‘Even though we’re together every day …’
‘We’re never really together,’ she said.
‘It’s like we have fifty chaperones.’
‘Hostile chaperones,’ Eleanor whispered.
‘Yeah,’ Park said.
He put his pen in his pocket, then took her hand and held it to his chest for a minute.
It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.
‘A date,’ he said.
‘Practically.’
CHAPTER 19
Eleanor
When she woke up that morning, she felt like it was her birthday – like she used to feel on her birthday, back when there was a shot in hell of ice cream.
Maybe her dad would have ice cream … If he did, he’d probably throw it away before Eleanor got there. He was always dropping hints about her weight. Well, he used to, anyway. Maybe when he stopped caring about her altogether, he’d stopped caring about that, too.
Eleanor put on an old striped men’s shirt and had her mom tie one of her ties – like knot it, for real – around her neck.
Her mom actually kissed Eleanor goodbye at the door and told her to have fun, and to call the neighbors if things got weird with her dad.
Right, Eleanor thought, I’ll be sure to call you if Dad’s fiancée calls me a bitch and then makes me use a bathroom without a door. Oh wait …
She was a little nervous. It had been a year, at least, since she’d seen her dad, and a while before that. He hadn’t called at all when she lived with the Hickmans. Maybe he didn’t know she was there. She never told him.
When Richie first started coming around, Ben used to get really angry and say he was going to move in with their dad – which was an empty effing promise, and everyone knew it. Even Mouse, who was just a toddler.
Their dad couldn’t stand having them even for a few days. He used to pick them up from their mom’s house, then drop them off at his mom’s house while he went off and did whatever it was that he did on the weekend. (Presumably, lots and lots of marijuana.)
Park cracked up when he saw Eleanor’s tie.
That was even better than making him smile.
‘I didn’t know we were getting dressed up,’
he said when she sat down next to him.
‘I’m expecting you to take me someplace nice,’ she said softly.
‘I will …’ he said. He took the tie in both hands and straightened it. ‘Someday.’
He was a lot more likely to say stuff like that on the way to school than he was on the way home. Sometimes she wondered if he was fully awake.
He turned practically sideways in his seat.
‘So you’re leaving right after school?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you’ll call me as soon as you get there
…’
‘No, I’ll call you as soon as the kid settles down. I really do have to babysit.’
‘I’m going to ask you a lot of personal questions,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘I have a list.’
‘I’m not afraid of your list.’
‘It’s extremely long,’ he said, ‘and extremely personal.’
‘I hope you’re not expecting answers …’
He sat back in the seat and looked over at her.
‘I wish you’d go away,’ he whispered, ‘so that we could finally talk.’
Eleanor stood on the front steps after school.
She’d hoped to catch Park before he got on the bus, but she must have missed him.
She wasn’t sure what kind of car to watch for; her dad was always buying classic cars, then selling them when money got tight.
She was starting to worry that he wasn’t coming at all – he could’ve gone to the wrong high school or changed his mind – when he honked for her.
He pulled up in an old Karmann Ghia convertible. It looked like the car James Dean died in. Her dad’s arm was hanging over the door, holding a cigarette. ‘Eleanor!’ he shouted.
She walked to the car and got in. There weren’t any seat belts.
‘Is that all you brought?’ he asked, looking at her school bag.
‘It’s just one night.’ She shrugged.
‘All right,’ he said, backing out of the parking space too fast. She’d forgotten what a crappy driver he was. He did everything too fast and one-handed.
Eleanor braced herself on the dashboard. It was cold out, and once they were driving, it got colder. ‘Can we put the top up?’ she shouted.
‘Haven’t fixed it yet,’ her dad said, and laughed.
He still lived in the same duplex he’d lived in since her parents split up. It was solid and brick, and about a ten-minute drive from Eleanor’s school.
When they got inside, he took a better look at her.
‘Is that what all the cool kids are wearing these days?’ he asked. She looked down at her giant white shirt, her fat paisley tie and her half-dead purple corduroys.
‘Yup,’ she said flatly. ‘This is pretty much our uniform.’
Her dad’s girlfriend – fiancée – Donna, didn’t get off work until five, and after that she had to pick her kid up from daycare. In the meantime, Eleanor and her dad sat on the couch and watched ESPN.
He smoked cigarette after cigarette, and sipped Scotch out of a short glass. Every once in a while the phone would ring, and he’d have a long, laughy conversation with somebody about a car or a deal or a bet. You’d think that every single person who called was his best friend in the whole world. Her dad had baby blond hair and a round, boyish face. When he smiled, which was constantly, his whole face lit up like a bill-board. If Eleanor paid too much attention, she hated him.
His duplex had changed since the last time she’d been here, and it was more than just the box of Fisher Price toys in the living room and the makeup in the bathroom.
When they’d first started visiting him here –
after the divorce, but before Richie – their dad’s duplex had been a bare-bones bachelor pad. He didn’t even have enough bowls for them all to have soup. He’d served Eleanor clam chowder once in a highball glass. And he only had two towels. ‘One wet,’ he’d said, ‘one dry.’
Now Eleanor fixated on all the small luxuries strewn and tucked around the house. Packs of cigarettes, newspapers, magazines … Brand-name cereal and quilted toilet paper. His refrigerator was full of things you tossed into the cart without thinking about it just because they sounded good.
Custard-style yogurt. Grapefruit juice. Little round cheeses individually wrapped in red wax.
She couldn’t wait for her dad to leave so that she could start eating everything. There were stacks of Coca-Cola cans in the pantry. She was going to drink Coke like water all night, she might even wash her face with it. And she was going to order a pizza. Unless the pizza came out of her babysitting money. (That would be just like her dad. He’d take you to the cleaners with fine print.) Eleanor didn’t care if eating all his food pissed him off or if it freaked out Donna.
