Why I Let My Hair Grow Out (6 page)

“Did everyone meet Carrie and Stuart Woodward?” asked Patty, as soon as we'd all done the musical chairs bit and found ourselves seats around the big circular table. Colin was on my right. (I'd practically hip-checked Heidi to make sure I got that chair because I had a zit on my left cheek, and who needed to see that?)

“Pippin!” said Carrie, firmly. “My name's Carrie
Pippin
. Even though Stuart and I are married now, I'm keeping my name, for professional reasons.” She stroked her pink-and-white nails down his cheek. It might have seemed sweet if he hadn't been nattering into his phone and swatting her hand away like a fly while she did it.

“What sort of work have ya had done, have ye done, do ya do?” Colin asked Carrie, straight-faced. I almost spit out my water but nobody else seemed to get what he'd said.

Carrie tossed her Technicolor mane of hair. “I'm an
actor,
” she said.

“Really?”
said Colin, copying her tone. “I coulda sworn you were a female.” Derek giggled at this, and Colin shoved a breadstick in the boy's mouth.

Carrie smiled, very cool. “We say ‘actor' now. Only porn stars call themselves actresses. Oh, pardon me! I forgot there were children here!”

“I know what a porn star is,” said Derek.

“That's enough, son,” growled Mr. Billingsley.

“I do too!” Sophie chimed in. “It's when a lady takes off all her clothes and kisses and kisses and kisses! I saw it on Derek's computer!”

Mrs. Billingsley made a face and clutched her side.

“Did I miss anything?” said Stuart, hanging up his phone. “What'd I miss?”

“We were speaking about porn stars,” said Heidi, with perfect enunciation. Johannes nodded and smiled, proud of their new vocabulary word.

“Porn stars! Damn, it's like I never left LA,” said Stuart. Carrie laughed hysterically at her hubby's brilliant wit.

“Oh God,
so
funny, baby!” Carrie sputtered, through tears of mirth that seemed way too much for the occasion. “I keep telling him, one day they'll ask him to host the Oscars!”

What a bunch of nutcases. This was my chance to find out to what degree I already owned young Colin. I gently pressed my leg against his under the table, in a flirty “can you believe this” kind of way. He registered the pressure but he didn't look at me or say anything. He just reached over and put a piece of bread on my bread dish without asking.

Yesssss.
Colin was mine.

“This afternoon we'll be riding through some truly lovely countryside,” said Patty, with an air of desperation. “But Ireland is much more than beautiful scenery. This is an ancient land, filled with stories and myths from long ago. The trails we ride have been traveled for thousands of years. In fact some people even believe these roads were first laid by the fae—”

“Who requested the salad and baked potato?” Our waiter had arrived, a ruddy-faced man with snow-white hair, combed back in a neat, perfect wave.

“That would be me,” said Carrie Pippin, flashing her camera-ready smile. “I'm a vegan.”

“I'm from Ulster meself,” he said, pouring what looked and smelled exactly like beef gravy all over her potatoes. “I brought 'em mashed; hope ye don't mind but it's the way we make 'em here.” His eyebrows were as black as his hair was white. “The rest of ye are having shepherd's pie. No complaints now; it's the specialty of the house. If ye don't fancy it there's something wrong with ye and ye should see a doctor.”

“May I have a look at the wine list?” asked Stuart.

“Never mind that, Pop, we'll wait to drink till we're done riding for the day,” said Colin to the waiter. Then he propped his elbow on the table and gave Stuart a wink. “But you and me, we'll make up for it tonight, won't we, Stu?”

Stuart seemed completely perplexed at being shut down like this, but the waiter plopped a steaming plate of food in front of him and Patty barreled ahead with her speech.

“Now that our lunch has arrived,” she said, “everybody tuck in, and Colin will tell us a bit about the Ireland of long ago.”

