Shrimp. Part 8

midcalf length, a blouse with deep decolletage and cinched at the waist, my hair primped in Ava waves, and pedicured, shoeless feet a la The Barefoot Contessa. The Barefoot Contessa. I'd even splurged on a padded Wonder Bra, for Ava cleavage that this Cyd Charisse lacks. As I applied long, thick fake eyelashes to my lids, I reminded Nancy, "But I can't go to Minnesota. Wallace and Delia's wedding is New Year's Eve." I've only told Nancy a thousand times. I'd even splurged on a padded Wonder Bra, for Ava cleavage that this Cyd Charisse lacks. As I applied long, thick fake eyelashes to my lids, I reminded Nancy, "But I can't go to Minnesota. Wallace and Delia's wedding is New Year's Eve." I've only told Nancy a thousand times.

"That's too bad," Nancy said. "It's our family vacation, and you know my mother is in very bad health. She's not expected to last the winter. This might be the last year you kids get to see her. Cheer up--your airline ticket is first cla.s.s, and we'll be staying at a suite of rooms in the best hotel in Minneapolis." Like I could care about first-cla.s.s plane and hotel accommodations.

"No," I said, voice rising.

"Yes," she said, voice rising higher.

"NO!".

"YES!".

The system of checks and balances on my temper tipped out of my control. "I'M NOT GOING!" I yelled. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

Aside from no way will I miss Wallace and Delia's wedding, aside from that I am old enough not to have to go somewhere just because my mother has decided for me that I must go, there is the fact that I really, truly hate Nancy's mother. Granny a.s.shole (as I call her) lives in a gated community in some uptight suburb of Minneapolis, in a house that's situated on a golf course, as if that's not reason enough to hate her. We hardly ever see her. She is not your cute, cuddly Nana either, the Tollhouse cookie-baking, knit-you-some-sweaters 140.

kind. She's this stick figure whose diet consists primarily of "soda pop," pate, and Ritz crackers (Nancy says I get my "miracle metabolism" from her, that's why I can eat anything). Granny a.s.shole refers to me as "the illegitimate one," Sid-dad as "the Jew," her home health aide is "the colored girl," and she had the gall to call Nancy "porky" when we went to visit after Ash was born and Nancy hadn't yet lost all the pregnancy weight. Spend some time with Granny a.s.shole and you'll understand why Nancy practically has an eating disorder, or why she ran off with a boy who had a heroin problem as soon as she was of legal age.

I never knew Granny a.s.shole's husband, my grandfather. He died when I was a baby, probably to get away from her. And I am not going to pretend I am sad about old Granny a.s.shole kickin' it when I'm not. The last time I saw Granny A was the summer before my fourteenth b-day. She took me aside at the only family reunion we've ever gone to and she explained to me about how superior my church-going cousins in Minnesota were in comparison to my "San Francisco-style family," while I watched as these same charmer cousins lifted twenties from her wallet for beer money without her seeing it. Then she informed me that I had grown up to be a very pretty young lady, but now that I had hips and b.o.o.bies I better be careful so I didn't turn out like my mother. I honestly do try to find some good in everybody, even in people I dislike. But Granny a.s.shole, no, I'm sorry, I can't find anything and I am not going to feel bad about it. Some people might just be a.s.sholes, and that's just gonna be that.

The equivalent of Nancy getting her Irish up is when she gets her Minnesouda up. Her pale face goes all splotchy 141.

red and she spews words in this strange vowel-dragging accent that's just like Granny a.s.shole's. The diction cla.s.ses Nancy took when we first moved to San Francisco mostly got rid of that prairie accent, but when she's mad the accent and its accompanying expressions come back fast and furious. "Yew are nooot an adult yet, young laaady, yah? And yew are nooot staying in this hawse alooone while's we're aaawaaay and Fernando is in Neecarahgua for Chreestmas. Yew are goooing to Minnesouda whether yew like it or nooot. Yew are nooot eh-teen yet, missy."

Oh, now I get it. The same woman who took me to the doctor for a birth control prescription back in September is the same woman who's now trying to c.o.c.k-block me in December. She's worried about what will happen between Shrimp and I, whose "just friends" situation is coming along great. That is, if "just friends" means a guy and a girl who don't have s.e.x but who handhold at lunchtime at school and who share occasional deep French kisses whenever they say good-bye, if "just friends" means two ex-lovers who have taken the time the past several weeks to get to know each other before their inevitable head bangin', boots knockin', bed rattlin', unspoken-but-will-be-fact reunion. Nancy thinks that if Shrimp and I have the hawse to ourselves, it will turn into some unsupervised bang festival.

