The Devil You Know (6 page)

But so far, Jason had remained more interested in his bike and his bong than in Carrie, which gave Emily a secret thrill, and not just because she had liked him first. It was tiring to watch boys fall for Carrie, then get scared off by her drama. It was like one of those TV fishing shows, where the hosts reeled in fish after fish, only to have them thrash around in their hands until they finally let them back in the water. Emily was usually the one left stroking Carrie's head while she bawled her “what's wrong with me?” routine. But she never really expected an answer, and no one, least of all Emily, had the guts to tell her she just wanted too much from people, too soon, all of the time. And then it just started all over again anyway, with a boy from a record store, a guy at a coffee shop, somebody's boyfriend, a Thursday night DJ.

Emily had known only one person in Victoria when she arrived three months ago: Crystal, who'd moved there to get her Engineering Degree at UVic and was too busy to spend much time with Emily. Then, walking downtown one day, she ran into Jason, who'd gone to her high school for a couple years until he moved away. Now he was living with a group of guys in a falling-down rental house near the Bay Street Bridge that Emily had christened Guyland. She had stopped by with beers a few times, and shared them with whatever assortment of boys was there. There was always a new assortment of skateboarders, rock climbers, and mountain bikers, each one more grimy and gorgeous than the last. Emily liked being the only girl at the endless party, hanging out among the empty beer cases and tools and camping equipment and overflowing ashtrays and bongs, at least until Carrie came along.

One night, Emily and Jason made out behind the couch where he had stationed his Thermarest and sleeping bag, while the party raged on around them. Then they went for a walk and smoked a joint together, and talked about music, and Emily had pretended to know things about bands, and then she had dragged him into some bushes near the park and laid down on the ground with him. They made out some more and she put her hand down his pants and started to undo her jeans. He sat up, looking around and pushing her away. “I…I can't do this here,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because it's cold and we're in some bushes in a park.”

“It's still more private than your so-called bedroom.” She rubbed her palm against his hard-on. “Don't you like me?”

“Of course I like you. I think you're…really cool. Let's just go back, okay?”

“So you're not going to fuck me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Emily realized she was whining, but the seam of her jeans pressed against her crotch and intensified the need for something inside her.

“Because you deserve better than this.”

This made her laugh. “No I don't,” she said.

Emily thought about Jason and the Guyland boys while Carrie talked, and then wondered what time it was. And what time would it be back in Ontario? After lunch, for sure. All the presents would be open, and the turkey was probably in the oven already. Emily's family would be eating cheese and crackers and chocolates in front of the fire, and maybe waiting for her to call…

And then the visuals kicked in. Red graph paper drifted in front of her eyes and Carrie's ramblings started to sound more interesting. After all, who was Emily to say that Carrie's dreams of love weren't legitimate messages from the Great Beyond? And then everything became slumber-party funny and Emily rolled around on the bed and laughed until she almost peed herself because Carrie kept pressing her teaspoon over Emily's eye and pretending to be an optometrist.

“I think,” said Carrie, smacking the spoon on the sheets, “that if we're going to go out on Christmas Day, we should look the part. Like elves or something!”

“But what do we have that's Christmassy?”

“You know, anything that has like, red or green on it, or bells or sparkles.”

“In that case, I'll just have a browse in the ‘gay apparel' section of our wardrobe, shall I?” which sent them both into mushroom hysterics again.

Emily went through the closet and the laundry basket, pulling out anything red or green, which wasn't much. Carrie pawed through drawers, pulling out a emerald-coloured crushed-velvet bodysuit. She paired it with her usual black fishnets under jean cut-offs and black boots, while Emily found a dark green babydoll dress with little pink flowers on it (that looked kind of red if you squinted), black tights, and her old red Converse high-tops.

Emily finished dressing and listened while Carrie phoned her parents. After a few bursts of Portuguese-peppered English, Carrie started crying. Not surprising, since Carrie's parents were total assholes. With her three older sisters married and cranking out grandkids, it was obvious that they were done with this final daughter, their family's loudest, skankiest disappointment. But it never stopped Carrie from talking about her parents like they were saints.

