Are You Going to Kiss Me Now? (10 page)

“It’s super queer that you’re texting messages to somebody who isn’t getting them. You know that, right?” Milan asked.

“I’m not actually in need of your approval, but I appreciate your thoughts on the subject.”

“I’m just saying.”

“What
are
you writing?” Chaz asked me.

“None of your business.”

“It better not be about me,” Milan added.

“Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t. I’m just saying.”

“I’m parched,” Eve whined. “I’m so tired. I need a pillow.”

“Here, use this,” Chaz said, pulling a wig off his head and throwing it at Eve, who swatted the wiglet away like a flying cockroach.

“Oh my God, you’re bald!” she cried.

“Oh my Gaaaawd,” Chaz responded mockingly, rubbing the perfectly shiny dome where his “hair” had been.

Milan was beaming.

“Ahhhh,” Chaz moaned, massaging his head. “That is soooo much better!”

“How did it stay on in the water?” I asked incredulously.

“God, you ask the dumbest questions, Francesca.”

“You look way better without that thing,” Milan said without a beat. Chaz smiled. I could tell these two were destined to be great friends. Oddly, Chaz did look better without the piece. His face suddenly looked witty and distinguished rather than fat and dope-ish.

“I am
never
going to fall asleep,” Milan complained, staring transfixed at Chaz’s head while simultaneously fingering her empty prescription bottle. Jonah was on fire patrol, and the rest of us were preparing to bed down on the beach.

“I mean,” Milan continued, glaring at Eve, “there’s seriously like no way I’ll ever fall asleep.” She slapped around spastically at a mosquito.

“For the thousandth time, there were no pills in there,” Eve groaned.

“Um, yeah, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I won’t be able to sleep either,” I said, trying to empathize.

“I wasn’t talking to you either.”

I guess she was still mad about the underwear comment.

She reached out absently to stroke Chaz’s head. He leaned in like a loyal cat.

“What were they anyway?” Cisco asked.

“What?”

“The pills?”

“Klonopin,” she twitched. “And metabolism pills.”

“Drugs are bad news,” Cisco announced, “I don’t do drugs.”

“Um, they weren’t
drugs
. My doctor gave them to me.”

I noticed Joe stiffen, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m a weed man,” Cisco clarified, contradicting his earlier statement that he didn’t do drugs. “It’s the natural way to fly.”

“Pot’s great too,” Milan nodded at Cisco pleasantly. “I just don’t like trashing my lungs.”

“But don’t you smoke like five packs of cigarettes a day?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, popping a soggy Froot Loop in her mouth before offering them exclusively to Chaz. “That’s why I need to be extra careful.”

“Klonopin is for anxiety,” Jonah said, looking at the Loops. “They’re not even sleeping pills.”

“What do you know about it, Floaty Toes? Isn’t your body a holy vessel?”

Jonah laughed. “I was addicted to Xanax. Benzos are killers.”

“You were addicted to drugs?” Chaz asked. His head was now in Milan’s lap, which she was rubbing like a crystal ball. She was looking at Jonah with a newfound respect.

“Yeah. But I’d appreciate not reading about it on your blog,” he said to Chaz.

“My readers don’t care about you.”

“Well, let’s keep it that way.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Chaz sneered, licking the sugar powder off the inside of the Froot Loop bag.

“What’s a benzo?” Eve asked

“Benzodiazepines,” Jonah answered, looking pleased that the conversation hadn’t been abandoned. “It’s a class of drugs. Central nervous system depressants.” The crackling fire spotlighted his face. His blond hair and pale skin made him look like a tall, white Crayola crayon. The effect was a little spooky.

“I never knew you were a drug addict,” I said, stupidly revealing both my interest and my familiarity with tabloid journalism.

“I didn’t either,” Eve added, tucking her knees under her T-shirt. With a little push, I thought to myself, she’d roll down the beach like a ball.

“It was all before I got famous, so nobody knows.”

“Not to be rude, but maybe you’re just not famous enough for anyone to bother digging up your past or writing a book about you,” Milan suggested with a smile. Chaz nodded in agreement.

“I thought your mother wrote that book about you?” Eve asked Milan.

“For someone who doesn’t own a television, you really do know a lot about me,” Milan quipped, rolling her eyes. “Are you a lesbian? Are you, like, in love with me or something?”

