Cupcake (14 page)

He reached through the window and tugged gently on my hand. "I thought we'd already established that we didn't know what we're doing here besides having a good time together, and we were gonna be all right with that. Why does it matter now?"

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"I don't really understand it myself, but because all of a sudden it just does matter." I pulled his hand to my lips and placed a light kiss on his palm. "You are a great catch--maybe now you should go on out and get caught by someone as great as you are. You hear what m sayin ?

Again he waited to respond, like he was trying to decide whether to lodge a protest. Then:

"I hear you," Luis acknowledged. That smile, one last time. "Disappointed, but I hear you."

No block in this neighborhood is ever empty of people or cars passing through, no matter what time of day or night, and I wondered if the folks strolling past us with their grocery bags in hand or dogs on leashes, or the delivery truck driver honking at Luis for blocking the narrow street, knew or cared that they were watching two friends expire their benefits.

I kinda think if I can't have pure love, I'm not feeling like discretionary love anymore. I'd rather be on my own, enjoying my sphere of people.

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***

TWENTY-FOUR

With the San Francisco side of my New York sphere of people

deciding to relocate back home, I decided Autumn and I needed one last blaze of Manhattan glory to share together before she returned to the land of fog and yummy dumplings. Our choices for how to spend our last time together included:

1. Circle Line boat tour around island of Manhattan--nixed due to complete cheesiness of the idea (also, we'd be too cold);

2. An afternoon at the arcade playing DDR/Dance Dance Revolution--nixed due to my namesake Cyd Charisse's spirit intimidating my lame CC white girl fumble-dance abilities;

3. One last round of sittin' round Central Park, people-watching--nixed also due to EXCUSE ME, IT'S

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COOOOOOLD in December, and we are from San Francisco and thought we understood the concept of frigid, but hah, we've been proven wrong about that; and so we settled upon

4. The space show at the Museum of Natural History, in celebration of Autumn pulling off a B-minus miracle in her astronomy class and therefore not completely closing off her future ability to transfer to Berkeley, and because the Laser Zeppelin show that was our first choice was sold out (damn us for not realizing that good stoners have the foresight to order tickets in advance before arriving baked at the show).

Of course, Autumn and I talked the whole way through the space show. Who could care about understanding the infinite nature of the universe when our New York time together ticked to a close?

We pacted. Me: "I will not let my desire to get some get sidetracked by drunken inability to open a condom wrapper." Autumn: "I will not let my desire to get some get sidetracked by my inability to deal with school and money stress." We clinked Danny-baked lunch-box cupcakes--mine a vanilla peppermint, hers a chocolate peppermint.

From behind us: "SHHH!"

I whispered into Autumn's ear, "What do you think is happening in the Shrimp sphere of the world?"

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From behind us: "No food is permitted to be eaten inside the premises."

She whispered back, "Longing for you. Of course!" Such a good friend to say what I wanted to hear, even if we both knew Shrimp could well be in love with some new Kiwi girl by now.

"SHHH!"

I sang out, "I left my heart..."

Autumn finished, "... in San Francisco." Then she added, "How do you think I am going to manage back home again?"

"Just fine," I said.

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***

TWENTY-FIVE

Maybe I am a Cyd Charisse with more in common with an Yvette

Mimieux than I expected--at least when it comes to bio-dad Frank. I don't know that I'm capable of ever feeling pure love for a guy who is like one infinitesimal sperm cell of a father figure in comparison to Sid-dad, but the discretionary love? There's possibility.

Infinitesimal.
I may have no career ambition at this stage of life other than to be a barista-waitress, but that doesn't mean I can't throw down the college words. Still, Frank apparently thinks there's plenty of education I lack, and he's taken it upon himself to fill that gap.

