Where the Kissing Never Stops (2 page)

Inside, my mom was staring at the stove. The stereo was on real loud and she was dancing a little, swishing her behind and pushing herself off the Amana into little spins like her partner was too fat to move.

“Hey,” she said when she saw me. “I got a job.”

“Great. Doing what?”

“I don’t want to cook. I thought maybe we’d go out and celebrate. Have a pizza or something.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I’m going to have a glass of wine first. You want to sit with me while I have a glass of wine?”

Man, what a fool I was. Hadn’t I had parents for sixteen years and didn’t I know their tricks? Or maybe I was just thinking about the pizza I would order, the one that took two men to lift and had everything on it but beets.

“I want you to hear this from me,” she said, turning down the stereo.

“Hear what?” The alarms were starting to go off, but faintly.

“That job I got? I’m going to be a dancer.”

“What kind of dancer? Like you were in college?”

“Sort of.”

I sat back and looked at her carefully. She took a sip of wine and her lips were as shiny as her eyes.

“Where are you going to dance?” I was getting very wary.

“At a club just outside Kansas City.” She felt for the top buttons of her blouse.

“There’s something going on,” I said, “isn’t there? Something I’m not going to like.”

“It’s up to you, really. You can like it or not like it. I hope you like it. I hope you’re proud of me.”

“You aren’t going to move out or anything, are you? And leave me here?”

“Oh, honey, no. God.” She put her wine glass down and reached for my hands, but I pulled them back. I felt like a little animal with his paws curled up on his chest.

“Tell me,” I said.

She sighed and sat back. “I’m working at a club called Ye Olde Burlesque. I’m one of the exotic dancers.”

“You?”

“Your old bag of a mother, you mean?”

“Why?”

“I needed a job.”

“A job? Sarah Willoughby’s mother works at Sears. Kevin Kopit’s mother works at OSH. They didn’t get jobs taking off their clothes.”

“That’s their business.”

“Ye Olde Burlesque sounds stupid. It’s such a stupid name. It’s Middle English and nineteenth century all mixed together. There wasn’t any burlesque in the Middle Ages. There was just Ye Olde Black Death and Ye Olde Inquisition.”

“It’s old-fashioned burlesque,” she said patiently. “That’s all. It’s to show that there’s comedy sketches and singers, as well as dancers.”

“Topless dancers?”

“Exotic dancers. It’s not a dirty show.”

“I suppose you put on more clothes and pray.”

“I do what’s called a novelty act.”

“Oh, God. Don’t tell me.” I actually began to wring my hands. I’d heard of that all my life, and there I was, doing it. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you crazy? I have to take the fall-out. Everybody’s going to know. All the kids at school. What am I supposed to say?”

“Tell them the truth.”

“That you show your ass to anybody?”

“Watch your mouth with me, Walker. I’m still your mother.”

“Then act like it.” I was starting to shout.

“Look. I took the job. I told them I’d be there. I won’t go back on my word.”

“When do you start? Maybe I can move to another town and grow a beard.”

“Tonight. The snake got sick, and Eve can’t do very much without a snake.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, leaning toward me, “I thought about this before I did it, and I know I want this job.” A fingernail tapped each word into the coffee table. “Anyway, who’s going to know? I’m not going to tell, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“They’ll see you. Everybody will see you. Probably somebody we know will be there tonight, and tomorrow it’ll be all over school.”

“Walker, be reasonable. Who’ll drive forty miles one way to see old-fashioned burlesque in a club that doesn’t hold two hundred people?”

“You, that’s who. You’ll drive it every night.”

“Sure, but I have to.”

“Why? Is this some kind of a midlife crisis?”

“Honey, we need the money.”

The stupid rhyme just irritated me. “I wish Dad was alive. He wouldn’t let you do this.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” she said, smiling the tiniest smile. Then she sat back on the couch and finished her wine, closing both eyes and letting the liquid trickle down her throat. God, what would she do next, start smoking cigarettes and wearing a red dress?

She stood up decisively and held out one hand. “C’mon, let’s go and get a giant pepperoni.”

“I don’t eat pizza.” The Glacier speaks.