No matter that I've been going to school every day this year and the grades aren't half bad, no matter that I haven't jumped back into a s.e.xual relationship with Shrimp or anyone else, no matter that I've made friends and developed a life outside of the all-encompa.s.sing boy radar, no matter that I've been d.a.m.n pleasant in this house, too. The fact is: Nancy still doesn't trust me.

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"I AM NOT GOING! To Minnesota or to college!" I was so mad I couldn't help but throw that last one in. But merely tossing the word college college into the ring didn't seem sufficient, so I added, "You can't make me go to see the mother you yourself hate so you can show off how rich and fine you're doing without her in your life, just like you can't make me go to college just cuz you regret that you yourself didn't go. I'm not here for you to live out your dreams through me." into the ring didn't seem sufficient, so I added, "You can't make me go to see the mother you yourself hate so you can show off how rich and fine you're doing without her in your life, just like you can't make me go to college just cuz you regret that you yourself didn't go. I'm not here for you to live out your dreams through me."

"YOU ARE A SPOILED BRAT!".

"Well, who made me one? You just want me to go away to Minnesota or to college so you can have me gone to a place a spoiled brat doesn't want to be, like you did when you made me go to boarding school!"

I couldn't follow normal protocol and storm away to my bedroom because I was already in it, so I slammed my bedroom door in Nancy's face instead and locked the door.

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Chapter 20

The nicest part of "just friends" is I could wait for Shrimp's beat-up, lima bean-colored old Pinto to pull into the school parking lot, and I could go to his driver's-side window and say, "Let's ditch today," with no s.e.xpectations to go along with the ditch day. A "just friend" who is also a soul mate knows without being told and could just acknowledge, "Nice outfit, Ava, but glum face. Fight back home on Frank Day?" as he shifted the car into reverse for us to leave before the school day had even started. of "just friends" is I could wait for Shrimp's beat-up, lima bean-colored old Pinto to pull into the school parking lot, and I could go to his driver's-side window and say, "Let's ditch today," with no s.e.xpectations to go along with the ditch day. A "just friend" who is also a soul mate knows without being told and could just acknowledge, "Nice outfit, Ava, but glum face. Fight back home on Frank Day?" as he shifted the car into reverse for us to leave before the school day had even started.

Shrimp's wet suit was in the trunk and his board on top of the car roof, so he drove us out to Ocean Beach. I needed chill time, so he hit the morning waves near his house on Great Highway while I took a long walk on the beach, my bare Ava feet getting seriously burr-ito burrowing through the cold San Francis...o...b..ach sand.

I let Nancy call my cell phone three separate times before I bothered to answer it. She didn't scream but sounded tired when she said, "Where are you?"

I couldn't stifle the roar of the ocean behind me so I said, "Where do you think, Sherlock?" I held up the phone to the water crashing on the surf. I put the phone back to my ear and said, "You have to learn to trust me, Mom. I might not be eighteen yet but I will be soon, and if you don't want me to do to you what you did to your mother--run away--you're going to have to let go enough to let me make 144.

my own decisions. I'm not missing Wallace and Delia's wedding. They're more like family than your family in Minnesota has ever been, and you know it." I turned off my phone so she could scarf down her usual breakfast roll of b.u.t.ter Rum LifeSavers and then take a nap while she thought on that.

I realized she might not be smart enough to figure out the right course on her own, though, so I turned the phone back on to call to Sid-dad's office. I could hear "It Happened in Monterey" playing in the background when he got on the phone. He said, "Cupcake, it's Frank's birthday so you get a special dispensation not to get reamed out for starting a fight with your mother and behaving like a child on this very important day. But if you're looking for me to broker a truce, I'll tell you what I just told your mother. The answer is no. I'm tired of being the intermediary. You two work it out yourselves." And he he hung up on hung up on me! me!