Our routine works like this. Frank calls my cell phone to say "How are you doing?" or "Do you need anything?" or some such, but really he's waiting for me to say "How are YOU doing, Frank?" so he can tell me all about how retirement is a bore and Danny and

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lisBETH work too much; they're never willing to take a day off work to spend with their poor old man who's putting golf balls all alone in his Upper East Side apartment just waiting for his kids to put in some face time with him, hint-hint, sniff-sniff. I'm fresh blood, and obviously I'm a dog person, because like a puppy craving attention, I fall for Frank's pity party and I will be like "Well, what did you have in mind?" Once Frank figured out that I could be coaxed into pretty much any experience not involving a boring lunch at his boring apartment, we finally got some quality experiencing going on.

Frank's preferred venue is a fancy museum, where he drags me around and sounds very important and news-anchorman-like as he lectures to me about so-and-so artist painted this boring-piece-of-crap during the artist's raging latent transsexual stage, as a revolt against the religious persecution brought down by the insert-name-of-ye-olde-king-or-queen-no-one-cares-about. I pretend to be interested and pretend not to notice my skirt-chasing old man checking out all the pretty women going by as he baritones, enunciating extra loudly when the ladies' skirts are cut above the knee. As a reward for my pretending this never happens, Frank pretends to be interested when I drag him to a French patisserie to sample French coffee and pastry, which is much nicer and less insouciant (trump that word, college kids!) than having to go all the way to France for the real culinary education. Frank then pretends to be

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offended when I play the "Do you think the barista behind the counter is straight or gay" game. Franks says I am way too interested in other people's sexuality, and I tell him he's one to talk, and somehow we're laughing together and it's probably as much of a bio-father/daughter moment as we'll ever know, but there it is-- a moment we own together.

It's our time, and it turns out not to be a waste of time. Familiarity may breed contempt, but it also breeds family. I no longer feel weird and lost in his presence. I just feel kinda used to him. It's a relief.

Before I knew Frank, Danny, and lisBETH, when I only knew of their existence, I used to fantasize what it would be like to be part of their family. I imagined I would enter their lives and magic-like-that, there'd be this weepy scene of true-love-family finding each other, like TV airport reunions between birth moms and the grownup children given up to adoption when they were babies. The bio-fam and I would have tons of things in common, like birthmarks in the same weird places, and dust allergies, and whoa, you like to eat spaghetti and meatballs on Tuesday nights? Me too! CONNECTION--instantly achieved!

The reality is, as a family unit, we had a rocky start the first time I came to New York. The true love did not happen, except between me and Danny. The second time, at Easter last year with Danny, Frank, and lisBETH, it felt awkward--but easier. Now that

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I'm a regular fixture here, making regular appearances in the lives of lisBETH and Frank, along with sharing an apartment with Danny, I understand that there never was going to be, or ever will be, a magic "aha" moment that declares We Are Family. It's like something you grow into without realizing it's happening, like my new cleavage.

As a family unit Frank, lisBETH, Danny, and I have grown into this: We spend holidays together. Although in true Frank-precedent fashion, we do cheat, just a little. This year we've convened to celebrate almost-Christmas, as in big family dinner at Frank's apartment on the night before the day before Christmas Eve.

The bio-fam are scattering like infinitesimal sperm cells for the actual holidays. Danny--get this--is going to Key West on a "just friends" vacation with Jerry Lewis, Blip, and Aaron (I predict disaster); Frank's going skiing in Colorado with a new "lady friend" he met on a plane trip a while ago and whose name he chooses to keep anonymous, as apparently it's not a true love situation but a mutually agreeable one (I'm way more scared by how much I'm like Frank than by how much I'm getting to be like Nancy); and major news flash--GET THIS--lisBETH is going "on holiday," as she says, with her new beau, the baldy from the nail shop.

Me, I am all about the self-actualization these days. With the Luis thing over, I am operating in a strictly crush-free zone, and it turns out to be rather nice. (Although my earlier contempt for

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sad-sack single females searching out the naughty toy shops may have been premature. Lesson: don't rush to judgment.) I'm digging the LU_CH_ONE_TE gig, looking forward to starting work with Danny after New Year's, enjoying hanging out with Johnny Mold and Max. For the first time in a long time, not only do I have no boy situation, I'm fine with that. Life builds even without a boy--it can also be mildly satisfying. Go figure.

