Tell Me It's Real (39 page)

He sounded bewildered. “‘Wait a minute you’re trying to distract me’ would be my catch-phrase? That sounds kind of dumb.”

“No, you bastard! You’re trying to distract me from the fact that you totally helped me fuck up everything!”

He snorted. “I didn’t do jack.”

“I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I should have never gotten involved with him in the first place. Stupid shit like this always happens. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

He groaned. “Are you really going to have an ‘I feel so bad for myself’ bitch fest?
Really
?”

“I’m allowed,” I said. “I think. While it was possibly the shortest relationship on record, it burned pretty brightly.”

“Who said it’s over?”

“You didn’t see the look on his face, Sandy,” I said quietly. “I don’t even really know why he got so mad, but he was. He didn’t want me there, he made that much clear.”

“That doesn’t mean you guys broke up,” he pointed out. “It could mean just what he said: that he didn’t want you there.”

“Yeah?” I sniffed.

“Yeah. Why don’t you open the door now?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

“What?”

“Apparently your superpower is deviousness because I can see
right through you
! Trying to act like you’re on my side and shit and then make me open the door so you can bite my head off like a gigantic praying mantis! I won’t be your dinner, Sandy! I fucking won’t!”

“That’s it,” he growled. “I’m calling Matty and Larry.”

“You wouldn’t
dare
.”

“
And
Nana. And yes I would, you just watch me.”

“I’m calling your bluff.”

“I’m dialing my phone! That noise? That’s me pressing the buttons!” I could hear the loud tones of a number being dialed. “You better come out before I tell your mom that you’re pouting in your room because you and your boyfriend had a fight! You know what she’ll do, Paul.”

“Go to hell!”

“Hi, Matty? I’m good, sugar, thank you. Hey, you won’t
believe
what Paul is doing right now.” His voice faded as he walked down the hall.

I quickly looked to my window to make my escape, only to remember I’d put stylish safety bars on the outside after I’d moved in so no one could break in and rape me in the middle of the night. I cursed my intent to keep myself pure because I could not escape from my prison now. I was pretty sure I could take down Sandy if I tried, but then I remembered what he looked like as Helena and that was one fierce bitch and I didn’t think it would be good for my already bruised ego to get knocked flat on my ass by a man who weighed forty pounds less than I did.

I just couldn’t seem to get the look on Vince’s face out of my head, like I’d betrayed him somehow by going in and seeing his mom. Lori had been right when she talked about how much hindsight sucked. Granted, hers was a bit more profound, what with a lifetime of regret, and mine made it sound like I was a thirteen-year-old girl since I was pining after my weeklong relationship.

But I still couldn’t get him out of my head. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have opened my mouth the night before and said aloud what I’d thought when I’d looked at the star he’d named after me. I should have told him then that I knew about his mom and dad, how he was going to regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t spend every waking moment with her until she was gone. I should have told him to put the past behind him and to just let it be until it was no more. It’s easier to be angry at someone when they’re gone, not when they’re still here and suffering. He could have hated her then. He didn’t need to now.

But she didn’t seem like someone to be hated. She didn’t seem like the wicked bitch I thought she’d be, the stereotypical bigot who didn’t love her son because of who he was. Granted, it sounded like she’d put her husband’s political aspirations ahead of her own family. That was a different kind of negligence. Indifference might not have the connotations of hate, but it could hurt just as badly.

I must have been lost in my thoughts a while, because the next thing I knew, there were the murmur of voices outside my door. I rolled my eyes and tried to shut them out.

There was another pounding on the door, this one a little lighter than Sandy’s egregious wailing. “Paul?” Nana called sweetly. “We’re here for your intervention. I brought you Ding Dongs
and
Los Betos.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mom said. “You can’t tell him we’re here for an intervention and then
try to bribe him with food. He’s not going to fall for that. We tried that when he was a kid, and he locked himself in his room until we promised to get Zack Morris from
Saved By The Bell
to come to his birthday party. He didn’t believe it then, either. He said that if that was true, we’d put the food near the floor and blow on it so he could smell the burritos through the crack in the door.”

Yeah, yeah. I was a fat kid. So what. I liked food. Bite me.

