Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries) (13 page)

For the funeral I can’t decide between my black dress or my other black dress. I think I’ll go with my black dress. Boo hoo.

The funeral was better than the wake because the coffin was closed and people got up and spoke. Mitch Massey, my dad’s editor at the last magazine where he worked until he was fired for being a drunk, said my dad was the funniest man he ever met. He said he would have liked to share with us some of the wittiest things he said but he couldn’t because there
were ladies present. Everyone cracked up because they knew what a foul pig my dad was. To give you an example, Affie has this wooden box where she keeps all the seeds for her porch garden. One day she came in all worried because by accident she had left it out many nights in a row. She said “Oh no, there’s cobwebs in my seed box!” And he said back really fast “Oh, come on, Affie, it hasn’t been that long since we fucked.”

Mitch also said my dad was a magical writer. He said when my dad wrote about a sporting event you felt like you were there. And if you actually were there, his story was even better than the actual experience. A huge compliment for a writer.

It’s hard to cry at a funeral when you are the only child and everyone is staring at you.

Next was my great-uncle Roger from Rhode Island who I had never met. He is the brother of Aunt Dorothea. He flew in to represent that entire side of the family. He shared memories of how delightful and cute my dad was when he was little. He didn’t have to say it, but we all knew that when my dad started drinking that pretty much put an end to it.

When Affie got up I was sure it was going to be the most embarrassing experience of my life, but she was amazingly
cool. She told stories about my dad like he was the sexiest man alive. How he swept her off her feet, how romantic he was and sensitive and kind, and how he opened up a whole new world of love for her. It was just a fantasy but since it was the same one I had when I was little, it made me happy to believe in it again for a few minutes.

I spoke last. I hadn’t really planned anything. I thanked everyone for coming and said that I had fond memories of my dad and that I would always cherish them. I told about the time when he woke me up in the middle of the night when I was about five because there was a Marx Brothers movie on TV he wanted me to see. I loved Harpo and thought my dad was pretty amazing to go to all the trouble of waking me up. I also shared how I used to pour beers for him and that as politically incorrect as it was, it made me feel very important, and that to this day I am an expert on how to pour so the foam doesn’t spill over. People laughed at this. I then told everyone about this game my dad and I used to play when we were watching TV together. I would tell him I wanted a sip of his beer and when he reached to get his mug I would flop down and make a raspberry sound on his beer belly. He would pretend to get really mad, like I had tricked him into it, and I would laugh my ass off. Even though this is sort of a sad story because it involves alcohol, everyone knew I was being honest and that this was the sort of person he was. I didn’t cry once the
whole time I spoke and neither did almost anyone else. That is what I wanted.

Before the final prayer a beautiful woman stood up and sang a song called “Turn, Turn, Turn.” The lyrics are beautiful and say something like there is a time to work, a time to play, a time to plant, a time to sew, a time for every single thing under heaven. These words reminded me of how big life is and that individuals live and die and that it was my dad’s turn to die and now it is my turn to live. I finally started to cry a little. My mom was really sweet, hugging me and giving me tissues, and whispering that she loved me. If Mark hadn’t been sitting right next to her, holding her hand with the giant diamond on it, I would have said I loved her back.

When we got home my mom and Mark wanted to take me out for a nice dinner. I said I was too tired but that they should definitely go without me. Two minutes after they left I fell asleep with all my black clothes on.

Today all I did was smoke and sleep.

There was one thing the priest said that I really liked. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb and naked I shall return.” It made me feel like my father was happy and safe now. I want that written on my tombstone. Hint hint.

My first day back. Boy, were the Spooners happy to see me. Even Cole clapped. During lunch Paul and I had a first-rate conversation. That’s one of Paul’s favorite words. First-rate. He uses it all the time. His other favorite words are non-starter, sublime, insipid and paradox. I am a total sponge and am already starting to use them. We talked mostly about our fathers. Paul’s dad was a huge jock at Stanford. A really nasty dude, sounds like. He used to tease Paul because Paul didn’t like any sports except wrestling. In high school Paul was president of his class and a member of the chess club, math club and bridge club. I just love how the kids who were the brainiacs in high school grow up to be such remarkable men and how the football players end up managing Jiffy Lubes. That’s what Paul says anyway.

Paul can’t believe how fine I seem with my dad’s death. I explained that he had been sick for a very long time so I’d pretty much prepared myself for it. He smiled and said that young people are so arrogant. I started to get defensive and he said no, it’s a good thing because if we weren’t so arrogant we would be in big trouble. I asked him to explain. He said it is the arrogance of youth that allows us to make the difficult transition to adulthood. It allows us to take risks, fight for idealistic causes, fall in love, start impossible careers, etc.

I asked him what arrogance has to do with that. He said young people think they know everything when they actually know very little. Adults try to talk sense to us but we ignore them because we think grown-ups are full of shit and that their advice is based on their own failed lives and that we are going to do so much better than they did. Paul said that although this is frustrating for adults it is actually a good thing because if young people understood how cruel and complicated life truly is, they might crawl into their basement with a crack pipe and never come out.

“You mean life is worse than I think?”

“Much. For instance, you think you’re okay with your dad’s death? Not a chance. The hardest decade of life will be your thirties. If you’re really lucky you’ll fall apart completely, finally deal with your dad’s death and every other heartbreak you’ve ever had, and then you’ll put yourself back together again. If you’re unlucky you won’t fall apart. You’ll stay in denial and grow into a sad old person with hemorrhoids, clogged arteries and cancer.”

