“Yes,” she giggles. “Do you remember how I dated Tommy McPhee before I met your father?” Tommy McPhee is the lead singer of Thunder Jungle, this rock band that went through a brief period of intense fame in the late 80s/early 90s, before fading into relative obscurity. They still tour, and even put out a greatest hits album, although I can’t imagine what they filled it with since they had three or four hits at most. I’ve seen a few pictures of my mother with their squirrelly lead singer. It’s hard to tell if he was actually attractive or not — they all had such big hair back then.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say cautiously, wondering where this is going.
“Well, Tommy and I kind of rekindled our friendship,” she says haltingly.
“If he’s just your ‘friend’,” I say, biting down on the word, “then why are you on tour with him?” My housemates glance at me, sensing the change in tone.
“Well, I suppose he’s actually kind of my boyfriend.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound calm although I’m not actually sure I am. “So how long has this been going on?”
“A few months,” she says.
“A few months? But you and Dad only split a few weeks ago!”
“No, not really,” she says. “We split up when I found out about Holly. We were just waiting to tell you.”
“Waiting until when?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she says. “Whenever it felt right.”
In other words, they were waiting until he got outed by the papers. I hang up and sit there, stupefied, looking at the phone in my hand.
“Are you okay?” asks Ginny.
“My mom is dating the lead singer of Thunder Jungle,” I tell her.
“No shit?” exclaims Max. “Oh my God! They were my favorite band as a kid!” He then proceeds to jump on the couch and sing their biggest hit — “Night of the Dragon”, a song which largely involves screeching only those four words, again and again, with a sporadic refrain of “you won’t know what hit ya!”.
“Didn’t your mom date him, back in the day?” Ginny asks.
“Hey,” says Max. “Was that your mom in the video for ‘White Hot Love’?”
He runs to get his laptop, and is back 20 seconds later, trying to pull up the video on YouTube.
“You’re being a little insensitive, Max,” intones James, from across the room. But he’s trying not to smile.
“Found it,” says Max, watching me turn away. “Don’t you want to see it?”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I ask. “No, I don’t want to see my mother dancing like a skank all over a dude wearing a leather vest and no shirt.”
But both Ginny and James have crossed the room to watch over his shoulder.
“God your mom is hot,” whispers Max, no longer joking. “She could be your fucking twin.” At which point James shuts the laptop.
“What?” asks Max, bewildered.
“You want to be pervy about her mom, be my guest,” says James. “But don’t bring her into it.” And he storms out of the room.
The three of us look at each other, and only Max seems to find the whole thing amusing. Once again, it’s nice that James wants to defend my honor. But why does it seem that he’s angry at me for having to do it?
Chapter 14
If I needed further confirmation that this thing with Edward wasn’t going away easily, I receive it when Ginny brings a tabloid over to the bar the next night.
“Hey, just so you know,” she says, flipping open to the article about Edward and handing it to me, “your name is out.”
My stomach drops. Not just my name, but a picture of me that I’ve never even seen before, clearly taken at a party sometime last year. I guess I should be relieved that they didn’t somehow find a picture of me in my underwear, but I’m not thrilled. Technically it’s a good picture, but I’m laughing and I look like some kind of party girl, which I’m really not. And I look enough like my mom that associations will be made regardless of who I actually am. The only positives are that the magazine refers to me as “Eleanor” and the photo is far enough away that people here might not put it together.
James slides the magazine away from us to his side of the bar and his face falls. I wait for his inevitable condemnation but it doesn’t come. “I’m sorry,” he tells me. “This just isn’t right.” He pitches the entire magazine into the trash while the protest is still coming out of Ginny’s mouth, and he cuts it off. “Ginny, don’t bring this shit in here again.”
“I just thought she ought to know,” she argues.
“You heard me,” he replies in a tone no sane person would argue with. Even Ginny.
When my shift ends I head to Brian’s office to check out. I’m still uncomfortable around him, but ever since his last altercation with James he’s been unusually restrained. I come out to do my tables — clean them, refill the ketchup, the salt, the sugar packets – and discover that they’re done.
“Did you do my tables?” I ask Kristy.
“No,” she says with a hint of a smile on her face. “James did.”
Why? Why would he do anything for me when most of the time he acts like he wishes I was a million miles away?
“Thank you for doing my tables,” I tell him.
He shrugs and doesn’t even look toward me. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Why’d you do it?” I ask.
He stills for a second, still bent over the dishwasher. “You seemed tired.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, my befuddlement clear.
“You probably would have done a half-assed job anyway,” he says.
Now that’s the James I know.
By the time we get back from work, Max’s 150 closest friends are just getting started. Ginny’s been cranky all night, and coming home to a full house hasn’t helped her mood any.
“Have I mentioned how much I love working a double shift only to walk in and find people having sex in our downstairs bathroom?” she asks Max.
“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I told them to use your bed but I guess they didn’t listen.”
She rolls her eyes and turns to me. “I should have gone to Spain with Alex,” she says. “He won’t even be here for my birthday.”
“It’ll still be fun,” I coax. “What do you want to do?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Everyone’s probably working anyway.”
“You know we’ll all take off. Do you want to go out or have a party at the house?”
She shoots a dirty look at Max. “A party at the house would be just like every other night.”
“You’re welcome,” says Max.
She yawns. “I have to call Alex at 7, so I’m going to bed.”
“That relationship of yours just gets better and better, doesn’t it Ginny?” goads Max. He turns to James as she leaves. “Speaking of tedious long distance relationships,” he says, sounding the tiniest bit snide. “Where is the lovely Allison? We haven’t had the pleasure of her company yet.”