Beige (21 page)

“Do you promise that the next time we have a problem, we’ll talk about what’s going on?”

I don’t say anything.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” The Rat says. “Do you want to be mad right now?”

“Yes.”

“OK, I understand that,” The Rat says. “Do you have to take it out on me?”

I don’t answer him. I take another sip of near-beer.

“OK. Cool. I understand. It’s OK if you do want to take it out on me. But I’m not the bad guy here.”

I tap a beat out with my fingernails on the bottle.
Clink. Clink. Clink.

Skooby’s has a little PA system on the sidewalk under the half awning, separate from the seating area. Sam Suck got roped into driving us to the show, because no one in the Grown-Ups has her driver’s license yet. I sit there on a stool with Sam, minding the merch table while the Grown-Ups play.

I know their set list by heart from sitting in on their jams.

I see Garth, kind of skulking in the background. I wave for him to come and join us. He kind of shakes his head. I leave him alone. He knows he’s welcome at the table, and I see that knowing that puts a smile on his face.

Sam bobs his head up and down to the music. The guy who owns Skooby’s knows exactly who Sam Suck is and gives us our hot dogs for free even though we’re not in the band. He asks Sam Suck for his autograph.

“Does everybody know who you are?” I ask.

“I started Suck with The Rat in junior high so we could get girls,” Sam says. “Now I get free hot dogs.”

Well, that’s a perk,
I think.

I catch Sam looking at me. “Now you
really
remind me of your mom,” he says. “When I first met her, she was
our
merch girl.”

“I’m just doing this as a favor,” I say.

“Funny,” Sam says. “That’s what your mom said, too.”

I think about how my mother followed The Rat to California. Now she’s following Vittorio to Madrid.

It’s just like she always says:
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

The set is almost over. They’re going to end with the new song. But instead of being their usual full-on wall of sound, they strip it down. Lake sings it. Pretty. Like in the jam space. She does not growl. She sings. And the other girls hang back and don’t add too much more to the song. They keep it the way I liked it, when Lake was singing it just for me.

I never really listened to the words in a song before this. When the words are right, they make you sad and happy at the same time. Because you know, you just know, that what’s being said is true. You feel like the song was written just for you. And in this case, I guess it really was.

I get goose bumps as I listen to Lake singing it
my way.
I start to sing along in my head.

Garth stands there at the edge of the pool, more bones than skin. He sticks his arms out in an Arnold Schwarzenegger man-of-iron pose. It looks ridiculous. But he has everyone at the pool laughing. He keeps hamming it up.

Lake sits on the lounge chair with her big sun hat and her composition notebook, scribbling away.

I keep on the lookout for Leo. I keep staring at his balcony. I can’t help it. Even though he never really liked me.

I try not to cry.

Lake starts humming and mouthing words. I watch her lips part to show perfect teeth in the form of a smile. She smiles when she’s coming up with a song.

Garth has stopped jumping around playing with his non-muscles. I notice that he’s kind of standing there, leaning in, trying to listen to Lake’s half singing.

I notice something else.

Garth doesn’t have a boner anymore.

“Is that the kind of girl you like? Lake?” I ask Garth later at the gelato store.

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well. OK. Yeah. But . . .”

“She wasn’t flirting with you when she asked you to go up to my house to get a new pen for her.”

“I know. I’m still making progress with her. But maybe she’ll talk to me this year at school. What do you think?”

“Probably not,” I say. “Sorry, Garth.”

“I wish you were going to be here,” Garth says. “You make things bearable.”

“She wasn’t even flirting when she asked you to stop by the jam space tomorrow to help her,” I say. “She’s just using you.”

“I know.” Garth nods to himself. “I know she doesn’t like me, and anything that I think that might be happening with her is just in my head. But at least she asked me to help at Sunset Junction.”

I keep my mouth shut. It hits a bit too close to home. A bit too close to how I felt about Leo. Leo, who I’ve made about one hundred excuses for to explain his bad behavior. Leo, who I’ve tried to convince myself is still thinking about that night as much as I am even though he told me to my face that it meant nothing.

“What makes her hot?” I ask. “What makes a girl like Lake hot?”

“The way she moves. The way she looks. The way she wears her clothes,” Garth says. “The way she’s got stuff on her mind. The way she’s totally independent. The way she doesn’t want me.”

“I wonder if I’ll ever be that hot.”

“Sure. You are now. I mean not to me. But you know what I mean.”

“I probably need more boobs, though. Lake has big boobs.”

