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I was trapped in misery as a boy, with no chance of improving my life because of my mother’s own misery. Could we be saved from our personal hells?

Saving Us, by Karin Bishop

Part 7

Chapter 13: First Date

That night Mom called and we had a very long talk, some of the time with Connie on a third line, and some tears shared between us, and when it was over I felt cleansed, somehow, and I could tell that Mom was feeling better. When she got to the apartment in Rome she’d have a computer and regular internet service and we’d be able to email, and I’d send her pictures of me, which reminded Connie that she’d have to start taking some. After the call I got in bed and thought about Mom, and about me …and about Ben.

The next day was the day of the movie double-date with Susan. I helped Connie move some things in the living room; one of her quirks was that she was always rearranging things—not huge physical moves of couches, but little, decorative objects—so we moved some pictures and redid end tables and things like that. Holding a picture of Connie with her two little girls made me remember something.

“Connie, I think I need a cover story.”

“Going into the spy trade?” she asked conversationally.

“If I were, I couldn’t tell you,” I grinned. “No. Trying to explain that I’m staying with a friend of my mother’s while she’s touring Europe seems to raise questions.”

“Not Europe; Venice and Rome. Maybe Naples, Pompeii, Tuscany. It was felt that traveling all over wouldn’t be as curative as immersing herself in another culture. I knew Maria’s apartment would be free—she’s an opera singer on tour—so just Venice and Rome.”

“Okay. Italy, then. But it’s complicated, you know?”

“I think maybe I should be your aunt. Your mother’s in Italy on an important business trip so you got shoved off on me, making your older cousin Susan roll her eyes at being stuck babysitting you, something like that?”

“Well, I hadn’t put it together like that, but, yeah, that works.”

“Fine with me. Now, as a dutiful niece, hand me that vase.”

We told Susan we were ‘cousins’ now, and she simply nodded and said that we practically were, anyway. Then she winked at me and added, ‘Maybe more!’ I hugged her and went out to swim some laps, and then listened to my iPod in the sun. When I got back in my room I sent an email to Sandy and Maggie asking what they listened to on their iPods, and then took a serious shower.

I went down for a light supper of salad and a small chicken Alfredo. Connie had left for something and Susan was upstairs, so I read Anne of Green Gables while I ate, then cleaned up and watched a little TV, really just to see the current news. Back in my room I found a long email from Sandy listing dozens of songs she listened to, and she asked if I might want to see Ben play. I knew she’d try something! I sent a reply that it would be nice, but I didn’t have any way to get there; maybe someday. Of course, I figured she’d continue to try to work things …

Susan had promised to help me get ready and she really meant it. She came into my room with a plastic box and a grin.

“Time to learn the glories and the agonies of curlers, sweetie!” she giggled.

My hair was now long enough that it could be rolled, and as she did so she explained why and how she was doing it. Then I was left in my bathroom with all these curlers on my head and felt like a girl even more than I’d imagined—but I knew I’d rather just use a curling iron. I figured that Susan wanted to instruct me and also make a point. She came back later and removed them—I’d been reading Anne some more—and brushed out my hair which was now wavy and bouncy and really pretty. Don’t make me too pretty, I thought, and mentally giggled at that! My hair hung loose and she suggested pulling straight back from my brow and using a silver clasp, allowing the curly hair to hang free.

Still in my bathrobe, sitting on the vanity, I tilted my head back as she applied makeup, again telling me why and how she was doing things. When she was done, my eyes were smoky, my cheeks were blushed, and my lips full and shiny red. And, uh …I was a knockout.

“Susan, aren’t you making me up too much for this date?”

“Kind of. I’ll be wearing the same, though, because I want Tom interested. But if I’m wearing makeup and you’re not, it might look like I’m trying too hard. Make sense?”

“In a girly kind of way,” I agreed.

She grinned. “That’s all I know—the girly kind of way!”

I got dressed, taking some pride in being casual around Susan as I removed my robe. My tiny breasts were becoming breasts; that much was clear now as they were starting to swell into mounds beneath the nipples. I put on the bra and reached down under each cup, gently clasped my tiny boob and pulled it in and up, as Susan had shown me when I first tried it on. As I was pushing in from the sides, I saw her nod with grinning approval.

