it to myself to find out for sure.
So why do I keep finding reasons
to distance myself from Sean? I told
him I’d see him last night. Instead,
when he came over to get me,
we ended up in a major fight about
my leaving the game without hanging
around to say hi. Considering his home
run won the game, I probably should
have. But I wasn’t in the mood
for questions about Dani. Not that
he hasn’t asked me about her since.
So who was that hot chick with crazy
hair? I don’t see her around school.
I could confess a couple of things.
“I met Dani boarding at Rose. She dug
me out of a drift, in fact. And she goes
to TMCC.” It was enough. For the moment.
I Hope He Doesn’t Ask More
About her tonight. We are going
to a movie, then maybe (maybe!)
finding a nice, quiet place for
me to get the answer I desperately
need. I watch for him out the window,
trying not to listen to my mom and dad
talking too loudly about my brother.
They haven’t really fought in a while,
but they’re currently having a smack-
down. Seems Conner refuses
to come home for a scheduled Easter
visit. Dad chooses to take it personally.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Does he really prefer the company
of lunatics to that of his family?
Mom raises her voice in answer.
Let him stay in that place if that’s
what he wants. Who needs the stress
of having him here? What if he tries
again? His progress is questionable.
Dad volleys back. What’s in question
is the ability of his so-called doctors.
We’re hemorrhaging money to keep him
there, with what probability of success?
Money? That’s what he’s worried
about? He could hemorrhage cash
by the barrel and still not bleed
his bank accounts all the way out.
I don’t know what you want me
to say! Mom shrieks. No wonder
Conner flipped. It’s in the genetics.
Both of his parents are freaks.
Unfortunately, they’re my parents
too. Fortunately, headlights coming
up the drive mean I can escape them.
At least for a few hours. I start past,
ignoring the heat of their mutual
glare. And out of my mouth comes,
“Hey. What happens to Stanford
if you have to sign up for welfare?”
I Half Expect Them
To be so wrapped up in grappling
with each other to worry much about
wrestling me. Which, of course, turns
out to be wishful thinking. Mom halts
me with her forearm. I do not
appreciate your snide commentary,
nor your eavesdropping. Whose
side are you on here? She waits
for my answer. I glance toward
Dad, but I’m not sure why. He
is still-frozen as winter glass.
“I may be rude, but I’m not a spy.
You weren’t exactly whispering.
And anyway, it was just a joke.
Try developing a sense of humor.”
Why must I poke toothpicks at snakes?
There is nothing funny about our
current situation, Mom declares.
But Conner will be fixed. And by
no means is your education at stake.
Fixed?
Like a car in need of a tune-up?
Would installing a new set of spark
plugs make Conner run like a champ?
If so, could that be true of my parents?
Or me? Maybe I should schedule
an appointment. As for Stanford,
I have zero worries. Not going there
would mean more than disappointment.
It would mean solid defeat, especially
for Dad, who has paved the way for
his children to shadow him there.
Does he still believe Conner will play
Cardinal ball? Does he still expect
me to become a lawyer? Do I still
expect that of myself? I used to think
that’s what I wanted to be—a high-
octane corporate attorney. Just like
my father, who reminds me now that’s
exactly what he is. Conner’s status
would not qualify as mitigating
circumstances for your not attending
Stanford. Like that would be a crime.
Dad is straightforward. Curt, even.
Except when it comes to Mom. She is,
and always has been, the driving
force in this family. And sometimes
that means driving us head-on, no
possible change of course, into a wall.
Two halfhearted horn bursts outside
in the driveway remind me I’ve got
something better to do than this.
“There’s Sean. May I please go?”
Whether it’s the “please,” or the desire
to resume their spat where they left
off, Dad nods and Mom (who looks
like she’d really rather not) says, Okay.
The Exchange
Was not so very long, and yet long
enough to taint my mouth with acid
spit, like I just bit into lemon flesh.
The night I step into is polar dry.
Spring, in winter’s stranglehold.
By the time I reach Sean’s truck,
I am shaking. And though it’s warm
in the cab, my teeth chatter for a full
minute after I’m inside. Cold? I can
fix that. Sean pulls me into overbuilt
arms. God, I’ve missed you. His mouth
covers mine. I should wilt. Instead,
I feel stiff as cardboard. Sean doesn’t
seem to notice, or attributes it to
the cold. I’ve got a little surprise
for you. His voice is odd. Quivery.