It's likely I'm one of those people who peaked too young with true love and therefore shall never be able to recapture the experience again in her life, which conveniently leaves more time to focus on Myself, who will be celebrating her highly actualized single state by going home to the Bay Area for Christmas. More important than the holiday vacation, I have a new sister to celebrate.

I'd like to imagine it was a holiday miracle that Nancy managed to give birth on my San Francisco family's favorite holiday, December twelfth, but it was no miracle. Nancy scheduled the C-section for that most sacred of days, the birth date of Frank Sinatra. I'm sure when she is older and as actualized as her eldest sister, Frances Alberta will thank our mother for this astrological gift. I'm also confident that when Frances Alberta grows up, she'll prove herself the smartest of us all and will be so actualized as to actually know what actualization is, and she will share that knowledge with me, sweet thang.

Note: Johnny Mold can be torn away from his Game Boy and

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his latte to dance-thrash to the Ramones blasting from the stereo after telephone calls announcing the birth of Frances Alberta.

Johnny Mold is my new role model on many levels. I like his totally chill, no expectations frame of mind. And like him, I've decided it's socially acceptable to ignore the persons around me to focus on the technology in front of me. This new philosophy is how I came to be transfixed in front of Frank's TV watching a movie while lisBETH and Danny went about the work of preparing our almost-Christmas meal and Frank went about the Head of the Family business of shuffling through his newspaper, his stomach audibly grumbling in anticipation of the feast. I suspected this scattering of related persons to be the last sure sign we've evolved into a quasi-family unit--we're comfortable ignoring one another at family gatherings.

Well, I'd like to think so. I tried to watch
White Christmas,
but Frank kept talking at me like I was supposed to be paying attention to him while he sat on the couch opposite the one on which I reclined, wearing the lovely house slippers he brought me as a gift from his recent adventure trip to Japan; he's caught on that travel is an exceptional way to pass the retirement time, and that his bio-daughter who doesn't want his money will nonetheless be delighted to accept presents from the Takashimaya store in Tokyo that he personally picked out to match her green-blue toe days and her blueblack hair.

Frank said, "Have you met lisBETH's beau?"

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I'm dreaming of--

Pause button.

"No."

Play button.

--a white Christmas.

Bing Crosby: no way gay.

"But you've seen him?"

Pause.

"Right. But only once and only from behind."

Play.

Just like the ones I used to ...

Danny Kaye: Max, my friend, I'm not convinced, but I could see the possibility.

"Do you think it's serious?" Sigh. Pause.

"How would I know, Frank? They've only been dating a month. She's yet to subject him to my interrogation." Nancy-level sigh. Play.

"But she's been spending all her time with him! She's going to Bermuda with him for Christmas! It must mean something."

I finally gave it up to the Stop button on the remote.

"You're going skiing with your lady friend. Does it mean anything?"

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"But it's different with lisBETH. She doesn't casually date; it's not her nature. She's too serious. LisBETH ..."

"Did I hear my name?" lisBETH chirped as she stepped into the living room. She wore an apron over her executive lady business suit, holding a soup ladle in one hand, with a kitchen towel beneath it in her other hand. She passed the ladle over to Frank. "What do you think, Daddy? Does the soup need more salt?"

I'd say if people have auras, lisBETH's has faded from dark Popsicle-tongue-purple to light violet cream. Pleased. Clueless that Frank would have no idea whether a soup needed more salt.

All those years I spent wondering what lisBETH would be like had ended in terror the first time I met her--she was a nightmare (the feeling was mutual). But now that we'd grown from instant despise to somewhat tolerating each other to almost getting along, now that she looked so violet, I figured the time had finally come for the very important question I'd longed to ask her, but had never found the courage to before.

