Fudge. Fudgesicle! I wrap the sheet around me and follow Dave into the living room. “Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all that stuff. You know how moms are. She was going on and on, and I wanted her to shut up.”
He turns when he reaches the kitchen table. Behind him, I can see the cutting board, still laying on the floor amid the rest of the disorder from last night.
“And telling her I’m a nonentity shuts her up?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrow.
“No! I mean, I sort of have a track record with losers—you know, the UPS guy, the gardener—and she gets freaked out.”
“So I’m on a level with the UPS guy?”
“Stop, okay? Don’t deliberately misunderstand.”
“You said I couldn’t afford you.”
I press a hand to my forehead.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You think because you’ve got more money than I do, you can treat me like shit?”
I reach a hand out, willing him to take it. “You know it’s not like that.”
He shakes his head. “All I know is you’re back to the same old shit. You wanted a quick fuck with a nonentity, you got it. You can go back to your prince now.”
I stare at him. “How can you say that? After last night, after what I told you—”
“After last night, what? Nothing’s different. I thought you’d changed, but you’re the same old princess.”
“What am I supposed to do? Tell my parents who you really are?”
“And who am I really? Who am I to you?”
“Dave, you know who you are. You know I care about you.” You’re the only person who’s seen the real me. But I don’t say it.
“Then why not tell your parents? I’m good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to take home to Mom and Dad?”
I bite my lip. Dave’s right. I’m not being fair to him. How can we start a relationship if I want to keep it hidden? But even if I’m ready to be real with Dave, I just can’t be that vulnerable to the world. Dave’s asking too much.
And so, like Gray always says I do, I hide.
I throw on the boxers and Cubs T-shirt from the kitchen chair, grab the phone, and dial information and then a cab company.
Dave’s watching me silently, and I can’t talk now or I’ll cry. I rush into Dave’s bathroom, splash water on my face, put toothpaste on a finger and rub it over my teeth, and then use my fingers to comb my hair into some semblance of order.
When I step out, Dave’s standing in the hall. I look up at him. “I’m sorry,” I say, “for everything.”
I open the door and slam it shut behind me, and then I wait on the sidewalk outside the building until the cab pulls up. Dave doesn’t come down, and I don’t look up.
About five hours later I finally make it to Lake Geneva. I took the cab to Josh’s, and he and Carlos helped me evade the reporters to get into my town house for clothes, toiletries, and Booboo Kitty. Then they took me to my abandoned car. I’m so lucky to have friends like Josh and Rory, but right now it’s just nice to be alone. And since no one else is here, I’ve decided to sleep in my parents’ room. The bed and closets are bigger, and their bathroom is attached.
I tend to overpack, so I have to move some of my dad’s clothes into the closet in my room to fit all my stuff. I’m just about done with the transfer when my cell rings and I pick it up off the bed before Booboo bats it onto the floor. Now that she’s had her can of cat food and a bowl of dry food, she’s sated and sleepy and doesn’t want to be disturbed.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hi, Rory. Thanks for bringing my cell to Josh’s this morning.”
“No problem, but I’m calling on behalf of your mother.”
I sit on the bed. “What does that mean?”
“Mitsy called, and she told you to tell me that she told me—wait, she told me to tell you—oh, blast it! Hold on.”
I hear shuffling and the rustle of paper.
“Okay, here it is. Do not take any calls from Lucinda Chippen-something until the vote is over. There’s soup and cereal in the pantry, the keys to the boathouse are by the door, and, oh”—she pauses—“don’t sleep with the flag delivery guy.”
I heave a sigh. “And she couldn’t tell me this herself because…?”
“She’s not talking to you.”
I shake my head. “Fine. Well, you tell her that whenever she’s ready to stop being mad at me for things I have no control over, then she knows where to find me.”
“Do I have to?” Rory asks. “I’m sort of scared to say that to your mom.”
“Call Grayson and tell him to tell her.”
“Oh, that’s another thing. She’s not talking to him, either.”
“Why not?”
“I think he committed the sin of defending you.”
“Okay, I’ll call him and smooth things over. Sorry you’re all involved in this now.”
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s way more fun than my family. You know, over there it’s all peace, love, and the rest of that Bantha fodder.”
The next morning Rory calls from work to check in. She’s got another message from Mitsy, something about how I should try to act more mature.
Me act more mature.
In the morning sunshine, my feet propped on the deck railing, legs stretched in the sun, I’m thinking that if it gives me a reprieve from my mother’s whining, maybe immaturity has its perks.
I make coffee, make breakfast, take a walk, paint my nails OPI’s Don’t Wine…You Can Do It, play with Booboo, call my cousin Cassie and a few friends of mine who live on the lake, Josh, Rory, Grayson, and then I get really desperate and call Carlos and even Rory’s freaky sister Stormy. Finally, I glance at my watch. Ten-thirty. That’s it? Will this day ever end?
I wander around the house, listening to Cab Calloway’s “Are You Hep to the Jive?” Mitsy had the house redecorated about five years ago, but it could use a little touch-up.
I sit down to make a list, singing along with Cab. Then I pull on clothes and shoes, and dance out of the house.
A week and a half later, the house looks awesome. New drapes in the kitchen, a feng shui furniture arrangement in the living room, new spreads in my room and the guest room, a new shade of paint in the half bath, and a brighter wallpaper border in my parents’ bathroom. I’ve spent more than my monthly salary, but I made it through three long, drawn-out days.
In celebration of my decorating triumph, I squeeze into a bikini from my high school days. It’s faded and snug, but I’m only going to lay out on the dock, so no one will see anyway.