I already had the panties on under the robe, so now I struggled into the tight jeans. Susan pointed out that I could fold the hem up outside for several inches, exposing the ankles for one look but that it was kind of racy so it was better for them to hang straight. The heels were high enough that the pants hem came to midway down the heel, and the elevation to my legs made the pants fit a little better—and look a lot better!

Next came the shimmery silver blue top, and Susan told me to come to her room. There she showed me lots of silver pieces of jewelry. I thanked her and took a silver necklace with a kind of squiggle pendant, and two thin silver bracelets. I already had a silver ring but wasn’t thinking about earrings; Susan was and pointed out a pair of silver dangles that were like fine mesh strands. I loved them immediately and was going to put them in but she stopped me.

“Even though I’m clean and disinfect regularly, and even though your closest girl friend is clean and disinfects regularly, always disinfect them yourself to be sure. It’s like guns. Somebody hands you a gun and tells you it’s not loaded, you should always check anyway.”

I gave her a ‘huh?’ look about loaded guns and she shrugged but then her good mood darkened. “I heard Daddy tell that to somebody …”

“He’s still watching you, keeping you safe,” I said, squeezing her hand. “With his wisdom and advice. Keeping you safe like he did all those people.”

Susan’s jaw tightened and she nodded and gave the tiniest of sniffs. “Still miss him, though.” She kind of shook herself. “Here’s the stuff,” she said, handing me the disinfectant kit.

I quickly disinfected the earrings and put them in, loving the femininity of it with my curls bouncing. Susan’s mood brightened as she started fluffing my hair. Staring at myself in her vanity mirror as she moved behind me, I looked sixteen or seventeen, sexy, feminine, and scared.

“Oh, God, Susan; let me put on Levis and a sweatshirt, okay?”

“Calm down, Jess. It’ll be fine. Remember, this is a dry run for when you go on dates with your special guy, okay?”

My special guy …I wondered if that was Ben? I walked around Susan’s room as she got ready; I wasn’t pacing, really, but trying to get even more used to the heels. They looked great and so far they felt great. Then Susan surprised me and handed me a white hoodie.

“I was kidding about the sweatshirt,” I joked.

“Put it on, kind of zip it partway, and if Mom sees you she won’t see what you look like,” Susan said sensibly. “Because you do look hot!”

I felt a delicious girl-conspiracy feeling as I did so and had to admit it had the dulling effect required—as long as I could get the heels past her. As it was, I didn’t have to worry about the heels. I was sitting at the island in the kitchen on one of the high stools with my purse on my lap, nursing a Diet Coke and thumbing through TV Guide, when Connie came in with a bag of groceries, so if she saw anything she only saw jeans and a white hoodie.

“All ready for your night? Don’t you look lovely,” Connie said, looking at my makeup.

“Is it okay?” I said, worried. “Susan did it.”

Connie smiled. “Came darned close to over doing it, but her heart’s in the right place. Probably to match hers. What do you think?”

“It’s a little scary,” I said truthfully. “I look older and I don’t want to give any wrong impressions.”

“I think you’ll be okay. It’s a lot easier to quickly remove it with a fast trip to the Ladies’ than it is to discover that you’re under-made up and try to fix it. But you’re really pretty.”

“Um, Connie—I mean, ‘Aunt Connie’?”

She chuckled. “Practicing, huh? What is it?”

“Mom said she’s going to have email when she gets to Rome. I’d like to send her some pictures.”

Connie waved a hand. “Say no more. Hold on.” She left and came back in two minutes. “Should be charged,” she said, looking at the camera she held. “Stand up and look like a model.”

I didn’t want her to see the heels, but I also had a different plan. “I’m just in jeans and a hoodie so I’m not model material. But I was thinking, anybody can pose. I’ll get some of those when I’m all gussied up, but I was thinking of casual snaps, like shooting me here with my drink and a magazine.”

Connie nodded. “I think you’re right. My first impulse was the posed, probably stiff portrait. But your mother will get a better sense of …the everyday girl that you are. You are sharp, Jessica. Now, go back to reading until I get this together.” She examined the back of the camera.

I was reading and saw a flash and heard Connie mutter ‘Oops! Damn!’ and smiled to myself. Then she called, “Hey, Jessica?”

I thought she was having trouble with the camera and wanted my help, so I looked up and said, “Yes?” and went blind from the flash. Then before I recovered there was one of those staggered mini-flashes and another big flash. Connie looked at the back of the camera, lips pursed, pushing some more buttons, and then grinned.