"LisBETH?"

"Yes, my dear?" she chirped again, clearly practicing her positive inflection voice for her vacation with baldy, who never did find his courage to ask her out on that first date--but was glad to oblige when lisBETH asked him.

"Did you ever think we could be sisters like the two sisters in

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White Christmas?
You know, all song-y and matching Christmas outfits and finishing each other's sentences--"

"No," lisBETH snapped, looking at me like I was the biggest moron she'd ever had the displeasure of being genetically linked to.

I mean, I was joking, but only sort of kind of.

Maybe lisBETH noticed my sort of kind of crushed face, because she added, "I hate that movie. It's nothing personal. Musicals just... What is it you say, CC? They 'bug.'" She laughed at her own joke. Then her aura changed to Nancy. "Do you think you could be troubled to detach yourself from the couch already? Danny needs help setting the dining room table."

I considered pointing out the inherent sexism in lisBETH demanding my girl touch to the table fixin's when a Frank-version Head of Family could easily have accomplished the same task. Maybe he'd put the salad forks on the wrong side, but cut the guy some slack, he'd probably never been a Girl Scout and forced to learn the art of table-setting for the sake of a gender-biased merit badge. Instead I told lisBETH, "Sure thing. And why don't you take over my place on the couch for a few. Frank wants to have a serious talk with you. He wants to know what's really going on between you and your beau, but he's too chicken to ask you to your face." I turned to Frank. "You're welcome," I said.

If I'd traveled down the college girl path, I so would have been a psych major (minor in feminazi studies).

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One final girl touch called on my way to the dining room. I stopped in front of lisBETH and snapped open the top two buttons of her blouse. It's like this little skill set exchange we have going on. We don't get all song-y and whatever, but I do teach her how to make her outfits more slutty and baldy-enticing, and she does stop by LU_CH_ONE_TE on occasion to run the numbers on my tips and help me figure out my living expenses budget--less the money I have to pay lisBETH back for the culinary class I ditched, unless I change my mind and reenroll, in which case, I'm back in the black with the lisBETH account. "Ask Frank about his lady friend while he's interrogating you," I whispered in her ear.

"Ask Danny about Aaron," she whispered back in my ear. "I can't get anything out of him on the topic."

"There's my Dollface," Danny said when I joined him at the dining table.

"Don't call me that; it's sexist." Actually, I think it's a nice nickname, but I want to stay on top of the subtle social cues that tell Danny I'm an adult, not some dumb kid sister who needs rules.

Danny teased, "But you look so purdy with your Morticia Addams black dress and the Jesus pin with the blinking lights that says 'Wish Me Happy Birthday!' on it. How can I not call you 'Dollface'?" He handed me a container of fancy silver forks, knives, and spoons. "Could you please set the silverware around the plates?"

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"Surely," I said. "Could you please not leave your dirty socks on the bathroom floor, and if you borrow one of my CDs, could you please put it back in proper alphabetical order rather than just any old where? Also, there are like nutrition bars that can be used as breakfast sources of protein and iron instead of soft-boiled eggs. Just letting you know."

I set the silverware around the plates while Danny trailed me placing the wine- and water glasses above the plates.

Danny said, "I'm sure I could tackle those issues if you could manage to write down my messages before deleting them from the house phone voice mail, and golly, if you could unlearn how to stomp around the house wearing your combat boots so you wake me up at three in the morning, and throw in not leaving the windows wide open when you leave for work so I come home to a subzero climate apartment, that would be peachy-keen-swell."

"Done," I said. Then added,
"Commandant."

"Appreciated," he said. "Dollface."

I thought living with Danny would be so easy and then it wasn't but maybe now it will be.

Pure warm love invites the admission of secrets, especially after a defrost. I told Danny, "Luis and I are
finito.
It was just a physical thing--and the statute of limitations ran out on my desire for anything less than true love. And the secret to why my electric toothbrush is always so much cleaner than yours is, I take it apart

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and clean it with a Q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol." Danny and I are both mental about dental hygiene, which documentary filmmakers should take note of for the insta-CC-Danny connection segment of the TV version of our bio-fam story.