She might never see either of them again anyway.
Now she wished she had brought an overnight bag. She could have snuck home cans of Chef Boyardee and Campbell’s chicken noodle soup for the little kids. She would have felt like Santa Claus when she came home …
She didn’t want to think about the little kids right now. Or Christmas.
She tried to turn the station to MTV, but her dad frowned at her. He was on the phone again.
‘Can I listen to records?’ she whispered.
He nodded.
She had an old mix tape in her pocket, and she was going to dub over it to make a tape for Park. But there was a whole packet of empty Maxell tapes sitting on her dad’s stereo. Eleanor held a cassette up to her dad, and he nodded, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray shaped like a na**d African woman.
Eleanor sat down in front of the crates full of record albums.
These used to be both of her parents’ records, not just his. Her mom must not have wanted any of them. Or maybe her dad just took them without asking.
Her mom had loved this Bonnie Raitt album.
Eleanor wondered if her dad ever listened to it.
She felt seven years old, flipping through their records.
Before she was allowed to take the albums out of their sleeves, Eleanor used to lay them out on the floor and stare at the artwork. When she was old enough, her dad taught her how to dust the records with a wood-handled velvet brush.
She could remember her mother lighting in-cense and putting on her favorite records – Judee Sill and Judy Collins and Crosby, Stills and Nash
– while she cleaned the house.
She could remember her dad putting on records – Jimi Hendrix and Deep Purple and Jethro Tull – when his friends came over and stayed late into the night.
Eleanor could remember lying on her stomach on an old Persian rug, drinking grape juice out of a jelly jar, being extra quiet because her baby brother was asleep in the next room – and studying each record, one by one. Turning their names over and over in her mouth. Cream.
Vanilla Fudge. Canned Heat.
The records smelled exactly like they always had. Like her dad’s bedroom. Like Richie’s coat.
Like pot, Eleanor realized. Duh. She flipped through the records more matter-of-factly now, on a mission. Looking for Rubber Soul and Revolver.
Sometimes it seemed as if she would never be able to give Park anything like what he’d given her. It was like he dumped all this treasure on her every morning without even thinking about it, without any sense of what it was worth.
She couldn’t repay him. She couldn’t even appropriately thank him. How can you thank someone for The Cure? Or the X-Men? Sometimes it felt like she’d always be in his debt.
And then she realized that Park didn’t know about the Beatles.
Park
Park went to the playground to play basketball after school. Just to kill time. But he couldn’t focus on the game – he kept looking up at the back of Eleanor’s house.
When he got home, he called out to his mom.
‘Mom! I’m home!’
‘Park,’ she called. ‘Out here! In the garage.’
He grabbed a cherry Popsicle out of the freezer and headed out there. He could smell the permanent-wave solution as soon as he opened the door.
Park’s dad had converted their garage into a salon when Josh started kindergarten and their mom went to beauty school. She even had a little sign hanging by the side door. ‘Mindy’s Hair & Nails.’
‘Min-Dae,’ it said on her driver’s license.
Everyone in the neighborhood who could af-ford a hair stylist came to Park’s mom. On homecoming and prom weekends, she’d spend all day in the garage. Both Park and Josh were recruited from time to time to hold hot curling irons.
Today, his mom had Tina sitting in her chair.
Tina’s hair was wound tight in rollers, and Park’s mom was squeezing something onto them with a plastic bottle. The smell burned his eyes.
‘Hey, Mom,’ he said. ‘Hey, Tina.’
‘Hey, honey,’ his mom said. She pronounced it with two ‘n’s.
Tina smiled broadly at him. ‘Close eyes, Ti-na,’ his mom said. ‘Stay close.’
‘Hey, Mrs Sheridan,’ Tina said, holding a white washcloth over her eyes, ‘have you met Park’s girlfriend yet?’
His mom didn’t look up from Tina’s head.
‘Nooo,’ she said, clucking her tongue. ‘No girlfriend. Not Park.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Tina said. ‘Tell her, Park – her name is Eleanor, and she’s new this year. We can’t keep them apart on the bus.’
Park stared at Tina. Shocked that she’d sell him out like this. Startled by her rosy take on bus life. Surprised that she was even paying attention to him, and to Eleanor. His mom looked over at Park, but not for long; Tina’s hair was at a critic-all stage.
‘I don’t know about any girlfriend,’ his mom said.
‘I’ll bet you’ve seen her in the neighborhood,’ Tina said, assuring. ‘She has really pretty, red hair. Naturally curly.’
‘Is that right?’ his mom said.
‘No,’ Park said, anger and everything else curdling in his stomach.
‘You’re such a guy, Park,’ Tina said from behind the washcloth. ‘I’m sure it’s natural.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘she’s not my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend,’ he said to his mom.
‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘Too much girl talk for you. Too much girl talk, Ti-na. You go check on dinner now,’ she said to Park.
He backed out of the garage, still wanting to argue, feeling more denial twitching in his throat.
He slammed the door, then went into the kitchen and slammed as much as he could in there. The oven. The cabinets. The trash.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ his dad said, walking into the kitchen.
Park froze. He could not get into trouble tonight.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’
‘Jesus, Park, take it out on the bag …’ There was an old-school punching bag in the garage, hanging way out of Park’s reach.
‘Mindy!’ his dad shouted.
‘Out here!’
Eleanor didn’t call during dinner, which was good. That got on his dad’s nerves.
But she didn’t call after dinner either. Park walked around the house, picking things up randomly, then setting them down. Even though it didn’t make sense, he worried that Eleanor wasn’t calling because he’d betrayed her. That she knew somehow, that she’d sensed a disturb-ance in the Force.