“Oh, Daddy, I miss you so much! How are you? Do you miss me too? What did you say? No, no, I know, I can hear all the kids…they must be so happy.
Eu tea mo, Pai
! What? Okay, no, it's fine…can you put Mom back on for a second then?”

Carrie eventually hung up and smiled her best fake smile through her sniffles. “I probably shouldn'ta done that.”

“I think you're right. C'mon, we need more festive attire, and I'm too high to deal with it alone,” Emily said, waving a red scarf at her.

Carrie blew her nose and resumed the search, unearthing from beneath the dresser a pair of red-and-black striped tights with holes in the toes. She cut the legs off the tights, then cut each leg in half, so they could each have a pair of arm-warmers to wear over their tops. Emily pulled them on and discovered the thigh end was larger than the calf end. Carrie helped safety pin it to her sleeve to keep it from falling down, while they both laughed and sang “Deck the Halls.” Emily fished a couple of discarded bows from their parents' presents out of the garbage and bobby pinned them into their hair. She and Carrie looked in the bathroom mirror together, taking turns standing on top of the toilet to see their whole outfits. They looked like poor, slutty versions of the girls who worked at Santa's workshop in the mall.

“We're so Christmassy,” said Carrie.

“We're Christmassy as fuck,” Emily agreed.

The phone rang and Emily grabbed it, hoping it was Carrie's dickface father. “Merry Whatever,” she growled.

It was Emily's mother. “Hi Mommmmm,” she squeaked. “What? No, I'm fine… Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too. What're you guys doing? Yeah, I guess so…hmmm. No, it's shitty here—sorry, Mom. What? No…well, Carrie bought some Bailey's so we've had some of that. Hey, Mom, do I sound really weird? Because I feel pretty fucking weird right now… Oh, sorry, Mom. Grandma's there already? Um, of course I want to talk to her, but here's the thing, Mom, I'm kinda fucked up right now, because…”

Carrie began flapping her hands around in Emily's face and silently screaming
NOOOOOO
.

“Because, um…I'm just really sad and I miss you guys. Can I call you back a little later? Uh-huh. Okay, love you too.” Emily hung up and turned to Carrie. “If that phone rings again, I'm dead or not here or something.”

“Dude, you just about blew your entire family's mind for Christmas. Neither of us is using that fucking phone again.”

“Not even if Jason calls and wants to give you his Yule log?”

“Okay, maybe then. Hey, did you know it's been, like, three hours since we started getting ready?”

“Whoa—major mushroom time warp.”

They both put their jackets on, and then some red lipstick.

Emily's legs seemed to have forgotten how to ride a bike. Ahead, Carrie was wobbling too, her hair bow flapping around in the wind. Maybe they were going too fast, or too slow. Maybe people were looking at them through their living room windows and laughing. They headed downhill towards the water and stopped for a smoke when they got to the parking lot. There were a surprising number of people walking around, mostly men and kids, probably keeping out of the way while mothers set tables and basted turkeys. This was Emily's favourite spot in the city. She liked to sit on the rocks and watch people flying their kites in the park. There were no kites today, but Emily still saw them out of the corner of her eye, jumping blobs of purple and orange and red. They smoked in silence for a few minutes, listening to the water and the wind, the cars driving by.

Emily had been eating a cup of instant noodles in front of the TV when someone knocked on her door. She'd opened it to Carrie, standing in the dark and the rain with a backpack and a suitcase at her feet and a small stuffed bear in her hands, which she thrust at Emily while screaming, “SURPRISE!” And yes, Emily had been surprised—and glad to see that familiar face. She had welcomed Carrie inside and made tea and they had hugged and talked and it wasn't until fifteen or twenty minutes had passed that Emily began to understand that her friend hadn't just come for a visit. She had moved in.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” She had phoned Steve the next day when Carrie was in the shower.

“Oh, I knew,” he said. “I tried everything to get her to tell you, but you know how she is about surprises.”