“Oh yes, my Sapphic sister. I’m in love with you,” Eve said.

“I thought so,” Milan said dryly.

“Really, though,” Eve scowled, “I’d go ballistic if my parents betrayed me like that. Not that they would dare. I’d have them skinned and turned into boots first.”

“Classy,” Chaz said with a look of disgust.

“You don’t know anything about it,” Milan snapped. “And why would anybody want to read, let alone write, a book about
you
, anyway?”

“You may have a point, Milan. Professionalism and talent aren’t salacious.”

Milan looked thrown. “Do you ever just speak English?”

“Um, like totally, yeah,” Eve said, slipping into a Valley girl twang. The impression was awkward and a little cringe-y. Chaz made a face. Milan tucked her head into her big shirt (which Chaz had given her after she offered up her own for the torch) and laughed so hard her whole body was shaking.

“Anyway,” Eve said, trying to ignore them and turning to Jonah like a schoolmarm, “you were addicted to psychotropic drugs?”

Jonah nodded. “I don’t talk about it to the press because it feels exploitative.”

Joe let out a loud snicker.

“Yo
u mean you were a little junkie until your mother convinced you that being religious was a more effective way to jump-start your career,” Joe suddenly said. It was the first time he’d said anything since we left the landing site. “Using Christianity isn’t exploitative as long as you lie about your unsavory past? Is that right?”

“I suppose if you didn’t understand you could look at it that way.”

“Didn’t understand what, Jonah?”

“What it was like growing up your bastard son and watching Mom drink herself into oblivion every night to numb the pain of your abandoning us.”

I dug my fingers into the sand and prepared myself for another speech from Joe. And boy, did we get one.

“I hate to be the one to burst your cloud of delusion, Jonah,” Joe snarled, squashing an enormous mosquito on his forehead, “but Beverly was a drunk the day I met her. The only reason she’s sober now is because I refused to give her a dime of child support unless she cleaned up her act.” He smeared the bug off his forehead, leaving a rather tribal-looking trail of red blood in its wake.

“And the real reason
she
became a Christian,” Joe continued, “is because she saw it as the most vicious way she could think of to drive a wedge between us. And, of course,” he added, holding up his finger, “being the perennial stage mother, she saw an opportunity in the born-again business. She’s nothing if not a star fucker.” Joe laughed to himself. “And all the better if she could prostitute her son out rather than herself! It’s time to grow up, Jonah.”

“How dare you talk about her like that,” Jonah seethed. “She’s been there for me, which is more than I can say for you!”

“You know damn well I’ve tried to have a relationship with you, despite all of my lawyers, managers, agents, and therapists telling me to just let it go. You’re the one who rejected me over and over again, Jonah. It’s a real sad story the two of you have concocted, but if you’re going to talk about our family to the press, you should at least get the facts straight.”

“Oh, so now we’re a family? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? I think maybe it’s you who doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Jonah. All your mother wanted from me was my checkbook. I don’t want to offend your virgin sensibilities, but did Bev ever mention that she’d also slept with Mick Jagger and Bill Irwin? My only distinction was that I got her pregnant. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you were catching a draft in the two-million-dollar house I bought for the two of you to drown your sorrows in after she told me she was pregnant.”

“You’re blaming me?” Jonah laughed. “I was a fetus.”

“I don’t blame you, but I take offense at being painted as this monster. Two short weeks your mother and I were together,” Joe continued. “Two weeks. I’ve paid my dues, Jonah. I tried to be there for you, but you were too busy getting high to notice. Who do you think paid for the thirty-thousand-dollar-a-week rehab facilities you were in and out of four times from the age of thirteen to fifteen? God?” he asked. “Really, Jonah, I’m glad you finally made it to step twelve, but couldn’t you have found Jesus at step two or three?”

“This actually is kind of blogworthy,” Chaz whispered to Milan. She nodded, half-smiling. I was frozen. I couldn’t believe Joe and Jonah spoke to each other with such hatred.

Joe paused and then continued berating his son.

“And when your wise old mother did convince you that your singing career wasn’t gonna happen until you found a niche market, isn’t that when you
really
saw the light, Jonah? Hallelujah!” Joe raised his hands in mock enlightenment.

