Ted hangs out with Reuben, the guy who is always looking at me. I have suspected for weeks that Jane has a thing for Ted. This confirms it.
“He wants to come over tonight,” she says, excitedly, “… with Reuben.” She pauses and looks at me. “I said it would be okay.”
Jane sits down and reaches for my hand. I hold it out and she continues to file my nails.
“If it’s not okay with you I can call him back and tell him to make it another time.”
Sometimes Jane is so polite it gets to me.
“We’ll just take a walk or something,” she says. “No big deal. I thought it would be okay with you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said yes.”
I can’t bring myself to say that it is okay and I don’t know why.
Jane has filed my pinky nail down to nothing. “Look,” she says, her eyes wide, “just forget it. I’ll go call him and make up some excuse.”
“No,” I finally manage. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
She looks relieved. “It’s not as if you hate him,” she says.
“Right. I don’t hate him.”
Jane holds up a bottle of nail polish. “How about this one?” she asks. “I think it’ll look really good on you … with your coloring.” She begins to paint my fingernails and the color, which looked almost brown in the bottle, turns out to be a putrid shade of purple.
“Do you have a lot of experience?” she asks.
“In what?” I say, thinking she is talking about my fingernails.
“You know … with boys.”
“Oh, boys.”
“Do you?”
“Not much,” I tell her.
“How much?”
“Some.”
“I don’t have any,” she says. “I’ve kissed two boys and that’s it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it?” she repeats. “What else is there to worry about … not counting school?”
Sometimes Jane seems so innocent I can’t believe we are the same age.
“You know how I found out about sex?” she asks.
“No, how?”
“I looked it up in the card catalogue, in the library.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Really. You’d think that with two older sisters someone would have given me the facts, but when I asked them they said, ‘Go ask Mother.’ And when I asked my mother she said, ‘You’re too young to be asking about that.’ You’d think that they’d give us sex education in school, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s all in the best interest of science.”
Now we both laugh.
“So how far have you gone?” Jane asks.
I don’t answer her. Instead, I examine my nails and say, “Thanks. They look nice.” Then I blow on them, the way Jane did hers, to help them dry faster.
“All the way?” Jane says.
I realize that because I avoided the answer to her question she thinks I have a lot of experience. I try to set the record straight. “No,” I say, emphatically. “Not all the way.”
“Close?” she asks.
“No. Not even close.” I don’t tell her about Hugh. I don’t tell her about the hot, sweaty summer nights. About the salty taste of his lips. About his body pressed against mine. That is not for sharing. Not with Jane. Not with anyone.
Before dinner I take a bath in the famous tub. I soak for a long time. My hair fans out in the water, which comes up to my chin. Usually, I try not to think about Hugh and how it was with us, because then I get all worked up and I don’t want to deal with any of those feelings now. But I do remember. I remember everything. Especially the last night …
“So what’s new, Davina?” Hugh asked. He knew my real name but called me Davina as a joke.
“Not much,” I said.
We were sitting on the railing, overlooking the beach, eating soft ice cream cones. We’d already cruised the Boards in a motorized wicker chair and now it was dark. I clicked my feet together and one of my flip-flops fell off and landed on the sand. Hugh jumped down to retrieve it. As he put it back on my foot he caressed the inside of my leg. “How about a walk on the beach, Davina?”
“Come on, Hugh … you know I can’t.”
“I can’t … I can’t …” he said, mimicking me.
“You know it’s a rule.”
“And rules are made to be broken, right?”
“Not this one,” I said. “But you can come back to our place.”
“Your father will be there.”
“So? There’s always the backyard.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take a walk on the beach with Hugh. I did. I loved the idea of the moonlight on the ocean, the sand beneath our feet, of being alone, really alone, with him. But I’d promised my parents that I wouldn’t.
So Hugh and I walked home and went directly to the small yard behind the store. I leaned back against the willow tree. The single light from the store cast a shadow on the scrubby grass. Hugh’s arms were around me, his lips on my face, my neck. His breath was hot. I clutched his damp T-shirt as he slid his hand from my shoulder to the top of my halter, to my waist, and then back up again. The smell of my Charlie was in the air.
From the store we could hear a symphony playing on my father’s radio. We were both breathing hard. Hugh’s body was pressed against mine and he whispered, “Davey … oh, Davey …”
My knees were so weak I wanted to lie down. To lie down in Hugh’s arms and let whatever might happen, happen. Whatever …
But then we heard a firecracker, and another, and another and another. Hugh pulled away from me, saying, “What the hell …”
Then both of us were running, running toward the store.
TWENTY-ONE
“Davey … are you almost done?” Jane calls, knocking on the bathroom door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Be right out,” I call back, swallowing the sob that was working its way up into my throat. I splash my face, step out of the tub, and dry off.
Downstairs, everyone is seated around the dinner table. They are waiting for us. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know it was so late.”
“That’s all right, dear,” Jane’s mother says.
