I considered touching a brochure, maybe even lifting one from the table, when we heard loud--I mean LOUD-- music playing from the street. I went over to the window and pulled up the shade to see a Pinto in a sea of BMWs and Mercedeses on our street of Victorian and Edwardian houses, shaking from the decibel level of music blasting from its stereo. Those damn tear-inducing Von Trapp children were harmonizing ah-ah-ah-ah in full ghetto blaster surround sound. Neighbors peeked from their house windows and some Japanese tourists on the street walked by with their hands over their ears, then snapped photos of the Pinto once they were at a safe enough distance to take their hands from their ears. I don't know why the tourists looked so confused--hadn't they seen Say Anything! I'll take Shrimp over John Cusack any day, but Shrimp's knockoff scene had to be inspired by Wallace and Delia's favorite movie, where John Cusack holds the boom box playing the Peter Gabriel song outside the house of his girlfriend.
Oh, the make-up is going to be sooooo good, once we're past the talking (me) and the apologizing (Shrimp).
I looked toward Sid and Nancy, both shaking their heads. "Go," Nancy sighed, waving her hand at me.
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"But take a brochure," Sid-dad said, quickly handing me one as I sprinted toward the closed study door. He looked toward the window again, shook his head again, and murmured, "Odd duck."
I grabbed the brochure from his hand and bolted. "I'll be home tomorrow morning," I called out as I got to the front door.
"MIDNIGHT!" Sid and Nancy both yelled.
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*** Chapter 32
Shrimp and I have a secret.
No, I'm not pregnant.
Next September, after I've walked the graduation plank and turned eighteen, I am moving over to the East Bay to live with Shrimp. By then Shrimp will have saved enough money to move out of Some Guy's house in Berkeley, and I will get a job at a restaurant or a coffeehouse on College or Telegraph Avenue. We won't care if we're minimum-wage dirt poor and have to live in some dilapidated shack with crack vials strewn on the ground outside and the cops driving by at all hours, as long as we're together. We'll be making love too often--in privacy, whenever we want, however long we want, buh-bye curfews--to care. When important decisions have to be made, like dropping out of school or taking off to Joshua Tree for some solitude time, we will make those decisions as a team, like Sid and Nancy, Wallace and Delia, Bill and Hillary.
Culinary school was an interesting idea, but I have the rest of my life for that. I'd rather work full-time after finishing high school. Next year is the year that will be all about Shrimp, for real this time. I plan on a full CC makeover to transform myself into an East Bay girl. I will trade in fog for sun, espresso for straight black organic coffee slush, and I will make every best effort to drop the word hella every other sentence. In lieu of attending Berkeley, the
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university, I shall study Berkeley, the food mecca. I will become hella food snob and learn about smelly cheeses, only shop for the best produce at the Berkeley Bowl, and grind fresh pasta instead of making it from a box. Shrimp and I will plaster our living room with Shrimp's art and with record covers--vinyl, not CD--by East Bay icons like Tower of Power and Green Day, and we will have exotic plants, Mount Fuji artwork, and a white noise machine that plays Kitaro to get that Japanese sanctuary love-shack vibe happening.
The person I most want to share this news with, Danny, arrived at my fave Italian café in North Beach looking tired, unshaven, and wearing yesterday's clothes. Not that I expected Danny to spiff up to meet my boyfriend for the belated first time, but I was still surprised at how bad he looked when he walked into the café.
"Terry and I broke up," Danny announced before he'd even sat down. I resisted the urge to jump up from my table and do a little Irish jig that Eamon taught me on a recent IHOP night. 'Apparently I was mistaken when I thought our relationship was exclusive."
I am soooooo good, I did not say I told you so. I said, "I'm sorry, Danny." Sorry that you're hurting--not sorry that it's over with that loser who was nowhere near good enough for you. "Coffee and chocolate help."
"So does more upbeat music," Danny said. He spoke loud and directed his voice to the barista who was standing near the café's stereo: "Is the Wagner opera so necessary? Ever hear of Puccini or Mozart? You want to encourage customers to relax, not to want to slit their wrists." I guess you can take the New Yorker out of New York, but not New York
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out of my who-knew-he-could-be-so-moody brother New Yorker.
