Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries) (6 page)

LATER: 1:23
a.m.

 

I did it! I called Dan! He picked up on the first ring. I could tell by the way he whispered that Martine was pretty close by. Maybe even in the same room. He knew all about my earlier hang-up call but wasn’t that mad, although he reminded me of our deal.

“I call you, remember? I call you.”

“But you never do!” I said really shaky, like I was about to start crying.

This melted his heart a little.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. So what is it, sweetheart? What’s going on?”

“Nothing really. I just miss you and I wanted you to know that I got a great new job today and it comes with the use of a car. Which means if you ever want to me to come over to watch a film, I can. I want to. Any night. Any time. Just tell me when. I’ll be there.”

I said it in a soft intense sexual way. It definitely worked. His breathing changed. He was remembering our last night together. How hot it was. How I touched him. Boner rising! Hahaha! When he finally talked, his voice was full of manly desire.

“When do you get the car?”

“Monday morning.”

More heavy breathing.

I could hear him flipping through his calendar.

“Friday night. Come over at seven.”

Even though I was disappointed that it was so far in the future, I said perfect and he gave me the directions.

It’s 1:47 and guess what? Now that Dan has invited me over I’m not that psyched about our date. I’m actually pretty sad and scared about it, to tell you the truth. Crazy, I know. But
he’s way too old for me and it’s a shitty thing to do to Rory. I’m not respecting him or myself. So why don’t I just cancel the date? Because I can’t. I lack will power.

Why am I still awake? I need to look cute for work on Monday. Sleep, gyrl. Ha! I doubt it.

Monday, December 3, 2007

 

The first day of my new job is over. It is only eight o’clock but I am going to go to sleep now. Why? So I can wake up and do it all over again tomorrow. Yipppeee. If I owned a handgun I would definitely shoot myself right now. No lie. Babies are the worst things ever invented.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

 

I have purchased a handgun but I am too tired to load it. Just kidding. Babies are screaming poop machines.

Friday, December 7, 2007

 

Okay, so I didn’t post for three days. What’s the big deal? Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about you guys GET A LIFE! I am working hard to get one and if I succeed, guess what? I will quit blogging immediately. Why? Because people with
lives don’t blog. They don’t even read blogs. Didn’t you know that? LOL! It’s true!

Can you tell I am dangerously caffeinated?

Where do I begin? Mr. Spooner’s wife’s full name is Margaret Elizabeth Whitley-Spooner. If that isn’t a Waspy name I don’t know what is. She looks like a wider-hipped and wider-shouldered version of myself. When I say that she is wider please don’t think she’s fat. She’s just, as my dad would say, “broad of beam.” He would probably also say “I don’t know whether to hand her my cock or a field hockey stick.” Or his favorite advice which is “Never screw a girl who can beat you in an arm wrestle.” In other words, she is athletic but not fat. Although she is not cute and sexy (like me!), she is definitely beautiful. You could shave her head and add 30 pounds to her butt and she would still look awesome. Fabulous bone structure and smile. The kind of woman a rich guy marries if he’s smart because she’ll never cheat on him or spend too much of his money, and she’ll make his house look like it’s out of a magazine.

I love my mom but she is the exact opposite of Margaret Spooner in every way. For example, the inside of our home is painted like a pre-school. Our living room walls are red, white and yellow. My mom calls it playful. I call it butt-fugly. The Spooners’ house on the other hand is truly elegant. The walls are white, the floors are dark wood and the
furniture is antique. The bright comfortable kind not the dusty stiff kind that looks like it will break in two. Before having a baby, Margaret was an interior decorator and it shows. That’s how she and Paul met. He hired her to decorate his bachelor pad.

Margaret and my mother are opposites about food too. Except for special occasions when she actually cooks, my mom is a microwaver. Her favorite foods have dangerously high fat contents and are loaded with white flour. Things like pizza pockets and four-cheese macaroni and cheese. Margaret is a health nut who thinks microwaves cause cancer (or maybe it’s sterility) so she cooks everything from scratch with organic ingredients. Fiber is her life. Her food is not only delicious but amazing to look at.