Well, I had no solution to this problem because it's Nancy who caused the fight, she should be the one to fix it, so I continued my beach walk. I saw Shrimp in the distant water, surrounded by a small posse of surfers waiting and waiting for the right wave, then paddling furiously once it beckoned. With their bobbing black wet suits against the blue-gray ocean, they looked like a school of dolphins. Ocean Beach is usually cold and foggy, but perhaps in honor of Frank's birthday the day was unusually bright and sunny, which, if you spend a lot of time in Ocean Beach, you particularly appreciate because it happens so rarely. On the rare sunny days, you can see west across the Pacific all the way to the Farallon Islands, or north to the beautiful green hills and mountains of Marin County, and you might think 145.

you'll never again see a sight so beautiful and you probably won't, because the dense fog is guaranteed to return to cloud over the beauty.

This was the first time I had Shrimp to myself in the past few weeks and yet I willingly sacrificed him to the sea so I could have time alone. Since getting past the A-date issue, we've been hanging out, but I wouldn't call it dating: a couple Ocean Beach house parties on weekends, some random art adventures like going to the j.a.panese tea garden in Golden Gate Park and then driving down to Colma, the dead city (literally) where all the graveyards are and where Shrimp likes to go and draw tombstones.

But it was movie night with his family when I realized I could trust him for sure. It wasn't a specific thing he said or did that indicated we were past the Justin fallout, so much as a series of moments. Shrimp chose Silk Stockings Silk Stockings with the real Cyd Charisse for us to watch, and he melted Nestle Crunch bars over the hot microwaved popcorn just the way I love, without being asked. While the movie played he sat next to me on the couch with his arm around me, ma.s.saging my shoulders and neck. Midway through the movie Billy pa.s.sed me a bowl after taking a hit, but Shrimp took it from his dad and bypa.s.sed it over to Iris, knowing I was too content to waste the natural high on Billy's bud. When the movie was over everyone talked about how beautiful and elegant the real Cyd Charisse was, her lovely dance with the pair of silk stockings, and how perfectly matched she was in the movie with Fred Astaire. I said I thought the original, nonmusical version of the with the real Cyd Charisse for us to watch, and he melted Nestle Crunch bars over the hot microwaved popcorn just the way I love, without being asked. While the movie played he sat next to me on the couch with his arm around me, ma.s.saging my shoulders and neck. Midway through the movie Billy pa.s.sed me a bowl after taking a hit, but Shrimp took it from his dad and bypa.s.sed it over to Iris, knowing I was too content to waste the natural high on Billy's bud. When the movie was over everyone talked about how beautiful and elegant the real Cyd Charisse was, her lovely dance with the pair of silk stockings, and how perfectly matched she was in the movie with Fred Astaire. I said I thought the original, nonmusical version of the movie--Ninotchka movie--Ninotchka with Greta Garbo--was superior in my opinion, and everyone looked shocked like I had said something sacrilegious, with Greta Garbo--was superior in my opinion, and everyone looked shocked like I had said something sacrilegious, 146.

dissing my namesake. Iris said, "Do you know so much about old movies because you're named for an old movie star?" And I said, "No, I just know as would any reformed social outcast who had spent mucho mucho time alone in her room listening to Muzak and watching old flicks." Iris and Billy and Wallace and Delia laughed like I was uproarious, but I didn't see the joke and neither did Shrimp: SOUL MATE. time alone in her room listening to Muzak and watching old flicks." Iris and Billy and Wallace and Delia laughed like I was uproarious, but I didn't see the joke and neither did Shrimp: SOUL MATE.

I wandered along the beach for a good hour before I saw Shrimp emerge from the ocean, walking with that contented-blissful stride he gets after communing with the Pacific. What would Ava do? What would Ava do? I wondered. In my ear Ava whispered to me from her Forest Lawn perch in the dinosaur-movie-star heavens: I wondered. In my ear Ava whispered to me from her Forest Lawn perch in the dinosaur-movie-star heavens: Kid, look here. About that outfit you've got on. Hot stuff! And that boy walking toward you, filling out that wet suit right nice. What's it gonna take to get you two kids back together already? Kid, look here. About that outfit you've got on. Hot stuff! And that boy walking toward you, filling out that wet suit right nice. What's it gonna take to get you two kids back together already? I tried to explain to Ava about how this "just friends" thing is working out great and the ditch day was just about random chill time with no s.e.xpectations involved, that's just where Shrimp and I are right now, maybe there would be some sharing of a gooey chocolatey drink (Yoo-Hoo, anyone?), but that's it. Ava said, I tried to explain to Ava about how this "just friends" thing is working out great and the ditch day was just about random chill time with no s.e.xpectations involved, that's just where Shrimp and I are right now, maybe there would be some sharing of a gooey chocolatey drink (Yoo-Hoo, anyone?), but that's it. Ava said, Why? Haven't you waited long enough? Act Two of True Love can only be drawn out so long. Why? Haven't you waited long enough? Act Two of True Love can only be drawn out so long. I tried to explain about how s.e.x changes everything, but Ava snapped something about me being scared and a bore and she had a game of strip poker with Lana Turner, Errol Flynn, and Clark Gable to get back to. Lucky b.i.t.c.h. I tried to explain about how s.e.x changes everything, but Ava snapped something about me being scared and a bore and she had a game of strip poker with Lana Turner, Errol Flynn, and Clark Gable to get back to. Lucky b.i.t.c.h.