“And Zack still never came to the birthday party,” I retorted through the door. “That’s probably one of the reasons I’m so messed up today.”

“Your father tried to dress up like him for you,” Mom said.

“He dressed like Screech! No one likes Screech. All the kids at my party thought he was a homeless clown! And I don’t smell Los Betos, you liars!”

“Oh, he’s a smart one,” Nana said, obviously sounding impressed. “You don’t fall for the bait unless you have proof of life.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what that means,” Dad said. “And a homeless clown? Really, Paul? I never made fun of
you
when you dressed up like an orange dice for that play you were in.”

“I
told
you,” Sandy crowed.

“He was so wonderful in that,” my mother said tearfully. “What was his famous line, Larry? You know, the one that everyone was quoting?”

“Give me dairy,” everyone said, “or give me osteoporosis!”

“This can’t possibly be healthy,” I muttered.

“Is he going to open the door?” Sandy asked. “I tried to break it down, but he must have changed his doors to some kind of unbreakable metal.”

“Or you could just eat more,” Mom scolded him. “I saw you, like, three days ago and I swear you’ve lost at least thirty-eight pounds.”

“It’s all the crack I smoke,” he explained. “I don’t have time to eat because I’m too busy thinking crack thoughts.”

“What are crack thoughts?” Nana asked.

“Oh, things like the government is going to come steal my babies.”

“You don’t have babies,” Dad said, obviously frowning. “Unless I missed something and you adopted that Croatian baby that Paul wanted.”

“I don’t have babies,” Sandy said. “But crack makes you think crazy things. That’s why Whitney said crack is whack, God rest her soul.”

“You shouldn’t be smoking crack,” my dad said sternly. “First Paul’s a pony, and now you’re smoking crack and having the government steal your babies? Who is Whitney? Is that your dealer?”

“Whitney Houston,” Mom said. “You know, dear. She was that singer who sang that song you like that Helena performed.”

“‘Hit Me Baby, One More Time?”

“That’s Britney, dear.”

“‘Dirty?”

“That was Christina.”

“Umbrella?”

“And that was Rihanna. Larry, you’re embarrassing yourself. You have a gay
son
, for God’s sake. How can you not know your divas?” Mom sounded affronted. “Paul? Paul! If you can hear me, don’t listen to your father! He obviously doesn’t know his ass from his elbow!”

“Language,” Dad scolded. “And I know my divas. I know them very well. What about that Woman Goo-Goo that Helena performs like?”

“That’s Lady Gaga,” Sandy sighed. “Did you really look at me and think I was Woman Goo-Goo? I don’t know how I feel about that. I just might be offended.”

“Your hair was very pretty,” Dad deflected.

“Thank you, sugar,” Helena purred. “You need to come back and see me sometime. I sure do miss you when you’re not around.”

“Oh, you,” Dad giggled, obviously blushing.

“Oh
Christ
,” I gagged.

“Language!”

“Dear, as much as I love you flirting with Sandy in front of me—Sandy, you should know Larry would most likely be a bottom, so I don’t know really what you two would do together aside from bumping bums—we’re here for Paul.”

“That’s right,” Nana said. “He’s obviously very depressed, and this is a cry for attention. I don’t want him to go all emo and cut himself.”

“I’m not going to cut myself,” I said.

“Paul could never be a cutter,” Mom said. “He’s too much of a baby when it comes to pain. He’d go the Sylvia Plath route and stick his head in a gas oven like a real lady.”

“Bull,” Dad said. “He’d take sleeping pills and then choke on his own vomit.”

“You’re both wrong,” Sandy said. “He’d get drunk on gin and fall asleep smoking Virginia Slim 120s and accidentally set the bed on fire.”

“For some reason, I don’t think the best way to start an intervention is by discussing the best way for the person you are intervening on to kill themselves,” I told them. “That person might take it the wrong way.”

“Mary J. Blige,” Dad exclaimed. “She’s another diva! She did that song ‘No More Drama’. I think that was my favorite costume you had, Sandy.”

“Oh, baby doll,” Helena exclaimed. “I love it as well.”