Jane’s father is at the head of the table. He is a big man, with jowly cheeks, steel rimmed glasses, and gray wiry hair that is cut short. I notice the scar across his forehead. Jane told me that a year ago he was in a serious auto accident. I try not to stare at him as I take my seat. He says, “Hello, Davey.” Then he and Howard engage in a lengthy conversation about the Lab. I don’t even try to follow what they are talking about.
Robby sits in a high chair next to Linda and she feeds him bits and pieces from the table. I see that Linda is pregnant again and wonder why Jane hasn’t told me.
The conversation at our end of the table centers around skiing. Linda and Jane both hope that it will snow early so that the ski area will be open before Christmas.
“Do you ski, Davey?” Jane’s mother asks.
“No, but I’d like to learn.”
“I don’t either,” she says, “but Dr. Albertson is an outstanding skier and all three girls have followed in his footsteps.”
At first I’m not sure who Dr. Albertson is. Then I realize it is Jane’s father. I tend to think of the word doctor as meaning medical doctor or even dentist, but Los Alamos is full of Ph.D.’s who call each other doctor.
“And don’t forget Howard,” Linda says. “Howard’s a fantastic skier. He practically grew up on skis. He’s from Canada.”
I wonder if Linda will ski this winter even though she is pregnant. I decide not to ask. Maybe she isn’t pregnant after all. Maybe she’s just fat.
“Robby’s going to learn as soon as he’s three,” Linda says, giving him another bread crust.
We have chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream for dessert and when we are finished Jane’s father stands and says, “Very nice, Brenda.” Then he disappears into his study and the rest of us do the dishes
.
At eight-thirty Ted and Reuben ring the bell. Jane lets them in. They wait in the entrance foyer rubbing their hands together. Their breath is smoky. We get our jackets and then the four of us take off, with Jane’s mother calling, “Button up … it’s very cold.”
Outside, Ted reaches behind a tree and comes up with a bottle of vodka. “Didn’t think it was wise to carry it into the house.”
“Good thinking,” Jane says.
Ted opens the bottle and as we walk along it is passed back and forth. I am not into booze and take only one swig. It burns going down my throat and then again as it hits my stomach. Reuben takes a couple of swallows and says, “Can’t stand the stuff but it does warm you up.”
I keep my hands in my pockets. I have the feeling that if I don’t, Reuben will want to hold hands. It’s not that I don’t like him. I think he’s okay. But I don’t want him touching me.
Ted has his arm around Jane and they are drinking from the bottle and nuzzling each other. The next time Ted offers the bottle to us, Reuben shakes his head and says we’ve had enough.
There is no place to walk, except to town, and there is nothing open there, except the Pizza Hut and the movie. But the movie began at eight-fifteen. Besides, I saw it two years ago and it was a bore. The boys are starving so we go into the Pizza Hut and choose a booth near the back. The boys count their money. Between them they have eight dollars and sixty-four cents. They decide to split a medium pizza with extra cheese and sausage. We order a pitcher of Cokes and after the waitress brings it, Ted takes the bottle of vodka out of his jacket pocket and pours a couple of shots into his Coke and then, into Jane’s.
Jane’s face is red and she is laughing and slobbering all over the place. I don’t like to see my friends drunk. Lenaya once said that if I drank myself I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable. But I don’t like the way I feel when I drink, and I don’t like the way I feel after, either. I once drank beer until I got sick and I hated it.
When we go back outside Jane begins to sing and she spins around and around in the parking lot, her arms open wide, like a whirling dervish. I can’t believe that this is my friend, Jane, who seems shy and innocent and scared of the world.
“It’s freezing,” Ted says. “Let’s warm up in a car.”
“What car?” I ask.
“Any car,” Ted says, looking around the parking lot. “They’re all at the movies. They won’t be out until ten-thirty.” He goes from car to car, trying the doors, and on the fifth try he finds one that opens. It is a blue, four-wheel drive Subaru. Ted and Jane climb into the back seat, leaving the front for Reuben and me. I don’t like this. The owner of the car could appear at any minute and then what? We could be arrested and our parents would be called. I’d never hear the end of it from Walter and Bitsy.
“Can’t wait to take Driver’s Ed,” Reuben says. “Hitching around town is such a bitch. I live way out on Barranca.” He rubs his hands together. “Wish we had the key to the ignition … at least we could have a little heat.”
“Make your own,” Ted calls from the back seat. He and Jane laugh hysterically, then Ted rolls down the window and tosses the empty bottle of vodka into the parking lot. We hear the sound of the glass smashing.
Jane and Ted are making out. I am aware of every grunt, every sigh, and I can’t help thinking that for someone without experience Jane doesn’t seem to be having much trouble.
Reuben and I sit like zombies, frozen to our seats, and not just because it is cold. We stare straight ahead, not talking, not touching, not even glancing at each other. I know that he wishes he could be some place else, just like I do. We are both uncomfortable but don’t know how to get out of the situation. I try to block the sounds from the back seat by thinking of the canyon. But then Jane whimpers, “I’m not feeling very well … I’m feeling kind of … kind of …”
“Let her out … let her out …” Ted calls nervously, and both Reuben and I open our doors. Jane gets out just in time. She throws up all over the rear end of the Subaru.