“Yeah, I got that. But why didn't you tell me anyway? I could have faked it.”

“She said she'd be able to tell on your face if you were just pretending. She would have killed me.”

“There was no danger of me not being surprised,” said Emily, remembering how Carrie's scream had made her drop her noodles on the carpet.

She sighed. “And why is protecting Carrie's feelings the most important thing here?”

He lit a cigarette in the pause. “Look, I know, and I'm sorry—about the other thing too. But Carrie's still your friend, right? Aren't you still glad to see her?”

“Maybe.” She flinched inside at the thought of the other thing. “But, dude, the next time I leave town,” she said, trying to sound bored and worldly, “remind me not to give you an address.”

“Did you just call me dude? What are you, a surfer now?”

“Is it just me, or does everyone look a bit like Eugene Levy from a distance?” said Carrie, handing Emily her lighter. Emily wished Carrie could understand the concept of a comfortable silence.

“What about up close?”

“No, then they just look like themselves.”

“You need glasses so bad.”

“There's no way I'm wearing glasses—contacts maybe, but not glasses.”

Emily pushed her own glasses up the bridge of her nose. She couldn't be bothered to put in her contacts when she was high. Carrie wouldn't do or wear anything that might make one less guy in the world be one iota less attracted to her. She had to have everyone hot for her or she felt like a hideous failure. Emily couldn't figure it out; Carrie was pretty, for sure, but there was no shortage of pretty girls. There was just something about her that made guys go crazy. Maybe they could sense how badly she needed them. Whenever they walked downtown, guys always said dirty things to Carrie, from young cute ones to gross old perverts, and she never flinched or said anything back; Emily was always the one who told them to go fuck themselves. Carrie just kept walking, half-smiling, like taking that shit was just part of the job of being her, like if it ever went away she would stop existing.

They finished their smokes and rode to the video store, but it was closed. They stood shivering and bored in the doorway.

Carrie pouted. “I'm hungry,” she said.

“You're never hungry.” Carrie lived on Diet Coke and cigarettes, and the occasional binge of a jumbo bag of chips and two or three chocolate bars in a sitting. Emily tried to eat like a normal person, but it wasn't easy. There was rarely any food in the house, and besides, Carrie calculated every morsel, Emily's included, in terms of how many sit-ups would be required to burn it off. Emily's softly rounded stomach was a constant source of irritation for Carrie, who cautioned her to do something before it “got worse.”

“I don't think I'm hungry. I just feel high…and really fucking cold,” said Emily.

“I bet Denny's is open—it's always open,” Carrie suggested.

“That could be the most depressing dining experience ever.”

“Or the most awesome.”

Emily shrugged and got back on her bike. She hoped the drugs would provide some artificial enthusiasm on the way there.

The Denny's was almost empty in the sad stretch between lunch and dinner. The waitress had a face like a pit bull and seated them as though insulted by their very presence. They both ordered a Moons Over My Hammy and Carrie ordered a Diet Coke; Emily, tea. The menu was so colourful and shiny that when the waitress tried to take it away, Emily asked to keep it.

Carrie asked, “Oooh, do you guys have any crayons? And those placemats you can colour on?” The waitress looked even more disgusted and pivoted away. The next time she passed with the coffee pot, she dropped a foam cup of broken colours and a stack of placemats on their table.

“Thank you!” Carrie sang to her back. Then she started singing along to the tinny piped-in Christmas carols. Emily slid down in the booth, embarrassed even in front of the Denny's losers. Anytime, anywhere, Carrie always sang along to whatever was playing: in restaurants, in taxis, at them all…she had a good-enough voice, but she was no Aretha Franklin, yet here she was, belting out “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” like she was at Carnegie Hall.

Emily returned to the menu and its colourful depictions. She waited for Carrie to draw a breath and said, “Moons Over My Hammy makes me wish I could go somewhere hot right now; just lie on a real beach in the sun.”

Carrie stopped mid-chorus. “How come?”

“How come I want to lie on a beach?”

“No, how come Moons Over My Hammy makes you think of a beach?”