Even though I blogged that I hate being a nanny, I take it all back. Margaret is the greatest boss ever. The reason I was suicidal those first few days is because I’m not used to waking up early. Or taking orders. Every single second of the day Margaret was telling me what to do and how to do it, and it was freaking me out. I had to learn how to swaddle, shush, burp, change a pissy diaper, change a poopy one, clean gums and give a bath. (Don’t forget the butt crack and uncircumcised wiener!) Margaret is one of those mothers who has read every single baby book in the world and wants to do everything perfectly. Even if she gets no sleep she doesn’t care, because she will do whatever is best for her baby. With so much to learn and being so tired all the time,
of course I was grumpy. By the time I got home I couldn’t even go out for a cocktail because I was dead on my feet. I don’t know how Margaret does it.

Tuesday night after I blogged, I had a nightmare that I accidentally left Cole in the bathtub and he drowned. I woke up shaking and crying. I looked around in the freezing dark. It was almost morning. The alarm clock was just about to go off. Another day of work already! This was my low point. I wanted to run down the hall and flop onto my mommy’s stomach and tell her to call Margaret and say I had spinal meningitis.

Thank god I didn’t because Wednesday everything changed. I started to have fun. I think it’s because girlfriend started to acquire some skills. I swaddle and shush great now, almost as well as Margaret, and I’m not scared of getting Cole in and out of his little plastic tub. I am also very good at getting him to sleep. Maybe because I sing better than Margaret. (She is tone deaf.) You won’t believe this but I love changing poopy diapers now. If you’ve never changed a baby’s diaper you will think this is freaky but baby poo smells wonderful. I huff it like glue. They should make a perfume out of it. Newpoop by L’Oreal. I’m serious. Margaret says it’s only true of breastfed babies. She says the poo of bottle-fed babies smells like shit. Hahaha!

It’s pretty obvious I’m excited to see Dan tonight.

•    •    •

 

What else can I say about Margaret Elizabeth Whitley-Spooner? Oh, yeah. She gives me brakes all day. Whenever Cole is napping or feeding I can do whatever I want. Some nannies have to tidy up and do the laundry but the Spooners have a Jordanian housekeeper named Aziza who comes three mornings a week for four hours. Margaret says she refuses to hire a Mexican, because as warm and friendly as they are, they are not meticulous. She says it’s “alien to their culture.” I don’t think she is being racist when she says this, just honest. At lunchtime I can either go out or eat in, taking whatever healthy food I want from the humongous fridge. Even though Margaret despises smoking, she gave me my own personal sterling silver ashtray to use on the patio. I think it’s impressive that she doesn’t let her own dislike of the habit get in her way of being a good hostess.

What else about my job? Oh, yes, Paul. I saw him a little bit on Monday and he was very nice, but then he left to go to San Francisco all week on business. He didn’t return home until this morning. He is not a stockbroker as I thought. He manages some sort of fund. He must be very good at it, because he is filthy rich. Margaret is sad that he travels so much. I also think she gets insecure that she is home changing diapers all the time while he is out in the world meeting exciting, beautiful women. I don’t blame her. I am sure there are a lot of sneaky bitches out there who would love to steal Paul away from her. Even though she is so good at being
a mother and loves Cole to death, I know she misses being a fancy decorator.

She shows her insecurities in the form of jokes. Once she called herself “a boring housewife” and another time “a fat zombie.” She also said “Don’t make Cole love you too much or I might get jealous.” And then once while I was swaddling Cole she said “You’re getting so good at this, Paul’s going to hire you to replace me!” And then this afternoon when I walked to the door after Paul paid me she whispered “Remember when my ass looked like that?” Paul did not reply which I thought was the smartest choice.

It’s time for me to jump in the shower and drive to Dan’s. I will blog every single dirty detail. I promise. Wish me luck!

XOXOXO
³
.

Katie Kampenfelt

Saturday, December 8, 2007

 

Driving home from Dan’s last night I tried to figure out why things are suddenly so much better between us. Is it because distance makes the heart grow fonder? Or is it because I have a car now which makes me seem more independent and exciting? Or is it because in one week I will be legal? (For sex with older guys, not for alcohol.) Whatever it is, we
weren’t older guy and younger girl last night. We were just equals.

Let me start at the beginning. Where else? Ha!

