From Butt to Booty (6 page)

“Can you see anything?” Clarice turns her head to the side like she’s the camera and controls the scene.

“His head is in the way.” Maggie shifts too.

I’m not any closer to knowing anything. “Is that the kiss?
The
kiss?”

“I don’t know. The list just has the title of the movie, not a specific kiss.” Maggie peers at the papers like the answer is there, waiting to be deciphered.

“She gets around. They’re dating? I thought she’s married. Is she a tramp? He’s yelling at her and she finds this attractive. Chick needs therapy.” Clarice starts narrating the film.

“Go faster, this sucks.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Then the kiss wasn’t that good, was it? Why’d it make the list? Pearl Harbor? We’re almost two hours into the movie and now they bomb Pearl Harbor?”

Maggie skips the rest in superspeed.

“So what did we learn? Boys die. Girls sail away and no one lives happily ever after. Why was this a great kiss movie?”

“I don’t know.” Maggie has a crestfallen expression on her face. Her good idea could turn out to be a very bad one.

“What’s next?” I ask.

“Gone with the Wind,”
Maggie replies.

“It’s like four hours long,” Clarice complains.

“We’ll skip the unimportant stuff,” says Maggie.

Forty minutes of fast-forwarding and one pee break later, we’re looking at THE END.

“Huh.”

“ ’Kay.”

“Aside from a bunch of bigots, did you get anything from that?”

Clarice shakes her head. “Me either.”

“What’s next?” I can barely ask.

“
Cruel Intentions
and
Wild Things
are the girl-on-girl best kisses.”

“I thought we decided I’m not gay.”

“
We
did, but this is just clarification. Besides, I’m pretty sure a kiss is a kiss is a kiss. And frankly, don’t girls do everything better?”

“Wasn’t that in a song somewhere?” And true. So freakin’ true.

“Maybe.”

“Aren’t we too young to be this cynical?” Clarice asks. A good point.

“This coming from the world’s hugest femme rock fan?” I say.

She blushes. “I am not.”

“But cynical you are.”

“At least we’re not bitter.” Maggie pops open another can of Dr Pepper.

“Bitter comes in the twenties,” Clarice adds.

“Says who?” I don’t want to be bitter. A survivor’s pointed perspective is not bitter.

“My sister.”

“Miss French-kiss-candle-girl says the twenties are bitter?”

“She did just break up with the love of her life.”

“Oh.”

“Her fourth soul mate in six years.”

“Do we really have that many?” Is it possible that we all have multiple soul mates? People who could be the ONE but aren’t the ONLY?

“She hasn’t exactly been in a long-term relationship with any of them, so I hesitate to say yes.”

“Point.” Maggie pauses the movie. “Don’t you think if we have a soul mate, the divorce rate should be lower? I mean, we must have more than one since people keep looking.

“Or are they impossible to see? Like everyone’s soul mate is on the other side of the world and unless you join the Peace Corps, or backpack through Europe, you’re destined to never find him.”

Clarice swallows, then says, “Let’s say there’s always a soul mate somewhere near you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“What if there’s always a soul mate around and you only have to recognize him?”

Lucas? Yeah, my soul ain’t that pretty. But maybe he’s my beautiful half and I’m the smart half. That would make me ugly and him stupid. Not quite the halves divided equally.

“Who’s yours?” Clarice pins me with a dare-you expression.

Mine? Like I’m going to say it out loud. Am I an idiot? You say these things out loud and one way or another something irreversibly bad happens. Like he vomits on you, or you move to Florida, or it’s printed in the school paper in the editorial section under the title “Get Real.”

“Mine’s Spenser,” Clarice says.

Shocking. “No, really?” I laugh.

“Come on. I know it’s obvious. I’m making progress, though.”

Uh-huh. What is progress, exactly? The boy doesn’t run away, he walks?

“Maggie, who’s yours?”

“I don’t know.” Maggie looks about to cry.

“Is it a girl?” I’d never gotten the lesbian vibe from Maggie, but I could be wrong.

She doesn’t even seem offended. “No. I’m just not really interested.”

“Really?” Is she a freak? Is it normal to not be crazy about the idea of penises on the premises? I mean, if guys think about sex every three seconds, then we must think about it almost as often, or more, since our brains are bigger and more efficient.

“I’m a freak.” Maggie pulls at the carpet with her fingers.

