The Sleeping Beauty Proposal (14 page)

She takes a moment to wiggle for his benefit. “Four Heinekens?”

"Three,” I correct, d emurely. "I'm fine.”

“Four,” Nick says. “Save you the extra trip. If that's okay with you, Genie?”

I'm busted. Nick can probably tell I'm the type of girl who can keep up with the boys.

“Why not? It's Wednesday night,” I say, thinking that Hugh would have cleared his throat, a nonverbal reminder that I have to watch it because of my alcoholic family. Also, that beer is loaded with carbs and calories—Hugh's most fearsome enemies.

“How come I never get that treatment?” Steve asks. “I could lift my fingers all day until I was only left with the middle one and a waitress still wouldn't show.”

“Mediterranean magnetism.” Todd rests his arms on the table authoritatively. "It's a handicap of Nick's I gotta deal with in the workplace constantly.Yesterday, the meter maid came by to show him that she'd ripped up the ticket he got on Mass Ave. No shit. A twenty-dollar ticket, gone, in return for five minutes of his Mediterranean magnetism.”

“That's high treason in Boston, isn't it?” Steve asks. “Ripping up a ticket.”

“So, you two have known each other since college?” Nick says, moving the subject off of himself.

Steve answers, “Met at the college radio station. Been best friends ever since.”

I tense, hoping we'll leave it at that. “Are you doing ‘Rainy Day Women' again, Todd? It cracks me up whenever you whine onstage.”

“Glad to see we're back on speaking terms, Eugenia. And no, I'm not doing ‘Rainy Day Women.' Not number twelve or number thirty-five. My song is a surprise that I can't reveal, seeing as we have an esteemed judge at the table.”

Nick says,“You mean you've known Genie all this time, Steve, and you've never been more than just
friends
?”

“Ha!” Todd claps his hands. “Ha! If you only knew. ‘Just friends' my ass.”

Oh, please, I pray, as the waitress returns with our beers. Please let it stop here.

I turn to Steve. “Don't you have to go? The other judges are already on the panel.”

He checks his watch. “I got at least ten minutes. Besides, my beer just got here. Priorities, woman.”

The men go through the pretense of reaching for their wallets. I don't even bother. Finally, Nick pays and they spend an inordinate amount of time commenting on a slim blonde dressed as “early Bob.” Just when I think she might entertain them for a little longer, Todd does a big brother and asks Steve to tell the story of the time he and I “hooked up.”

“Ah. I never kiss and tell.” Steve picks at his beer label. “Wouldn't be gentlemanly.”

“I'm not interested in an etiquette lesson, I'm interested in having a laugh.”

I know what Todd's about to say and I'm pissed. I would slap my hand over his mouth if I thought it would do any good. But once Todd thinks he's on a roll, there's no stopping him. My brother craves being the center of attention—even if that means it's at my expense.

“Check this out,” he says, nudging Nick. “The whole four years Genie was at Thoreau she never left the library. All she did was study. I partied, she studied.We're opposites, right?”

“Sure,” Nick says.

“Then, the night before graduation, she shows up on Steve's doorstep with half of Patty's condom supply and a request that he take her virginity. Honest to God. Like she was selling encyclopedias.”

“It wasn't
half
of Patty's condom supply—it was more like a quarter, ” I say, trying to be a sport, even though I'd rather die than have him relate this to Nick, a total stranger.“Patty used to buy in bulk. We all know this stupid story,Todd. Can't we talk about something else?”

“You told him?” Steve grimaces. “Why did you tell him?”

I have no idea.Why
did
I tell him?

“She was twenty-one!” Todd pounds the table. “Twenty-fucking -one. That's why I call her Sister Eugenia. And Hugh's probably Father Spencer because I bet the two of them never do it.They're all brain, no body.”

Okay. He has hit way too close to home. I am ready to strangle my brother with my bare hands when I feel someone patting my hand under the table. It's Nick, who, above the table, is tolerating Todd with a stiff smile.

“Watch it, Todd,” Steve says protectively. "You might want to get off this subject while you still have your testicles.”