“Praise the Lord!” Chaz chirped, applauding as he absorbed the show. Everybody ignored him.

“And the irony,” Joe continued, getting into Jonah’s face, “is how quickly Beverly herself found Jesus when that first check came in. Little Beverly Frumovitz, a born-again! What a joke! That’s all very religious, Jonah, but why don’t you just can it? Nobody’s shopping for your brand of bullshit here. We’ve got enough problems.”

I was definitely texting Jordan on this one. Somebody had to record this conversation, right? Joe was shaking, he was so angry.

“Anyway, Milan,” Jonah said calmly, looking at my phone suspiciously and picking up where he left off, “benzos are the devil’s candy. It took me almost a year to get clean of that junk. But I did have help.”

“From the Lord, no doubt?’ Milan asked facetiously.

“And my mom,” Jonah said, looking at Joe.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Joe asked, rubbing his head still. “Some people benefit from drug therapy, Jonah. Just because you misused them doesn’t mean they aren’t helpful to people who take them responsibly.”

“Do you ever stop judging me…and Mom?” Jonah asked Joe, his shrill tone betraying a hurt he’d obviously been trying to hide.

“And Jesus? Do you ever stop judging Jesus?” Chaz asked Joe mischievously.

“I’m not judging Jesus, for Christ’s sake, I’m Jewish.”

“Well, so am I, but I don’t get my panties in a ruffle over a little Jesus banter.”

“You’re about as Jewish as a ham and cheese sandwich on Wonder Bread,” I said. I didn’t like Chaz much, but he did seem to have a gift for lightening a mood.

“I am Jewish!” Chaz insisted. “Born-again. Like Jonah, only I was addicted to the pork dumplings at Szechwan Palace until Abraham at Katz’s Deli showed me the way.” Chaz rubbed his fat stomach, “I’m already 110 pounds lighter since I started my all–gefilte fish diet. It’s
delicious!
” he shouted, smacking his lips together.

“I thought you loved crab cakes?” I said, laughing despite myself. “Not a kosher foodstuff.”

“No?” Chaz asked, feigning concern. “Well,” he said, wiping his hand over his bald head, “I’m not a Hasid, for God’s sake! I’m a dabbler.”

“Jesus was a Jew,” Jonah added humorlessly.

“If you say the word ‘Jesus’ one more time, I’ll never speak to you again,” Joe said.

“Jesus,” Jonah said.

Without a word, Joe got up and moved away from the fire. We all settled down uncomfortably in the sand for the night. And I thought my relationship with my father was bad.

The morning sun, reflecting off the white beach, was almost blinding. I squinted as my tired eyes adjusted to the light. The dreamlike quality of the night before was vanquished by the bright sunshine. This was no dream. All of it was real. Where was the rescue plane? Why were we still here? Where were we going to get water and food? How were we going to get home? Why was Cisco Parker’s face buried in my armpit?

His hands were nestled into my enormously puffy hair. I stared down at his long, dark eyelashes and tried to stop the loud and juicy sneeze I felt tickling my nose. No luck. He untangled himself with no trace of embarrassment and a few casual apologies. He was obviously a guy accustomed to waking up with strangers in unfamiliar places.

J:

Cisco’s morning breath stinks of raw herring, but I’d cut off a finger for a kiss. I swear J., he’s prettier than Rachel Bilson.

F.

I hit send out of habit just as Jonah came running on to the beach screaming.

“I found fresh water! Hey, wake up, wake up!”

His enthusiasm stirred everyone. I could see that Joe was down by the shore rinsing out his clothes. At Jonah’s arrival, Joe reluctantly headed back to the group. That’s when I noticed Milan, curled up in a ball, twitching. She was wearing Chaz’s oversized purple shirt and her hair was in rough sections with odd chunks dangling precariously around her ears. She was sitting next to a pile of extensions she’d obviously spent all night plucking. Yipes.

“Well, where is it?” Cisco asked, perching himself up on his perfectly shaped elbows. His cheek was now green, black and blue, but I sensed there was no reason to bring it up.

“Yeah,” Eve said, “I’m parched.”

“It’s about a mile from here. There’s a fresh stream. We just need to find a way to collect it so we don’t have to keep going back and forth.”