Reuben and I are relieved. For the first time we look at each other and smile. Now we have an excuse to go home. But Jane is really out of it and we have to half-carry, half-drag her there. When we get to her house I say goodnight to the boys. I am feeling much friendlier toward Reuben now, especially since he didn’t try anything in the car.
“See you Monday,” he says to me.
“Right … Monday,” I say.
Howard’s car is gone and the front door is unlocked. I push it open slowly. I am a wreck trying to think of what I will say to Jane’s parents. I rehearse a speech in my mind. Jane isn’t feeling too well, I’ll explain. She ate a pizza downtown and it was just too much for her after your wonderful dinner, Mrs. Albertson. Actually, she got sick in the parking lot. Of course, it could be that she’s coming down with the flu. There’s a lot of it going around in school.
Suppose her mother smells the booze and says, You’re a liar, Davey Wexler. And you’re a bad influence on our little girl. We never should have let her invite you to spend the night.
The house is very quiet. I hold my breath and somehow I manage to get Jane upstairs, and into her room, without her parents knowing. I remember that it is Saturday night. Jane’s mother and father are probably locked into their bedroom, making love. Or maybe they did it while we were out and now they’re sleeping. I don’t want to think about sex anymore. It was bad enough listening to Ted and Jane.
I get Jane undressed down to her shirt and her underpants, pull the covers up around her, then climb into the bedroll her mother has set out for me. I fall asleep quickly and dream about Wolf. About the two of us together in our cave.
It is not the first time I have dreamed about him.
TWENTY-TWO
The next morning, at seven-thirty, there is a knock on our door. “Rise and shine,” Jane’s mother calls. “Breakfast is ready. We have to be at church before nine.”
Jane rolls over, moans, then sits up and says, “Oh, my God … it’s Sunday.” She holds her hands to her head. “I feel terrible. I think I’m dying. Or did I die last night? What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” I say.
“I remember the Pizza Hut … and drinking all that vodka …”
“And the car … you remember the car?”
“What car?”
“In the parking lot.”
“No.”
“You and Ted were in the back seat.”
“No.”
“And then you got sick.”
“I did?”
“Come on, Jane. You must remember.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t.”
A thought pops into my mind. Jane thinks she has no experience with boys. But the truth is, she has plenty of experience. She just doesn’t remember.
“You shouldn’t drink,” I tell her.
“I drank too much … that’s all.”
“You shouldn’t drink at all if you can’t handle it.”
“It makes me feel good. It loosens me up. Otherwise I’m shy around boys.”
“You’d never know it from last night.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!” Jane gets out of bed. “I’ve got to take a shower. Will you come to church with us?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Please, Davey. I can’t stand the idea of being alone with my parents this morning.”
I don’t respond.
“As a friend,” Jane says. “Do it as a friend.”
“Oh, all right,” I say.
“Thanks, I won’t forget this.”
Jane dashes down the hall to the bathroom and I begin to get dressed wondering why I am feeling so angry at her. Was it the drinking? No, I don’t think so. Then what? The making out in the back seat? Yes, maybe. But why? Because I wanted to be making out too? Because I wanted to feel strong arms around me again? Is that it?
There are more churches in Los Alamos than I hav
e ever seen anywhere. There is a church on practically every corner. I don’t know if it’s because scientists pray more than other people, or what. Maybe they have more guilt and fear. I once read an article in Time magazine that said organized religion is based on guilt and fear. I wouldn’t know. Both of my parents are half Jewish. For a while we went to the Unitarian Fellowship in Atlantic City, and after that we tried Temple Sinai. Now we don’t go anywhere.
That afternoon I go to the canyon, hoping to find Wolf. It is cold and gray. I wait for two hours, but he doesn’t show. I ride home slowly with tears in my eyes. I can’t seem to get rid of the empty feeling that started last night and won’t go away.
TWENTY-THREE
“Do you think we’ll go home for Christmas?” I ask Mom. She is in bed, reading. She puts her book aside and makes room for me to sit on the bed, next to her. I stretch out, examine my fingernails and begin to peel off the putrid purple polish.
“I thought you understood,” Mom says.
“Understood what?”
“That we’re staying for the school year.”
“No,” I say, sitting straight up. “You never said that. Nobody ever said that.”
“I can’t go back, Davey.”
“What are you talking about … what do you mean, you can’t go back?” I drop the bits of polish that I have peeled off my nails. They scatter to the floor like tiny flowers that have died.
“I can’t go back now,” Mom says. “I’m not ready. There’s still too much to deal with. I’m just beginning to get myself together. I have a long way to go.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “All this time I’ve been thinking that we’ll be home by Christmas.”
“No, honey. That would be the worst time to go home. Don’t you see? Besides, you’re all set in school now. It wouldn’t make sense to pull you out in the middle of the year. And Jason is happy too. This is a nice place. You like it, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Some days I do and some days I don’t. But I never thought we were staying. Never.”
“Well, neither did I,” Mom says, “but Bitsy and Walter are such a help and they want us to stay.”