“Got it! Check it out. Think your momma will approve?”

She showed it to me and there was that disconnect where I didn’t recognize the girl in the display. She was a very pretty girl, about sixteen, and I knew it was me but couldn’t be …I nodded and said, “I can’t believe it.”

Connie took back the camera and admired the photo. “Believe it, girl. That’s what you look like. Didn’t know how pretty you are, did you?” She grinned and then asked, “Susan dragging her feet?”

“I think she got a call. She was almost ready when I left her. She loaned me these,” I said as I showed the bracelets but didn’t show the earrings or the necklace.

“And that pretty clasp for your hair, too. I remember when she got that. Um …your hair …”

It was my turn to grin. “She said I had to learn the agony and the ecstasy of curlers,” I explained.

“Actually, I think I said ‘the glories and the agonies of curlers’,” Susan said as she entered the room.

She was definitely a knockout. She wore a tight black V-neck top that had a black-on-black lace pattern, tight black jeans and black boots with a stiletto heel.

Connie said, “Moonlighting as a cat burglar?”

“Mom,” Susan almost whined, “Tom’s really tall and these are the tallest heels I’ve got. So I needed pants because these boots and a skirt …”

“I know, I know,” Connie said, holding up a hand in surrender. “And the pants needed that top, and so on.”

I caught a glimpse of the teen relationship that Connie had told me about.

Connie asked, “But, Susan …you look like you’re aiming to land Tom hook, line, and sinker. What about Jessica?”

“Oh, I promised her that I will not ditch her. This date only works if she’s there, and she takes the pressure off if it were just Tom and me. I’d be a basket case if I was alone with him on the first date.”

I didn’t think that was exactly true, but Connie nodded and said, “After crushing on him all these years, I can understand. Well, you girls be careful and have a great time. Oh, that reminds me—”

We didn’t find out what it reminded her of because her office phone rang and she hurried after it, calling over her shoulder, “Have a great time!” again.

Susan wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Just as I planned. Vamoose, girl.”

I grabbed my purse and we vamoosed. I loved the clack of my heels on the floor but worried that Connie might hear two sets of heels and know that I wasn’t in flats. On the way to the mall, as I removed the hoodie, she reminded me of ‘Birmingham’ as the word meaning it was okay for me to be alone with Brad. I congratulated her for remembering it, but also hoped I wouldn’t have cause to say it.

Chapter 14: Doubling at the Movies

We found a parking place that allowed us a view of the theatre; there were singles and groups milling around, waiting for their date or the last member of their party. I realized this gave us a chance to size the boys up—even dish about them—before we had to put on our formal smiles.

“There he is!” Susan exclaimed suddenly.

“Whoa, girl, don’t let him know how excited you are!” I teased.

Susan smiled at me. “Jessica, you are such a girl; how did you ever survive as Ronald?” Her face changed as she realized it might not be a good time to bring up my past. “Oh, God, Jess; I’m so sorry I said that, you know?”

“Why? I’m not. It’s really simple—Ronald didn’t survive.”

She nodded. “I guess that’s the best way to look at it.” She squeezed my hand. “Forward into girlhood, right?”

“Arm in arm!” I chuckled. “And Tom is cute,” I nodded to the tall blonde boy searching the crowd. “Now let’s see what I’ve got.” Susan giggled at my comment.

What ‘I got’ was a smaller version. Tom was tall and blond and looked a bit like—as much as I hated to say it—a young Robert Redford. He was very good looking and stood casually, as if he was in control of things, but in a nice way. He wore a light blue shirt under a dark blue blazer and khaki Dockers. Brad was not as tall, was maybe blonder, and wore a white polo with the collar up and darker khakis. There was something a little …off; I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was probably that in a crowd he’d dazzle—because he was good-looking—but next to his brother he was outshone.

“Showtime,” Susan said.

We got out and I came over to the far side of the car, next to her.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Killer. He doesn’t stand a chance. Me?”

“You’re the Babe of Babesville,” she grinned. “Seriously, Jess? You’re a very attractive girl. And he doesn’t stand a chance, either! Let’s go get ‘em!”

We did a little giggle and then walked …no, we paraded …towards them, and I saw Tom’s face light up with genuine pleasure when he saw Susan. I heard a little gasp from her.

“Steady, girl,” I muttered.

