Laura Ruby - Good Girls (11 page)

World Tour

W hen I sat down with Pam Markovitz and

Cindy Terlizzi and sampled their fries, I never

thought that it would become a habit. But every

day, I walk into the lunchroom and see Ash turn

from me as if I have human papillomavirus, see

Joelle look faint and theatrical. Then I scan the

room and see Pam clearing a seat for me. One

147 thing leads to the next, and then I'm sitting with them all the time.

At first we don't talk much. We order cheese fries, split them three ways, and eat them, occasionally com- plaining about a teacher or some stupid guy who said some stupid thing. I tell them that Ash thinks I'm a slut and I don't want to hang out with her, and they don't ask for the gory details.

We start to talk. Things that I didn't know about Pam Markovitz: (a) she's funny; (b) she's smarter than every- one thinks she is; and (c) she's sworn off guys. She says she's had enough of them to know that they just aren't worth it, at least not at this age. "Do you know that the last guy I went out with was trying to get in my pants in the car on the way to the movies? He didn't even wait for me to get my seat belt on, just `Hey, how are you, you look nice,' and wham! right for the fly. I'm like, Whoa! And he's like, What? As if normal people always ram their hands down each other's pants on first dates." She waves the air in front of her face as if there's a cloud of smoke, which of course there isn't, because we're in school. "I'm not wasting any more time with boys. What do they know about pleasing a girl?" she says. "Nothing. That's what they know. I'm saving myself for a man."

"Seems like a good plan to me," I say.

She nods at me. "You get it. You found out the hard

148 way. Heh. No pun intended."

It's the first time they've said anything about the pic- ture or about Luke. I'm tempted to ask Pam if she was with him, too, but I don't, because I know she was and because I really don't want to hear about it. "Yeah," I say. "I found out the hard way." And, to be mean, because I am feeling mean lately, I say, "Or the not-so- hard way."

"The never-hard-enough way!" says Cindy. She laughs, open-mouthed, and then covers her mouth with her hand. Cindy's bottom teeth are crooked, and she's really self-conscious about them. Pam told me that the first thing Cindy wants to do when she turns eighteen is to audition for Extreme Makeover or one of those other plastic surgery shows, like maybe something on MTV. She wants the works: teeth, boobs, cheeks, other cheeks, etc. I think that those shows make everyone look like the talking robots at Epcot Center, but what's the point of telling her that? People don't listen.

"You guys should try Pam's Boy-Free Plan," Pam says. "I feel great. No hassles, no stupid phone calls at midnight, no begging. No telling me that rubbers ruin the sex for them. Poor, poor babies. Please. Give me a break." She glares out the window, as if the boys who said these things to her are chained up outside, just wait- ing for her to come and kick the crap out of them for fun.

149 "I think things used to be better for women," Cindy says. "I'm reading this book where this woman gets kid- napped and has to be harem girl for this guy?"

"Which book is this?" I say.

Cindy digs around in her bag and pulls it out. The woman on the cover is wearing gauzy, see-through pants and a spangly bra. A guy with long, windblown hair and a windblown white shirt stands behind her, pulling her elbows back in a way that could not be comfortable. The book is called Slave to Love.

"Oh, yeah," says Pam. "She looks like she's having a great time. Is he trying to dislocate her shoulders?"

"You didn't let me finish!" says Cindy. "This girl? Her name is Vienna? She gets rescued from the harem by this guy, Rafe, before anything bad happens to her at the harem. And then Rafe falls in love with her. I'm just at the part where he asks her to marry him."

"Sweet," says Pam. "And?"

"What I'm trying to say is that guys used to be gen- tlemen, didn't they? Some of them, anyway."

"Cindy," I say, "I don't think that those romance novels are historically accurate."

Pam bites the tip off a fry. "Plus, they're rotting your brain."

"Uh-oh," says Cindy, lowering her voice to a hiss. "Don't look now, Audrey, but here comes your little friend. And your other little friend."

