Spanking Shakespeare (16 page)

Lisa Kravitz is asking me to dance? I don’t know how to dance. I’ll probably step on her feet.

“Come on,” she says, taking my hand.

She leads me inside and onto the dance floor. People glance at us, and I feel a sense of pride having this lovely girl by my side and knowing that people are probably looking at me in a new light. This, I think, is what I always imagined prom to be. It’s a fast song, and I do my best to move to the music without looking ridiculous. I am embarrassed to look Lisa in the eyes, but each time I do, she smiles as if she is genuinely happy to be here dancing with me right now. The song winds down, and I pray that a slow one will come on next. Then I can just sway back and forth and hold Lisa in my arms and feel her body pressed against mine. And if Danny does not come back, if she is feeling lonely and abandoned, maybe she will put her head on my shoulder and who knows what else? The song ends, and a slow song begins. I open my arms in invitation.

“There you are,” Danny says, coming up beside us. His eyes are bloodshot, and he reeks of pot. “Hey, Shakespeare.” He takes Lisa in his arms and kisses her on the mouth. “Let’s dance,” he says.

She gives me a guilty look. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” I say, and make my way quickly to the door and back outside. I feel sick to my stomach and know that I can’t stay here any longer. I will find Neil and Katie, and if they don’t want to leave, I will just have the limo driver take me home. I should never have come in the first place. Why do I always allow myself to be pulled into situations that I know will end badly?

I find our limo. When I open the door, I see Neil and Katie inside, making out. I close the door and wait.

Neil comes out quickly with Katie just behind. “Hey,” he says stupidly. “We lost you.”

“I’m gonna go,” I say.

“What do you mean?” Neil says. “It’s only, like, ten o’clock.”

“Here, have a drink,” Katie says, offering me her flask.

“I don’t want a drink.”

“Too good to drink with us,” she says.

I shake my head. “This night is bad enough already. I don’t need to top it off by getting puking drunk.”

“The bathrooms are really nice,” Neil says.

“I’m really tired,” I say. “Can I just borrow the limo to take me home?”

Neil and Katie look at each other. “I guess so,” Neil says. “Do you want us to come?”

“No, you guys stay. Really.” I climb into the limo and wave. “Call me tomorrow if you’re not too hungover.”

It is a strange feeling to be sitting in the back of a limousine on prom night, a little bit drunk and utterly alone. What am I doing here? Why am I not at prom like everyone else, celebrating this night in a final burst of teenage revelry and hedonism? Neil and Katie, Celeste and Jordan, Lisa and Danny, even Jane Blumeberg and Eugene Gruber—everybody is with somebody except me.

It strikes me that this would be a perfect image to close my memoir. I have been working on my final chapter and struggling with the ending. What if I were to flash forward a year to the present and try to capture this moment—me, riding home alone in the back of a limousine on prom night while all around the sounds of celebration echo in my ears? A fitting coda to the tragedy of my existence.

I think back to the final days of last summer, just before the start of my senior year. It was a warm August night, and I was sitting on my front steps, thinking about how this year was going to be different, how I was finally going to take charge of my life and get myself a girlfriend and make up for time lost and wasted. What happened to me? How did I end up alone in a limousine on prom night?

I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to face my parents, who will ask why I am home so early. I don’t want to face my brother’s empty room and know that on my prom night I am home and he is out with his girlfriend doing things I have never done. Most of all, though, I don’t want to face myself and know that once again I just sat back and let life pass me by without even trying to do something about it.

I knock on the glass that separates me from the driver and tell him where I want to go.

It is just after 10:30 when the limousine pulls up in front of Charlotte’s housing development. People loitering on the street point and stare, and the driver asks if I’m sure this is where I want to be. I tell him I’ll be back soon and climb from the car. I feel nervous walking out in my tuxedo, but my adrenaline is racing and I walk resolutely across the playground to Charlotte’s building and follow a woman inside. I’ve had a lot of time on the way over to think about what I will say when I see Charlotte, but now as I climb the stairs my head feels strangely blank and I move forward on impulse and instinct.

I stand outside her door and take a deep breath. Inside, I hear the television set playing, but no voices. I lift my hand and knock.