And his hands tremble slightly
as he starts the engine, backs onto
the moonlit street, and heads toward
Reno, driving just a little too fast.
“Hey, slow down. The cops hang
out up here on Saturday night, you
know. And what’s my surprise?”
He just grins and drives right past
the entrance to Summit Sierra, home
to our regular theater. “Where are you
going? I thought we were seeing a movie.”
Sean whips right past a pokey car,
merges onto the freeway. We are
seeing a movie. Just not at the theater.
That’s your surprise. Ten minutes
later, we pull into a private parking spot
at an apartment house near UNR.
Chad is out of town. He said we could
hang at his place. It’s probably a mess.
He winks. But as long as the bed is clean…
This Is The Opportunity
I wanted. Right? So why do I feel
like someone just dumped mercury
into my gut? Sean leads me to his
brother’s lair. Clutter and dust are
everywhere, but at least it doesn’t
smell like garbage or dirty socks.
Make yourself at home. I’ll get us
something to drink. Strike one.
I think he means alcohol. I’m not
big
on liquor. Still, when he returns
with two brimming glasses, I go ahead
and take a swig. Maybe liquid fire
will incinerate the moths fluttering
in my belly. Sean turns on the TV.
Chad has every movie channel. He stops
flipping at Good Girls Gone Bad.
Sean gulps down half his drink.
This one should be good. Have
you ever watched one of these?
Cable porn? Hardly. Strike two.
“Sean…” But before I can say anything
else, my eyes stray to the screen. Two
women are kissing. One, a pretty blonde,
unbuttons her blue silk blouse, spilling
flesh like fruit from a bowl. The other,
dark-haired like Dani, is quick to sample
the offering. I can’t stop watching.
Now this is what I call a chick flick,
says Sean, and when he opens my blouse,
moves his hands over my skin, I let him.
And when he kisses down the front
of me, I lie back on the couch, invite
more. Next thing I know, we’re both
out of our jeans. Sean surprises me,
hesitating long enough to say, Christ,
you’re beautiful. He means it, and I know
it, and I know he loves me. His lips,
sultry and full, feel right, in all the right
places. Sean lifts over me. I close my eyes.
And now we are skin against skin.…
Kendra
Skin
That’s what everyone wants
to see. Skin. flawless, stretched
over perfectly sculpted flesh.
Men are easy, in their hunt for
skin.
Flash just enough, they’ll go
sniffing for more, and when
they’re on the sniff, nothing
is
too much to ask. They’ll give
up careers, sacrifice families.
Buy a new car, hand over
the key
to the one who wears skin
they want to lose themselves
in. And the funny thing
is, they don’t seem
to
care who knows it. Not
friends. Not colleagues.
Not even the people they
treasure.
Size Two Skin
That’s what I’m currently wearing.
Fifteen-milligram Meridia is one magic
little pill. You don’t even want to look
at food. The only problem is dry mouth.
Gack. Like sucking on cotton. At least
I’m drinking lots of water. Flushing
out pockets of poison. And fat. Fat. Fat.
Pretty soon my body will be totally
fat free, thanks completely to Xavier.
Thank God I met him. Everything
has fallen into perfect place. He’s setting
me up with runway gigs, and because
of that I can quit worrying about Miss
Teen Nevada. Yeah, it would be nice
to own that crown, but like Xavier says,
If you want to go back to pageants, there’s
always Miss Nevada next year. Or even
the year after. I don’t really need that kind
of stress right now. As Xavier says, You
know what makes worry lines? Worry.
You leave the worry to me. I’m allowed
a few lines at my age. He does have some
at the corners of his eyes, but I think
they make him even cuter. Mom thinks
so too. In fact, he’s got Mom eating right
out of his hand, and that’s a very good thing
because I’ve decided not to go to college
next year, and Xavier will convince her
it’s okay. College will always be there.
But you’ve only got a few short years
to work runway. College is better
with money in the bank. You know?
