Heartache and Other Natural Shocks (25 page)

Finally, I turn the corner and there’s the McDuff house. Inside, it’s dark and quiet, but as I creep up the stairs, my mother’s voice calls out from her room. “Julia?”

Oh God. I can’t face her like this. “Yeah.”

“Where were you?” she asks.

“Sandy’s.”

“Who’s Sandy?”

“A girl from school.”

“You went to another party?”

“Yeah, but I’m really tired, so I’m going to bed.” I dart into the bathroom and scrub my teeth over and over, trying to get the taste of smoke and booze out of my mouth. My tiny seed eyes stare at me from the mirror. The echo of party music thuds around my head. My body doesn’t feel like my own.

I crawl into bed, and Carla’s demon face rushes at me. Voices in my head scream down a thousand unmarked trails. I’m so confused. I’m so stoned. Sleep crashes into me like a tsunami, pulling me down, down, down, down.

“I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight”

It’s Sherrie Cumberland who tips me off. Mar, Deb, Frank and I are in the kitchen, stoned, polishing off Ma’s tiramisu cake, when the phone rings. I answer it. I hear party noise and loud music, and then I hear Sherrie’s voice shouting, “Guess who Paul and I picked up on the way to Sandy’s?”

“Who?”

“Ian and Julia.”

I suddenly feel very alert. “Julia? Like with Ian?”

“He had his arm around her, and now they’re hot knifing in the kitchen.”

“You’re joking!”

“Nope. Thought you might like to know.” Click.

Two minutes later, Deb, Mar and I are blasting down the street in Deb’s mom’s Buick. I jump out of the car in front of Sandy’s house and race inside, heading straight for the kitchen. No Ian. No Julia. I spot Sherrie in the living room necking with Paul. She nods at me and points downstairs. I dash to the basement. It’s dark and smoky, and it takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust, but then I see them across the
room. They’re holding hands, leaning together, and Julia has this blissed-out look on her face. I can’t believe it. I want to smack her. I don’t have a plan; I just ram through the crowd.

Ian’s the one who spots me first. His eyes are glazed, and he’s stoned out of his mind. Julia’s stoned too, believe it or not. They drop their hands. She looks scared, and oh yes, she should be. I am not done with her yet. But first, Ian. I need to talk to him. Alone.

I drag him upstairs to an empty bedroom. Ian is laughing. I think I’m going to cry. I lock the door. All around us, people are shouting, “Happy New Year!” and firecrackers are banging and whizzing in the yard. I clench my fists and glare at him. “You’re supposed to kiss me now, you idiot,” I say.

He looks at me with those high-voltage eyes. “Happy New Year, baby,” he whispers in my ear. Then he wraps me in his arms and kisses me, slowly, just like he did that first time in my kitchen. He makes me so mad, but I’ve missed him so much. I hold on tight and kiss him hard. He flicks off the light, and we’re all over each other. I unbutton his shirt; he unbuttons mine. He strips off his jeans; I unzip my skirt. Our clothes drop in piles all over the floor. We rub against each other, skin against skin. His hand slides into my panties, and his dick pokes out of his underwear. I feel it pressing against my stomach. We peel off everything, except for my new suede boots.

“Nice boots,” Ian whispers.

“You can undo them, if you want.”

“No, I like ’em on,” he says.

We grin and tumble onto a kid’s single bed, and we both know
This is it, we’re doing it
. And I want to. I don’t hesitate—and he doesn’t even stop to ask. We roll around naked, except for my boots, touching, kissing, going crazy for each other. Some guy starts banging on the door, but we just laugh and keep on going. Ian pulls a condom out of his wallet and puts it on. I glance down. It’s kind of gross, like a sausage in Saran Wrap. I try not to think about how weird it looks. He climbs on top and slowly pushes in. For a second, I think this isn’t going to work, and I tense up, but then I go with it. It’s kind of tight, but not too bad. Ian rocks on top of me, faster and faster, closing his eyes and making moaning noises. And part of me thinks this is such a rush, and part of me thinks I’m just pretending, but really, it doesn’t matter anymore. I chose this; this is what I want.