150 I look up and see Ash stomping toward the table, Joelle right behind her. Joelle has a pleading look on her face, like, Please, don't blame me, I couldn't stop her, you know how she gets. I do know how Ash gets, but I don't know how she got this way this time. It's been two and a half weeks since our fight. I broke down and called her right after it happened, but she was furious and wouldn't budge. You screwed up, she told me, you need to admit it. I got mad all over again, hung up the phone, buried my face in Stevie's fur. My mom wanted to know why I needed a ride to school all the time, and I made something up about before-school play rehearsals. To keep my mind off the whole thing, I stud- ied even harder. When I aced my latest essay test (Pride and Prejudice, 101 percent) Mr. Lambright pulled me aside and told me that whatever I was doing, it was working. Ron the Valedictorian folded his own test (98 percent) and gave me a dirty look.

Now Ash stands next to the table, glaring at me, at us.

"Welcome to Slut City," says Pam, her voice like a refrigerator. "What do you want?"

Ash doesn't answer. Her face relaxes, and she flicks at her eyebrow ring nervously. She sighs and stares at the floor. "I've been a jerk."

"Yes," I say. "You have."

"Yeah," says Pam. "You have."

151 "Ditto," Cindy says.

Nobody breathes for a minute. Then Pam crosses her arms over her chest. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

The muscles in Ash's jaw grind and shift, and I'm afraid she's going to tell Pam to screw herself. They have completely different styles and attitudes, but the same sort of fierceness. Inside the rings of liner and shadow, their eyes sparkle with hostility. But instead of telling Pam off, Ash says, "No, that's not all I'm going to say, as if it's any of your business. Audrey, this is all my fault. I just didn't want you to get hurt like I got hurt. And I was upset that you didn't tell me the whole story. But I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry."

Pam and Cindy glance at me. I know there's more to it, and she owes me, but I can't stay mad. I miss her. "That's okay," I say.

Pam sighs and Cindy shrugs, as if to say, Oh, well, I guess that's the end of this little friendship, see ya. But Joelle claps her hands together in relief. "Thank GOD that's over. I was so stressed I thought I would have to get a prescription." She climbs into a seat next to Cindy. "Can I have a fry?"

Just like that, it's the five of us. I don't have to ask my dad to help me get the materials for the Hamlet stage set; Cindy's dad has an oversized van. Over

152 Thanksgiving break, she drives me over to the Home Depot to buy wood, paint, and other supplies. Ash, Pam, and Joelle insist on coming. Pam is a bad influ- ence on Ash; there's enough chain-smoking to fill the entire van with a thick gray cloud. I roll down the windows to let some out. We're like a traveling five- alarm fire.

"Do the two of you have to smoke at the same time?" Joelle says.

Ash and Pam say "Yes."

"I'm freezing, and my clothes are starting to stink," Cindy says. "Smoking is so gross. I don't know how you guys can do it."

Pam says, "You and Joelle could have stayed home."

"I'm not even sure there's going to be enough room for the wood with all of us in the car," I say, my eyes stinging.

"You would have missed me too much if I didn't come with you!" says Joelle.

"Didn't you have a rehearsal or something?" Pam asks her.

"Yes," Joelle says irritably. "But it was only Polonius. I can't stand Polonius."

"Joelle's got a crush on Ophelia," I explain.

"You have a crush on a chick?" says Pam. "That's kind of cool."

"It's O, not Ophelia," Joelle says. "And he's not a

153 chick. He's a guy. And he's hot."

"Guys, schmuys," Pam says.

It's Cindy's turn to explain: "Pam's sworn off the male species."

"Really?" says Ash, blowing smoke out of her nose, like a cartoon bull.

We park the van and stumble into the store. "Watch this," says Pam. She takes my list, picks out the cutest guy in the lumber department, and goes to work. "Hi," she says, in her honey-gravel voice, "I was wondering if we could--oops!" She drops the list on the floor. She turns away from him, bends from the waist, and picks up the paper. She's wearing a skirt, and the visual is just short of porn. "Sorry," she says sheepishly when she stands up again.

"That's okay," the guy says. You can see the Adam's apple go up and down a few times as he tries to swallow.

"We just need a little help finding all these things, and we're not sure where to look," she says. "Can you help us?" She hands him the list and leans over so that her breasts push up against his arm. His eyes are wide, and he stammers, "Uh, sure. This way." The lumber guy takes us up and down the aisles, pointing out this wood and that wood and grinning like an idiot whenever Pam smiles. He gets us what we need and has it loaded onto a cart by three more grinning idiots in orange aprons, all moving so fast that they're practically blurred. "Three

154 blind mice," whispers Ash. "See how they run." Pam thanks the cute guy for all his help by giving his butt a swift pat, turning tail, and leaving him in the dust. As we walk away, we hear him squeaking, "Wait, can I have your number? Wait!"