Shrimp arrived next, also mad moody. All Danny got from Shrimp was "Hey," and this long squint-stare of realization that I had actual blood relatives who looked like me, followed by a slight snarl that only I knew was a snarl; Danny could easily have mistaken it for Shrimp having gas or something. Or something being that Shrimp thinks bio-dad Frank is "bad news" and will need some convincing that Danny is not the same story, though you would think Shrimp would just take my word for it, but boyfriends are weird protective that way.
Shrimp ordered a double-shot espresso and said, "I can't stay long. I couldn't find a parking space so I'm illegally parked in a yellow loading zone, and Iris is expecting me in Ocean Beach to take her downtown to deal with some passport issues."
I would be cross with Shrimp's rudeness except the poor boy is getting slammed from all sides: crashing on the couch at Some Guy's house in Berkeley and having a long commute between the East Bay and Ocean Beach for work, and being the intermediary between Wallace-Delia and Iris-Billy, to say nothing of his girlfriend who would like to toss all his other concerns aside, have exclusive access to his time, and force him to fall instantly in like with her newfound brother. But since I am a patient girlfriend, I could play this scene cool instead of wig out about Shrimp's rudeness, because I knew within a few months, I would have Shrimp all to myself, and now that Terry is out of the picture (hallelujah) Shrimp and Danny will have plenty of time to bond.
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Danny has got to be in the All Men Suck frame of mind right now because he said to Shrimp, "Hypothetical situation: You've moved back to Papua New Guinea and Cyd Charisse comes to visit you for a few months to see how your relationship progresses. No pressure, but it's understood it's an exclusive deal, right? I mean, isn't that implicit?" I could see Shrimp's small head realizing that harshing someone's mellow may have been part of bio-dad Frank's DNA lineage.
If Sugar Pie were here she would probably pronounce that it's Mercury retrograde or some astrological disaster time when new beginnings should not be embarked upon. I'd wanted my true love boyfriend and my true love half-brother to meet, but looking at them together at the table now, my mind thought: abort mission! abort! abort!
I found a way out when I looked out the café window. I told Shrimp, "Baby, the meter maid is pulling up behind your Pinto. You better go." As I am a fully actualized being, I kissed Shrimp on the lips, which unsnarled his lips just fine. Shrimp said to Danny, "Let's try this again another time, buddy. Later."
"Isn't he great?" I sighed after Shrimp left Danny and me sitting alone at the table again.
"He's exactly as I expected," Danny said. I have no idea what that meant, but I'm going to hold off a little longer on confiding my big news to Danny.
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*** Chapter 33
Since I don't think Sid and Nancy are going to be so keen on my new plan to DO something, as in move in with Shrimp, and I am going to bust if I don't tell someone soon, I have decided I am ready to spill my news to Danny, who can be enlisted to help butter them up. Danny is not only my bridge to my other family back in New York, he shall also, in my grand scheme, become the bridge by whom I eventually break the news to Sid and Nancy.
Spring has sprung and my true love is back in bloom, but not for Danny. Get this: Since his breakup with Terry, Danny has been staying at our house in Pacific Heights. The lease on the apartment in Nueva York where he and Aaron lived is in Danny's name, but Aaron's new place isn't ready yet, and
lisBETH still isn't speaking to Danny, and Danny can't be bothered with asking Frank for help, so guess who got him? The "other" family.
At first I wanted to be sick at the thought of Danny meeting Nancy--what could they possibly say to each other? I imagined a puppet show acting out a scene like:
DANNY PUPPET
Ah, so you're the other woman who split my family apart?
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NANCY PUPPET
Sho 'nuff. My God, I'm getting the creeps by how much you look like the married man who got me in trouble when I was young and stupid, then lied when he said he would always be there for me.
DANNY PUPPET
Well, nice to meet you, I guess.