“Why?” Todd acts baffled that I would find this objectionable. “It's funny. And it happened fifteen years ago. What's the big deal?”

“Hugh's being a shit to her, that's the big deal.They're having problems and they're not even married.”

“Enough.” Carefully, I remove my hand from under Nick's. “So, who's the best Dylan here, do you think?”

Too late. Todd's on his muscle. “What did Hugh say now? I swear, I know he's my future brother-in-law and all, but that guy has his nerve. He's always telling Genie to do this or that. He steps over the line.”

“And you don't?” I ask, laughing, still trying to keep the night upbeat.

Todd points his bottle at me. “Listen. If he has problems with our family, I'll set him straight. Mom and Dad may be a trip, but he has no business ragging on us.”

“It's not about your family,” Steve says. “Hugh told Genie she doesn't turn him on, that's all.”

Silence. Dead silence falls over us. It is all I can do not to scream and then burst into tears.

“You fink!” Getting up, I push back my chair with a loud scrape. “You know, Steve, I know quite a few secrets about you, too, that I could spill here. But I'm not going to because I'm a friend.”

Steve is truly stunned.“I was only trying to help. I didn't want Todd getting mad at Hugh for the wrong thing.”

I will never be able to comprehend the bizarre logic of men. “Good riddance to the lot of you,” I declare, managing to flash a grateful smile at Nick before plowing toward the door.

With sheer determination and rudeness, I elbow my way through the throng of stupid college kids until I'm safely outside in the refreshing June evening. My head is spinning from the noise and Todd and utter humiliation from which I'll never recover. Forget ever talking to Nick again.That's out of the question.

The worst of it is that for all of Todd's teasing, he's right. I am a frigid, puritanical prude. No wonder I don't turn Hugh on. I don't turn any man on. I never have. I never will.

Like in college, where everyone—even my hulking suite mate, Claudia, the hockey player from Canada—was having sex except me. Whole weekends they'd spend in bed with their boyfriends. Meanwhile, there I was, uptight Genie Michaels, a sexual retard, bent over her books on a Saturday night, going to the campus theater to see
Casablanca
alone as a reward for an evening's hard work.

Tears spring to the corners of my eyes as I lean against the bus stop, hiding my face so no one will see that I'm crying.That's how pathetic I am, an adult at a bus stop that reeks of urine and smoke, bemoaning her pathetic sex life.

"Hey.” There is a light touch on my shoulder and I spin around ready to lash out at Steve when I see it's not Steve, but Nick regarding me sympathetically.A breeze blows back his hair, revealing an alluring five o'clock shadow. He might be one of those men who has to shave twice a day.

“I'm really sorry Todd got carried away in there. He was completely out of line.”

Quickly, I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. “No big deal. I overreacted.”

“You didn't overreact.” From nowhere he produces a red handkerchief, a gesture I find heartbreaking. I've never known any man outside of my father to carry a handkerchief. “Personally, I think it's kind of sweet you went to a friend for, um, that. I know plenty of women who've done a lot worse. Anyway, if I hadn't pried, the subject wouldn't have come up. So, it's kinda my fault.”

That's true, I think, indelicately blowing my nose with a
honk
. “It actually ended up fine with Steve. Not great. It wasn't earth-shattering sex or anything. But at least I wasn't a virgin under my mortarboard.”

Nick smiles. “It takes time learning to like sex. At least, that's what women have told me. Doesn't appear to be anything close to a learning curve for men.”

“Yes.” I concentrate on folding the handkerchief like it's the American flag and not thinking of the numerous women lying next to Nick in bed, confessing that they never liked sex until him.

“And I'm sure it's been earth-shattering for you since then, especially with Hugh.”

“Absolutely! And Todd's right. It was fifteen years ago. I'm all grown up.”

“So I've noticed.”

“By the way, you were really nice to take my hand in there. It helped,” I say, handing him the folded handkerchief.