There is shuffling inside, and I hear Henry’s voice ring out in challenge. “Who is it?”

“It’s Shakespeare,” I say. “Charlotte’s friend.”

I hear Charlotte’s voice, and then she opens the door and sees me standing there in my tuxedo, and her eyes open wide in disbelief.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry I’m late.”

“W-what are you doing here?” she stammers.

“Tonight’s the prom,” I say. Noticing Henry and their father on the couch staring at me, I step inside, say hello to Henry, and extend my hand to Charlotte’s father, who is slouched over a beer, still in his painter’s clothes. “Hello, Mr. White,” I say. “I’m Shakespeare.”

Charlotte’s father shakes my hand and looks quizzically at his daughter. He seems a shadow of the vibrant young man in the framed photograph, and looking at him now, it is easy to see why he has been unable to cobble together a stable life for his children.

“What’s with the penguin suit?” Henry says.

“Hey, Henry,” I say, “how would you like to go for a ride in a limousine?”

“Shakespeare,” Charlotte says.

“I’ll go,” Henry says, getting up.

“Hold on,” Charlotte’s father says. “What’s all this about?” He does not seem angry, merely confused.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was supposed to take Charlotte to the prom tonight, but yesterday I did something really stupid and screwed everything up.” I pause and turn to Charlotte, who is staring at me, speechless. “I ended up going by myself,” I tell her, “but it was horrible to be there alone. I came here to say I’m sorry and to ask if you would still consider coming out with me tonight.”

Charlotte does not speak or move even though we are all staring at her. Finally, Henry breaks the silence. “If she says no, do I still get to ride in the limo?”

“Dad,” she says, “weren’t you going out?”

“Not tonight.” He gets up, walks to her, and puts his arm around her shoulder. “Go,” he says. “You should go.”

She looks at each of us, and Henry nods. “I need a few minutes,” she says softly, and goes back into the bedroom and closes the door.

“Is there a TV in the limo?” Henry asks.

I smile. “There sure is.”

“Is there a DVD player?”

I nod.

“Are the windows bulletproof?”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

He looks disgusted. “What kind of cheap limousine doesn’t have bulletproof windows?”

“I’m glad you’re taking Charlotte out,” her father says. “She spends so much time worrying about me and Henry, she never gets a chance to enjoy herself.”

I want to tell him that if he did his job as a father, she wouldn’t have to worry so much, but when I look at him, he evokes more sympathy than anger.

When the door to the bedroom opens and Charlotte steps out, it takes me a second to register that this is the same girl who left us just moments ago. She is wearing a dress that seems woven together from different fabrics, a little old-fashioned maybe, but somehow exactly right for her.

“Wow,” I say. “You look great.”

Henry is smiling. “I didn’t tell him about the dress.”

Charlotte’s father seems transfixed, as if he can’t believe he is looking at his daughter. There is so much tenderness in his eyes that it is impossible to think he would ever intentionally hurt his children.

“Charlotte made it,” Henry says. “I helped her find the fabric.”

“You made it?” I say. “When?” And then suddenly it hits me, and the understanding registers on my face.

Charlotte blushes. “I was staying home anyway to try to get caught up on my work. I should have told you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Can we go in the limo already?” Henry asks.

“Go,” his father says to all of us. “Have fun.”

The limousine is parked right where I got out, and the driver is standing outside, smoking a cigarette and talking to a group of teenage boys gathered around.

“Is that your car?” they ask us when we come up.

“What do you think?” Henry says.

We climb in, and I ask Henry where he wants to go.

“I don’t care,” he says, trying out all the switches and gadgets.

Charlotte leans forward to talk to the driver. “Can you just have us back here in about twenty minutes?”

I feel my heart sink. “Why so soon?”

She motions at Henry. “For him, not me.”

Twenty minutes later, we walk Henry back to their building and set off again.

“Aren’t you sharing this limousine with Neil and Katie?” Charlotte asks.

“Oh shit,” I say. “What time is it?” I look at my watch. “I totally forgot. Prom ends in half an hour. They must be wondering where it is.”

“Did you tell them you were taking it?”

“Yeah, but just to go home.”