“That’s such an apt song for right now,” Nana said.

“If you start singing it, I’m going to lose it,” I growled at her.

She sniffed. “I’ll have you know that I was considered quite the singer back in my day. I didn’t even have to show my breasts like all the young women do now. What happened to talent for talent’s sake? Now if you want to be famous, it’s about how much meat is on your dress or how much nipple you are willing to show.”

“It’s a tragedy,” Dad agreed. “I don’t know why we have to live in a time with meat nipples or whatever you said.”

“Shall we get started?” Mom asked. “I have a feeling if we don’t start now, we’ll never get this done, and Paul will waste away in there because his pride won’t allow him to give in.”

“My body will just suck up its fat stores,” I reminded them. “Maybe it’ll be a good idea for me to stay in here. When I finally come out in a week, I could go into modeling and forget this week ever happened when I’m walking the runway in Milan.”

“You’ll have to change your name,” Sandy said. “Paul doesn’t sound like a modeling name.”

“Well,
I
think Paul is a handsome name,” Mom said. “I picked it, after all. But I could see how Sandy could be right. Maybe you should change your name to Gregorio?”

“Or Tunus?” Dad said.

“Or Talon?” Nana added.

“Ooooo,” they all breathed.

“Talon is a good one,” Sandy said. “Okay, let’s get started.”

“What are you guys doing?” I demanded through the door as something started to scrape on the other side.

“None of your business,” Mom said. “Go back to pouting.”

“I
wasn’t
pouting!”

“Dear, remember that little pouting face he would get whenever he didn’t get something he wanted? I always thought that he looked like a little cherub with those cheeks, even if it was the most annoying thing on the planet.”

“Yes,” Dad said, “but you fell for it every time.”

“That’s because I’m a good mother.”

“You are pretty good,” I agreed. “Most of the time. Right now is not one of those times.”

The scraping continued until I realized that they were unscrewing the hinges from the door so they could take it off its frame. “I’m going to call the police and tell them you’re breaking in!”

Sandy snorted. “If you do, can you make sure the fire department comes too? I am pretty sure I am owed some eye candy after having to put up with these shenanigans. And tell them I want the fireman to look exactly like the fireman calendar you had in 1999.”

“Mr. October,” we both groaned. Mr. October had been the most drool-worthy man ever to walk the face of the earth. My teenage fantasies of him (he who I had named Rodrigo) had included everything from him saving me from dragons (I was on a bit of a fantasy kick there for a while) to he and I being spies and falling madly in love on an undercover assignment, only to be betrayed by a mole higher up and being torn apart (no worries, though; the fantasy continued and after the betrayal, we were reunited three years later in a fiery passion on a beach in his homeland of Italy).

“I want firemen too,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just call them anyway.”

“I thought we were doing this because you were in love with someone already?” Nana asked. “I don’t think your parents raised you to be a whore.”

“Language!” Dad barked.

“I think he might try to beat our record,” Mom said.

“I’ve known him longer than a week,” I said for some damn reason.

“Yes, but you didn’t actually
talk
to him the first time until Monday, right?”

“I don’t think I told you that, so the fact that you know kind of creeps me out.”

“I have spies everywhere,” Mom said, cackling.

“She really does,” Dad said.

“Sandy is your spy, isn’t he?”

“You bet he is,” Mom said.

“No firemen for Sandy!” I decreed.

“You’re going to make me a spinster,” he muttered.

“And that should do it,” Dad said. “You know, you kids today with your fancy iPads and iPhones and iTunes and iPods. None of those would have helped you here. Maybe I should market this as the iScrewdriver and see how much money I could make.”

“Billions,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure the market value just dropped 300 percent on my house since you unscrewed this door. Thanks, Dad.”

With a grunt, he lifted it out of the way and set it against the wall. I glared at the four of them, especially when I saw that Nana did
not
have Ding Dongs and a burrito from Los Betos. One should not promise Los Betos if one cannot deliver, for it might make another person extraordinarily pissy.

“You done pouting?” Mom asked.

I crossed my arms and stuck out my bottom lip. “I’m
not
pouting.”

“He’s not done pouting,” Dad told Mom.