I dressed extra cute: dark green corduroys, red rubber boots, a white shirt, a red wool reindeer-pattern sweater, a white ski jacket, and green mittens. It was perfect because Christmas lights are up all over the place and I embodied the holiday spirit. When I got to his street I didn’t even need to read the house numbers because I could tell which of the cheesy new town houses was his by the massive book and DVD collection in the front window.

When he opened the door he looked so different I was shocked. He has a beard now. No, not a bushy ugly one, thank god. A short one with sexy gray in it.

I said “Look at you!”

“What about me?”

“The beard.”

“Oh, right. I always grow one when I’m working too hard. You like it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Come in.”

He was wearing a black cashmere sweater over a white T-shirt and his usual faded jeans. No shoes. His socks were thick gray. He looked strong and broad-shouldered.
I get so used to being with Rory who is cute, skinny and practically pubeless that it’s easy to forget what a real man looks like. I was carrying a bottle of red wine that I stole from my mom. Dan took it out of my hands and quickly shut the door behind me. He was scared the neighbors would see!

Except for being bigger, the new place looks a lot like the old one. There is only a little new furniture. Some of it is more modern than I would expect him to like.

He smiled at my holiday outfit and said “You’re awfully festive.”

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding? You’re an adorable snow elf.”

“Christmas is my favorite holiday.”

“You could make a Muslim convert.”

“That’s my goal.”

Usually we don’t kiss until at least a half hour after I get there and I always make the first move, but not this time. He reached out and took both ends of my scarf and pulled me until our lips touched. Then he kept kissing me all the way to the couch. We fell down on it. Man, did he miss me! It was crazy hot! “Major grindage,” as Rory would say, and then he started ripping my clothes off until all I was wearing were my socks and he was performing his oral specialty. I didn’t explode but I got as close as I’ve ever gotten with another person in the room.

Afterwards he was lying there breathing hard with his cheek resting on my hip bone. He was smiling up at me all proud because he thought he had succeeded. No way was I going to tell him the truth. Whenever I tell guys I only cum when I am alone in the bathtub with my trusty shower hose, they go crazy wanting to be my first. But the harder they work at it the more I think and the more I think the more impossible it is for it to happen.

I really wanted to give Dan another box job but I didn’t want it to seem like I was doing it just because I felt obligated. Anyway I didn’t even have to decide, because Dad jumped up and handed me my clothes. All I put back on was my T-shirt. Not even my underwear. Usually I’m pretty modest once we stop fooling around but I thought it would be fun hanging out like this. I was right. I felt grown up, sexy and European.

This would normally be the time when we would raid the fridge for junk food and he would start hinting that it was time for me to go. Not last night! Instead he called a restaurant and ordered lasagna and Greek salad, lit some candles and opened the wine I brought. I was sort of in shock but I didn’t say anything. We ate on the counter in his brand-new kitchen. Everything was so clean it was almost scary, like eating in a chem lab. He told me how insane and depressing everything has been with Martine lately. He said that one night she screamed at him so loud he came close to hitting
her. The next day he passed his neighbor on the way to the car and was too embarrassed to even look at him.

“You ought to dump her,” I said very casually, chewing a garlic ball like it didn’t matter to me one way or the other.

He said he would love to except that once before they met she tried to kill herself by cutting her wrists the wrong way and he was scared she might try it again. He said he could not live with the guilt. I understood that. The good thing about Rory is that when I dump him, no way he’ll kill himself. He’ll just kill me. Hahaha!

Later Dan said that the one thing he has learned from his mostly terrible relationships is “never to try to save anyone.” He said every single one of his girlfriends was “a wounded bird.” He said trying to fix their broken wings was futile. First of all it hardly ever works, so most of the time you end up stuck with this needy, depressed, one-winged person, who you eventually dump, which makes you feel incredibly guilty. But on the tiny chance that it does work and the person starts to become less insane and damaged, then they hate you for knowing them when they were a disaster. They can’t wait to fly away on their two working wings and find a new boyfriend who has no clue what a mess they were before. Either way you end up alone and unhappy. Dan says he knows Martine’s never going to get better and that it’s just a matter of time before he dumps her, but he would like
to find a gentle, kind way to do it so that she doesn’t reach for a razor blade again.

“You really think she’d do that?” I asked. “You’re positive she’s that into you?”