Shrimp came to my side, dripping wet, his board at his hip. A strong ocean wind whipped water from his hair onto my Ava cleavage. Did I need more of a sign? Shrimp said, "Were you just talking to someone? I thought I saw your 147.

lips moving but I don't see anyone near you or your cell phone in your hand."

I took his free hand, cold and wrinkled from the water. "Never mind. Wanna go back to your place?" I licked his ear, then whispered into it, "To your room?" Not that I wouldn't be agreeable to fooling around on the beach in broad daylight, I guess, but the thought of cold sand on my a.s.s and transient loonies cheering us on from behind the beach dunes was less than hot.

"The time isn't right," Shrimp said.

I actually stomped my foot. "It is!" I said. "It is!" Why can't he be your basic horn-dog male, WHY? My mistake, trying to entice him just after he'd scored with his first true love--the ocean--and was too Zen surfed out to care about scoring another form of action avec moi. avec moi.

His lips covered mine for a brief kiss, just long enough to shut me up. Then he said, "Iris and Billy are probably at the house--they wouldn't care, but I would. And the two of us haven't decided one way or another whether we want to get back together. When we do make that decision it shouldn't be like this, when you're upset, when it's about escaping instead of about us. That's just lame. When it happens, if it happens, don't you want it to be special? Isn't this great just now, you and me, the ocean, the sand, the beach almost all to ourselves?"

"What are you?" I asked. 'A girl?"

What if we've waited so long that now we can never do it again, because there never will be a right time? What if neither of us ever at the same time feels the right measure of trust and l.u.s.t that allows us to cross this invisible "just friends" barrier?

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We saw Iris in the distance as we headed up toward the highway. She was walking their new dog, Aloha, a mutt she and Billy adopted from the pound. It's weird that two people who still haven't decided where they are going to live permanently now that they're back in the U.S. of A. would adopt a dog before they knew they had a real home for it, but Wallace didn't seem to mind, probably because Aloha kept Iris too occupied to intrude in the last stages of wedding planning. The eager dog was walking Iris more than she it, though, and she almost ran past us without noticing us. Her mane of brown-gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but the strong wind was spraying pieces across her face so she didn't see us until we were directly in front of her.

"Hi!" she said, startled, when she noticed us standing in front of her. She let Aloha loose from the leash and threw a stick for the dog to fetch. If Nancy had been standing before us (and not recovering from a fight earlier that morning), Shrimp and I would have gotten chewed out for skipping school, but on Iris time, who knows if she even made the connection that she was b.u.mping into us on the beach in the late morning of a school day? "Want to take a walk with me?"

Shrimp said, "I need to go change out of this wet suit, but why don't you two go for a walk, then meet me back at the house in half an hour and I will make you ladies lunch? The Shrimp Blue Plate Special: Velveeta mac and cheese." He looked at his mom. "No bacon chunks," he added, and Iris chuckled.

Iris took my hand and we walked back toward the beach. Iris is easier when her family isn't around; she relaxes and she's more a person and less a pseudomom/wife 149.

bossing everyone around. Billy is a complete mystery to me; a fellow of few words who doesn't appear to want anyone to get to know him besides Iris. I will say that when his eyes aren't glazed over from being baked, the primary times his face registers emotion is when his sons are around him. He may not be much of a stick-around dad but he loves Wallace and Shrimp, though it's Iris who rules his world. The key to the mystery that is Billy may be that he's no mystery at all, that after decades of smoking herb like some people smoke cigarettes, there's simply not much there to him anymore.

Iris said, "You seem tense. Everything all right, darlin'?"

"Yeah, just a little spat with my mom. She's trying to make me go see her dying mother at Christmas instead of go to Wallace and Dee's wedding."

