Just Friends (22 page)

To strengthen his commitment, Josh tells Carver.

Carver looks as if he’s been listening to an oil executive explaining the win-win benefits of Arctic drilling. “Solemn? You’re really going to do it? No more shilly-shallying?”

Josh nods. “I shilly-shally no more. It’s risky. But I’ve given it a lot of thought, and, logically, there’s not a better time than St Valentine’s Day. Love is in the air and everything. The mood of the moment will be in my favour.”

“Valentine’s being the best window for this doesn’t sound like logic to me,” says Carver. “It sounds like a superstition. Lucky number. Lucky shirt.” He points a tortilla chip at Josh. “Remember when Talita was really little and she carried that toy rabbit with her everywhere because she thought it was good luck? And then she got it caught in the spokes of my mom’s bike and nearly killed them both. That’s what comes of relying on luck.”

“So you think I shouldn’t go for it?”

“I didn’t say that.” Carver is feeling some compassion fatigue; if he’d been Horatio he would have been tempted to kill Hamlet himself. “You know I don’t think she’s going to take the chance of being dropped by Tilda to date you. But I still think you should do it. You have to get some closure on this or you’ll drive yourself crazy.” And everybody else. “Only, if you ask me, what you need are My Little Pony girl and God in your favour, not the mood of the moment.”

“I’m kind of surprised you’re not being even more negative,” says Josh. “I thought you frown on things like girlfriends and relationships for anyone who doesn’t have an advanced degree.”

“Not for everyone. Mainly for me. And it’s not like I don’t have feelings. But you know…” He smiles. Ruefully. “Girls think I’m peculiar—”

“Don’t be modest,” says Josh. “Everybody thinks you’re peculiar.”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence. They think I’m peculiar. I figure I’ll need at least two sets of letters after my name to attract anyone. But girls like you.”

They do? How come Josh never noticed that?

“Not all girls,” says Carver. “Just the ones who are into funky musicians.”

Two opinions are better than one, especially when the one is not as enthusiastic as you might have wanted.

The next person Josh tells is Sal.

“You’re going to tell her how you feel?” Sal sounds as if a better idea might be to tell her how someone else feels. Preferably someone she doesn’t know and will never meet.

“I thought you were all for love and taking a chance.”

“Yeah.” Sal shrugs. “I was. But now I’m not so sure…”

“I’m not going straight in the deep end,” says Josh. “I thought I’d ask her out first and if she doesn’t drop dead on the spot I’ll take it from there.”

Sal shakes his head. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but … you know … I have to say that, if I’m really honest, I don’t think you should do it.” He sighs. “Not unless you’re prepared to get hit by the juggernaut of rejection and end up as roadkill on the highway of love.”

“How come? What happened to boldly going? Having an adventure?”

“Yeah, well, that was before I went boldly myself,” says Sal. If he were a porcupine he’d have rolled himself into a ball by now. “I’m speaking from experience here. Unhappy experience. Been there. Done that. And I think if she hasn’t given you some really clear message – you know, like asking you out or tattooing your name on her arm – then I think you should keep your mouth shut. Once you say it, you can’t take it back.”

Josh stopped absorbing anything Sal was saying after “speaking from experience”. “You? You asked somebody out?” He couldn’t mean Murray Schneider because Murray Schneider would have said yes. “Who?”

Sal looks at him as if he’s forgotten his lines. “Well, who do you think? Marilyn Monroe?”

“I don’t have a clue. I didn’t know you were interested in anybody.”

Apparently Josh makes everybody sigh like that.

“You know, you’re becoming the walking definition of ‘self-absorbed’. Wake up, man, and smell the hormones,” says Sal. “It’s pretty obvious. You can’t be that oblivious.”

Oh, but he can.

“So who is it?”

“It’s not exactly a big mystery.” Or only to Josh. “It’s Ramona.” The “of course” is unspoken but understood. “She’s… You know. She’s awesome.”

“You asked out Ramona?” The “Minamoto?” is also unspoken but understood. “But – you’re just friends.” She said they were just friends.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? We are just friends. But that’s not my choice.”

For some reason he feels almost betrayed. Why doesn’t anybody ever tell him anything? “I knew you were seeing more of each other. Because of the play…” And for some other reason he feels irrationally (and uncharitably) glad that she turned Sal down.

