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“About?”
“My grades.”
“Did it help?”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. Okay, ready for my neurosis?”
“Neurosis,” I said.
“We have psych this year. Stupid class. Ready?”
“If you are.”
“Sure. I mean – that’s the point, right? I’m supposed to spit out all my deep, dark secrets.”
“It’s not a matter of supposed to-”
“I know, I know,” she said. “That’s what shrinks always say – no one’s go
“You know about shrinks.”
“I know enough. Some of my friends have seen ’em. One of them had a shrink give her that shi – That stuff about never forcing her, then the next week he committed her to a mental ward.”
“Why?”
“She tried to kill herself.”
“Sounds like a good reason,” I said.
Shrug.
“How’s your friend doing?”
“Fine – like you really care.” Her eyes rolled.
I said nothing.
“That, too,” she said. “That’s the other shrink thing – just sitting there and staring. Saying ‘Ah-ah’ and ‘Uh-huh.’ Answering questions with questions. Right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Very fu
“Dad’s in a hurry?”
“Yeah. So give me a good grade, okay? Tell him I was good – I don’t need any more hassles.”
“I’ll tell him you cooperated-”
“Tell him whatever you want.”
“But I’m not going to get into details, because-”
“Confidentiality, yeah, yeah. It doesn’t matter. Tell them anything.”
“No secrets from Mom and Dad?”
“What for?” She played with her hair, gave a world-weary smile. “I’ve got no cool secrets anyway. Totally boring life. Too bad for you – try not to fall asleep.”
“So,” I said, “your dad wants you to get this over with quickly.”
“Whatever.” She picked at her hair.
“What exactly did he tell you to accomplish here, Lauren?”
“Get my act together, be straight – be a good girl.” She laughed, arced one leg over the other, placed a hand on a calf and tickled.
“Be straight,” I said. “As in drugs?”
“They’re paranoid about that, along with everything else. Even though they smoke.”
“They smoke dope?”
“Dope, tobacco. Little after-di
“Pot’s not for you?” I said.
“Pot’s boring – too slow. Like hey, man, let’s pretend we’re in the sixties, get all wasted and sit around staring at the sky and talking about God.” Another gust of laughter, painfully lacking in joy. “Pot sure makes them boring. It’s the only time she slows down. And he just sits and vegges on the TV, munches nachos, whatever. I’m not supposed to be talking about their bad habits, I’m the one who needs to change.”
“Change how?”
“Clean my room,” she singsonged. “Do my chores, get ready in the morning without calling my mom a bitch, stop saying ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘cunt.’ Go to class and pay attention, build up my grades, stop breaking curfew, hang out with decent friends, not low-lifes.” She rotated one hand, as if spooling thread.
“And I’m supposed to get you to do all that.”
“Lyle says no way, you never will.”
“Lyle.”
Her eyes got merry. “That’s something else I’m supposed to not do. Call him by his name. He hates it, it drives him crazy.”
“So no way you’ll stop.”
She played with her hair. “Who knows what I’ll do?”
“How does he react when you do things that irritate him?”
“Ignores me. Walks away and gets involved in something else.”
“He has hobbies?”
“Him? Only thing he does is work, eat, smoke dope, stuff his face, watch TV. He has no faith in me. In you, either.” Conspiratorial smile. “He says shrinks are just a bunch of overpaid clowns who can’t screw in a lightbulb by themselves and I’m go
“Mom has more faith in shrinks?”
“Mom’s totally worried,” she said. “Mom likes to suffer. They’re – Here’s a juicy one for you: They only got married ’cause they had to. One day I was looking for a bra in Jane’s drawer and I found their wedding license. Two months before my birthday. I was conceived in sin. What do you think of that?”
“Is it a big deal to you?”
“I just think it’s fu
“How so?”
“Here they are being all moral and… whatever.” Lifting the tiny black purse, she undid the clasp, peered inside, snapped it shut.
“Mom likes to suffer,” I said.
“Yeah, she hates her life. She used to work private charters, fly all around the world with superrich people. She regrets ever coming down to earth.” She shifted to the edge of the chair. “How much longer do I have to be here?”
Rather than pick apart the fine points of free choice, I said, “Half an hour.”
Opening the purse again, she pulled out a compact, checked her reflection, plucked an eyelash and flicked it away.
“Half an hour,” she said. “No way do I have half an hour of problems – want to hear all of them?”
“Sure.”
She launched into a long, droning speech about stupid girlfriends getting on her case, stupid ex-boyfriends foolish enough to think they were still in her good graces, stupid teachers who didn’t know anything more than the students, stupid parties, a stupid world.
Talking nonstop in the flat tones of a rehearsed witness, looking everywhere but at me.
When she was through I said, “So everyone’s getting on your nerves.”
“You’ve got that right… How much longer now?”
“Twenty-five minutes.”
“Shit. That much? You should have a clock up there. So people can keep track.”
“Usually people don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t want to be distracted.”
She favored me with a bitter smile, scooted forward on the chair. “Well, I want to leave early. Okay? Just today. Please. I’ve got some people waiting for me, and I need to get home by five-thirty or Jane and Lyle’re go
“People waiting for what?”
“Fun.”
“Friends are picking you up.”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“I told them to meet me a block from here. So can I go?”
“Lauren, I’m not forcing you-”
“But if I split early you’ll fink, right?”
“Look,” I said, “it’s a matter of twenty minutes. As long as you’re here, why not make good use of the time?”
I expected protest, but she sat there, pouting. “That’s not fair. I told you everything. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I’m not saying there is, Lauren.”
“So what’s the point?”
“I’d like to learn more about you-”
“I’m not worth learning about, okay? My life’s boring, I already told you that.” She ran her hands over her torso. “This is it, all of me, nothing exciting.”
I let several seconds pass. “Lauren, is everything really going as well as it could for you?”
She studied me from under grainy, black lashes, reached into the purse again, and extricated a pack of Virginia Slims.
When she produced a lighter, I shook my head.
“Oh, c’mon.”
“Sorry.”
“How can you do that? People coming here all stressed out. Don’t they complain – wasn’t Jane climbing the walls? She’s a chimney.”
“Mostly I see kids and teens,” I said. “People manage.”
“Kids and teens.” She gave a short, cold laugh. “Every teen I know smokes. Are you allergic or something?”