"Well, don't you want to see your grandmother before she pa.s.ses?"

"She's an old bat I've only seen a few times in my life. I haven't seen her enough to care, and from what I have gotten to know of her, I've never liked. She's not a very nice person, and I can't just all of a sudden pretend to care about her just because she's sick--that's so fake. I mean, if I had some terminal disease and she came into town like, 'Oh, my beloved grandchild, the years we've lost, let me pretend to care now that you're about to kick it,' I would just projectile vomit or something. Anyway I think I'm old enough to make this decision about what's more important for myself."

Iris said, "I think you're right. What do you think Shrimp would choose, between moving away with Billy and me or staying here with Wallace and Dee?"

Of course I wanted to say, Shrimp would choose a Cyd Shrimp would choose a Cyd 150.

Charisse commune where friends are outlawed and s.e.x rules morning, noon, and night and no way will his mother be allowed to take Shrimp away from me now that I've found him again, but I didn't. I said, "Why?" but I didn't. I said, "Why?"

"Well, it's a choice he's going to have to make eventually. And I'm curious what the girl who knows him best thinks he'll choose." It would be easy to think of Iris as just some crazy hippie throwback who cares more about shoving her political opinions down everyone's throats than she cares about the welfare of her own kids, but what elevates Iris from annoying to special is how deeply she cares, when she cares. I could feel in the tense clench of her hand that she was more than worried about whom Shrimp would choose; whether worried that he would reject her or worried that he wouldn't let her go, I don't know.

Nancy ringing my cell phone again allowed me to pry my hand loose from Iris's death grip. Nancy didn't bother saying h.e.l.lo or letting me speak, she just jumped right in: "I'll offer you a trade, a one-time-only, non-negotiable offer. Alexei stays in Fernando's apartment while we're all gone so there's at least one adult on the premises, and you agree to choose two colleges and fill out those applications during the Christmas break. Alexei will be there if you need help with the college applications. Under these terms, you can stay home in San Francisco and go to the wedding, if that's what you choose. Deal?"

"Deal," I said.

Nancy added, 'And don't you ever raise your voice at me or lock your door in my face again like you did this morning. We're finished with that. If you want to be treated like an adult, act like one." This time she clicked me off.

151.

Chapter 21

The Chairman of the Board's birthday was certainly not being celebrated at Java the Hut late that afternoon, as witnessed by the obscene level of crank in the coffeehouse. the Board's birthday was certainly not being celebrated at Java the Hut late that afternoon, as witnessed by the obscene level of crank in the coffeehouse.

Helen sat in a corner of the cafe, violently drawing in her sketch pad. When I glanced at the work, her Ball Hunter comic hero guy appeared to be getting chased by an army of golf-cart-riding Wonder Woman look-alikes, all shaking their fists at him, sunlight beaming off their gold bracelets. "Poor Ball Hunter man," I said to Helen. "What did he do?"

She crouched over her notebook so I couldn't look at it, and she glared at me. "I'm trying to work in private," she snapped. 'And I looked for you at school today because I needed your help with something, but now it's too late. What, you're too cool to show up at school now?"

Urn, okay, Helen. Need some Midol?

I walked over to where Autumn was bent over, lifting a tray of dirty gla.s.ses to take into the kitchen to be washed. When she stood up I saw that she'd cut off her dreads, and was left with a head full of short chunks of hair in search of direction. Autumn has that gorgeous rainbow-coalition face so she can pretty much pull off any hairstyle, but the new look was a complete surprise and I let out an involuntary gasp when I first saw it. While Autumn can pull off any hairstyle, that doesn't mean the new 'do was all that flattering.

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"Don't say anything about my hair," Autumn hissed. "I didn't get early admission to Cal and I was freaking out and just started cutting, and now I look horrible."

"You don't look horrible at all...," I started to say, but she breezed past me toward the kitchen. She went through the wrong-side door and got slammed in the face by Delia coming through from the other side. Autumn dropped the tray of gla.s.ses onto the floor, splashing water and coffee remnants on the ground. She held her nose while tears surrounded her eyes. 'Autumn, I'm so sorry!" Delia said. 'Are you okay? Do you need an ice pack? How many times does this have to happen to you for you to remember which door is which, anyway?"

