And I hated myself for it now that we weren’t.
“Troy is so reliable, I’m sure he’ll come through.” Kathy pressed play.
Until yesterday I would’ve agreed with her. But not anymore.
“Someone to hold you too close,” sang Barbra Streisand in between sexy sax riffs, “Someone to hurt you too deep…”
From the back seat, I had zero control over the Volvo’s radio/tape deck.
“But alone,” Barbra Streisand sang, “is alone…”
Dad hit stop.
“Frank!” my mother shrieked. “She was just getting to the best part!”
“It’s 9:49.”
“I don’t care what time it is!”
Not even Dad could get away with shutting up Barbra Streisand when she was singing Sondheim. Mom pressed rewind, then play to give justice to her impeccable phrasing.
“Not aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiive…”
“We’re gonna miss it, Kathy!”
Frank stabbed the eject button and another screech filled the car. Only this time, it was the unmistakable sound of The Broadway Album being eaten by the Volvo’s ravenous tape deck.
“Frank!” Mom yanked the unspooled, unplayable tape out of the machine. “I’ve told you a million times that you’ve got to press stop before eject!”
Dad had already hit number one on the radio presets: WOBM-FM. He never missed an opportunity to listen to the local radio station to make sure Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry got the advertising spots they paid for: Morning and afternoon drive time, on the fifties, five days a week. The simple, singsongy jingle was performed by a kiddie chorus who had graduated from high school years before me.
“Braces make happy faces.”
And in my parents’ case, a happy marriage too. Frank and Kathy fell in love over their mutual admiration of symmetrically aligned cephalometric X-rays, got married, cofounded Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry, and have spent nearly all day, every day, with each other ever since. Whenever anyone asked them the secret to their long-term professional and personal partnership, they made the same joke.
Dad’s line: “We’re closer than a ceramic bracket to the back of a molar.”
Mom’s line: “Our bond is stronger than resin-modified dental cement.”
“Braces make happy faces…”
“Well, they played the ad, just like they’ve been doing for twenty years.” Mom lifted the tangled ribbon of cassette tape for Dad to see. “And Barbra is dead.”
Frank tunelessly hummed along to WOBM’s hazy, hot, and humid weather forecast as we finally reached the pedestrian drop-off in front of Macy’s.
“Okay! Thanks for the ride! Goodbye!”
I tugged on the door handle, only to find that it was on auto-lock. Dad put the car into park, pulled out his wallet, and handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
“When you’re on break,” he said, “buy your mother a new Barbra.”
Then Dad kissed Mom on the cheek, and I was ready to leggo my Eggos all over the Volvo’s leather interior.
Not because I was grossed out.
I was jealous.
I mean, I’d always sort of known my parents’ seemingly ceaseless enjoyment of each other was unusual for long-term relationships. But I didn’t quite understand what an impossibly high standard they had set until I saw Troy’s tongue in Helen’s snaggletoothed yuck mouth.
I flung open the car door and got out of there before I could incriminate myself.
“Later!” I blew kisses at the car. “Bye!”
I thought for sure I had made it when Mom popped her head out the window.
“Give our best to Troy!” And then—just to make it extra excruciating—she added, “He’s a keeper, that one.”
I waved goodbye and waited until the Volvo was of sight. Then I walked right past Macy’s and kept going, continuing halfway around the parking lot to Entrance Two, J. C. Penney. As the entrance farthest from the food court, it was the location least likely to result in another attempt on my life, and I needed to be alive in order to find a new job.
Make no mistake: I was going to find a new job. I needed somewhere to be every day or my parents would start asking questions I couldn’t answer. Not yet anyway, not before I’d come up with a new plan that did not involve Troy.
4
UNWITTING WITNESS
No plan.
No boyfriend.
No job.
And worst of all?
The food court was off-limits for the foreseeable future, so I couldn’t even wallow in our booth. It was perfectly situated, far away from the greasy fast-food grills but still in view of the special events stage where the Silver Strutters dazzled the lunchtime crowds. They were the best of the senior citizen aerobic dance troupes. I’d joke with Troy about the fierce competition among the various nursing homes, how the spryest octogenarian aerobicizers were actively recruited by coaches trying to lure them away from rival assisted-living facilities by offering artificial hip scholarships.
Troy and I had always had the best conversations in our booth. It was there, as we dipped spoons into chocolate-and-vanilla-swirled spires of Froyo, we had decided to attend different colleges in the same city. It was there, as we dunked cheese french fries into mini paper vats of ketchup, we had said things to each other like, “A relationship needs space to help it grow.”
Ha. I guess the best joke was on me.
I wandered the mall in a sort of fugue state. After drifting unconsciously around the alphabetized concourses for who knows how long, I found myself in front of Surf*Snow*Skate. As much as I hated Troy for letting Helen in on it, I couldn’t help but refer back to our teen-soap-opera hierarchy of employment prestige.
The 90210 Scale of
Parkway Center Mall Employment Awesomeness
1. THE DYLAN MCKAYS
These were the unquestionably coolest jobs requiring the least possible effort.
2. THE BRANDON WALSHES
These jobs also held a certain social cache but with just the faintest whiff of dorkiness that knocked them out of the top tier.
3. THE STEVE SANDERSES
These jobs weren’t looked down upon as hopelessly loserish, but were certainly scrubbier than 1 and 2 (see above). This category was dominated by virtually every job in the food court, including America’s Best Cookie.
4. THE DAVID SILVERS
These were sucky jobs at all the punny stores specializing in very specific and very boring things beloved by old farts: Feet First (orthopedic shoes), Sew Amazing! (fabrics), Deck the Walls (picture frames).
5. THE SAD, SAD SCOTT SCANLONS
The lowest of the low. Woolworths Pet Center dead guppy scooper-outer. Razzmatazz Family Restaurant balloon animal-maker/busboy. Trash can gum-scraper.
Surf*Snow*Skate was the Ultimate Dylan McKay.
The HELP WANTED in the window was not merely a sign.
It was the sign.
At Surf*Snow*Skate, I’d find redemption. I’d show Troy and Helen and everyone else, I deserved more than America’s Best Cookie. I was better than a scrubby Steve Sanders! I was Dylan McKay material!
I strutted into the store and found myself face-to-face with Slade Johnson and Bethany Darling. Voted Pineville High Class of 1991’s Best-Looking Guy and Girl, Slade and Bethany frustrated all fans of beautiful out-of-wedlock babies by rejecting the assumed inevitable and not coupling up. Bethany wore a pink push-up bikini top with high-waisted spandex bike shorts. Slade wore knee-length Jams, but his tank top was cut low around the armpits, almost down to his waist. He was exposing as much suntanned skin as she was, and I was sort of impressed by the store’s equal-opportunity, all-genders approach to sex as a sales tactic.