She quickly whispered, “Thanks,” and then we reached them.

Tom was smooth and moved well as he performed the introductions. I reached out and gently shook his hand and then turned to Brad and gently shook his hand. He was smiling but there was still that little something that seemed odd…and then I thought, I’m interested in Ben. Maybe Brad has a girl he likes—or even a steady girlfriend—and this is like betraying them. Or maybe he just thinks I’m too young. I determined to be as mature as I could, thinking that I might be able to pull off sixteen, at best.

We headed into the movie; Tom already had the tickets so there was no wait, and both Susan and I had no interest in snacks, so we went right in, where we sat Tom-Susan-Jessica-Brad in the center of the row. There was some discussion of previous movies we’d seen; we were about to see a movie with Matt Damon and a new up-and-coming actress that Brad said was the next Julia Roberts.

“Poor Julia,” I said. “I can imagine producers saying, ‘Get me a young Julia Roberts’.”

Brad nodded. “That’s the cruel part of the industry. It’s one thing to say that Anne Hathaway is the new Audrey Hepburn, but that’s okay because Audrey’s gone. But when a star is still living, it’s kind of sad.”

Susan said, “I’ve read things where they say, ‘she’s the new Meg Ryan’ and my heart goes out to Meg.”

“It’s not a fair treatment, either, because you rarely hear that about the male stars. When was the last time you heard ‘he’s the new Bruce Willis’?” Tom pointed out.

We all agreed, then sat through a lot of previews and the movie began. It was a serious subject lightened by a twinkle in Matt Damon’s eyes, and the actress was so good—or just cast so well—that I truly wanted them to wind up together at the end, and when they didn’t, I knew it made logical sense but felt incomplete somehow.

Leaving the theatre, we discussed the movie. I overheard others saying much the same thing—‘if only they could ride off into the sunset together’—so we thought the movie would do better critically than at the box office. Tom steered us to an Applebee’s restaurant on a plaza opposite the theatre. We sat in the booth with both guys on one side and us on the other, and I thought that was a gentlemanly thing to do; we wouldn’t feel trapped and we could look at each other.

Before we got settled, of course, Susan and I did the inevitable ‘shiny nose run to the Powder Room’. I peed and washed up and touched up my makeup at the mirror next to Susan.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I know what you’re really asking, and I think Tom’s great,” I said. “Honestly, I can see why you had a crush on him, and I’m pretty sure he’s always been crushing on you, too, just from little things here and there.”

“I know,” she grinned. “I kept thinking it was all in my mind, but …thanks, Jess. I think he really likes me, too. And Brad seems like a nice guy; maybe something might develop there?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not just because I really like this guy in dance class.”

“Ben.”

“Yeah, Ben.” Even saying it gave me a warm thrill. “Brad is nice, he’s good looking, he’s courteous, he’s smart and kind of funny …but there’s something not quite there for me. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t have any experience at any of this.”

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend?”

I nodded. “I thought that it might be something like that. Well, are we ready?”

We rejoined them and just had an appetizer assortment and I had ice tea, and we talked about movies and bands and TV shows and I realized how important it was that I was spending time at Connie’s this summer. I would never had made so much progress as a girl so fast if I’d been living with my mother.

The conversation was kind of fun, about a lot of things, but I could see the connection between Tom and Susan and wanted to let them get some time together. Brad was okay, but I didn’t feel any buzz between us which was fine with me. I thought about how to work things out when I saw my opening—somehow the discussion had gotten to discussing slang, and the movie A Clockwork Orange came up and I asked Brad if he’d read the book. He hadn’t and was surprised that I had and I confessed I hadn’t, either, but my last English teacher was fascinated by slang and had shown us the Appendix to Clockwork.

“There’s a Barnes & Noble close by; I could show you. They always have copies there,” I said. “When I visited my cousin in Birmingham, she was assigned it and I went with her to pick it up.” I’d said the last, looking at Susan.

She looked directly at me. “I didn’t know you guys got back to Birmingham. How’s the family?”

I had no family in Birmingham. “They’re all fine. The twins are growing like weeds. I’m surprised Mom didn’t show you the pictures.” She’d gotten the message.

There was this general hubbub paying the check—Tom handled it smoothly—and getting up, and I took the opportunity to go more overt. “Tom, could I drag Brad to Barnes & Noble to show him something?”

