Good Girls Part 13

It's Cindy's turn to explain: "Pam's sworn off the male species."

"Really?" says Ash, blowing smoke out of her nose, like a cartoon bull.

We park the van and stumble into the store. "Watch this," says Pam. She takes my list, picks out the cutest guy in the lumber department, and goes to work. "Hi,"

she says, in her honey-gravel voice, "I was wondering if we could-oops!" She drops the list on the floor . She turns away from him, bends from the waist, and picks up the paper . She's wearing a skirt, and the visual is just short of p.o.r.n. "Sorry," she says sheepishly when she stands up again.

"That's okay," the guy says. You can see the Adam's apple go up and down a few times as he tries to swallow.

"We just need a little help finding all these things, and we're not sure where to look," she says. "Can you help us?" She hands him the list and leans over so that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s push up against his arm. His eyes are wide, and he stammers, "Uh, sure. This way." The lumber guy takes us up and down the aisles, pointing out this wood and that wood and grinning like an idiot whenever Pam smiles. He gets us what we need and has it loaded onto a cart by three more grinning idiots in orange ap.r.o.ns, all moving so fast that they're practically blurred. "Three 154 blind mice," whispers Ash. "See how they run." Pam thanks the cute guy for all his help by giving his b.u.t.t a swift pat, turning tail, and leaving him in the dust. As we walk away, we hear him squeaking, "Wait, can I have your number? Wait!"

"Nice," says Ash when we are in the paint depart- ment.

"Oh, I could do that," Joelle says.

"Any girl can do it," says Pam. "That's the point."

I snort. "And they say girls are easy. Girls are the s.l.u.ts."

"And we're the biggest s.l.u.ts of all," Pam says. "Well, except for Cindy."

"What do you mean?" Ash says. Then her eyes widen. "Are you still a virgin?"

A man and a woman wearing matching s.h.i.+rts stop comparing cans of ceiling paint to gape at us.

"Shhh!" Cindy says. "Don't say it so loud."

"I didn't," says Ash.

"And don't look so surprised, either."

"I'm not surprised."

"Yes, you are," Cindy says. She twirls a lock of over- dyed, overfried hair around her finger . "I don't know what the big deal is. Lots of people are virgins. I want to do it with someone I love. Is that such a bad thing?"

I shuffle my feet and will not look at Ash. "No, I think that's a good thing."

155 "Someday her prince will come," says Pam sarcasti- cally.

"Sure, tons of those around," Ash says.

Cindy looks wounded. "I like guys. Just because you hate them doesn't mean that I have to."

"Of course it doesn't," Joelle says, putting her arm around Cindy's shoulders. "Don't let the mean girls bother you. They're dried-up, bitter old hags. Princes don't like bitter old hags. They like nice girls like us."

Ash jerks her head at Joelle. "She's a virgin, too."

"You?" Pam and Cindy shout at once. "Get out!"

Smiling proudly, Joelle tosses her head. "Out."

"But you're an actress," Cindy says.

Joelle stamps her foot. "Now, what's that supposed to mean? Everyone always a.s.sumes . . ." She sees the matchy couple sneaking glances at us. "Oh, h.e.l.lo," she says. "Don't mind us. We're rehearsing a scene for a new movie."

"Yeah," says Ash. "It's called The s.l.u.t City World Tour. Want tickets?"

As if his wife might get ideas, the man drags her away from us by the arm. Pam snickers and Cindy gets nearly hysterical, she thinks it's so funny. It takes more than two hours to buy six cans of paint, a package of screws, ten hinges, and a few doork.n.o.bs because Joelle won't stop singing, "The girls are pretty in s.l.u.t City" and "In s.l.u.t City you won't get no pity," which she accompanies 156 with high kicks and semi-spastic tap dancing.

Pam shakes a box of nails and holds it up to her ears like a seash.e.l.l. "I wouldn't mind boys so much if they knew how to give a girl an o.r.g.a.s.m."

Ash agrees. "They should offer anatomy lessons at school as a public service."

"I'm not sure it would help," says Cindy, shaking her head gravely. "Boys have concentration problems."

Pam replaces the box of nails. "Ash, you went out with that guitar guy, what's his name, for a while, right?

The one in the band?"

"Jimmy," Ash says, looking like someone just poured vinegar into her mouth.

"So was he any good?"

"Good at playing the guitar?"

"Good at s.e.x."

Ash flushes sweetheart pink. "Yeah, he was."

"Really?" Pam says. "How good?"

"Good," says Ash. And I know it's true. Not because she was so free with the details, but because she always had this little smile after she'd been with Jimmy, this sweet, private smile. I wonder how Jimmy could have done it, how he could have made Ash smile like she was keeping the best sort of secret and then leave her with- out looking back.

Pam's not finished with her questions. "So we're talk- ing o.r.g.a.s.ms on a regular basis?"

157 Ash squirms. "Jesus!"

"Pam gets in everyone's business," Cindy says.

"She'll talk about anything."

"I'm eighteen years old," Pam says. "I'm a legal adult, and I'll talk about adult things if I want to."

Ash is biting her lip. "With our clothes on," she says.