Milan was rocking. She clearly hadn’t slept at all.

“What about food?” Cisco asked, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so hungry, dude.”

“Me too,” Eve said, spitting sand out of her mouth.

“If you’d like a Frappucino or scrambled eggs, you’ll have to wait until Rachael Ray or the Coast Guard show up,” Jonah snapped.

“Relax, dude, I just said I was hungry.”

“All you guys do is sleep and complain. Ever heard of an attitude of gratitude?” I could totally relate to Jonah. Looking after this bunch was as gratifying as looking after my mom and Em. It was always about what you didn’t do. Still, the rhyming was obnoxious.

Jonah tossed a baby turtle down on the sand in front of us.

The turtle was so little and deeply cute. I had a sudden urge to pop him in my pocket. When I was nine, my dad and I tried to start breeding spotted turtles. For whatever reason, turtles were the only animals my mother would allow us to have in the house. I named them all Homer after Homer Simpson. They all died, as is the fate of the childhood pet reptile.

“What’s that for?” I asked, reaching down to stroke his little head.

“Breakfast and a cup. We eat the meat and use his shell for water.” He looked really pleased with himself.

“Yuck. You have got to be kidding. I’ll pass,” Eve said, pulling her shirt around her mini body in defense.

Cisco eyeballed the turtle suspiciously. I could almost see the civil war raging between his inner carnivore and his outer vegetarian.

“No offense, Jonah,” I said, snatching the turtle up and tucking him under my arm. “But that’s a terrible idea. Homer’s just a baby. And there’s not enough meat to satisfy any one of our appetites, let alone all of ours.”

“Who the hell is Homer?” Milan jerked to attention. “Another imaginary friend?”

I looked down at the turtle. Joe and Jonah rolled their eyes.

“I’ll do it,” Milan said, reaching for Homer.

“Do what?” I asked. “I thought you were busy withdrawing.”

“Kill it. You’re a bunch of pussies. I’m hungry.”

“No,” I said with authority. “You can’t be
that
hungry yet. And he’s not going to fill you up. Besides, if he’s surviving here,” I said, stroking Homer’s head, “that means there are worms or crickets or at least tadpoles.”

“You eat tadpoles, fish-face,” Milan said. “I’ll stick with turtle. They’re on the Zone,” she laughed.

“Forget it,” I said, backing away from her.

“Francesca,” Joe reasoned, “we are going to have to kill something bigger than a worm. And eat it today. It’s that simple.”

“I’m fine to kill something, just not a turtle. Plus, what if they show up in a few hours? Do you want Homer’s blood on your hands?”

“What is the matter with you?” Jonah asked. “It’s a stupid turtle. Who cares?”

“I do! This is one of God’s creatures! I’d expect you of all people to understand.” I knew I sounded insane, but I wasn’t about to justify my childhood attachment to the turtle to Jonah Baron.

“That’s ridiculous. It’s natural. Do you not eat meat?”

“I do, but this is differ—”

“Because it’s not sliced and diced and sold between cellophane at Safeway? You should be more connected to what you put into your body.”

“I just don’t like to think of my food as having such a sweet disposition.”

“Well, that’s a good reason to eat you instead,” Milan piped in, rather wittily, she obviously thought. Chaz laughed. My hair was so huge I could see it out of my peripheral vision. I’d have killed for a rubber band. I felt like a freak standing there in front of them with my clown hair and turtle friend.

“Look, I’ll figure out something else,” I said. “Let’s look for clam shells or coconuts. Doesn’t that make more sense?”

“Give it to me, Francesca,” Cisco said seductively as he reached for Homer.

“Hey!” I said. “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

“Really,” Eve looked at Cisco with disdain. “Aren’t you a PETA spokesman?”

“This is different,” he told us in a firm voice. There hadn’t been a lot of range in Cisco’s expression so far, but here, at last was something interesting. It was hunger.

“And besides,” Eve continued, “you wouldn’t have a clue how to kill it.”

“Is that so?” Cisco asked, inflating with manhood. He lunged back at me, and I turned on my heel and ran to the beach, cradling Homer to my chest, fast as I could go in one shoe. Cisco started chasing me but tripped. I looked back and saw him, facedown, with a mouthful of sand. He really was cute, but he wasn’t the most coordinated guy. I started to laugh, thinking about telling Jordan. This guy needed a stuntman just to take a leak. Suddenly I saw Milan heading toward me. Now that crazy bitch was fast.

