine off and pray the illuminated streets will be enough to see by. And keep me hidden.
He turns onto Central Street.
Fifteen seconds later, I do the same.
Three more turns, and we're heading the opposite direction out of town.
He hangs a left at Mohawk Avenue and wheels into an alley, and that's when I stop.
I frown at the landscape around me. I'm not familiar with this area. Kind of industrial looking. Lots of metal buildings. This is definitely
not
the maxi-pad factory.
I park the car a street away and grab my cell phone, my keys, and the best pepper spray New York sells.
I crouch low—why, I don't know—and tiptoe toward the alley Jake disappeared into. Casting a nervous glance behind me, I stop at the corner of the alley and listen. Two buildings line the small street, and music blasts from the door closest to me.
And yelling.
A shiver dances up my spine. I clutch my phone in a shaking hand. Should I punch in 9-1-1 and have it ready just in case? Am I stupid for doing this? What if I open that door . . . and I'm never heard from again?
Lord, please help me. Protect me from anything
scary. And if something scary does happen, help me to he strong ... and
not pee my pants.
I stand there for a few minutes and just listen. And think. And sweat.
I ease my hand out and touch the knob. Inhaling deeply, I twist it, and the door opens easily. The shouts continue from the far recesses of the building. Somewhere in another room.
I step into a garagelike entryway.
No one in sight.
Sticking close to the wall, I follow the voices down a hall.
“This is the last time you cross me!”
I stop. My breath hitches. Jake—that's Jake.
“You can't stop me! No one can!” Evil, menacing laughter echoes through the building, making the hair on my neck rise.
I take three more steps but freeze at the sound of punches thrown, grunts of pain. What if Jake's in trouble? What if Jake is the trouble?
My feet have carried me to a set of double doors. He's in there.
His voice booms again. “I can stop you! I don't think you know who you're dealing with.”
I sure don't know who I'm dealing with.
I've got to go in.
Somebody falls to the floor. A scuffle. And then a loud, piercing roar.
And I bust through the doors. “Stop!” My camera phone flashes. Crap! I meant to hit SEND. “I'm calling 9-1-1!”
Or taking your picture.
Whatever.
Two men lie tangled in a heap on the floor. Jake has a man pinned to the ground with his legs. Sweat drips from his face.
Jake's eyes are crazed, wild. “What?”
I stomp forward, my legs trembling. “Let him go.” My voice squeaks. “I said let him go, Jake.”
He stares at the man beneath him. Then back at me.
“I don't know what this man has done to you, but strangling him with your thighs is probably not the answer.” I brave a glance at his victim and notice he's naked from the waist up. “I'm onto you, Jake. I've known about your sneaking out for a long time. Secret rendezvous are one thing, but killing someone is so not going to go over with my mom.” Unless he offs me before I tell her.
Jake releases the guy then jumps to a standing position.
And that's when I notice that he's jus I wearing pants too. Black spandex. And his foe is in hot pink.
I take a giant step back. “What kind of place is this?” Two guys wearing spandex rolling around on the floor is
not
a healthy sight.
“Bella, I—“ He moves toward me.
“No!” I hold out a hand and jump back. “Keep your distance, you—you—spandexy perv! I'm calling Mom. And the police. And ...” Jerry Springer?
“It's not what you think.” Jake swipes a hand through his dripping hair.
“Oh yeah?” I plant a hand on my hip. “So I
didn't
see you entangled with another man, decked out in shiny Lycra, and your legs in places that scream
highly
inappropriate?”
He blinks. “Um . . . okay. That part is right. But let me explain.”
“Save it.” I spin around, showing him my back, and head for the doors. I can't wait to pack my bags and get out of this town.
“Bella, wait! You have to listen to me.”
I glance back. “Why?”
His Adam's apple bobs. “Because . . . because I'm—”
“Captain Iron Jack.” A cape appears over Jake's shoulders.
Out from behind him steps that man—the bald guy from church. The one who stopped when the truck broke down.
I wrinkle my nose at Jake. “Are you an exotic dancer?” Ew!
“Of course not.”
The bald man speaks. “He's a wrestler, that's what he is. And soon to be a professional. I've never trained anyone so talented-even if he is a little late coming into the game.”
My head hurts. Can't process it all. “Mom doesn't know.” It's not a question.
Jake's eyes briefly flit away. “No. But she knows I get up early and leave.”
“And what does she think you're doing, warming up the maxi-pad maker?”
“She thinks I'm working out. And I am. I'm training.”
“But she doesn't know why.” She is so going to flip when she hears this. She doesn't know she's married to HulHogan.
“I was going to tell her.”
“When? When you were on Pay-Per-View?”
“No. But that would be kinda cool.” He shakes his head. “No, I mean of course I was going to tell her. Soon. Bella, this is really hard to explain.”
“Well, the visuals have been
quite
lovely so far.”
The other two men leave us and retreat to another part of the room.
“I know it's crazy . . . but have you ever wanted something so bad you could taste it?”
Like a one-way ticket out of the heartland?
“Ever since I was a kid, I would watch wrestling on TV and I would think, I want to do that. It's been my dream for as long as I can remember. I wrestled in high school. Then a little bit after that, and things were going really well. But then my family came along, and one day I woke up and I was raising two boys by myself and I didn't have time for silly little dreams.”
Silly little
spandex
dreams.
“You've betrayed my mom's trust. There's this huge part of your life that she doesn't even know about.”
“I couldn't tell her at first. I had enough trouble with all that online dating business. I sure couldn't say, 'Hey, my name is Jake and when I grow up I want to wrestle.' I just wanted to wait until I had gained some ground with this before I talked to your mother about it. It's just been the last six months that things have taken off.”
I run a hand over my face and wonder why I got out of bed this morning. I so need a latte or two right now.
“It's not just a pipe dream, Bella. This is going to work. I have a manager now.” Jake gestures to the back where the bald guy rearranges some weights. “Mickey's training me. I've had a few matches, and . . . I think I might actually be good at this.”
“You have to tell my mom.”
And the sooner you do, the sooner I
can get back to Manhattan.
“Like today. This morning.” I pull on the door handle and swing it open.
“I'm sorry I've disappointed you.”
I just stare at my stepdad. There's just something about looking at a grown man in tights that robs a girl of any words. “I gotta go.”
“Don't tell your mom before I get home.”
Right.
The drive to the house takes forever, but it's much easier with the rising sun and headlights.
“Mom!” I tear through the kitchen and down the hall. “Mom!”
She sticks her head out of the downstairs bathroom. “What's wrong?” The towel on her head falls to the floor.