"Huh?" I say.

Even redder now, Ash says, "If we kept our clothes on, then I would, you know. Something about the pres- sure . . ."

Joelle s.h.i.+vers. "o.r.g.a.s.ms are so cool. You feel nice all over ."

Pam's laughter hangs in the air. "Honey, a cookie makes you feel nice all over . You probably haven't had an o.r.g.a.s.m yet."

"I haven't?" says Joelle, and frowns. "Oh. Well, that sucks."

"A lot of girls don't," says Pam.

"That really sucks," Joelle says. "How is that fair?"

"You can always take care of it by yourself, you know," Pam tells her . "Do you have a shower ma.s.sage?"

"Ew!" Joelle says.

I'm still confused about Ash. "With your clothes on?"

Pam shakes her head at my stupidity. To Ash, she says, "With guys, it's so easy. Not so easy for us. And it's not like you get any actual help from them. Sometimes 158 I'd just give up and blow the guy. You can keep your clothes on for that. You can wear a winter coat and they don't care." She's dropped the honey out of her honey- gravel voice but seems sad somehow, or maybe disap- pointed. She sounds like some old barfly talking about her tragic, messed-up youth. We don't know what to say.

To change the subject or to cheer her up, Joelle decides to go back to her high-kick song-and-dance rou- tine, this time singing, "Here a ho, there a ho, every- where a ho, ho." A couple of goons in flannel-one short and light, the other tall and brown-amble by, smirking like fools. "You girls want any help?"

"Why?" says Ash sharply. "You work here?"

"No," said the light one. "But I'm sure I can find whatever it is you need." The brown one laughs.

Joelle turns on her s.e.xiest smile and runs her finger down the light one's chest. "And what do you think we need?"

He jumps a little, as if Joelle's finger were electrified.

"Well, uh, I don't know."

"You don't know?" says Joelle. She turns to us.

"Girls, did you hear that? They don't know what we need."

Ash elbows Pam, and Pam's back to her smirking, sa.s.sy self, a forty-year-old divorcee on a hip TV show.

"They don't know what we need?" Pam says. "Now, there's a freaking surprise."

159 The Third Time (and Fourth and Fifth and . . . ) Early September, and this was what I needed: Luke, Luke, and more Luke. School started, and we pa.s.sed each other in the hallways. My throat closed up as if I had some wicked allergy. He said, "Hey," and I couldn't speak, so I flashed my teeth in what I hoped was a brilliant smile but was afraid was the grimace of a constipated baboon.

160 "You avoiding me?" he said at the first party after school started, at Ray Dale's house on the second Sat.u.r.day of the month. I wasn't big on parties during the school year, but I had been frantic to go to this one because I thought I'd see Luke there. I did, but he had to torture me first. For close to an hour, me and Ash watched him make the rounds, flirting with every girl in the place. Nearly puking with anxiety, I was digging around in the fridge for something nonalcoholic to drink when he spoke.

"What?" I said. I dropped a can of Pepsi on my foot.

"Ow!"

"Are you okay?"

I winced. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Ash, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, said, "Hey, Luke."

Luke turned. "Oh, sorry, Ash. Didn't see you.

What's up?"

"Not much," she said, giving him her own monkey grimace. She nodded at me. "I'll be in the other room."

Luke called after her , "Nardo's in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Yeah," Ash said. "Thanks."

Luke turned back to me. "So," he said.

"So." My foot was killing me. I held it up, like a bear with a thorn in its paw.

Luke grabbed a bunch of paper towels off the roll hanging from the wall and wrapped some ice in them.

161 "Sit," he told me, pus.h.i.+ng me into one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled up another chair and placed my foot between his knees. After sliding off my flip-flop, he pressed the ice to my foot. "Better?"

"Yeah." And not because of the ice, either. He seemed to have some sort of foot fetish. Not that I minded.

He held the ice on my foot for a few minutes. "So you're not avoiding me?"

"No," I said. I thought it was a r.e.t.a.r.ded question, especially after the marathon flirting he'd been doing at the party. "Why would you think that?"

He peeked up at me. "I don't know. I must be nerv- ous around you or something."

This made me laugh. "That must be it."

Luke pulled the ice away from my foot. "I think you're going to live."

I didn't know what it was, but just being near him sometimes turned me into a completely different person, this say-anything person. It was a person I wanted to be, but also a person I was afraid of. If she'd say anything, what would she do?

"Are you sure it's all right?" I said. "I might need more medical attention."

"Medical attention," he said, pulling a s.h.i.+fty little grin. "I don't think you need me for that. You're a genius, right? You can probably diagnose and treat yourself."

162 And then, sometimes, I'd come rus.h.i.+ng back to myself-the tense Audrey, the hyper Audrey. "Shut up,"

I said. I'd meant for it to sound teasing and s.e.xy, but it came out whiny and annoyed. I was tired of everyone getting on my case for the work I did.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just joking."

"I know. I'm just . . . Look, I'm no genius, okay?"

He paused. "You did skip a couple of grades."

"One grade. Third grade. And not because I'm smarter than everyone else. Only cause I'm a finisher ."