Playground (36 page)

the front of the car. The headlight is hanging down, like an eye

popped out of its socket. Oh, and the front tire is flat.”

“Thanks for the full report.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t expect to drive my car—that is, if

I ever get one,” she says, eyeballing Mom.

“You’ll get one,” I assure her.

“Yes, but I’ll be too old to drive by then,” she answers.

“I miss you. Maybe we can hang out when I go home,” I say,

sounding eight instead of eighteen.

“Okay, get some sleep,” Savannah says.

My eyelids begin to droop as Mom kisses me softly and tells

me to rest for a while.

When I am discharged from the hospital, Mom and Savannah

gather my belongings. Dad is busy playing Monopoly at Hef ’s so

Mom drives me back to his empty house. In the car, she and Sa-

vannah talk about clothes and new restaurants. Mom keeps asking

me about my plans for college, but I’m not listening to a word.

I have sobered up a little and realize how distraught and out of

touch I have become. It seems hard to imagine feeling safe or sane,

laughing or being lighthearted again. I wonder if I can ever go to

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the beach again, toss a Frisbee, have barbeques, go to street festi-

vals, and talk about boys like most teenagers across the country are

doing.

At home, days, maybe hours, later, someone pounds loudly on my

bedroom door.

“What?” I yell from my bed. I sit up, lifting the covers off me.

“I need to talk to you,” my father says, stumbling in. He is di-

sheveled as he sways back and forth in the doorway. His hair is un-

kempt, his eyes half open. Two cowlicks stick up, scarily looking

like two horns. He hasn’t shaved in days. He appears more de-

pressed than anything else.

“I’m going to stay at Don’s guest house for a while. I think

Vicki may have set me up,” he says sadly. “It’s only going to be for a

few months until things settle down.”

“Until what settles down?” I ask, trying to focus on what he’s

telling me.

“It’s better for me to be gone for a while, but don’t worry, I have

my people watching the house,” he says.

“What people? Who’s watching the house?” My head is spin-

ning. “Who’s after you?” I find myself constantly asking. “The peo-

ple who come by the house late at night?” The thought of being all

alone turns my stomach. I think I’m going to throw up.

“I have a plan,” he mumbles.

“What plan?” I ask.

“I can’t get into details now.”

“What if people try to break in?”

“Just don’t answer the door,” he says nonchalantly.

My look is one of sheer terror.

“How can you leave me here?” I could not formulate the words

beyond panic.

“You handle your business and I’ll handle mine!” he yells. “Stay

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out of it, you hear me? Just keep quiet!” But what I really hear him

say is, “Shut up! Don’t be a stupid little bitch like all women!” I

stiffen, feeling once again like a child. I don’t want to be a scared

little girl so intimidated by her father’s temper that I never con-

front him in a clear, adult way.

“I am not staying out of it!” I yell, trying to become a worthy

opponent for the verbal battle ahead.

“What is wrong with you?” he reacts in a harsh tone.

“What is wrong with
you
?” I repeat like we’re in fourth grade.

I notice how quickly our anger escalates.

“You have serious problems!” he says.

“And that’s coming from someone who can barely keep his

eyes open!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

“If you don’t like the way I do things, then leave!” he shouts,

sticking his finger in my face. Something inside me snaps and

I gather years of silent strength.

“I wish I could!” I scream.

“Well, let me make it real easy for you, lady. From now on,

you’re on your own!”

“I’d rather be on my own than living in your hell!” I’m en-

raged, feeling my own demons surfacing: my anger, my distrust,

my venomous reactions.

I have been called to battle. Blood rushes to my head. Perhaps

it is this ferocity that inspires natural-born killers. Violent images

of his death take over but I allow them to subside, though every

ounce of me wants to claim true retribution for the hell he has put

me through.

“You’re finished! We’re through! You hear me? We’re over!”

he shouts as if I’m his lover and we’re breaking up. The angrier he

gets the further I retreat into silence. My face burns with shame;

I’m sick of continuously swallowing his verbal attacks. My father

takes pleasure in the fact that I now view the world as my enemy

and no longer trust anyone.

“I do not want anyone knowing about this! Is that clear?

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

Under no circumstances are you to tell anyone about this!” He

glares at me.

It becomes clear to me that I am the sad little girl hanging on

Dad’s office wall. The life-size portrait of the innocent girl holding

a gardenia explodes in my mind. I am just as kept, just as lifeless,

and just as out of place as that picture is. I wonder if I ever existed

outside the frame, if I was ever born, ever breathed or thought on

my own.