“No, you’re not.” Clarice hands her a tissue and a box of Runts.

“I think maybe I am.”

I’d tend to agree, but that doesn’t seem helpful at the moment. Maggie doesn’t seem freakish to me, but then, I’m dating a guy who thinks sharing his insecurity is a necessity for a good relationship. Maybe I’m the freak of nature.

“Why?” I ask. Seems the safest question.

Maggie shrugs. “I mean, I like looking at men. I really do get all Jell-O-ey over biceps and washboard abs, but the idea of dating feels far-fetched and too soon. I like Jesse, but I can’t even imagine it going anywhere beyond smiling.”

“My sister says her college roommate had never been on a date until her senior year when she met her senior advisor.”

Dare I ask? Clarice’s stories don’t always have a happy, pointy reason for the addition to the conversation. “And?” I can’t help myself.

“And they have like six kids and are so blissfully happy my sister had to stop speaking to her because it was disgusting.”

“Your sister has issues,” I say, feeling the need to point this out.

“Tell me about it.” Clarice bites into a chip and noncommittally licks the salt from her lips. She doesn’t seem to care what she looks like with her tongue all gyrating to get the salt crystals only she seems to be aware of. Gross.

“So, maybe you just haven’t met him. I mean, really, Maggie, you have an amazing brain, and you’re so good with computers. Here’s the deal: you have to be complete yourself before anyone else can make you more.”

Both of them stare at me like I’ve just turned into Oprah and Dr. Phil’s love child. That’s a picture.

“Thank you, Dr. Gert.” Clarice snorts chips out her nose, and it’s so gross we all roll on the floor laughing.

“Onward, Kissing Soldiers! Push play and let’s educate the masses.” I wave my hand in the general direction of appliance-dom. “Next?”

“
Body Heat
and
9½
Weeks
.”

“Okay. Are these in color?”

“Yes.”

And hours later? Our necks hurt from watching other people kiss and pretty much what we all know now is what we knew before watching the movies. At least it was a fun way to come to grips with the truth about the kiss. And I’m definitely not gay.

I hesitate to say this out loud and give it power, but what the hell. “I think Stephen sucks.”

“Yeah. That’s my conclusion,” Clarice says with a belch. “ ’Scuse me.”

I’m disappointed and utterly confused.

Maggie, good ol’ bookworm Maggie, asks, “Can he be taught?”

“I don’t know. Can he?” Can you teach a thing like kissing? Or is it divine knowledge shared with a few privileged souls at birth and the rest of us are destined for bad kissing?

“Yes, he can. My sister says most guys have to be taught everything.” Clarice throws a bunch of wrappers and soda cans in the trash.

“Everything?”

“Sex-wise. They’re pretty dense.”

This is comforting? How does the species propagate if boys are so bad? I guess pleasure doesn’t babies make.

“Maybe that’s it,” Maggie says.

“What?”

“Is he a virgin? Are you his first kiss?”

“I don’t know.” Talk about pressure. “I don’t think so.” Holy-Mother-of-the-Breath-Mint, I hope not.

“Stephanie and Ruth in my English class say they’ve seen him at some pretty wild parties and he’s so not a virgin.” Clarice shakes her head, shooting the idea out of the clouds.

What’s that mean? “I’m dating a man-ho?” How do I feel about that?

Maggie hands me a box of Junior Mints. “I don’t know about that, but he’s not monkish.”

“A monkfish?” Clarice asks, looking up from the diagrams of kama sutra positions Maggie printed out.

I can’t eat Junior Mints right now. They are the first food I ate with Stephen.

“How is this possible?” Clarice holds up a particularly acrobatic pose.

Here I am worrying about kissing and she’s showing me Rubik’s Cube position number eight. “I don’t know. Who’s who?”

“I can’t tell.”

“So, Stephen isn’t a virgin.” That is news. “Why did you wait until now to tell me this?” I must reel us back on topic.

“I didn’t know if it was important to you or not. Are you a virgin?”

“I’m watching black-and-white movies to find out if I’m a sucky kisser. I’m thinking the odds are good.” I don’t try to keep the ire down.

“Point.”

“Hey, you didn’t say who you think your soul mate is,” Clarice says.

And here I was hoping we’d all forgotten that little bit of conversation. Moment of truth. I will find out if I can truly trust these girls, or if I’m going to have to move to Florida. “Lucas,” I say.

“Lucas?”