“Awesome.”

He laughed.

Then I said “I always thought the hardest part of life was supposed to be right after college. When you have to figure out what you want to do with your life.”

“Nope. That child’s play compared to your thirties.”

“Tell me more about life and how it’s going to be. I’ll believe you, I promise. I won’t be arrogant.” “Sorry. I’ve got to get back to work.” Fascinating boss, right?

When Cole was born his eyes were blue but now they are on their way to brown. Margaret was hoping they’d stay blue so she could see herself in him. I told her I would see her in Cole no matter what color his eyes were. This made her really happy. But to be honest the browner his eyes get, the more he looks like Paul. I hardly see any of Margaret in Cole anymore.

I was watching a soap opera on the floor with Cole lying next to me on his mat. I gave him my pinkie and thumb and he grabbed on with both hands and yanked and wrestled with them for like 15 minutes. Boy is he strong. And the whole time he kicked, kicked, kicked with joy.

“Look at my happy kid!” Paul said when he saw us sitting there. “Can you blame him? He gets to hold hands with a gorgeous girl all day!”

So I’m gorgeous, huh? Verrry interesting.

I called Dan just now to tell him that my dad died. The first two times Martine answered and I hung up. The third time Dan answered on the first ring.

I said “Hi, it’s me. I have something important to tell you.”

He said “I’m sorry you have the wrong number. Please stop bothering us.”

He hung up in my face.

He’s lucky I don’t send Martine a long letter.

Today I was eating lunch while Paul read the
Wall Street Journal.
I started complaining about how my mom is getting married to a jerk and how she expects me to be the maid of honor. I went on bitching for about five minutes. Finally Paul said “It could be worse. You could be one of the seven Iraqis blown up yesterday by a suicide bomber.” Many people would find a comment like this annoying but I didn’t. I like that Paul doesn’t take me too seriously. Rory would have spent an hour listening to me bitch until I lost all respect for him. Dan would have psychoanalyzed me and hurt my feelings. But Paul, saying what he said, let me know I was acting like a spoiled brat and that there were way worse things in the world than my stupid problems. I think the only reason
I complain around Paul is to have something passionate to talk about.

Later Paul explained the way our primary elections work, which makes no sense, but he said there are many, many things in our democratic system that make no sense, and yet it’s still better than any other system. He also explained the difference between Republicans and Democrats.

Republicans say “Screw the poor, let’s keep all the money for ourselves.”

Democrats say “No, let’s keep almost all the money for ourselves and give the poor just enough so they don’t start a revolution and cut our heads off.”

Twice during our political talk I made him crack up. The first was when I said that Barrack Obama is black Jimmy Stewart. Paul laughed and said “Perfect, perfect!” The second was when we were talking about Hillary and I said no way would I vote for a president with tharm and cankle.

“I don’t know what that is,” Paul replied.

“Thigh-arm and calf-ankle.”

He howled.

It’s wonderful making him laugh.

Margaret is very serious. I don’t know if it’s because she is always so exhausted from breastfeeding or if that’s just how she is.

•    •    •

I still can’t believe Dan hung up on me like I was some annoying twat raising money for sick kids in baseball hats to go to Disneyland. When he finds out that my dad died, he’s going to feel soooooo guilty!

I saw a funny little man interviewed on TV who wrote a book that claims that in the future people will have sex with their own personal robots and even fall in love with them. I don’t think I would like to have a robot programmed to love me. Why not? you ask. Because one of the most exciting things about getting a guy is knowing that he could be with many other girls but chose me.

After my last blog I couldn’t stand being cooped up any more so I stole three of Mark’s Dutch beers, got in my car and drove around in the snow drinking them. Then all of the sudden I was on the highway heading to Dan’s house. Maybe deep down that’s where I was going the whole time but I couldn’t admit it to myself. Everything was dark when I got there except for a light on the second floor. I assumed it was either Dan’s office or their bedroom. If it was his office, maybe he was up working late and Martine was sleeping. If it was the bedroom, maybe they were both awake watching TV

I knocked. No one came. I knocked louder. “What’s the
worst that can happen?” I kept thinking, without once actually trying to answer the question. If I had answered the question I would have run to my car and driven away like Danica Patrick. Just when I was sure that no one was home, the door opened fast and there was this beautiful woman standing before me. She looked maybe 30. Short black hair and perfect white skin. Thick pouty lips. She was wearing boxers and a big T-shirt from Dan’s college. She held a textbook in her hand and her glasses were pushed up onto her head. A total Jade body, tiny and strong. Her nipples were visible through her T-shirt. She looked annoyed and curious but mostly curious.

“Hi, my name’s Patty Marvin. I’m a student of Professor Gallo’s. I hate to interrupt you but I need to talk to him. It’s really, really important.”

“I’m zorry,” she said. “He’s not ’ome.”

“Damn! Are you sure?”

“Of courz I am sewer.”

I grumbled to myself like a crazy person then I turned and ran away. The walk was really icy. I slipped and landed right on my ass. I was too embarrassed to look back so I got up and kept running. In the middle of the street, I tripped forward and landed on both hands. When I got to my car I spun around on the ice and yelled “I just found out I have Hep C, so I’m not going to be able to turn in my assignment on time!” Before she could say anything I jumped in and drove away. I wanted her to think I was some bipolar student.
To show up at a professor’s house in the middle of the night you’d sort of have to be insane, right?