There is so much to say, but the words won’t come out. When

he is done screaming, he turns and stomps down the hallway to his

room. I am relieved when he shuts his door behind him.

I look around at all the expensive toys my father has bought

me. My life, which was once so privileged, now seems dark with

nowhere to go. It’s at this moment I feel myself begin to burn.

They say the devil is a skillful liar in that evil is governed by ap-

pearances. It may present itself as something good when really it is

not. It tempts us, draws us in with a glittering disguise, hooks us,

and ultimately pulls us away from our true selves.

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Twenty

Alone in Dad’s house, I beg Carmela not to leave. But by 2:00 a.m.

she tells me she has to go home to her family. I shiver myself to sleep,

afraid that at any given moment someone will break into my bed-

room and kill me. I keep the gun under my pillow and do not sleep.

One morning, I stop on Beverly Drive to pick up a coffee. I’m

about to get out of the car when I see my father stopped at a red

light in the lane right beside me. He’s on his car phone. I stare at

him for a while and try to open my mouth to say hello, but the

words won’t come out. I don’t know why I don’t say anything. I

just don’t. He never looks in my direction and I watch as the light

changes color and he slowly pulls away.

J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

It’s my last Midsummer’s party at the Mansion before I leave for

Mount Vernon College in Washington, D.C.

I need to say good-bye to Kendall. I can’t leave without her

knowing how much I still love her.

I drive through the iron gates, a line of valet guys greet me at

the top of the driveway. The doors open to the Mansion.

Strobe lights spin. Sexual ambiguity is now the rage. Rock star

glam meets porn star chic. Lights and cameras flash all around. My

feet melt into colored pillows as I waltz into the tented backyard.

I hug and kiss all the Playmates and begin making loops

around the backyard.

Hours later, I’m running around with Natasha, Morgan, and

Charlie. We’ve sworn off coke, so we’re high on prescription pills.

I shoot Austin the Death Look when I see her and debate con-

fronting her about fucking Hayden, but figure he’s not worth it. I

pass Brigitte Nielson and Sylvester Stallone, and casually glance at

Rob Lowe, but I look away instantly because he’s such a babe and

I don’t want him to catch me staring. I catch up to Natasha, who

makes a beeline toward Hef, Kendall, and the rest of the harem.

I hug and kiss Hef as the cameras flash, blinding us.

“Meet me in the bathroom,” Kendall whispers and I tell myself

not to go.

Ten minutes later I’m standing outside the bathroom door

looking for her. Everyone around me is on supersonic time. It’s as

if were moving in slow motion. Everything takes so long, there’s

no air, and no one completes full sentences. The bathroom door

opens and an arm appears, yanking me inside. Kendall and I don’t

say a word until we close the bathroom window. She hops on the

sink and I lean against her knees.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” I mutter, half pretending I

don’t care.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, I never meant to do a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean.”

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“I’m leaving. I’m getting out of here,” I say, trying to articulate

what I’m really feeling. I mention the name of the college I’m at-

tending, and she says she thinks she’s heard of it.

“You’ll be back. Real life is going to bore you to death,”

Kendall assures me. “Just remember, normal people are the en-

emy,” she laughs, straddling me. She leans back on the sink, hold-

ing her breath, loving the naughtiness of it all. “I’m going to miss

you,” she says.

My anger turns into longing.

“Come with me,” I beg like a child.

“I can’t,” she says sadly.

“You’re going to forget about me,” I say with tears swelling.

“How could I ever forget you?” she says softly. We filled voids

that neither of us knew we had. I hold on tight until she breaks

away. She leaves the bathroom first, then me. I watch as Kendall

blends into the crowd. She turns around one last time and we both

smile, a sad but sincere smile, one only meant for us.

I call my old friend Hunter, whom I haven’t spoken to since

graduation. She comes to pick me up. I tell her to meet me in the

circular driveway. When Hunter arrives, I get into her car, but stop

when I look up to see Kendall peering out of the castle from her

bathroom window. A few seconds pass and Kendall waves. An odd

sense of déjà vu overcomes me. I wave good-bye.

I never see Kendall again, though a day doesn’t go by when my

mind doesn’t find her. There are some people you never forget. She

is one of them.

I wake up early one morning and hear someone playing the piano

downstairs. I ease quietly down the stairs, not knowing who I’ll

find. My father is sitting there with his back to me wearing his