“With exotic dancers?”

“Period.”

“Oh, pooh. Your room smells like Shakey’s about half the time.”

That made me blush. I thought I’d been so clever. “Okay then. I don’t want to eat with you. How’s that?”

“Honest.” She leaned over and shook her hair, which was dark and curly and shiny. “Dumb but honest.”

“I think I’ll go to my room.” I sounded like I was punishing myself.

“Suit yourself, but first give a listen. I have to work six nights a week,” she said evenly, “but never any later than ten-thirty or eleven. I don’t leave until six, so I won’t be gone very long. There’s a list of phone numbers on the pad, and the neighbors know I’ll be away.”

“Oh, Jesus. What’d you say you’d be doing?”

“Well, I thought of telling them the truth and saying that I was making two hundred dollars a night as an actress and a dancer in a revival of old-time burlesque, but I knew they’d sew a scarlet
A
on my best sweater and dunk me in the river, so I said I was drowning kittens for a dollar an hour and that seemed to satisfy them.”

“Don’t just do it for the money,” I begged. “I’ll go to work. I’ll stop eating so much.”

“You won’t go to work,” she said firmly. “You’ll keep studying, you’ll get terrific grades, and you’ll get a scholarship to college.”

“I can work and still get A’s, honest.”

“Out of the question.”

“You sound like Dad. That’s what he said when you wanted to go to work two years ago.”

“I got a part-time job in a pet store, that’s all, and he acted like…” She leaned toward me. “Walker, it’s not just the money. I think I’m going to like it.”

“Stripping?”

“Dancing.” She corrected me like a teacher.

“Well, I hate it.”

She sighed. “I still need to eat dinner. You can come with me and I’ll drop you back here, or I’ll go alone and just drive straight to Love’s Park from Luigi’s.”

So that’s where it was. How ironic. Love’s Park was Kansas City’s sleaziest suburb. Sully and I had been over there to see some films. They were always shown at art theaters and they were usually about some naive girl who moved to the big city and had about sixteen affairs before lunch. Girls named Monique.

“Give me a kiss, okay?” Mom was standing there with both arms open. At her feet were a purse and an overnight bag. She might have been leaving on a short trip. Or forever.

I shook my head and stepped back. Just before she turned away, I saw her lips bunch up and I knew I’d hurt her. A little part of me was glad, but all the rest felt terrible.

When the back door closed, I crept out to the kitchen, peeked through the blinds, and followed the red tail-lights through the chilly evening until they disappeared around the corner.

Then I wandered around the house for a while. God, it felt big. Isn’t it funny how just one other person can fill a place up?

My mom had had a lot of Dad’s stuff taken out of the house and stored, and I can’t say that I blame her. He had this one stupid bowling trophy he was very proud of, and she just couldn’t look at it sitting up there on the mantel without going all to pieces. I don’t know where he got the trophy; I never saw him in a shirt with his name on the pocket. Maybe he bowled in a suit. He did most everything else in one. Even when we played catch on the lawn, he was dressed for a board meeting. Maybe that’s why my mom wanted to take all her clothes off. She’d never done it before.

I began to wonder about my dad. It was starting to look like there’d been things going on that I didn’t know about, not that that’s a big surprise. Kids don’t think about their folks nearly as much as everybody imagines. Parents are just there, like background music at the mall. In fact, that’s a lot of what I missed about my dad — his thereness. All I really had left was Mom and this Dad-shaped space.

I was about as hungry as I was upset, but then hardly anything ever got in the way of my appetite. If a giant meteor hits and I survive, I’ll probably be the only one looting a deli.

It was pretty bad setting the table for nobody but myself. I remembered how right after the funeral Mom would forget while she was dealing out plates and automatically put one down for Dad, too. Then she’d cry again, sometimes right into the casserole.

I had to wait until nine to call Sully. His parents all but locked him in his room right after dinner so he’d study. They’d take a message, but I sure didn’t want to leave information like this lying around on pink phone pads. Mrs. Sullivan didn’t have much to do except gossip. She made the town crier look like the patron saint of silence.

“You’re kidding,” said Sully.

“Is that why I’m laughing so much?”