Tom’s face was a funny mix of relief and desire. “Sure. Um, you want to meet up later?”

“Uh, yeah, because she’s my ride home,” I joked, pointing at Susan.

He grinned. “I meant, set a rendezvous time and place?”

“How about back to the front of the theatre at, what, eleven? Eleven thirty?” Susan said, looking at me.

“I think Aunt Connie would want it earlier, darn it,” I pretended to be miffed.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Susan acted along. “So eleven it is by the kiosk with all the posters.”

We all waved at each other and Brad and I headed to Barnes & Noble. I found the book (Classics, B, duh!) and showed him the Appendix with the made-up words and explanations. He read it and nodded and looked at me and roundly sounded out the word, ‘Devotchka’.

“Not weepy, though,” I remembered from the movie. “So what do you want to do?”

“You wanted to get them alone together, right? That’s why the trek for the book?”

“Absolutely right. Was I that transparent?”

“No, but if you hadn’t come up with it, I might have had to fake something. It wouldn’t be as easy for me to whisk you away under false pretences.”

“Do you wish to whisk me away?” Oops! Too forward?

He stammered a bit. “Well, no, it’s not that …I mean, yeah, but …you know …to get Tom and Susan some Tom and Susan time.”

“Does Tom really like her?”

He grinned. “I’m not supposed to divulge personal information!”

“Aw, come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Before he could make any sexual reference, I said, “Susan’s had a crush on Tom since high school.”

He nodded. “And I’ll show you mine. Tom’s the same way. He’s got a snapshot somebody took in high school—not even digital—of her in the sun. Kept it by his bed or on his dresser all the time since then. I mean, even when he was going with Cindy, or the others.”

“Cindy?”

“His longest and hottest. A hot, hot blaze turned into smoke and ash.”

“Hey! Joni Mitchell!” I gasped.

He grinned. “Love her. Don’t tell my buds. But Cindy never knew that every night he came home and there was Susan on his dresser, smiling in the sun.”

“Wow! That’s romantic!” I said. “And a bit scary. I hope they don’t have too much pressure on this. If it’s not perfect …I don’t know what they’ll do.”

“They’ll either be the Romance of the Century, or they’ll get each other out of their systems and finally move on. Want something?” He pointed to the in-store Starbucks.

“Short latte, maybe,” I said. “Thanks.”

He bought the drinks and we found an overstuffed sofa that a couple had just left. I was a little worried about it being too cozy.

Once we’d sat and sipped, Brad said, “So how is it that you don’t have a boyfriend? Or do you, and you’re only here as a pity date?”

“You mean, babysitting the little brother?” I chuckled and he nodded. “Actually, when Susan first asked me, that’s what it sounded like. I thought you’d be six.”

“Add ten.”

“Yeah. But, no, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He looked at me for a moment. “Not yet, but soon.”

“What?”

“Your face did a little …thing when you said that. It’s my guess that you have a guy you like but nothing’s happened yet.”

“You’re pretty sharp. Yeah, there’s a guy in one of my classes.”

“Summer school?”

“No, it’s a dance class. For non-dancers, really. They try to cram everything into us, Ballroom, Modern, a little ballet, hopefully some hip-hop.”

He studied his hands. “You know, there’s a chance …forget it.”

“No, go ahead; what were you going to say?”

“There’s a chance he’s gay. If he’s in a dance class, I mean.”

I got a little mad. “Falling into the gay stereotype trap, aren’t you? Just because he dances, he must be gay? Well, this guy is definitely not gay.” I came down off my high horse and sighed. “I think my partner is, though.”

“I’m confused. I thought the guy you were talking about was your partner.”

I chuckled. “No, the guy I’m talking about is taller, so he’s matched up for Ballroom with a tall girl. My partner is my height and I think he’s gay.”

“Has he said anything?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know? He must be gay because he dances?” He grinned and nudged me slightly.

“Touché. You got me,” I admitted sheepishly. “It’s just because …well, when we did Modern, he was beyond good. He was amazing. He was liquid. And Ballroom, with me? A doofus. Nice guy, though.”

“There are straight dancers, you know,” he said.

“Yeah. My friend thinks he’s cute but she’s already dismissed any chance because she’s sure he’s gay.”

“She could be wrong.”

“Yeah.” I thought ‘not likely’ but let it go. “So what about you? A girlfriend lurking in the wings?”