“Aye,” said Colin. “Based on how the conversation has meandered so far, I think I'll begin with the tale of Queen Maeve.”

the story Was a bit confusing, but Queen maeve was like an ancient Irish porn star, is what I gleaned. She was married (to a king, duh) but she used to boast she needed thirty men a day to have sex with her, unless she was doing it with this particularly studly warrior dude named Fergus. Fergus was the only guy who could satisfy her without backup. One time Queen Maeve had to pee and Fergus held up his shield to hide her while she did it. She peed so much that three great lakes were formed.

“And to this day the lakes are called Fual Maevea,” explained Colin, picking up his fork. We'd all been devouring our meals while he was spinning his yarn about horny old Maeve, so he hadn't even started eating yet.

“Fual Maevea. And what exactly does that mean?” asked Mrs. Billingsley, brightly. Moms are always looking for that educational angle, even in a story about a sex addict from 200 B.C.

“Maeve's urine,” Colin said, shoving a big forkful of shepherd's pie into his mouth. “
Dead
on! This pie is bloody fantastic.”

Everyone but Patty was staring at him, wide-eyed. Patty was looking down at her plate. I think she was trying not to laugh.

Even the Pippin-Woodwards were silent, except for the insistent buzz of the BlackBerry's vibrate mode. Stuart ignored it for once.

“
Fan
tastic,” Colin said again, through his food. “Sophie girl, if you're not going to finish yours pass it over here, would you?”

Fek the rebound thing,
I thought.
I could actually get to like this guy
.

seven

after lunch i Went to the restroom (sorry, maeve, but I'd already peed in the grass once today and we modern-day types prefer to use indoor plumbing when it's available). While I was in there I pulled the bottoms of my pant legs back down over my socks. They were still only sweatpants, but no way was I going to put the moves on Colin looking like a kid in knickers.

I rolled the waistband down a bit and stretched my arms up high in a big practice yawn, just to make sure it would flash a bit of belly button. It did. Perfect.

I didn't have any mints or a toothbrush handy but I swished my mouth out with water the best I could to alleviate my shepherd's-pie breath. That pie was awesome—I'd finished my whole plate. I'd seen Carrie Pippin gobbling down her mashed potatoes and gravy too, like a starving woman— or, to be more accurate, like a woman who hadn't eaten any carbs or meat products in a really, really long time.

I did one last mirror check before leaving the restroom. The lack of hair and the gym-class outfit made me look unavoidably boyish, but it was the best I could manage for now. My plan was simple. Lay some big flirty move on Colin to give him something to think about this afternoon, and then, tonight, when we were all done sweating for the day, I'd take a bath and change into something frisky and get a little makeup going on to make me look older and more girl-like. Then we'd have a beer and see what happened.

This kind of man-trap thinking was both strangely enjoyable and totally out of character. I'd never been the aggressor with Raph. He'd picked me, quiet me, out of the sea of sophomore girls. I wasn't sure why, but I was so surprised and grateful that I never questioned going along with the you're-my-girlfriend-now plan he'd quickly established. Just like I'd gone along with his now-we-hang-out-with-my-friends-not-yours plan, and the Morgan-needs-a-makeover plan and all his other plans, until finally we reached the this-was-fun-but-I'm-moving-on plan.

Final mirror check. Check. Raph had made a lot of plans, true, but those plans were ancient history and an ocean away. Now I was making my own plan. And Colin was going to go along with it. I could tell.

 
fek that Colin.

Fek fek fek. That's all I could think.

While I was in the “loo,” Euro-twit Heidi had somehow convinced Colin that the seat on her bike was loose. By the time I got outside to where the bikes were parked, he was bent over with his face next to her ass and an Allen wrench in his hand, checking the height of the seat while she moaned “Higher, Colin! Lower, Colin! Ooh, that's
wunderbar
Colin, my buttocks have never felt so good!” or something very close to that, at least in my suddenly crazed mind.

Plus—maybe this was what really ticked me off—she'd taken off her helmet and let her hair loose and it was thick and blond and falling halfway down her back, and all of sudden the tall-as-a-supermodel jock looked like the cover of
Sluts Illustrated
.

And Colin was laughing and chatting and plying his trade about six inches away from Heidi's buff, spandex-clad butt, with all that hair swinging in his face.