Suddenly Ian makes a grunting noise, arches up and collapses on top of me. What? Already? Yup, he’s done. His breath whooshes out against my neck. I can feel his heartbeat through my skin. I wonder if he can feel mine. Eventually, I squirm, and Ian rolls off me. I shift, and Ian’s leg flops over mine. My thighs feel gloopy, and I could use a Kleenex, but I don’t want to ruin the mood, so we squish together on the single bed, just breathing, very quiet.

So, this is it. I’m no longer a virgin. I have lost my virginity on New Year’s Eve, 1972. I guess I’ll always remember that.
And, yeah, this isn’t quite how I imagined it. Not that I need pink champagne, but a decent bed would’ve been nice. And candles, and romantic music. But still, I’m glad it finally happened. The earth didn’t move, but hey, it was fun. Besides, according to Sherrie Cumberland, the first time is never the best. She says that, like everything else in life, sex gets better with practice.

Ian props himself up on one elbow and smiles at me. I smile back. His hair is mussed up, but that only makes him look sexier. I stare at his nose. It doesn’t really look any worse than it did before I hit him. I think this is something we can get past. He arches his back like a long, lazy cat, then bends over and kisses me. “Hey, Carla, how’s it going?”

“Fine,” I say.

Ian grins. “I think 1972 is off to a good start.”

“Yeah,” I say, stroking his chest. Good for me, and good for Ian, but not good for Julia Epstein.

“The Thrill Is Gone”

I sleep right through the morning and wake up around one o’clock feeling like roadkill. My tongue is thick and dried up, like a dead slug. My head is an anvil on my pillow. My stomach gurgles like a witch’s brew. I stare at Karen McDuff’s vile pink walls, and through a semiconscious fog, the memory of last night plays through my head like a trashy movie. Oh my God! When Carla gets ahold of me, she’s going to rip out my guts and hang my entrails over the balcony of the school atrium as a warning to the entire student body not to mess with her man. I am doomed.

I phone Geoff. “Put on the coffee,” I say. I don’t really want to tell him what happened, but school gossip travels at the speed of light, and it’s probably better if he hears it from me.

Clarissa stayed over at Michael’s house last night, so Geoff is alone when I arrive. “You look awful,” Geoff says.

“Wait till you hear my story,” I say. I sip my coffee and stick to the facts. When I get to the part about hot knifing, Geoff gasps. When I tell him about Carla appearing at the
party, he covers his mouth and his eyes go wide. He says, “Jules! What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” I say. “I was stoned! I thought I was being free and daring for once in my stupid life.”

“Oh Lordy!” Geoff says. He stares at me, dumbfounded. Then he sits up straight. “Well, it could have been worse.”

“Not really,” I say.

“But all you did was get stoned and hold hands. Big deal. Kids in grade seven do that. Technically, that’s a two-minute penalty. Besides, Carla and Ian aren’t going out anymore. They broke up. Ian’s a free agent.”

“Tell that to Carla,” I whimper. “You should’ve seen the look on her face. Remember when she punched Ian?”

Geoff grimaces. “A flak jacket, personal bodyguards and joining the French Foreign Legion are all good options.”

“It’s not funny!”

“It will blow over. You just need to keep out of her way.”

“Geoff, she lives right next door! We have drama together. Auditions are coming up.”

“She doesn’t stand a chance against you,” Geoff says.

“She really wants to play Gertrude.”

“So, who died and made her queen?” he scoffs. “Take a number, lady. She has to try out, like everyone else.”

I sigh and put my head in my hands. “Oh God. I am so screwed.”

Geoff puts his arm around me. “Don’t worry, doll-face,”
he drawls. “If anybody wants to mess with you, they’re gonna have to get through me first.”