Everyone else started screaming and cheering as I made for the water. I turned back once I reached the shore and saw Milan, running, grinning like a serial killer, blotchy spray tan, pieces of patchy, disconnected blond hair circling her face like a vision from
The Blair Witch Project
. I liked her better medicated. I kissed Homer on the back and tossed him as far as I could back into the ocean. It’s possible he didn’t survive the landing, but I figured any fate was better than being eaten alive by the Brat Pack.

“You crazy, delusional bitch!” Milan started shrieking. “What is the matter with you? If you don’t get me something to eat, I’ll, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? What will you do?”

Milan was shaking and practically foaming at the mouth. Chaz came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, you fat fuck,” she shrilled, shaking him loose. “I have got to get out of here! If I don’t have a cigarette, I’m seriously going to kill her,” she said pointing to me. “Her body will keep us going for a good year.”

Was that another comment on my weight? I wondered incredulously, looking down at my thighs, which even from that angle didn’t seem
that
much bigger than hers.

Chaz smiled at Milan, trying to soothe her. “Honey, she’s a piece of lint on your Dolce and Gabbana. Just ignore her and maybe she’ll go away…like a pimple.”

God, he was rude. He led a quivering Milan back to the beach. I found myself standing alone on the shore. Nobody was even looking at me anymore. I realized I had better figure out a way to feed these people or I was going to be on a
Survivor
team of one. Not that solitude might not be preferable to this group. I slunk down in the sand and tried to think of something until I heard Jonah call my name. I turned around and headed back to the group.

“Let’s just put this crazy episode behind us and focus on getting food and collecting water, all right?” he asked, looking directly at me. I nodded.

“We have to assume nobody is coming for a few days,” Jonah said in a feeble attempt to restore sanity. “And we have to plan accordingly.”

“Of course they’re coming,” Milan said. “Why are you so negative?”

“Not negative. I’m just realistic. I don’t know where the search team is, but I do know we need to gather as many amenities as we can before we get dehydrated and hungrier. So, Eve and Francesca, you guys go look in the woods for berries, nuts, anything that looks edible. But do
not
eat anything. Bring it all back here and we’ll do a test.”

Why did I keep getting stuck with ineffectual Eve Larkin? I could see it already: Eve sitting in my shade while I risked my life climbing nut trees.

“Milan and Cisco,” Jonah continued, “you guys go try and find some sort of vessels or shells to transport water.” Milan smiled while Eve and Cisco exchanged sympathetic looks.

“Chaz and I will go see if we can find any animal tracks. Maybe we can kill something for lunch.”

“Um,” Chaz interrupted, “I’d rather go with Milan and Cisco. I’m more gatherer than hunter, but thanks for thinking of me.”

“You’re coming with me,” Jonah clipped, military style. “I need someone strong.”

“But I’m not strong,” he whined. “I know it’s deceptive, but trust me, there is no muscle under all this fat. There’s just layer upon layer of fluffy nougat. Imagine a human 3 Musketeers bar if you will.”

“Let’s go,” he said to Chaz, ignoring his protest.

“Who elected you Boy Scout leader anyway?” Chaz asked, pouting.

“You want the job, be my guest,” Jonah responded.

Chaz shuffled the sand around with his chubby toes. He looked a bit like Fred Flintstone with his big, bare chest and tan shorts.

“And what’s he doing?” Milan asked, glaring at Joe.

“Whatever he wants. Bird watching. Who cares.”

Joe ignored Jonah.

Eve cleared her throat, “Um, I can’t really be out too long in the midday sun without sunscreen.”

Everybody turned to look at her. She didn’t seem to be kidding.

“Whaaat?” she asked, already trying to creep into my shadow. “I’m very fair,” she said, looking at my freckled arms again in horror.

Eve seriously didn’t get it. It was as if she thought Yvette was going to pull up in a limo any minute with some SPF 45 and a macrobiotic sushi platter. Personally, I would have done anything to team up with Cisco and Milan, or even Jonah and Chaz, but after the Homer incident I decided I should just keep my mouth shut.