“Soccer-playing girl magnet of the junior class?”

“That’s him.”

“Wow.”

“He’s your soul mate?”

Why do they look so incredulous?

“He’s hot.”

“Yes, even my frigidness thaws in his direction.” Maggie smiles.

“I know I don’t stand a chance, but a girl must have dreams.” Why do I need to defend my soul-mate choice? As if I have anything to say about it.

“True.”

“Point.”

“Confession time.” Clarice chews on her lips like they’re part of the menu.

“Shoot.” I’m ready. Confess away. My heart will stop popping anytime now. At least they didn’t laugh. They could have laughed. I would have laughed at me.

“Spenser wants to be benefriends.”

“Benefriends?” Oh, Holy-Mother-of-Euphemisms, what is she talking about?

Clarice raises her eyebrows and does a little shoulder seizure. “You know.”

“Of course I know.” What the hell are benefriends?

“What do you think?”

Maggie starts making clucking sounds.

“You have something stuck? Need me to practice the TV hindlick maneuver?” Clarice waggles her tongue in Maggie’s direction.

When the laughter dies down, we all keep giggling.

Clarice picks at her blanket. “I’m serious here.”

“I know you are.” Best to reassure and tell her I’m in agreement. Oh, and ask questions. “What do you want?”

“I’m asking you guys.”

Bad, bad idea.

Maggie clucks again.

“What is your problem?” I try my most potent fake glare.

“Well …”

“What?” Clarice yanks a strip of red licorice from the bag sitting next to her and chews furiously.

“My grandmother always talks about cows and milk when this comes up,” says Maggie.

“Huh?” Now I’m really lost. Benefriends is a farm animal thing? “What is Spenser into?”

“Kissing and stuff.” Clarice waves her hands. She obviously doesn’t know either. “Your grandmother knows what friends with benefits are?”

“Oh!” I blurt out my comprehension, but they ignore me.
That’s
what benefriends are. Who knew? Obviously not me.

“Yeah, she watches all those
Dateline/Primetime/48 Hours/Access Hollywood
shows on teens. She wants to stay with the times and speak my lingo.” Maggie sighs.

“Uh-huh. And she mentions cows?”

“She likes them. They always come up in conversation. You should see her bedroom. Spots and udders everywhere.”

That explains a lot.

Maggie shrugs. “But can you? Really not get emotionally attached, I mean? What did he say exactly?”

Clarice turns over onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “He said he likes me, but he’s not ready for a relationship and wouldn’t it be great to kiss and stuff without the pressure of dating.”

“The pressure of dating? Was he high?”

“No, he doesn’t do that kind of thing. I don’t think.”

Clearly, Clarice and Spenser are completely honest about every aspect of their lives. Two more perfectly attuned human beings would be difficult to find.

“And you
want
to be benefriends?” I need some adultish guidance here on what to say. If I asked my mom, she’d wonder how friends could qualify for health insurance or 401(k) plans.

“I—well, he said he’s not ready for a relationship now, right?” Clarice asks.

“Apparently.”

“So he didn’t say he didn’t want to have a relationship with me.”

“True.” I’m having a hard time not shaking her back into one of Earth’s orbits.

“So doesn’t that mean that eventually he’ll want to be my boyfriend?”

“Maybe.” Is there a correct answer to this one?

Her face falls all the way back to terra firma.

I change my answer. “Of course he wants to be your boyfriend.”

She brightens. “It’ll take some time, but how could he not want to be together? Especially when we fall madly in love. Then we’ll be exclusive, and so this is like a warm-up for that.”

Maggie clears her throat. I wonder if she has weird nasal allergies or something. “What if he doesn’t—” She breaks off when Clarice’s eyes well with tears.

“Why wouldn’t he want to be my boyfriend? Am I that repulsive?”

“Clarice, of course not. You’re not repulsive. If I was gay, I’d totally want to date you,” I say.

“Really?” She seems to find comfort in this.

“Honestly.” In the friends-sometimes-have-to-lie-to-each-other sense of the word “honestly.”

“Thanks.”

Maggie pats Clarice’s shoulder. “So when are you officially benefriends?”

“I think we are already. We kissed in the back of the gym last week. And he put his hands on my waist.”

“That’s good, then.” Would it work? Could she change him by easing him into the whole idea of togetherness? I thought you were supposed to wait for someone you didn’t want to change. Like Lucas. Lucas is perfect.