“Are you so surprised because it’s Ramona, or are you so surprised because it’s me?” asks Sal.

“Well, I…” He has no idea.

“It can’t be because it’s Ramona,” says Sal. “She’s unquestionably attractive.” He gives Josh another why-can’t-you-learn-your-lines? look. “Except to you, I guess.”

“Hang on,” says Josh. “Is that why you joined the drama club? Because of Mo?”

“Shit, man, you really do live in a parallel world, don’t you? Why did you think I joined?”

“To broaden your directorial experience?”

“That’s not really the experience I wanted to broaden. I wanted to be around Ramona.”

“You’re always around her.”

“Yeah, but you know…” Can Sal possibly be blushing? Is that something future award-winning directors do? Would Orson Welles blush? Would Alexander Payne? Surely not Wes Anderson. “Without you being there, too. And I wanted to have something to talk about that was just between her and me.”

Sometimes Josh watches
The Antiques Roadshow
with his mother. He is having an
Antiques Roadshow
moment, feeling like someone who brought in an old vase that’s been in the attic filled with paperclips for the last ninety years because nobody liked it – only to discover that it’s a work of art and worth a small fortune.

“So you actually asked her out?”

“I didn’t get that far. I started out by telling her I liked her.” Sal makes a face.
Stupid or what?
“And I’ve never been so shit-scared in my life. I thought I was going to faint.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? And we’re going to elope to Las Vegas as soon as we finish high school.” Sal sighs. “She was as nice as you can be when you’re stabbing some poor jerk in the heart. She said she really likes me a lot, but just as friends.” He fiddles with the cuff of his shirt. “Actually, she was very sympathetic. Said she knows what it feels like. She’s been there, too. She said she gave me points for saying something because she’s never had the nerve.”

“Really? Mo? Mo
likes
likes somebody?” This is a lot to take in. Some girls are desperate to have a boyfriend, but Ramona’s never been like that. She’s never declared any feelings for anyone who isn’t a dead composer, a character in a book or a domestic pet. “She told me she’s never been into anyone.”

“She did?” Sal considers this for a few seconds. Or possibly it’s Josh he’s considering. It’s hard to tell. “So you think she just said that so I didn’t cry in front of her?”

“No.” Josh shrugs. He shakes his head. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “I don’t know. I’m only repeating what she said.” What did she say? She said no. She’d never been interested in anyone.
Not really
. He didn’t know what she meant and she said it meant
not really
. When she was little. Only now does he wonder if she was telling the truth. Why wouldn’t Mo tell him the truth? “It must be one of the post-postmodernists … maybe that tall guy with the black hair. I know they go to exhibitions together. What’s his name? Dara or Darius. Something like that. Artsy-fartsy and full of himself.” He looks at Sal, as if he’d forgotten he was there. “I don’t suppose she said who it is.”

Sal shakes his head. “Not really.”

He has no intention of telling Ramona about his plans, but he does have to tell her not to bring her fiddle to the Valentine’s party. Fair’s fair.

“You have got to be joking.” Her voice is like a punch. “What do you mean, you’re not coming Saturday?”

He should have texted. There’s a lot to be said for the impersonal electronic message. For one thing, you can’t tell how mad the recipient is.

“I’m really sorry, Mo. I just can’t.”

“But I’ve been practising ‘Some of These Days’. I know it’s one of your favourites.” No eye contact being another advantage of the email or text. “Why can’t you come?”

He could tell her Charley Patton’s sick. Or that he doesn’t want his mom to be alone, missing his dad. Or even that the band got a last-minute gig. But he doesn’t. He’s pretty sure she’d know he was lying.

“It’s Jena. She and Simon had a big fight—”

“Excuse me!” Ramona pulls out her phone. “Just give me a minute while I make the announcement on Twitter. This is, like, earth-shattering news. Nobody’s going to believe it! We have to alert the President! They’ll probably call a special session of the UN!”

He should have lied.

Josh holds up a hand. “Okay, okay. You’re very funny. I know they’re always breaking up, but this time it’s the real deal. This time she’s not going to change her mind. They’re officially over.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with you?” If scorn were water he’d be drowning.