"At last! I knew I'd break you and eventually you'd divulge the toothbrush secret. Oh, and, uh, don't know whether this news flash has penetrated through your and lisBETH's not-so-secret communiqué fortress, but Aaron's new boyfriend has let the L-word slip. Don't know how I feel about that."

"Yes, you do--or should I tell you? Or I can call your sister in here to do it along with me?"

"The denial is so much easier, Dollface. What do you say you and me go back to freezing each other out?"

"No, thanks. That would be too much work, and I am all about the slacker vibe these days. But when you're ready for me to tell you how you feel about Aaron, and congratulations by the way on finally discovering the jealousy factor, you just let me know. Don't wait till it's too late."

Danny flicked my Jesus pin. "God help me."

Danny had a point about the chill. As we shared a taxi home together after dinner later that night, I shivered like a California girl while the first flakes of winter snow teased the city. I rested my tired head on Danny's shoulder and thought about what a tease plane rides are. Whether to Omsk, Siberia, or back home to San Francisco,

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plane rides somehow offer the hope of a completely new, original adventure, or at the very least the hope that you could meet an amazing, cool person who will change your life, even though that only happens in movies or to serial lotharios like Frank, but what's it matter anyway because you're so very content being a single gal. In real life you get a snoring businessman with long legs who blocks your way to the bathroom (that's probably how Frank met his lady friend), you get crappy movies, but at the end you do get a destination. And I couldn't wait to leave for my destination the next morning, to meet Frances Alberta, to see my friends and family and hot dentist back home, to chill like a Johnny Mold in the San Francisco fog. Would my self-actualization be as readily apparent as my new B cup, or would I have to announce it (them) to everyone?

Except, when we stepped out of the taxi, Danny and I were greeted by a true night-before-the-day-before-Christmas-Eve miracle waiting in front of our apartment building.

Shrimp.

And no way would I be stepping onto that plane tomorrow. Not with pure love staring me in the face and asking, "Miss me?"

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***

TWENTY-SIX

Self-actualization proves useless when confusion reigns supreme.

This shall be the first lesson imparted at Miss Cyd Charisse's Little Schoolhouse on the Prairie commune. Class, this pioneer schoolroom has been specially chartered to ease the path of your denial. In this little one-room shack of a schoolhouse with a window view out onto the wide open prairie, you can accept true love back into your life without needing to question how the hell--oops, heck--it came to find you again.

The second lesson is that if a Shrimp arrives carrying a refrigerated bag of pork pot stickers from Clement Street in San Francisco even though he's a vegetarian--that's just how compassionate he is, caring more about your need for pork than about the pig's need to not be turned into pork--well, you accept that on blind faith, and do not question the health hygiene issues involved

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in the cross-country transportation of meat products. Clement Street pot stickers are hard to come by on the prairie. Those dumplings are gold, the currency declaring that Shrimp knows what you want better than you know yourself.

When you ask why he is here, what happened in New Zealand, do not be annoyed with his vague responses. You can read between the mumbles. Shrimp followed his parents to New Zealand, where they were going to become organic farmers, but his parents neglected to clear the immigration and visa hurdles that would have allowed for a permanent relocation there. Kiwis are uptight about hippy parents with marijuana-trafficking legal entanglements in their pasts. Oops. Be compassionate. Be a cupcake. You've made some less than smart decisions yourself. Lots of folks have wanted to deport you. Don't judge.

Why did Shrimp find you at your schoolhouse? Why now?

Who cares!

