Perfect - 02

  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.