He shook his head. “Not even center stage. No boyfriend, either.”

“Right,” I chuckled. Then it hit me. “What?”

He nodded and sipped, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Um …Brad …at the risk of offending you …” I didn’t know what I was going to say.

He did. “Yep. I’m gay.”

I was shocked. “Um …” I blushed. “It’s not …” I blew air out.

“Yeah,” he laughed, and blew air out the same way.

We both laughed together, and things that had seemed off during the night all slid into place. “Does Tom know?”

“He does, and he’s okay with gays in general but it’s still hard to deal with when it’s your little brother. Our folks don’t know and we’ve been talking—Tom and I—about when and how to tell them.”

“This is a naïve question, but …are you sure?”

“Not so naïve, really, because teenage years are experimental years. But I’ve known it since I was five or six.”

Wow, I thought, just like me. “Wow,” was all I said.

He nodded. “Wow, indeed. So you were safer than you thought, coming on this date.”

“Well, it’s not really a date, just a …a matchmaking opportunity.”

“Still, it’s been a very nice surprise. For me, I mean. You’re smart, and funny, and very hip, and very, very pretty …but you know all that.”

“Not really,” I blushed. “It’s nice to hear, though.”

“So why isn’t the dance guy—the straight one—already attached to you?”

“I just met him, at two classes. I should explain something that’ll …explain some things.” As much as I thought it would be intellectually interesting to confess my real-life situation to Brad, I knew it was too dangerously complicated so I went with the modified version of My Life.

“Brad, I live with my mother, and she’s very …conservative. So conservative that people thought I was Amish or something—no, really,” I said to the look on her face. “Several times people even said it. It wasn’t a religious thing, it’s …” I shrugged. “Just a very uptight Yankee blueblood. Imagine Katherine Hepburn.”

He nodded.

“Now, imagine that the Katherine Hepburn you’re thinking of, is the wild party girl compared to the Katherine Hepburn my mother was like.”

“Wow,” he said, startled. “Hair shirts and stuff?”

“Not crazy stuff like the mom in Carrie, although kids said that to me. I never had any friends. I wore long black or dark blue woolen jumpers …”

“Oh, God! White blouses, Peter Pan collars, knee socks and sensible shoes?”

I nodded. “Right on the money. Occasionally I’d get kinky and wear a light blue blouse!” I joked. “But, yeah.”

“So, you said your mother ‘was’ like Katherine Hepburn. Is she …”

“Oh, no! She’s not dead.” I chuckled. “In fact, she’s alive, maybe for the first time!”

I told him about Connie taking control of us, using the Aunt/Cousin cover story. He was nodding.

“It all makes sense. So the dance guy will be your first boyfriend ever.”

“Yep.”

There was an awkward silence. Then he chuckled. “He’s a lucky guy. No, I mean it; I appreciate what a special girl you are, Jessica, probably more than a straight guy would. It’s like in When Harry Met Sally, you know? No? Oh, right; the Amish thing. Well, definitely see it. But the guy, Harry, says something like, ‘No straight guy can ever be real friends with a girl, because always in the back of his mind he’s always going to be thinking about nailing her,’ or words to that effect. Sorry if it offends you.”

“It doesn’t, but I know what he meant. So you and I can relax because there’s no ghost of a chance of anything between us.”

“Other than being friends, no. And I hope that we can be friends. And especially if those two do become the Romance of the Century, we’ll be in the wedding party together!”

Oddly enough, I felt much closer to him as we walked back to the movie poster kiosk to meet Tom and Susan. We saw them walking towards us, and things appeared to have gone very well, indeed—they were holding hands and Susan’s free hand was around Tom’s arm.

There was a bit of awkwardness of the ‘So …’ variety—everybody looked at everybody else and said, ‘So …’ until we laughed and then Susan turned and hugged Tom and nodded to me. I gave Brad a quick hug and it felt friendlier than it would have been if we hadn’t cleared the air about him being gay. We waved as we walked to the car. Once inside, she turned to me.

“You didn’t answer my call …was everything okay?”

“Call? I don’t know about …” I fished in my purse and pulled out my new cell phone. It was off; I booted it up and it showed two calls, one from Susan—no message—and one from Sandy with a voicemail. “Sorry,” I reddened. “It’s new technology to me. I thought I was turning the ringer down for the movie.”