Focus on the important things. Look at his tight little surfer body, way leaner than you remember, by way of either stress or kiwi diet, you don't know, but surely you'd like to experiment on the differential of his body's equation. Stare deep inside the deep blue of his eyes on his deeply tanned face, newly hardened by antipodean sun but overcast by bad choice haze; admire his new preppy-cut dirty blond hair with a wind-whipped, sun-kissed golden patch spiking up through the middle but slanted to the side, like a

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Mohawk modeled on the Leaning Tower of I Love You More Than Ever. Transitioning back to that make-believe commune of making out will clearly be a bigger priority than all those damn--oops, darn--questions.

Believe the dream. Even self-actualized schoolmarms sometimes look out their open schoolhouse windows, into the nothingness, only to find somethingness floating their way. This apparition is not just possibility. It is actuality. Ghosts don't need to properly explain why they choose to appear out of nowhere. That's why they're ghosts. Demand too much of them and they will disappear again, stealing your actuality and all the possible kisses they might have brought along with them.

Class, Shrimp is lost and you can help find him. He needs you. That's the only lesson you need to know.

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***

TWENTY-SEVEN

We interrupt the return of true love for an emergency broadcast

parental freak-out.

"CYD CHARISSE, DID I HEAR YOU PROPERLY--YOU WON'T BE COMING HOME AT ALL FOR CHRISTMAS? HOW COULD YOU WAIT THIS LONG TO CALL ME WITH THIS INFORMATION? FERNANDO WAS JUST ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR THE AIRPORT TO PICK YOU UP! WHAT DO YOU
MEAN
YOU DIDN'T GET ON THE PLANE HOME TO SAN FRANCISCO THIS MORNING?"

Well, Mom, would you believe a blizzard struck Lower Manhattan around dawn this morning--planes were okay to depart from JFK and Newark, but what help's that if no cab could make it to my apartment building to take me to the airport? No kidding, the mayor declared a snow state of emergency from Wall Street up to Fourteenth Street. Totally

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freak snowstorm--if it had only diverted a few blocks north, I'd have been fine, winging my way home this very minute. Swear.

I braced myself, then said the word quietly, almost in a whisper: "Shrimp."

"SHRIMP!" My mother's voice was not almost a scream--it was more like a deafening screech. "You've GOT to be kidding me. He's there NOW?" I could totally picture Nancy clenching her teeth and balling up her fists in frustration. The vision was almost comforting--just like old times.

"Yeah, he showed up unexpectedly last night. He's had a hard time, Mom. I can't leave him alone now."

In exchange for Danny's reluctant acquiescence to my request for Shrimp to stay at the apartment while Danny was away on vacation, I promised I wouldn't lie to my parents about the reason I'd bailed on going home for Christmas. Initially Danny said no way could Shrimp stay, and neither could I for that matter, but rather than throw a tantrum disputing Danny's unreasonable edict, I stated the simple fact that I'm old enough and responsible enough to make this decision for myself, independent of the Commandant's rules. Danny sighed like a Nancy and said, "But if you don't go home, your parents will be mad at me." And I corrected him: "No, they'll be mad at
me."
Danny shrugged his agreement. Trumped.

As he left the apartment for the airport this morning, Danny did ask me to promise to think it through carefully before jumping

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back in with Shrimp, but I could give no such pledge. True love waits on no false promises.

"I thought Shrimp was in New Zealand," Nancy said.

"He returned to San Francisco last week. But there's a new baby at his brother's house, so he felt weird about getting in the way there, even though his new niece is amazing and one day she will be number one female surf champion of the world. His parents took off to stay with friends in Humboldt County, and Shrimp didn't know where else to go. He had a free airplane ticket because he'd agreed to get bumped on the flight back from Auckland, so he came to New York on a whim. He was gonna stay with some surfer friend from Ocean Beach who now lives in Brooklyn, but he came to look for me first and he brought me pot stickers from Clement Street and--"

When I had called Autumn this morning to tell her I wouldn't be sharing the plane ride home with her after all, she'd said, "Shrimp has a friend from Ocean Beach who now lives in Brooklyn? Riiiight." Then, "Be careful," she'd advised. "Don't worry," I said, "I'm back on the pill."