IT GOES LIKE THIS. It’s a school day, but we’re down at the clam flats. Place we go sometimes, smoke weed, get laid. Place is dead. You know how it gets. You just want to get some shit going. See what happens.
We get to talking about this video business. Russell’s making comments about Mrs. Maretto. “Mrs. Tight Cunt,” he calls her. I mean even Russell, I don’t think in his wildest dreams he ever figured we’d get anyplace with her. It was Lydia we figured on sticking it to.
The girl had a face like the whole dog pound put together and a body to match. “But it’s all the same between their legs,” Russell says. You knew she’d never got laid. We figured it was about time somebody tried. I mean we’d be doing her a favor.
So we drive by school right around seventh period, thinking we’ll catch Lydia when she’s leaving and tell her we want to talk about Mrs. Maretto’s video and shit. Then we’ll take her down to the beach. Smoke some dope. Jump her bones.
Only when she comes out she’s got Mrs. Maretto with her. We were just going to cut out, forget the whole thing, only Mrs. Maretto sees us. No mention of how we hadn’t got around to going to school that day. Only she’s got the script to the video started and she needs us to give her some reaction shots or something. Don’t ask me what that meant.
I’m just thinking I’m going to tell her forget the whole thing. I mean, this was definitely not my scene, you know. “James,” she says. “I think you’ve got a good voice for the job.” And then she mentions some guy on Channel 4 that she thinks I look like him.
“Listen,” she says. “Since you guys are free now, what do you say we go over to my house and pick up the script and do some work right now? I was just going to give Lydia a ride home anyways.”
I say I don’t know. Seems like we got someplace to go. Something about Mrs. Maretto, she just got me so nervous. She was too pretty, is all. But Russell there, he grins at her and says, “Sure, that sounds stimulating,” or some crap that just about makes me piss in my pants.
“Russell,” she says, and she’s handing him money. “Why don’t you and Lydia just stop by Domino’s and pick us up a pizza, and James and I will go on ahead to my condo? Lydia knows the way.”
You could tell Lydia wasn’t too thrilled about this, and Russell neither. I mean, the guy had a reputation. As they’re pulling out of the parking lot I see her buckling her seat belt in Russ’s Pontiac. I mean, the girl’s scared shitless. And me, I never rode in no TV reporter’s car before neither.
She puts a handful of Tic Tacs in her mouth, asks if I want some gum. No thanks I say. Turns on the cassette. Some heavy metal shit. That was a surprise.
We don’t say nothing, just drive. She’s banging her hand on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. From the side view she kind of looks like when they were handing out noses they forgot to call her name, but she’s got these real nice tits, and I’m thinking, man, lucky she can’t read my mind right now.
“You like Aerosmith?” she says.
I don’t have no stereo or shit, but I just say, “Yeah.” You know she’s trying to show you how cool she is. Like she’s just another fucking slob like the rest of us.
“You have a girlfriend?” she says. I say nobody special.
“Well why not?” she says. “Cute guy like you.”
I can’t think of nothing to say, so I just sit there with this boner that won’t quit.
“Don’t you ever go dancing?” she says.
I tell her I don’t know how to dance. “Well,” she says. “I could teach you.” By this time we’re at her what-do-you-call-it, condo. “Condom,” Russ used to call it. Funny guy.
She unlocks the door. I never been in a place like this. Furniture all matching. Pictures of waves and shit on the walls. Place smells like a fucking flower bed. Little dog comes over and starts jumping up trying to grab my balls. Alls I needed.
She takes off her shoes. The place has this carpet on the floor. I mean it’s so soft you wouldn’t need no bed to fuck in. You could do it anyplace. Which in the end we did.
She turns on the stereo. It’s more of Aerosmith or Motley Crüe maybe. I never listen to the words to songs normally, but you kind of felt like whatever it said right then, that would be her message to me. Which in this case was “Ten Seconds to Love.” Jesus Christ, I’m thinking. Is it my imagination or does this chick want to ball me?
But she’s just dancing. Not real wild. Just moving back and forth. Come on, she says. Try it. You’ll never get a girlfriend if you can’t dance.
So I take a step forward, then back again. Wishing Russell would hurry up and get here, only also thinking about what if he didn’t. What I could do. Crazy stuff.
“My husband won’t dance,” she says. “I mean, we used to, but now that we’re an old married couple he’s changed. I guess he doesn’t think he needs to anymore.”
“It’s funny,” she says. “I can remember thinking once a person was in their twenties they might as well be a million years old. And now I’m there myself. Only it feels like it was just the other day I was putting on my cheering uniform. I was a cheerleader you know.”
“No shit,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. Then she does this little routine. Right there in the middle of her living room. The splits and everything.
“We were division champions,” she tells me. “Third in the state finals. Really gross uniforms though.”
This is when I hear Russ pulling up out front. It’s easy on account of that car needed a muffler bad.
“Hey,” she says. “Where’d you get the tattoo?” She’s talking about this skull I got on my arm. Russ and me, we all got shitfaced one night and did it. Never believe anyone tells you it doesn’t hurt.
“Little Paradise Beach,” I tell her.
“I always wanted a tattoo,” she says, and then she kind of giggles, like she’s sixteen or something. That’s when Russ and Lydia walk in with the fucking pizza.