Читать книгу Domestic Arrangements - Norma Klein - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAt nine Mom and Daddy got ready to go out and meet Joshua’s parents. “Have a nice time,” Deel said.
“We will.” Mom gave me a hug. “Don’t worry, hon.”
I was a little worried. I went in and called Joshua. He works at a camping store till eight Tuesday and Friday, but he’d just gotten in.
“They just left,” he said about his parents.
“Mine too . . . I’m scared.”
“Don’t be, Rust . . . it’ll be okay.”
“He thinks fourteen is too young,” I said.
“It depends on the person,” Joshua said. “You’re very mature for your age.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure.”
“He thinks it’s just screwing around.”
“He sounds as dumb as my father.”
“He’s just sort of . . . What if they say we can’t see each other anymore?”
“We will, anyway.”
“I’d hate to have to sneak around and—”
“It’s going to be okay, Rust. Really.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure.”
“How’s your cold?”
“Better . . . Are you okay?”
“Sure . . . I got an eighty-five on the French test.”
“Terrific . . . Hey, listen, the bathtub wasn’t such a bad place, you know?”
“Well, with all the towels . . . You didn’t feel uncomfortable?”
“Uh uh . . . it was nice.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re nice.”
“You too.”
“I wish you were here right now,” Joshua said intensely.
“Ummm.”
“I’m going to pretend you are as soon as we hang up. I’m going to look at the photos.”
Joshua once took some photos of me without any clothes on. That’s how we got the idea of doing it the first time, actually. “Call me tomorrow,” I said.
“Okay,” Joshua said. He lowered his voice. “Sleep tight. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
There is one difference between Joshua and me about sex. I don’t know if this is the difference between boys and girls or just the difference between us as people. It’s that when we’re apart, he says he thinks about fucking with me all the time. Even when he’s working at the camping store. Or in school right in the middle of math class. Practically all the time, he says. Whereas I don’t think about it except when we’re doing it. I think about Joshua, but not so much about fucking with him.
I don’t know if that means I’m not as interested in sex as he is. Maybe. He says it’s something you have to get into gradually and that the more you do it, the more you get into it. Especially with girls. He says they don’t always take to it right away, but after a while they do, most of them. I like fucking with Joshua, but I don’t love it. Not yet. But maybe eventually I will.
In the morning Daddy slept late, but Mom was up. She had a call-back at nine for a commercial about coconut icing.
“How’d it go?” I asked her when we were both in the kitchen.
“Pretty good,” Mom said. She poured some wheat germ into the blender. That’s to make this drink she has in the morning, which has honey and a banana and milk in it to give her energy. “Lionel was actually fairly civilized. It really just all boiled down to minor things like curfews and how Joshua should be home by eleven. There was really no point of disagreement.”
I swallowed. “How about sex?”
“Well, sex actually wasn’t directly discussed,” Mom said. “Lionel kept saying ‘we don’t know if you realize how young Tatiana is,’ and Joshua’s parents looked abashed and said they hadn’t. Then there were lots of vague comments about modern-day teenagers and how things have changed and the differences between boys and girls, but no one quite came out and said . . . It’s going to be okay, Tat, really. Lionel’ll simmer down. He always does.”
“Joshua and I do lots of other things besides fuck,” I said. “It isn’t like that’s all we do when we’re together.”
“Of course you do,” Mom said, pouring her drink from the blender.
“People always think teenagers are sex maniacs,” I said. “Like, that’s all they ever do.”
“I know,” Mom said. “And basically it’s adults who . . .”
“Are sex maniacs?” I said, surprised.
“Well, women don’t really get interested in sex till they’re thirty,” Mom said. “Or even forty.”
“Really?” That was surprising. “How about men?”
“Oh, I suppose men vary,” Mom said vaguely.
“Is Daddy interested in sex?”
“Lionel?” She looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’d say . . . sure, moderately. I mean, not disinterested . . . Have you met Joshua’s father, Tat?”
I made a face. “I don’t like him that much. Neither does Joshua.”
“Well, he is kind of . . . He kept kind of nudging up against me in the restaurant and raving on and on about what a wonderful actress he’d heard I was and now that he’d met me, he knew why I had such an exquisite daughter. I mean, his wife was sitting right there. Maybe she’s used to it, though.”