I slather on sunscreen and am sticking my Yucatán If U Want painted toes into flip-flops when Rory calls.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Your mother is talking to you again.”
“Oh, great. Did she tell you to call and tell me that?”
Rory sighs. “Yeah. Are you talking to her? I’m supposed to call and report back.”
I slide the patio door open and step outside. “Yes, tell her that if she calls, I’ll talk.” What else can I do? My mother is never going to change, and the Junior League politics will always mean more to her than they should, but that’s my mom. And she’s the only one I have.
“What are you up to?” Rory says. “Did you finish the decorating?”
“Yep. Now I’m going to lay out on the dock.”
“Okay, I officially hate you. I’m up to my ears in spreadsheets.”
“Well, drive up and visit.” I head down to the dock where I’ve already got my lawn chair and blanket ready.
“Can’t. I have to work.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you ask Hunter if he wants to come for the Fourth? Maybe I’ll invite Gray or Josh and we can have a party.”
“Sounds good. But how are you doing? Are you okay up there all by yourself? I feel like you’re in exile. And you still haven’t told me what happened with Dave.”
I lay on the lounge chair and I throw an arm over my eyes and think how to explain everything I’ve been pondering the past week and a half. Decorating was a distraction from boredom, but it’s also a really good thing to do when you need to think. For some reason, painting and wallpapering frees my mind to consider whatever might be bothering me. Finally, I say, “Rory, you know how you’re always saying that I never mess up and I’m so confident—”
“And perfect and beautiful and stylish.”
“Yeah, all that. Do you really think that? Do you think I don’t have any problems?”
“No, I know you have problems.” She pauses. “You’re just better at hiding them than other people.”
“That’s what I mean. I hide the real me behind designer clothes, too much makeup. I don’t let people see the real me.”
“Is that what you think or what Dave says?”
“Both, I guess. You know, working on Kamikaze Make-over! made me think. All those shows that play at real life aren’t real life at all. They’re as scripted and choreographed as any sitcom.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
“No, but I think what really got me is how the producers create the reality they want the audience to perceive. That’s what I’ve been doing in life.”
“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. You’ve had some rough things happen to you. Can’t Dave understand that?”
“I told him about Chris and my first time.”
“Then he has to understand.”
“He does, Rory, but it was me who hurt him. As much as he understands me—has always understood me—it hurts when you diss someone to your parents.”
“Oh, Allie. Do you want me to call him?”
“No, this is my problem. I’ll deal with it. I guess I just have to decide if I’m going to go on being a perfect facade or if I’m ready to show the world the real me.”
“You’ll make the right decision. Right now, wish me luck, I have to go call your mother.”
“Better you than me.”
But I’ve barely had time to put a CD in my portable player when my cell rings again.
“Allison? What have you done to my H-O-U-S-E? Rory tells me you’ve been redecorating.”
“Just some paint and wallpaper border, Mom. It looks good.”
“Wallpaper? Where?”
I turn onto my stomach and adjust the phone until I’m comfortable. “Hey, Mom, you know I love you, right?”
That surprises her, and she sputters for a moment before saying, “Allison Lynn Holloway, what did you do to my house?
“Nothing, Mom. I just love you.”
“Oh, good,” she says, clearly uncomfortable with the new me. “Have you found another job, yet?”
“I will, Mom, but I have to wait until my profile is lower. The second Kamikaze Makeover! aired last Saturday and Gray said the reporters started calling again. The last one airs on the Fourth. I was thinking about sending out some résumés after that.”
“The Fourth! Allison, that’s a week away!”
Okay, there’s being real with Mom, and there’s being a glutton for punishment. “Hey, Mom, can I call you back? I’m kind of busy here.” Tanning can take a lot out of a girl.
“Wait. Before you hang up, I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for what you put me through with Lucinda Chippenhall. I won the vote, and I won’t be kicked out of Junior League.”
“Great, Mom. I’m thrilled. Love you. Bye.”
I close my eyes and try to remember times when my mother was sweet and loving—like when I was sick or needed a new outfit.
My mind wanders back over events in my life, and eventually it wanders to Dave. I glance at my cell screen and see that it’s 11:30 A.M. Dave’s probably heading out to lunch now. Maybe he’s meeting Hunter. Maybe he’s taking a new girl out. A twenty-two-year old advertising chick who likes beer and basketball, and won’t tell her mother that Dave’s a nonentity.
Fudge. I roll onto my back. I hate that between moving furniture, wallpapering, and jiving, I keep thinking about Dave. Worse, I hate the way things ended between us. I even hate that he hates me. I need something to take my mind off him. Mitsy’s right. I need a job.
But right now the idea of working for another Miranda isn’t all that appealing. Look how much I got done here, by myself. I’ve got way more potential than I thought. Miranda was holding me back.
I open my eyes. Maybe I should think about starting my own business? Dave said it could be done. People with far less potential than I have start their own businesses all the time. And I’ve got added advantages. I’ve got style, connections, and, most important, capital—my trust fund. It would probably be too easy. I’ve already amassed a client base and maybe I could steal Josh away from Miranda. I could ask Rory to do my financial stuff and Hunter to do the advertising, Josh and I could decorate the office, my dad could probably tell me where the best office real estate is.
And the best part is I could make sure my firm gives something back to the community. We could go into Englewood and paint houses or make over a community center. And not set it on fire this time.
I could really do this. But what would I call the firm? Maybe Mitsy can think of something…
A shadow falls over me.
“Miss, do you live here?”
The sun in my eyes, I squint up at the tall figure of a man looming over me.
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m delivering your flags.”