“Medically, this is very interesting.”

“If I get you a couple of cadavers and a thunderstorm, can you make me a new mother?”

“It’s good you still have a sense of humor, unless these jokes are just symptoms of a complete breakdown.”

“Love your bedside manner.”

I could almost hear him lean forward. “What did I tell you, Walker? She came up out of that grave looking like a new woman. Hold it.”

“What?” I looked around my living room.

“Hang on until I can find some privacy. My folks have to watch
60 Minutes.
”

I didn’t want to, but I started thinking about the funeral. My father said in his will that he wanted everybody to watch him go and wave bye-bye. Those were his exact words. See, my mom used to stand on the porch every morning and do just that. Rain or shine, there she’d be, with her arms folded like women do, and then when he’d backed out and hit Monterey Road, she’d wave.

So there we were at the cemetery. Everybody was crying or trying not to, the six guys were letting him down with those green canvas tapes, and we were leaning over, waving bye-bye, when my aunt Avanelle, who was standing behind me, passed out. We were packed in there, and it was the domino effect, pure and simple. I went first and then Mom.

The next thing I remember is that I could see up everybody’s dress. It was gross, but it was also pretty exciting in a weird way. I mean everything had been so black — black dresses and shoes, black stockings and suits. All of a sudden there were those colored underpants: pink and white and even red. Besides getting me a little turned on, it helped me get my bearings. Everything wasn’t all grief.

Naturally, they hauled us out and brushed the dirt off, nobody was hurt, and it didn’t turn into a fad, thank God, like people at a party jumping into the pool with their clothes on.

But Sully did say a little later that my mom came out of that hole a different person. He said he could see it in her eyes.

“Did she say why?” he asked once he’d settled in his own room.

“She just needs a job.”

“That’s not all of it.”

“You’re telling me. And speaking of telling, promise me you won’t tell anybody.”

“Don’t worry. Listen, what do you think she’s trying to prove?”

“I don’t know. That she can drive me nuts?”

“It’s not about you, I’ll bet. It’s about her saying, ‘Hey, look at me. I’m still alive and I’m still pretty.’ She is pretty, too. She always kind of reminds me of Elizabeth Taylor in
National Velvet
— you know, with those curls and that white skin.”

“I’ll trade my mom and my CD collection for your mom.”

“Look. Maybe it won’t last long. What do we know? Maybe tonight’s the only night. Maybe it won’t be what she expects at all. Maybe it’ll be embarrassing. Maybe it’s just a fling, a one-time thing.”

“Do you think so?”

“No. It’s not good to get your hopes up and then have them dashed.”

“Get them up. They’ve already been dashed.” Then I took a quick, deep breath. “Oh, God. I just thought of something. You know how I said bad things come in threes? This is the third thing. My dad, Debbie, and now this.”

“Now you sound like your father. Remember how superstitious he was?”

“Sully, do you think my dad was the dad I knew?”

“Run that by me again?”

“Do you think that all there was to my father was what I could see?”

“You mean was he more than a supervisor at the phone company and your dad?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Sure, there was more.”

“Then who was I crying about when he died? Who do I still miss, today more than ever?”

“Ask your mom.”

“Are you kidding? Why would she tell me anything?”

“She had to have said something already, or you wouldn’t be thinking like this.”

He had me there. “Isn’t that the truth,” she’d said when I’d pointed out that Dad wouldn’t have let her be a stripper.

“Anyway,” Sully said, “I’ve got just what you need to take your mind off your troubles.”

“Thirty pounds of chocolate decadence?”

“A girl.”

“I don’t need a girl.”

“You do. Now more than ever.”

“And what would I tell her my mother does for a living?”

“Lie.”

“That’s a wonderful way to start a relationship.”

“Her name is Rachel Gardner. She just transferred from California or New York, I forget which. She’s in two of my accelerated classes.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Sort of. She’s got an okay face with short hair and —”

“I don’t want to go out with a girl who has short hair on her okay face.”

“I think she’s got a good body, but it’s hard to tell with all those clothes. I did get a glimpse of one leg the other day in physics and it looked fine.”

“So far she has a beard and one good leg.”