“She sure does,” Garth says kind of dreamy.

I want to laugh at him, because he’s acting like a girl, not just looking like one. Then I do it. I open my mouth and laugh right out loud.

“Thanks, Garth. I needed that.”

“Hey, man,” he says, “anytime.”

We walk back into the courtyard, and I hear laughing. My eyes glance up toward Leo’s. I see him come out on his balcony. He’s with someone. I hear giggling. He pulls a girl out onto the balcony. She’s protesting, like she doesn’t want to go out, but she kind of does.

He looks down in the courtyard and sees me, then he pulls the girl close to him and wraps his arms around her. He sees me watching him, but I don’t let him see that it bothers me. I don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I smile and wave.

I look up at my nails. Lake’s black nail polish looks good on them.

The Sunset Junction Street Fair is today, a whole day of rides and games and booths, right in my front yard. Except I can’t explore. I said I was going to help Lake. I sit on the side of the stage and wait until Lake shows up.

“Where’s Garth?” Lake asks.

“I’m not his babysitter,” I say.

“He said he’d be here.”

“Well then, he’ll be here,” I say.

“Go find a table and set up the stuff,” Lake says. “You have to set up the merch. That’s your job.”

“I thought my job was lugging all your equipment.”

“It’s called ‘loading in,’” Lake says. “That’s why I need Garth.”

“Where is your band?” I ask.

“They don’t do the hard work,” Lake says. “I have to make it easy for them or they won’t do stuff, like show up.”

Right. Easy on them. Hard on me.

I get it when I see them. The other girls are talking to boys. They aren’t interested in the nitty-gritty of being in a band. Just the glory. That’s why I helped with the flyers. That’s why I’m moving the boxes and boxes of merch.

I am too sweaty to keep working like a dog. I’m hot and bored and tired. I didn’t want to be a mover. One of the boxes falls off the table and Lake glares at me. I throw my arms up in the air. It’s not my fault there is just too much stuff. It’s annoying.

Garth finally skates up to us a big smile on his face, helmet firmly on his head, and an ice-cream cone in his hand.

“Where have you been?” Lake asks. “You’re late.”

“No, I’m not. You told me to get here at quarter of.” He lifts his wristwatch to show us that he’s on time. “Let’s get this merch organized.”

Garth hands me his ice-cream cone, which I start eating, and he starts to prettify the merch table. He could be an interior decorator, he’s got such an artistic eye.

The Grown-Ups get up on stage and start to sound-check. All Lake does is complain. Everything is a problem. The drums don’t sound right. Her vocals don’t sound right. Her guitar doesn’t sound right. The other girls’ backups don’t sound right.

It all sounds fine to me. Her problem is she’s a perfectionist, maybe.

The sun is hot, hot, hot. I am hungry and want to explore the street fair. It’s just opening up for the day, not too crowded. Not yet. I want to ride on the rides. I want to buy something cute. I might as well buy something L.A. that I can wear in Madrid.

When Lake joins us, she’s muttering. She’s mad as hell, while the other girls in the band all hang out together on the other side of the stage, giggling. Not helping.

“Poseurs,” Lake says.

“What? Who?”

“The rest of the band. They are poseurs.”

She’s saying this to me, the biggest poseur of them all. What am I doing here?

The fair is starting to get more crowded. Some of the people head straight for the merch table, make a beeline for me. Lake kind of pushes me and Garth out of the way and takes over, telling everyone what is what. Bullying them into buying stuff. She starts handing me the wads of cash.

“How much is the the Grown-Ups underwear?” a boy asks.

“Five dollars,” Lake says. She grabs the twenty out of the boy’s hand, and I quietly make change, glad for something to do.

“Perv,” she says as he leaves. And we laugh.

A stagehand comes over to the table and alerts Lake that it’s almost set time. Kids and adults start to gather by the stage, waiting for the Grown-Ups, which is the first band to go on.

“Beige is in charge of the store,” Lake says to Garth. “Help her, lame-o.”

Then she blows over to the backstage area and disappears.

In between selling the odd piece of merch, I can observe the Junction with a purpose. My eyes scan the crowd, noticing all the kids. I see Auggie on top of The Rat’s shoulders with food all over his face. Trixie is laughing. People are having a good time.

My eyes are drawn to someone flying out of the gated-off backstage area. It’s Lake, followed by the other girls in the band. They’re yelling. Oh, no. This is not good. Lake disappears out of my range of view and then emerges with her guitar. She then comes pushing through the crowd toward me.