“What did she say?” I said nervously.
“Oh, she and Lionel had this intense discussion about teenage morals and the horrors of drugs and how the modern world was a dreadful place for the young. You know, that type of thing. . . I think Lionel liked her. She has a kind of nervous intensity if you like mawkishly moralistic mouselike types.”
“I didn’t know Daddy did,” I said.
“Lionel?” Mom looked pensive. “No, no that’s true. His basic type is more—”
“Like you?”
“Isn’t that funny, I’m not sure I am Lionel’s basic type. I think his basic type is a bit more the lady intellectual thing. Someone he can snuggle up with and burble on about the downfall of Western civilization and weighty topics like that.”
“Is Daddy your type?” This was a really interesting conversation to have.
Mom looked at the clock. “Hon, you know, you better get cracking. It’s almost eight.”
“Oh, wow, I didn’t even wake Deel up yet.”
I never found out if Daddy was Mom’s type or not.
That evening Deel and I ate early because Daddy had to go out to dinner with someone he might do a film with who was just in from California for the day. He got back around 9:30. I was in my room, studying for the French test.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, Tat.” He didn’t look so mad anymore.
“Did you have a nice time at dinner?”
“Yeah, I did actually.” He started telling me a little about the movie he and this man might make. It didn’t sound that interesting to me. It’s about teenagers and drugs. I guess it’s kind of ironical that Daddy would make a film like that since Deel is such a pothead. Well, not pothead, really. Actually, she only smokes Tuesdays and Thursdays, which are the days she has Math, and weekends. Real potheads are stoned all the time, like Richy Mulz.
“Did you have a good time with Joshua’s parents?” I asked.
He sighed. “Yes, well . . . his mother seems like a very reasonable, concerned person. I felt we really saw eye to eye on everything.”
“How about his father?”
“I didn’t care for him. There’s something fundamentally shifty and irresponsible-seeming about the man.”
“Joshua says he has girl friends.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Daddy came over and sat on the edge of my bed. “See, Tat, I just don’t want . . . I don’t want you to get into anything you can’t handle, that will end up causing you a lot of pain and anguish.”
“I’m not.”
“There’s nothing wrong with easing into life and . . . One needn’t jump in with both feet. I know that peer pressure affects everyone and—”
I bit my lip. “Can I still see him?”
“Well, yes, but . . . no more middle-of-the-night escapades. And if you ever want to talk to me about it, please feel free to. There’s no need to hide anything from me, Tat. I’m not some ogre.”
“I know.” I looked up at him with what Mom calls my “big blue eyes” look (actually my eyes are gray). “Daddy, you know, I was thinking . . . Remember you said there was that show of photos by that woman photographer you knew? Well, I thought, like, maybe on Saturday, we could go to it?”
Daddy looked so pleased, I felt awful. “Well, that would be awfully nice, Tat. I’d love that . . . but aren’t you and Joshua—”
“Well, I might see him in the evening, but during the day I’m free.”
“I’m really glad you mentioned that,” Daddy said, still with that happy expression. “I’ve been wanting to see that show and I just . . Maybe Abigail will join us.” Abigail is a film editor who helps Daddy on some of his films.
“Lionel!” Mom was calling.
“I’m in here,” Daddy called back, “in Tat’s room.”
Mom came bursting in one second later. “Listen, it’s Charlie on the phone,” she said excitedly. “Guess what? They’ve done the final cutting and we can see the movie three weeks from now.”
“Oh damn,” Daddy said.
Mom and I stared at him.
“Oh damn what?” Mom said.
“That damn movie!” Daddy said.
“Lionel, what are you talking about?”
“Why did I let it happen? I let my own daughter be exploited, used.”
“Sweetie, my goodness, you ought to be proud! Your own daughter has a lead in a major motion picture, quote unquote, and is probably fantastic. Where does exploitation enter in? How absurd!”
Mom and I both looked at Daddy. He tried to smile. “I am proud,” he said, not that convincingly.
“Look, he’s on the phone. Do you want to speak to him or not?”
“Charlie? Okay, sure.” Daddy rambled off.
“Isn’t that exciting, Tat?” Mom said. “God, I can’t wait to see it.”
“Me too,” I said.