"Nice," says Ash when we are in the paint depart- ment.

"Oh, I could do that," Joelle says.

"Any girl can do it," says Pam. "That's the point."

I snort. "And they say girls are easy. Girls are the sluts."

"And we're the biggest sluts of all," Pam says. "Well, except for Cindy."

"What do you mean?" Ash says. Then her eyes widen. "Are you still a virgin?"

A man and a woman wearing matching shirts stop comparing cans of ceiling paint to gape at us.

"Shhh!" Cindy says. "Don't say it so loud."

"I didn't," says Ash.

"And don't look so surprised, either."

"I'm not surprised."

"Yes, you are," Cindy says. She twirls a lock of over- dyed, overfried hair around her finger. "I don't know what the big deal is. Lots of people are virgins. I want to do it with someone I love. Is that such a bad thing?"

I shuffle my feet and will not look at Ash. "No, I think that's a good thing."

155 "Someday her prince will come," says Pam sarcasti- cally.

"Sure, tons of those around," Ash says.

Cindy looks wounded. "I like guys. Just because you hate them doesn't mean that I have to."

"Of course it doesn't," Joelle says, putting her arm around Cindy's shoulders. "Don't let the mean girls bother you. They're dried-up, bitter old hags. Princes don't like bitter old hags. They like nice girls like us."

Ash jerks her head at Joelle. "She's a virgin, too."

"You?" Pam and Cindy shout at once. "Get out!"

Smiling proudly, Joelle tosses her head. "Out."

"But you're an actress," Cindy says.

Joelle stamps her foot. "Now, what's that supposed to mean? Everyone always assumes . . ." She sees the matchy couple sneaking glances at us. "Oh, hello," she says. "Don't mind us. We're rehearsing a scene for a new movie."

"Yeah," says Ash. "It's called The Slut City World Tour. Want tickets?"

As if his wife might get ideas, the man drags her away from us by the arm. Pam snickers and Cindy gets nearly hysterical, she thinks it's so funny. It takes more than two hours to buy six cans of paint, a package of screws, ten hinges, and a few doorknobs because Joelle won't stop singing, "The girls are pretty in Slut City" and "In Slut City you won't get no pity," which she accompanies

156 with high kicks and semi-spastic tap dancing.

Pam shakes a box of nails and holds it up to her ears like a seashell. "I wouldn't mind boys so much if they knew how to give a girl an orgasm."

Ash agrees. "They should offer anatomy lessons at school as a public service."

"I'm not sure it would help," says Cindy, shaking her head gravely. "Boys have concentration problems."

Pam replaces the box of nails. "Ash, you went out with that guitar guy, what's his name, for a while, right? The one in the band?"

"Jimmy," Ash says, looking like someone just poured vinegar into her mouth.

"So was he any good?"

"Good at playing the guitar?"

"Good at sex."

Ash flushes sweetheart pink. "Yeah, he was."

"Really?" Pam says. "How good?"

"Good," says Ash. And I know it's true. Not because she was so free with the details, but because she always had this little smile after she'd been with Jimmy, this sweet, private smile. I wonder how Jimmy could have done it, how he could have made Ash smile like she was keeping the best sort of secret and then leave her with- out looking back.

Pam's not finished with her questions. "So we're talk- ing orgasms on a regular basis?"

157 Ash squirms. "Jesus!"

"Pam gets in everyone's business," Cindy says. "She'll talk about anything."

"I'm eighteen years old," Pam says. "I'm a legal adult, and I'll talk about adult things if I want to."

Ash is biting her lip. "With our clothes on," she says.

"Huh?" I say.

Even redder now, Ash says, "If we kept our clothes on, then I would, you know. Something about the pres- sure . . ."

Joelle shivers. "Orgasms are so cool. You feel nice all over."

Pam's laughter hangs in the air. "Honey, a cookie makes you feel nice all over. You probably haven't had an orgasm yet."

"I haven't?" says Joelle, and frowns. "Oh. Well, that sucks."

"A lot of girls don't," says Pam.

"That really sucks," Joelle says. "How is that fair?"

"You can always take care of it by yourself, you know," Pam tells her. "Do you have a shower massage?"

"Ew!" Joelle says.

I'm still confused about Ash. "With your clothes on?"