NANCY PUPPET
Likewise, [puppets butt heads in conciliation]
Sid-dad and Nancy invited Danny out for lunch without me knowing it, on a school day. I'm relieved I wasn't present at the initial meeting and didn't know it was taking place until it was already over. However strange or awkward or just plain huh their first meeting was (or maybe it was just me, worrying about how it would go), Danny and Nancy hit it off. Danny, who had spent all his time alone at Terry's house watching music video channels on the satellite TV, said my mother is "full-on bling." She of the full-on bling proclaimed that Danny is "like a kind, happy version of Frank." Soon after the inevitable Danny-Terry breakup happened, as rebound romances with shallow-vain he-men are bound to do, leaving Danny broke and homeless for the time being, "Uncle Sid" and his lovely wife, mother of his illegitimate sister, helped Danny pick up the pieces by offering him their guest room until his apartment in NYC was vacated by Aaron.
Nancy finally has a full-time cook in the house again, and maybe it's the relief of not having to prepare meals, or
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Nancy giggling when Danny reminds her, "Butter is not your enemy, Nancy," as he pulls another batch of shortbread cookies from the oven, but she appears to be coming out of her post-Granny A funk. Neiman-Marcus can officially breathe a sigh of relief. There's even color in Nancy's face now, and she's got hips on dem bones from the extra pounds from Danny's baking. She looks great: healthy-- and happy. Ash idolizes Danny because the Barbie birthday cake he made for her was a three-tiered masterpiece decorated like a wedding cake. Sid-dad is thrilled to have his godson reinstated in his life, and to finally have someone in the house who will play Fantasy Baseball with him. The exception to all this Danny love is Josh, who HATES Danny. When he was little and didn't like someone, Josh would go over to that person, drop to the floor, and try to bite his/her ankles. Now he just gives Danny the cold shoulder, and cannot be physically removed from his PlayStation whenever Danny is around. Danny doesn't seem to mind--in fact, I would dare say hanging out with my family has helped break him of his postbreakup funk.
We all know where I stand with respect to Danny, even after him wrecking his true love with Aaron. Not only is he my brother, he is also my kindred spirit. And like me, he is a total pyro who likes to burn candles and pour the hot candle wax on hands and arms, then pull it off and smush the wax like Play-Doh. Sid and Nancy don't share this affliction, however, and don't appreciate Ash and Josh being exposed to it, which is how Danny got to be hanging out in my room late one night, door closed, while we burned candles and watched a movie while sitting on my futon.
I said, "There's something I have to tell you." I saw
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Danny's concerned face and said, "Gawd, I'm not pregnant, okay?"
Danny, who let out an audible sigh of relief, said, "There's something I have to tell you too."
"You first," we both said at the same time.
I zapped the movie off, some music on, and said, "Shrimp and I are moving in together. Next fall. Will you be there when I tell Sid and Nancy? They'll take it better if you're there to cushion the blow."
Danny: "One, you can't be serious. And two, no way."
Well, well, perhaps Danny is not 100 percent my kindred spirit. I did not expect the You're Just a Kid, You Don't Know What You're Doing reaction from Danny. I answered, "I am hella serious. We're going to get a place in Berkeley or Oakland. We'll have jobs; we're not asking anybody to support us." Danny's face looked less than convinced. Enlisting Danny to my cause had seemed like a no-brainer, but now I needed to defend it to him? I told him, "I spent all this time waiting to get back together with Shrimp. If I can only love him more, even after really not being cool with some of the things he'd done, something must be right about this relationship. Right? Every time something happens that could split us apart, we still end up making it through, stronger and more in love than before. Dude, Shrimp and I are meant to be together. I can't wait too much longer to live with him, share my life with him. Don't give me that look. You have hardly spent any time with Shrimp; you barely know him. You don't know us together, haven't been able to see how real it is."
"If I haven't been able to see how real it is, why do you think that is?"
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"Because you won't give Shrimp a chance, you--"
"I would give Shrimp many chances, if he gave me the opportunity. He's not a fellow who likes to make himself known, maybe except to you. I see the artwork everywhere--obviously the guy is in love with you--but where is he?"
"You don't like Shrimp?" I asked. I wanted so badly for my brother and boyfriend to have a love connection, but the truth was, there was no chemistry between them, not like I'd had with Danny's boyfriend Aaron, that feeling of, Wow, I'm so glad my sibling has hooked up with you, you're a great person.