I may have accepted Helen's challenge to become Autumn's friend, but I am not blind to Autumn's faults, the worst of which, I'm proud to proclaim, is the one I suspected to be true about her before I'd even met her: She is the worst waitress/barista ever. She always remembers customers' orders wrong, as if it's that hard to distinguish between skim or whole milk or a latte versus a cappuccino. She has no concept that the cleaning towel is there to fulfill its destiny to wipe spilled coffee, sugar granules, and cocoa powder off the counter at regular intervals, and she could easily send Java the Hut to bankruptcy court from all the gla.s.ses she's broken and machines she's permanently damaged. Shrimp says Wallace and Delia won't fire her because Autumn needs the job to save for college, but I think they keep her on because she's so pretty that she keeps a steady stream of surfer dudes coming into the shop, regardless of her barista talents (or s.e.xuality).

The surfer most falsely enamored of Autumn, Arran 153.

a.k.a. Aryan, ran over from the computer terminal, where he had been looking at the Victoria's Secret catalog on-line, to help Autumn clean up the mess she'd spilled. Delia couldn't help Autumn anyway, or tend to her wounded nose, because a tourist bus had pulled up outside the store, probably sucked over to Ocean Beach by the rare day of sun, and a sizable stream of customers had flowed to the front counter demanding caffeination.

Delia ran over to me with an ap.r.o.n in her hand. "Please?" she said. "Can you help me out here?"

Despite the many months since I'd worked the counter at Java the Hut, I said, "Sure." Churning out rapid-fire brews is like riding a bike or performing certain s.e.xual favors--a skill that once you've developed, you never lose. The time working at Lord Empress Kari's restaurant must have spoiled me, though, because back behind that counter I couldn't help but notice how poorly organized the station was or that it was a good thing the health inspector hadn't come by today because the cleanliness situation was not the tip-top shape Kari demands and gets. Lord Empress Kari has her restaurant running like a well-oiled machine, and Java the Hut could have used some of her whip cracking to get it moving like a tight-ship business instead of a cafe that ran out of small bills to give customers change and needed its expiration dates checked on the stale sandwiches.

Maybe I am not an Orange in a land of Apples, after all. Maybe I thought I belonged working at a place like Java the Hut, but after all the time away JtH felt different. It's still a great hangout but, like, maybe I am not all about the grunge mellow factor anymore. Which isn't to say I have any idea 154.

what I am about these days, but I was surprised at how different the Java the Hut coffeehouse felt to me now: part of the past, over ,finito. ,finito. Also, truth be told, I've had better coffee. Also, truth be told, I've had better coffee.

After we'd taken care of the onslaught of customers, Delia tucked behind her ear a strand of her frizzy red hair that had fallen from the bun at the back of her head, and she wiped some sweat from her brow. "Bless you," she said to me, right as Iris burst through the front door of the cafe. Iris saw Delia at the front counter, then turned around and walked back out of the door, away down the street. "What was that about?" I asked Delia.

Delia's voice went on the down low. "Get this. Billy had some, let's say 'transactions,' he was handling here at the store, and when Wallace and I realized what was going on we asked him not to conduct business here. Billy was okay with it--you know Wallace walks on water to him--but now Iris is p.i.s.sed because she says how are she and Billy supposed to afford moving out to their own place if we are obstructing him from making a living? Those two, I swear, if we make it through the next few weeks to the wedding, it will be a miracle."

I don't know what happened in the corner of the cafe, but we heard shouting and looked up to see Helen slam her notebook shut and storm out of the cafe, leaving Autumn and Aryan standing next to where Helen had been sitting, stunned looks on their faces. "What's her problem?" Aryan said. He, too, walked out of the store, grabbing his surfboard from the surf rack outside the window, and he headed in the direction of the beach, his long board at his hip.

Delia shrugged. "I have no idea what's going on there, but please can you do me one more favor? The wedding 155.

planner is meeting me here in half an hour to go over the last-minute details, and Autumn still has a few hours left on her shift and I really need her help, for what that's worth. Please go talk to her and just get her in a mood so she can help me out here. Pretty please, my darling could-be-my-sister-in-law one day?" Delia whimpered like a puppy dog; she was almost as cute as Aloha.

"Just-friends-in-law," I corrected Delia. I took off the ap.r.o.n and handed it back to her. "I'll go talk to her, but don't expect any miracles. I don't know what I'm doing." What am I, Dear Abby now? It was enough of a battle just to like the Autumn wench, now I have to talk to her about whatever is bothering her? This girls-as-friends business should come with a how-to manual.