And then there was me. A bald under-aged shrimp in a baggy sweatsuit.

Fek that Colin.
All of a sudden I felt like crap, and it was completely his fault.

I was just about to go lay down in front of the van so he could run me over by accident when he drove off (that would cost him his job, heh heh), but he spotted me.

“Hey Mor,” he said, grinning. “C'mere for a minute.”

Only an idiot would try the belly-button move now, so forget that. I shuffled over to where they were, trying to look as reluctant as possible. Colin handed me a camera.

“Be a luv, Mor. Heidi wants a photo taken of me and her. Can you manage it?”

“You push the little button,” said Heidi, smiling.

She was pushing somebody's buttons, all right. “Sure,” I said. “Smile!”

I pointed the camera at Heidi's tits and zoomed in so they filled the frame.
If only this thing had a wide-angle lens—that would be awesome.

“Can you see Colin? And the bike?” Heidi asked, through her frozen smile. “I want to see the bike also.”

“Got it,” I said. And I snapped the photo.

“Danke schön!”
said Heidi.

“No problemo,” I said, tossing the camera back to her. My throw was wild, and she had to jump to catch it.

 
the sad thing about digital cameras is that you can look at the photo right away. Out of the corner of my eye I'd watched Heidi look at the camera's viewscreen and get confused. Then Colin looked too. Then they'd called Lucy Faraday over to take another picture.

I hightailed it back to my bike, tossed my helmet on the ground (it was making my head too hot, I decided) and prepared to kick off. Lucia could ride with someone else. I was in no mood to be anyone's buddy right now.

It was only after I was sitting on my bike about to make my getaway that I realized I did have a problemo, and that problemo was I needed a map for the afternoon, because how the hell did I know where we were supposed to go? And Colin had the maps. We were supposed to get one from him on our way out.

No way was I going to interrupt his worshipping-Heidi's-buttfest to ask him for a map now. I figured they must be in the van, so I hopped off my bike again and snuck over to the van as invisibly as I could. I'd grab a map and hit the road before anyone could react to my innocent, whimsical tit-photo prank.

I opened the front passenger-side door of the van and started rummaging around the mess of papers on the seat.
Map, map, where was the map. . . .

“Hey,” Colin said. He was leaning casually on the driver-side door. The window was open. “Whatcha lookin' for, Mor?”

“Map,” I said. I kept rummaging.

“I've got 'em right here. No need to tear the place apart.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a wad of folded papers. He offered one to me, leaning through the driver-side window and reaching all the way across the front seat to where I was. I took it and shoved it into the pocket of my hoodie without opening it.

“Want me to go over it with you? There are some tricky bits.” I wished he would stop looking at me. It was making it hard not to look back and I was in no mood for eye contact.

“It's just a map,” I said. My voice was getting stuck in my throat for some reason. “I'm not stupid. I'll figure it out.”

The window opening of the van door framed Colin as if he were a photograph. “ 'Twasn't your idea to come to Ireland, was it?” he said. A real brainiac, that Colin. Maybe he should be a “leader of tomorrow,” like Raph.

“Nope.”

“Well.” He leaned in through the window and lowered his voice. “Doesn't matter. You're here now. Don't act the bitch, all right, Mor? Doesn't suit you really.”

I was so surprised I didn't know what to say.

“See ya later then.” He opened the door and climbed behind the wheel, then reached over and slammed the passenger-side door shut, with me on the outside. “Keep your phone handy.” The words were friendly enough, but his voice sounded cool. “Right button's me, don't forget.”

Like I would ever, ever ask this guy for help. Jerk.

 
i Was a half mile down the road before lucia caught up with me.

“There you are,” she said, breathless, as she came up alongside me. “Sorry to take so long getting ready. I guess you got tired of waiting.”

“I want to ride by myself now,” I said. “Nothing personal,” I added. That was nice of me to say, wasn't it? I was being considerate of her feelings, me being a nice person and all. Only a total jerk like Colin would call a nice person like me a bitch.

“O-kay,” she said, after a minute. She was still riding next to me. “But they did ask us to stay in pairs. For safety.”