have to be so picky? “You think it would be better that way?”
Cathy nodded. Terry thought about it for some time. For a while Cathy remained silent before she asked Terry a question.
“Do you think I’m fat?” Cathy looked over her body.
“No,” Terry was getting very annoyed. “Why do girls always think that they’re fat?”
Cathy was silent. She was about to ask Terry if some other girl had asked him the question.
“Do you think I’m a slut?”
“What?” Terry thoughtlessly combed Cathy’s hair with his fingers. He was thinking about his story. Cathy repeated her question.
“I hate that word-slut,” he responded.
“Ya, but boys use it, don’t they?”
“Well, I don’t,” Terry said. “And if I did, I wouldn’t say it about you.”
“I don’t know.” Cathy sighed, retrieving her cigarette from Terry.
“Sometimes I think I’m some kind of freak.”
“Everybody feels that way. Only the real freaks think they’re normal.” Cathy was quiet for a moment before she sat up and butted her cigarette out in the nearby ashtray.
“Do you think it’s natural to like sex so much?” she said, rolling over and kissing Terry on the stomach, then adding, “for a girl, I mean.” Terry laughed. “How would I know?” He placed the sheets of paper on the nearby table. His erect penis slipped from the sheet into the open air.
“Don’t your friends talk about girls?” Cathy asked, looking indifferently now at his penis.
“Sure, but what do they know? Anyway, you can’t believe anything those idiots say. Wiggy complains that when he gets an erection it doesn’t go away for hours. He skipped school one day because he couldn’t get the thing to lay down flat.”
“You’re kidding,” Cathy said with a giggle, her fingers playing with Terry’s pubic hairs.
“Hard in his hands for hours,” Terry responded, rubbing the palm of his hand over one of Cathy’s nipples. “The guy is full of shit. Him and Frank are still virgins, but they won’t admit it. Well, Wiggy won’t admit it. Do you think your mom likes being with your dad?” Cathy screwed up her face. “I don’t even like to think about it. Besides, they’re always yelling at each other. I wouldn’t blame my dad if he was screwing around on my mom. She is such a bitch! How about your mom? She always seems to have a new boyfriend.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Terry said. “Maybe I should just make the guy a dark figure, dressed in black. Ya, that might work better. More believable.”
Cathy was silent for several moments. Terry looked down at her.
“Now what?”
“I have a history assignment this Friday. Where am I going to find information about the War of 1812?”
“Jesus!” Terry laughed, slapping his forehead.
Cathy giggled and reached for Terry’s penis.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Terry grinned.
Cathy giggled. “My little soldier is at attention. Let me give him a kiss.”
Terry grabbed her wrist and listened.
“What?”
“Shit! It’s my mother.”
The two lovers scrambled to their feet and started pulling on their clothes.
“I thought you said she wouldn’t be back for hours,” Cathy cried, throwing her bra and panties into her purse as she pulled on a sweater and jeans.
Precautions
“What were you two doing up in your room?” Mary asked, hands on her hips, standing in the frame of the kitchen door.
“Nothing,” Terry said, standing by the counter and making himself a peanut butter sandwich. He poured himself a glass of milk. The tap dripped. A centipede scurried unnoticed up the side of the sink and slid behind the refrigerator. Terry hated skim milk but there was nothing else to drink.
“Your girlfriend sure took off in a hurry.”
“She has a history assignment.” Terry made a face. “This stuff tastes like mucus.”
“Don’t get that little slut pregnant. Her parents may be as rich as skunks but you know who’ll get left holding the bag. I’m not up to raising another rug rat.”
“She’s not a slut,” Terry barked. He grabbed his sandwich and milk and slumped down in a chair by the table.
Mary stepped over to the refrigerator.
“It’s not easy raising a teenage boy by yourself,” she said, opening the refrigerator door. “God, at least you’re not a girl. But please, Terry, for my sake, keep it in your pants.”
“How can you talk like that to your son?”
Mary smirked. “Give me a break, Terry. I was a kid myself.” 16
“She ain’t a slut,” Terry muttered. His sandwich stuck to the roof of his mouth. He took a swallow of milk. “Why do you have to use words like that?”
“I can’t believe her parents bought her a car,” Mary continued, glancing back over her shoulder. “Who has that kind of money? It’s a bed on wheels. What can they be thinking? No daughter of mine would have her own car, at least not until she’d graduated from high school. You be careful with that girl. I don’t want you catching anything.” Mary grabbed the sliced ham, lettuce, and mayonnaise and placed them on the counter. “Shit!” she cried, opening the breadbox. “You ate the last two slices of bread.”
Terry bowed his head and muttered, “What am I supposed to do, starve?”
“I guess I can use these hot dog buns. They’ll get a big laugh at the office. I can hear the wiener jokes now.” She made her sandwich, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and placed it in a paper lunch bag with an apple. “I may be home late tomorrow night, Terrence. I don’t want to come home and find that girl in my bed again. God, I’ll have to change the sheets.
You could at least use your own room. I hope that you’re using precautions.”
“I thought you were going to come and watch me play soccer.” Terry looked up at his mother.
“Oh shit! Is that tomorrow night? I’m sorry. But we really need the extra money. There’s Kraft dinner in the cupboards. And hot dogs. This is the last bun. Improvise.”
“Are you going to the Zig Zag again?”
“I might.”
Terry finished eating his sandwich. “Why do you have to hang out there?”
“Are you afraid that I’ll catch you and your friends drinking there-and don’t tell me that’s never happened. I’ve talked to Jack and told him that you fellas are underage. He’s seen your photograph. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with the Zig Zag except maybe the name.
It’s a quite respectable place. And I need to unwind. You’re not much company. You need a haircut.”
“There was a call from the dentist. You’ve got an appointment next Tuesday at seven.”
“Shit! I’ll have to cancel. If Brennan weren’t such a cheap prick we’d have a dental plan. When was the last time you saw the dentist?”
“I’ll need some money,” Terry responded. “There’s a class trip to the art gallery next week.”
“Art gallery! What the hell does art have to do with education?” A Strange Hobby
“And you call that a hobby?” Mary laughed. She put her gin down on the bar and reached for a cigarette. The tall dark gentleman beside her smiled with his gallows face, and flicked out a lighter to light the cigarette waiting in her lips. She sucked the flame into her long white cigarette. He slipped his lighter back into his pocket like a gunslinger, adjusted his bow tie, and gestured to the bartender for another round. Mary liked the way he looked. A man dressed in black had always appealed to her. And he was tall. God, he must be seven feet. Mary glanced at his hands and smiled. His name was Hank. Why doesn’t he use Henry?
Hank turned and smiled at her. “Detroit won the Stanley Cup in 1950 against the Rangers who had to play all their home games at Maple Leaf Gardens. The circus had taken over Madison Square Garden in New York. Imagine not being able to play your home games at home.”
“I don’t know much about sports, Hank,” Mary confessed, smoke curling seductively out of her lips.