He laughed. “I guess I could be wrong. Maybe I’m just flattering myself. Maybe she’d move on like I never existed. Man, would that be sweet.”

Back on the couch, finishing off the bottle of wine, I told him some details about me and Rory. I used my favorite line, how the thing I love most about Rory is that he loves me. How I’m not in love with him at all but that I’m afraid to dump him because I’m scared of being alone. How since I was 11 years old, I have had a boyfriend every single minute except for about three months.

“So you’re just staying with him to satisfy your own selfish needs?”

“You got it, pal.”

“I guess we’re both narcissists then.”

“No way! I hate my stomach way too much!”

“Shut up. You have a beautiful body.”

I pinched my pooch and told him I was going to get liposuction.

He howled with laughter.

“It’s as tight as a snare drum!”

He’s wrong.

We discussed narcissism for a long time. He said it doesn’t mean being in love with yourself, the way most people think. He said that Narcissus in Greek mythology was in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. An image of himself. Which is different. In other words narcissists fall in love with how they think the world sees them. I didn’t really get it, so Dan used me and Rory as an example. He said I go out with Rory because I like seeing myself the way he sees me. I use him like a pond of water or a big living mirror. Rory’s idea of me feeds my starving ego. If I truly loved myself I wouldn’t need him for this.

Normally I would have been offended, because what he said was pretty insulting, but I could tell he wasn’t judging me. How could he? He suffers from the same condition. I told him he was right. I basically only see Rory when I feel like shit because I know he’ll tell me how beautiful and sexy I am. And in bed what turns me on is not that he’s a good lover. It’s that he gets so turned on! I love that my body drives him insane. I feel like a porn star or something. My bad mood goes away.

“But not for very long, right?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“There you go.”

We smiled at each other.

This was the first time we’d ever had a really serious conversation about our lives. Usually he just teaches me about film and I ask insightful questions. I crawled over and kissed
him. When it started to get hot again, he got scared and pushed me onto my side. We spooned for a while not talking.

Finally I said, pretty much to myself, not really expecting an answer “I wonder why my self-esteem is so shitty.”

“Considering your relationship with your dad, it would be a miracle if it weren’t.”

I rolled over and looked him in the eye, because this was important. “There’s something I’ve never told you. Besides being a stingy asshole, my dad’s also the world’s worst alcoholic. He has cirrhosis. He’s going to die from it soon and he’s only fifty-four.”

What a stare he gave me.

I laughed and said “I know what that look means. It means you’re going to tell me to stop drinking again.”

He didn’t deny it. I pretended to slap him. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. Then we made out some more. Then he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. The way he gazed at me you’d swear he was madly in love.

“If I’d met you when I was in college,” he said, “I would have worshiped you just like Rory does. I would have been a jealous maniac too.”

“You mean you don’t worship me now?”

“I cherish you. It’s different.”

“Better?”

“Much. The thing about being put on a pedestal is you take one step and you fall face-first in the mud.”

God, I love brains.

Compared to Dan, Rory is a full-fledged dunce.

After we washed the dishes, Dan filled the bong and put on a French film called
The Grand Highway.
It was absolutely enchanting. Every action in the movie, even the simplest things like fishing, meant so much more than the obvious. (The symbol for Jesus Christ is the fish.) But then as usual the pot kicked in and the whole room started spinning. I thought “What the hell, I might never see him again.” So I crawled off the couch, knelt down, unbuttoned his jeans and gave him the longest, most amazing blow job in the history of French cinema. He laid there afterwards smiling at the ceiling and said “This might be the greatest date ever.”

Yay! I agree!

When I got home, my mom and Mark Aubichon had just gotten back from a party. They looked at me funny, probably because of my beard-burned face and stoned happy eyes. I ran upstairs, laughing. Mark thinks I’m a slut but I don’t give a shit. Hahaha!

I’ve wasted half the day writing this. Why? Because I promised you I would and I’m a slut who keeps her word. My weekend’s half over. What shall I do tonight? Know what I want to do? Nothing. Yup, you heard me. Just lie in bed and dream about last night, playing it over and over
again in my head. A gyrl is only happy to stay home alone on a Saturday night when she’s truly in love.

My PMS will be starting any second now. So unfair. I’m sick of being sad. I want to stay smiling forever.