“That’s thoughtful,” Susan said. “Let me see it.”

She showed me how to quickly put the phone on vibrate or silent mode, and how to retrieve the voicemail. I listened to Sandy ask if I wanted to try the ball game tomorrow as well as the mall in the evening, and that she was up until midnight tonight and for me to call back. I closed the phone.

“Sorry,” I said again. “So how was it with Tom?”

She gushed, “It was great, it was fantastic, and we’re seeing each other tomorrow night—no tag-alongs, no offense.”

I grinned. “None taken. Well, that’s what tonight was designed to find out, right? So it was a success.”

“Absolutely. But what about you? Success?”

“Well, we got along and could be friends but nothing romantic,” I hedged.

“Did he …did he tell you anything about himself?”

I put two and two together. I spun in my seat and pointed at her. “You knew?”

She raised her hand off the wheel as if taking an oath. “I swear to God, Jess, I had no idea. I’d just heard that the family was concerned about him running with the wrong kind of kids. Tom told me the truth tonight. That’s why I called you; I freaked a little.”

“So you didn’t know he was gay?”

“No, absolutely not! God, Jess, I’m so sorry …”

“Don’t be,” I smiled. “Actually, it worked out better that way—there wasn’t any romantic pressure, and so I got to experience the date without it having to mean anything. And wasn’t that why you said I should go on the date in the first place?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t know he was gay but I did know he was good-looking and smart in school. So I thought, who knows? Maybe something will develop.”

“The thing I don’t get is how he could be such a nice guy and run with a bad crowd.”

“Tom told me about that, after he told me Brad was gay,” she said, a little sheepishly. “It’s not that they’re druggies or criminals or anything like that—they’re gay, too. And Brad’s father—Tom says his dad is stuck somewhere in the Eisenhower years—their dad thinks that if Brad hangs out with obviously gay guys he’ll either get a reputation for being gay or—horror of horrors—be turned gay by contact with them.”

“That’s crazy! You can’t be ‘turned gay’ anymore than …oh,” I stopped myself. “Eisenhower years; I get it.”

Susan nodded but looked a bit sad. “Two of his friends are really flamboyant; they wear makeup and nail polish and are more like drag queens in training. Those are the ones that the father doesn’t want Brad around.”

“Well, he can rest easy. His son is already gay, so he can’t ‘catch it’,” I said with a little disgust at the father’s ignorance, “and yet there’s nothing that Brad says or does that lets on that he’s gay.”

“Tom says it took him awhile to deal with it but he supports Brad entirely. That’s why he told me as soon as we were alone—and thank you, thank you, thank you for Birmingham!—and I called you right away. Which …you never got, but you found out and it was great how you handled that hurdle.”

There was a hurdle yet ahead of us. We got home giggling over some little thing and there was a flash! and Connie said, “Have a good time? How was the moo—“ She broke off, staring at me.

I was wearing the spike heels, tight low-cut jeans, and silver top—with artificial cleavage—that she hadn’t seen. Connie frowned and looked at her camera display and raised her eyebrows.

“Well …was the evening successful?” The word was pregnant with meaning.

I stood there in shock, as Susan waved a hand. “Relax, Mom, Brad’s gay.”

“I don’t think she should be dressing like—“ She started. “Brad’s gay? The younger brother?”

Susan shot me a glance. “Mom, please do not get on Jessica’s case about any of this; it’s all my own doing. First, I set up the date so I could be with Tom. Second, I took Jess shopping and I selected and bought these things for her.”

“They’re a little …” Connie began.

“They’re a little flashy and sexier than any fourteen-year-old on her first date, yeah, I know. But I wanted her to get her first date jitters out of the way. She would never wear this on a date with a fourteen-year-old boy, especially one that she wants to start a relationship with. But a one-time double with a sixteen-year-old gay guy? I wanted her to have a safe way to feel feminine and a little bit sexy. So it’s all my doing; please don’t blame her.”

“I …” was all I could get out.

Connie smiled. “I’ve got to say, Jessica, you look like a very feminine and very sexy sixteen-year-old yourself! You really look good; it’s just that …I was a little surprised. Speaking of surprises, I wanted to get candid shots of you for your mom; remember, you said you wanted to email pictures to her?” Connie grinned, looked at the camera display again, and then waved the camera in the air. “And I got a doozie!”

End of Part 7

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