“Great. I feel so much better,” I mumble.

“Hey, what are friends for?”

During the first two weeks of January, Geoff and I spend all our free time practicing for the auditions. Clarissa coaches us, which helps a lot. Meanwhile, I avoid Carla. She and Ian are together again. She got what she wants, and maybe that will be enough; although sometimes I feel her eyes tracking me like a heat-seeking missile.

In the middle of January, on a Wednesday after school, fifty-six noisy students swarm into the auditorium to audition for
Hamlet
. Geoff is a nervous wreck. We scribble our names on the tryout sheets. I sign up under Gertrude and Ophelia, a few names after Carla’s. I’m surprised to see Ian’s name under Laertes. I guess Carla convinced him to try out. The two of them sit together at the back, so Geoff and I take seats near the front.

Mr. Gabor calls on the Poloniuses first. Jeremy leads off. He does a hilarious version of a tottery, bug-eyed old man, and Jason cheers loudly for him. Then Jason does an equally funny version of Polonius as a nervous, officious bureaucrat, and Jeremy gives him a standing ovation. This makes us all laugh, and we applaud everyone after that, even those who
flub their lines, because we’re all trying to do our best, and this isn’t easy. Mr. Gabor looks enormously pleased.

After the Poloniuses come the Claudiuses, and by the time we get to the Hamlets, Geoff is like an over-wound cartoon clock ready to
sproing
. Mr. Gabor announces that the Hamlet soliloquy will be
“Now I am alone. / O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”

Geoff grabs my arm. “I know that one,” he whispers.

“You know them all,” I say dryly.

“What if I blow it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be fabulous.”

I smile reassuringly, but Geoff’s face is chalk-white. When Mr. Gabor calls out his name, Geoff walks onto the stage like a man headed for the gallows. His hands are shaking, his eyes are glassy and he stares at the monologue sheet as if the words are written in hieroglyphics. I’ve never seen him like this before. I watch, helplessly, as he licks his lips and begins. On the second line, he falters and stops. “Could I start again?” he asks nervously.

Mr. Gabor says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

The auditorium goes dead quiet. Geoff drops the monologue sheet. There’s a murmur of concern as it flutters to the floor, but suddenly I know what he’s doing. He doesn’t need to look at the sheet; he knows the monologue by heart. He’s playing without a safety net. All or nothing.

Geoff takes a deep breath and then speaks softly, as if he’s
staring into the murky depths of Hamlet’s soul.
“Now I am alone. / O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”

And he’s off. He pulls us into Hamlet’s bitter, lonely world. He recites the words as if they’re his own. By the time he reaches the part where Hamlet berates himself for being a coward, he’s so caught up in self-loathing that he cries out in anguish: “
Bloody, bawdy villain! / Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless / villain!
”

We sit there in awe. When Geoff finishes, we jump to our feet and applaud wildly. Mr. Gabor beams. Benjamin, who’s up next, looks at the rest of us and says, “Would anyone like to change places with me?”

“You nailed it,” I say when Geoff sits down. “You were unbelievable.” I squeeze his arm. Geoff can’t speak. I just wish Clarissa had been here to see this because he did exactly what she told us to do: He took that giant, waxy ball of fear and burned it up in the heat of performance.

There’s a short break before the auditions for Gertrude, so I dash off to the washroom, while Geoff revels in a swirl of admirers. I tell myself that if Geoff can do this, so can I. I know I’m good; I just have to focus.

I lock myself into a stall, sit on the toilet seat and psych myself up. I tell myself that I am Gertrude, queen of Denmark, recently widowed and now married again. I’m worried about my son, Hamlet, but I’m also madly in love with Claudius. My lust blinds me to everything else. Truth
whispers in the gloomy shadows, but I don’t want to hear it. I live in dark and difficult times, and I must be strong. I straighten my back and compose my regal face. I push open the stall door—and then I stop cold.