Beyond Runway
Xavier has connections at all the big
’zines. He says once the plastic surgeon
does her thing, high-fashion shoots
are a sure bet. The nose job is only
a couple of weeks away. The day after
Easter. Once you heal up nice and pretty,
I’ll talk your mom into the implants, Xavier
promised. Everyone will want you then.
Everyone will want me. And I want
that. If the price tag is going hungry,
or making a few alterations, it’s all good.
When everyone wants me, those stupid
girls at school will be sorry they made fun
of me. When everyone wants me, Patrick
will have to shut his mouth. When everyone
wants me, maybe Conner will want me too.
My Heart Still Cries
For Conner. But I have to admit
I don’t think about him every waking
minute anymore. And I dream about
him less and less. Is this always what happens
when someone you love leaves? They
fade away, blur into memory like childhood
fantasies? Part of it, of course, is focusing
on my career, fine-tuning my goals, near
and distant. I can thank Xavier for that.
Plus, having a man around to stroke
your ego takes the edge off not having
one around to stroke the rest of you.
I suppose that would be nice too.
And the longer Conner is out of my life,
the more I’m starting to realize someone
else might want to make me part of theirs.
Not That I Have
A whole lot of time for dating right now,
but if someone asked me out, I just might
say okay. Especially if he looked like
the guy sitting two tables away. Yummy.
Almost yummy enough to distract me
from the reason I’m here. Namely, lunch
with Dad and Shiloh, who have just arrived.
Rose’s is a small place, so I couldn’t hide
even if I wanted to. Dad spots me right
away. There’s my girl. Where’s your sister?
I’m not exactly sure Jenna is planning
to join us. But I say, “Late, as usual.”
He sits across the table, putting Shiloh
next to me. You must be Kendra, she says.
Your dad talks about you and Jenna
all the time. I’m glad to meet for real.
Up close, she’s younger than I thought.
Way to go, Dad. “Uh, yeah. Me too.”
Also on closer view, Dad’s mustache has
silvered and he has gained a pound or ten.
What’s good here? he asks, scanning
the upscale soup, salad, and sandwich menu.
Does he not remember our pre-theater family
meals at Rose’s? “Pretty much everything.”
I look up from my own menu just in
time to catch Shiloh checking me out.
She blushes, but doesn’t look away. So,
what are you getting? Maybe she wants
diet tips? She could use a few. “A half
spinach salad.” Hold the bacon, egg, and
dressing. One cup spinach, seven calories.
A few bites of avocado. A skinny lunch.
We Debate
Waiting for Jenna. After ten minutes,
Dad decides to go ahead and order.
Meanwhile, unfortunately, it seems it’s
time for small talk. I mention Xavier,
and (just loudly enough so Mr. Yummy
can hear) tell them about my fast-tracked
runway career. “Xav
ier says I’ll make over
fifty grand next year. And that’s just to start.”
Shiloh (who named her that?) sits, shaking her
head. Unlikely. And modeling is tough work.
Anger spatters like hot oil in cool water.
“Really? What would you know about it?”
Dad intervenes. Don’t get your back up.
Shiloh is in the business. Sort of, anyway.
I design costumes for showroom shows,
she says. I know the business inside out.
I Wouldn’t Exactly
Equate the two, but I guess I’ll keep
my mouth shut. Or change the subject.
Dad, however, beats me to it. What
about college? Won’t it be hard to keep up?
“I’m going to take a couple of semesters
off. Put some money away. You know.”
The tips of Dad’s ears flare. I haven’t
seen that in a while. Have you discussed
this with your mother? I don’t think
she’s going to be very happy about it.
“Mom doesn’t care what I do,” I fire
back, not that the assessment is even close
to accurate. “And why do you suddenly
give half a damn?” Our eyes interlock.
I never stopped being your father,
Kendra. I never stopped caring.
He Excuses Himself
And goes off to the restroom about
thirty seconds before lunch arrives.
Shiloh and I stare at our plates for
a long minute or two. Finally she says,
You really have no clue how much
he misses you, or how proud he is
of your accomplishments. Did you
know he keeps a scrapbook of newspaper
clippings about you? Photos of your
pageants and cheerleading?
I shake my head. Don’t want to listen.
Anger is easier than forgiveness.