“I said I’d hang out with her. She doesn’t want to be alone.” Ramona’s expression doesn’t change. “You can understand that. It’s Valentine’s. Being alone would make her feel like the last teddy bear left on the toyshop shelf on Christmas Eve.”

“And what about
your
friends. Your other friends, I mean. What about how we feel?”

“Yeah, but you have each other.”

She leans back in her chair. Regrouping. “I still don’t see why you can’t come,” she says. “Bring Jena with you. More the merrier. She and Murray can talk about scene changes.”

He did think of that. Not Jena swapping stagehand stories with Murray, but her going to Sal’s with him. But when he told Jena about the alternative Valentine’s Day party she said, “That would really show Simon, wouldn’t it?” He could tell she was being sarcastic. She didn’t say it in so many words, but he got the impression that she’d rather hang out with her dad and his poker buddies than with Josh’s friends. What she did say, with so much sweetness and sincerity that you had to wonder why she thought she can’t act, was that she’s sure they’re really interesting and terrific people and everything but she’d feel uncomfortable. She couldn’t even imagine what they’ll do at this party. Josh said they’ll play pin the tail on the donkey and then shoot cans off the fence in the backyard with BB guns. It was a few seconds before Jena said, “Oh, that’s funny. No, really, what’ll they do?” Josh said hang out. Maybe watch a movie. Ramona and he might play a little music. He could tell from the way she smiled that she thought that was kind of weird. “See what I mean?” said Jena. “We don’t do that kind of thing at the parties I go to.” She wasn’t being bad, she said, but his friends aren’t really her crowd. “I mean, you don’t hang out with my crew, do you?” Not that he’s ever been invited. “Because, you know, you wouldn’t fit. And I wouldn’t fit with yours.” She laughed. “Can you imagine me trying to have a conversation with them? With Carver?
How’s global warming coming along?
And I hear Sal and Ramona blah-blahing away in drama meetings and half the time I don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.”

“I don’t think she’s really up for a lot of people,” he says to Ramona now. “You know, dented heart and everything.”

Ramona tilts her head to one side. Considering – though he isn’t certain what. “So you think this time she and the football hero are really quits? That’s what you think?”

“Looks like it.” And then, because she is still watching him consideringly, answers the question she doesn’t ask – the one he wasn’t going to answer. “I figure maybe I’ll say something.”

“You mean, before she gets another boyfriend,” says Ramona.

Though
this is something else she hasn’t said in so many words, Josh can tell that Jena thinks he’s all head and no heart; emotionally contained and as romantic as cold mashed potatoes. Well, she’s going to have to think again. If she wants romance she’s going to get romance. Josh’s mother is out for the evening, so he has the house to himself and doesn’t have to explain what he’s doing or beg her to stay in her room – no matter what. He went online and looked up romantic movies, and got three of them. He bought enough candles to torch Rome and burnt himself several times lighting them. Instead of boring old pretzels and chips, he got those corn nut things Jena likes and olives. He’s not sure why, but olives seem very sexy to him, even though he doesn’t particularly like to eat them. He bought a single red rose. He’s rehearsed what he’s going to say so many times you’d think he was addressing Congress. He cut himself shaving, changed his shirt three times, and has a record ready to play that will tell her everything she needs to know even before he opens his mouth. Ray Charles singing that classic of unrequited love “You Don’t Know Me”, about someone who’s always been just a friend to the woman he loves.

By six thirty, when Jena should be nearing his street, Josh is so nervous he thinks he may be having a stroke. It could happen. Youth protects you from nothing, except maybe taxes.
Be calm … be calm
… he tells himself. He doesn’t want her to arrive only to find his lifeless body on the living-room floor. Not now, for God’s sake. How ironic would that be? He turns on the music when he hears the bell, picks up the rose and takes several deep breaths. He wipes his hands on his jeans and breathes some more. The bell rings again. Damn, there aren’t any lights on in the living room. What if she doesn’t notice the flickering candlelight and thinks he forgot she’s coming over? Josh dashes into the hall, and trips over Charley Patton, who howls indignantly. He’ll be lucky not to kill himself before he gets to the door.

As soon as he opens it, he wishes he hadn’t.