"Anytime.” He looks at his feet, stalling. "Listen, Genie, I know we've just met and, really, I have no business saying this. But if Hugh said—”

“Steve was exaggerating.” I wave him off before he can go any further.“Hugh and I have a terrific sex life.We can't keep our hands off each other.”

“Right. Of course.” Nick shoves his hands in his pockets and shivers as if it's cold, even though it's almost tropical out here. “Going back? Todd claims he's planned a kick-ass rendition of 'Subterranean Homesick Blues.' ”

I roll my eyes. “Tell me he didn't bring cue cards.”

“Stayed up all night making them. Sixty-four in total.”

“And he spelled
success
the way Dylan did?”

"S-u-c-k-c-e-s-s.”

“That Dylan was a lousy speller. Probably still is. No, I'll have to pass, I'm afraid. I hate to watch my brother's ego grow any larger than it already is.”

Nick grins and, instantly, I feel a true blush coming on again. “See you around, then,” he says, turning back to the club. “Glad you're okay. I'll let Todd and Steve know.”

“Tell 'em I'm fine,” I holler back. “Never better!”

As he walks away, the women waiting in line stare in approval while the men bristle and try to make themselves taller, broader.

What did Todd call it? Mediterranean magnetism.

Mediterranean magnetism. Animal magnetism. No matter its name, there's a definite possibility I could become positively charged.

Chapter Nine

It is impossible to get any work done as a bogusly betrothed person. I don't know how real brides-to-be do it.

Just when I'm about to delve into an essay or analyze a spreadsheet of scores, someone from my family calls with something wedding-ish.

“And then this Pippa person said the strangest thing,” my mother is saying, relating again (it is her third call today) the jarring experience of calling Hugh's parents and finding them on holiday. “She said Hugh had told her he'd broken up with you, not asked you to marry him. Now why do you suppose she'd say something like that?”

This is one of my mother's classic rhetorical questions. I don't even consider answering it. Instead, I look up Lateka Swambi's math scores. Impressive. Those Bergen County schools can prep kids like no place else.

“I'll tell you why. Drugs. Don't you think Trevor and Susanna should know what their house sitter is up to? Shooting heroin and blowing cocaine, so doped up this Pippa person can't even be civil to the soon-to-be in-laws of their own son.”

I lie that British house sitters are often drug addicts, part of the United Kingdom's efforts to cut rehab costs by farming out addicts to foster families. I am getting
sooo
good at lying, because she actually says, “Interesting,” and hangs up.

One hour later.
Ring!
“Guess who's throwing you and Hugh an engagement party? Tula Abernathy!”

“What is a Tula Abernathy?”

Mom is appalled I have to ask. “You know Tula. She was married to Bucky Abernathy for years until he drowned in his swimming pool while strapped to his wheelchair and then, after that silly, stupid police investigation, she moved to Palm Beach for the winters.”

I say, “Police investigation?”

“It was only a technicality. No proof at all, aside from the missing brakes on Bucky's chair, though, really, Tula couldn't be blamed for that, not with her arthritis. Can't so much as twist a screwdriver, poor thing. Anyway, Tula's a
huge
fan of
Hopeful, Kansas.
She can't wait to meet Hugh.”

Oh, God. I put down Denise Swindell's essay, “How Needle-point Helped Me Understand Calculus,” and rub my brow.

“She swears the party will be an all-out, black-tie extravaganza. Caviar. Champagne. Salmon flown in from Norway and lobsters from Maine. A band at the club. Aren't you thrilled?”

“Maybe the pool boy could have twisted the screwdriver.”

"Please, Genie. Stay on track. I'd have expected you to be squealing!”

“Oh, I'm squealing all right.” In my head. Can't she hear?

An engagement party! For me
and
Hugh? Now how am I going to pull this off? I mean, people will expect him to show. It's not often that couples are thrown engagement parties and only the bride turns up. Unless ... Hugh were in the military.Yes! That ...

No. No one would ever buy Hugh as a soldier. He's too old. Too pasty white.

Then my mother says, “Of course, you're going to need to register soon because once word gets out about your wedding, people are going to start sending you gifts.”