“Home?” She looks at me.

I nod.

“But you came to get me?”

I smile. “I guess I changed course.”

When we get to the banquet hall, prom has already begun to empty out. We look around the parking lot and walk inside. Nobody pays us much attention or notices that we have just arrived. I see Lisa and ask her if she has seen Neil or Katie.

“Where did you disappear to?” she says, and then, noticing Charlotte, “Oh, hi.”

Charlotte smiles.

“Have you seen them?” I ask.

“I saw Katie throwing up outside about twenty minutes ago. She didn’t look so good.”

“Let’s check the bathrooms,” I say.

“If you see Danny,” Lisa says, “tell him where I am.”

I find Neil standing outside the girls’ bathroom. His jacket and bow tie are off, and he has unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Shakespeare!” he yells, falling into me and giving me a hug. “I am so wasted.”

“I can see that,” I say, untangling myself. “Where’s Katie?”

“In there. Throwing up, I think.”

“I’ll go check on her,” Charlotte says, pushing through the bathroom door.

“Where were you?” Neil slurs. “Didn’t you leave before?”

“It’s a long story. We have the limo outside.”

“Did you see the bathrooms? The bathrooms are nice.”

“They’re very nice,” I say. “Let’s come over here and sit down.” I lead Neil to a chair and sit beside him.

“You’re my best friend in the world,” Neil says.

I stifle a laugh. “Thanks, Neil. Let’s just prop you up a bit.”

Charlotte comes out, half supporting Katie beside her. There are stains on Katie’s dress, her eyes are like slits, and her face looks green.

We make our way back to the limousine, Charlotte supporting Katie and me supporting Neil.

“I don’t want anyone throwing up in my car,” the driver says when he sees us.

“Let’s just get them home,” I say.

Inside the car, I take off my jacket and bow tie and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt. Neil passes out almost immediately after we start moving, and we practically have to carry him inside his house. Katie is slumped in her seat looking thoroughly miserable, and when we pull up to her house, she stumbles from the car and vomits on the sidewalk before pulling herself together and staggering inside.

All this time Charlotte and I have been so focused on Neil and Katie that it comes as a bit of a shock when we find ourselves alone.

“Well,” I say. “Here we are.” It’s strange how nervous I suddenly feel. I’ve never been nervous with Charlotte before. “What should we do?”

“I should probably go home,” she says hesitantly. “I don’t want my father to worry.”

I start to nod, but then I catch myself. “He won’t worry,” I say. “He’s happy you’re out.”

“I know,” she says, “but it’s really late, and I have to help Henry catch up on all his work this weekend, and I still haven’t finished my memoir, and—”

I put my hand on her arm. “Charlotte, stop for a minute.”

She looks at me, and I see that this moment is as scary for her as it is for me.

“Do you really want to go home now?” I ask.

We are sitting right next to each other, our knees touching, our faces turned together.

“No,” she says quietly.

“Where should we go?” My voice is even softer than hers.

Our eyes lock. “Let’s go to the beach,” she says.

I lean forward and tell the driver, my heart racing, my mind swirling with images culled from romantic movie moments and my own depraved imagination. This night is turning into a fairy tale, I think. Soon we will be making love on soft white sand against a backdrop of breaking waves and moonlit water.

I sit back and take Charlotte’s hand in mine. “I’m glad you’re staying out,” I say.

She smiles. “Me too.”

There is no question now that something is going to happen, and the anticipation is intoxicating. Charlotte is looking at me expectantly, and I reach out and stroke her cheek.

“Hi,” I whisper.

She leans forward and her mouth brushes gently against mine, moves to my nose, my forehead, then back to my mouth and lingers. We kiss gently at first, then more urgently. I angle my body so I can get at her mouth more easily.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away. “You’re crushing my leg.” She readjusts herself and pulls me back toward her. “That’s better.”

I thought I had learned something about kissing from Celeste, but the way Charlotte holds each of my lips in hers, the way her tongue runs gently across my teeth and darts in and out of my mouth, I feel myself nearly bursting with desire.

Our hands begin to roam over each other’s bodies openly and brazenly. Both of us are breathing heavily, and Charlotte is moaning quietly.