"I like him just fine, what little I've gotten to know him, considering the few times I've met him he's barely mumbled three sentences to me. Shrimp strikes me as just being... young. Maybe not ready for the long haul."
"You're wrong," I said. I did not share with him the purple candle wax I was pouring onto my arm.
"I hope I am, Ceece, I really hope so. What do your friends think about this plan?"
"I haven't told them yet, but Sugar Pie, I'm sure she'll think it's great--she's all about the true love. Helen will probably want to move in with Eamon next year, so I know she'll understand. And Autumn, well, she'll probably go to Cal next year so she'll practically be our neighbor, and anyway, I think I deserve a triple-bonus friend score for the fact of even becoming her friend, so I'm sure she'll be supportive."
Danny said, "No one deserves bonus scores for the mere act of becoming someone's friend. If that's what you think, you have a lot to learn about how to be a friend."
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I couldn't yell at him because the rest of the household was asleep, so I whispered, 'Are you quite finished with your CC bashing? Because I think I'm ready for you to leave my room. Why don't you go bake something, spread your perfect-happy-even-after-two-doomed-romances-I-love-everybody self somewhere ELSE?"
Danny didn't look hurt or mad; he just smiled. It really is hard to get under his skin. He must have developed that ability as some post-traumatic reaction from growing up with lisBETH, monster bossy older sister. Danny pulled the purple wax that had hardened on my arm, then placed a finger kiss on the tender spot. "But I haven't told you my news yet."
"What?" I pouted.
'Aaron has moved into his new place. I can go back home. I gotta get around to picking up the pieces and starting my life over sometime--can't live in this California fantasy world forever. Wanna fly back with me, hang out for the Easter holiday weekend? I already talked with your parents. It's fine with them. I could use some company and support easing back into what will be a semi-empty apartment with lots of memories."
New York in spring, just like Easter Parade with Fred Astaire and Judy Garland, with mean Danny who wanted my help? Twist my candle-waxed arm, why don't you. "Okay," I said, but still sulking. "Can Shrimp come too?"
"No. Let's see how you survive a weekend alone in a new city without your true love, then you can tell me more about your supposed moving-in-together plans."
Poor, sweet, ignorant Danny. Shrimp and I will prove him
wrong.
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*** Chapter 34
I must have repressed-memory syndrome, because I have lived on the East Coast before but I totally forgot what real cold felt like. We arrived late on Good Friday night, and an April shower coupled with unusually frigid temperatures had turned the city into a temporary winter wonderland, blanketing the streets in a thin layer of white snow. WOW! Beautiful--and burr-ito like for real. Just thinking about the accessorizing potential--the need for knit mittens, a long, heavy faux fur leopard-print coat (the kind that requires the ritual sacrifice of many teddy bears), maybe a babushka scarf--had me contemplating some thrift-store shopping for Saturday morning, but the cab driver burst my snow bubble during the ride from the airport to Danny's apartment. The many-voweled-name man said, in an accent originating somewhere between Pakistan and Nairobi via Haiti, "New York! Eees crayyy-zeee! Snow today, spring tomorrow!" As he drove us through Central Park, its trees in early bud, looking peaceful and calm as the snow dusted the branches, the driver turned up the news radio station so we could hear the forecast predicting a warm-temperature spring thaw for Saturday.
By the time we reached Danny's building in the Village, after a whirlwind taxi experience in which the driver zigzagged across lanes; ran every yellow light; cut off dozens of taxis, buses, and trucks; and flipped off many
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pedestrians, I considered popping into the all-night pharmacy at Danny's corner to pick up Fernando's remedy of choice, Excedrin for migraines. But no minor headache could crush my excitement at being back in NYC. Just breathing the cold air and watching the city fly by through the cab window, my heart pounded from the city's energy. The streets teemed with people, cuddled together under umbrellas and wearing snow boots, looking cozy and rarin' for a night that would never end. The bars and restaurants we passed were packed with people, and you could hear music playing from all corners. It was like the cold city had its own pulse and it was hot, hot, hot.