Autumn sat at the back of the coffeehouse on the beat-up old sofa with the red sheet covering it. She pulled a book from the shelf, but the Dalai Lama's wisdom about the art of happiness must not have interested her because she flipped through random pages without reading a word or noticing that there were customers milling around who might have liked to sit on the sofa. I sat down next to her. "What the f.u.c.k?" I said. Was that a bad approach? What would Oprah have said?

Autumn rubbed her swollen nose, then placed her head in her hands. "Grrrrrrr...," she groaned. "Can we just erase this day from the calendar?"

"Erase Frank Day! Never!" I sputtered, horrified. Then again, Frank Day might not be a priority on her agenda. "What happened?" I asked her. I tried to pat her back, but I must have patted too hard because she flinched and said, "Ow!"

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Again, needing a how-to manual here.

Autumn said, "Where to begin? There was the Cal rejection letter that arrived today. I still might get in regular admission, but that was my ace in the hole. If I don't get in there, I don't know where I could afford to go that I would want to go. So strike one. Strike two, this girl at my school, we kind of got together and I thought I really liked her, but now she's going around at school acting like it never happened and all of a sudden she's like practically engaged to some guy she met last summer."

"I thought you told me you weren't going to date this year because of that exact problem."

'And you believed that?" Autumn shook her short mess of hair. "How gullible are you anyway? I might as well tell you strike three. Helen wanted to tell you, but then she kept chickening out because of your Madonna/wh.o.r.e man tirade. She's been having this sort of... can't call it 'relationship,' let's call it 'thing'... with Aryan. You know, he gets her alone and lets her do the deed, but then he doesn't acknowledge her when they're around other people, acts like there's nothing more between them than just being acquaintances. She likes him so much, even though she won't admit it. He's a great-looking guy, yeah, but I think he's a jerk myself. He's no Shrimp, that's for s.h.i.t sure. Helen knows I don't like him and that I think she's making a fool of herself over him. I mean, you want your friends to be with someone who deserves them, right?" I nodded. Right, yeah, that's how it works! "So then, just now, Aryan asked me out on a date for this weekend, right in front of Helen. End of scene; here we are."

My first order of business was to pull out my cell 157.

phone and send a text message to Helen inviting her to dinner at my house. Frank Day celebration with Helen's false idol, Mrs. Vogue, might cheer her up, and I would use the occasion to get Helen alone in my room to talk about the Aryan situation. While I had Helen there, I could pull out the dictionary and make Helen read aloud the entry for reciprocity (rSs' 3 3 -prCs"i-t). I may also force her to tune in to Dr. Phil or Dr. Ruth or just simply Dr. CC until she acknowledges that oral s.e.x is the same as s.e.x and, stop blushing, Helen, don't do it and think it doesn't count, because it does. -prCs"i-t). I may also force her to tune in to Dr. Phil or Dr. Ruth or just simply Dr. CC until she acknowledges that oral s.e.x is the same as s.e.x and, stop blushing, Helen, don't do it and think it doesn't count, because it does.

Next I told Autumn, "You're going to get into Cal. I know it. But maybe this is the universe sending you a message not to limit your options. There's a big wide world out there, and Berkeley is just across the Bay. Maybe the universe wants you to spread your wings a little and think of this rejection as an opportunity instead of a defeat." From the picture on the cover of the book resting on Autumn's lap, the Dalai Lama appeared to be nodding at me, congratulating my wisdom and empathy. "I will have a talk with Helen about Aryan and set her straight. It's not your fault Aryan asked you out in front of her, but it is your fault if you haven't made it extremely clear to him that you are one hundred percent gay. He probably knows about your Shrimpcapade, so maybe he thinks he's got a shot with you. Don't let him hold out some unrealistic expectation about getting together with you, especially if you know Helen is interested in him. And have you even come out at your school? Because I don't remember you telling me you have, so maybe the girl you like at school is getting mixed messages from you as well as the ones she's giving herself." This time I gently rubbed instead of bang-patted Autumn's 158.

back. 'And lastly your hair looks great, but if you don't like it, remember it's not Barbie hair--it does grow back." I could feel the need for a nap coming on; this pep-talk business was exhausting. "Now it's time for me to go home. My mother has turned unexpectedly reasonable, and I need to make up with her for a fight this morning."

Autumn smiled her impossibly perfect, big-toothed, full-mouthed grin. She stood up. "You're not so bad at this," she said as she walked back to her station at the front counter.