Beautiful People

chapter 2

My home is actually one of a duplex.  Some call it a town home.  All the buildings in the neighborhood are actually duplexes.  We have a community pool and a small park on the next street.  It is actually pretty nice. 

For the past six months, the other half of my duplex has been vacant.  As I pulled in the driveway, I could see signs of the new neighbor.  A black truck was so large it nearly took up the whole driveway and a bunch of boxes was stacked by the front door.  I only hope that whoever has moved in has a good marriage.  The last couple that lived there fought all the time.  Lizzie and I could hear everything that was being said when they would start fighting.  That is why it has been vacant.  They got a divorce.

When I finally got to the house, I walked in to the sound of the TV blaring.  It was comforting because it meant I was truly at home.  No one was in the living room, in spite of the noise volume.  I heard my mom laugh as I shut the TV off so I followed her voice into the kitchen.  Rounding the corner of the bar, I came to a dead stop, screamed “Holy Cow!” and u-turned quickly back into the living room.

The site of my mom standing naked on the linoleum is not what made me scream.  It was the near-naked man standing next to her by the stove and clutching a spatula that caused it.  Not completely naked because after all he was wearing an oven mitt on one hand so that counts for something.  Stumbling around the room, I covered my eyes trying to blot out the horrible site I had just witnessed.  The only noise from the kitchen was “Crap!  She’s home,” followed by the sound of drawers being opened and closed and some scuffling around.

“Mom, what is going on?”  I hollered, still covering my eyes.

“Nothing.  Your home early.  It’s only two o’clock.  We’re just making some eggs and pancakes for a late brunch.  Do you want some?”

“That would be a NO!”  I said, still hollering.  “Holy Cow - can you not cook with clothes on?  My daughter is in the house, you know.  Not to mention, so am I!”

“Would you stop hollering and come in here?” she said.  “We found an apron so everything is covered up.  You can stop overreacting.”  She lowered her voice to talk to the naked man but it was still audible from the living room.  “She always overreacts!  She always has.  I don’t know who she gets it from.”

“I heard that, Mom, and I am not overreacting.  Where is Lizzie?” 

“You’ll have to come in here if you want to talk.  I am not going to keep shouting.”

Fine, if that’s how she wants it, so be it.  After all, they should be the ones embarrassed, not me.  I headed for the kitchen again, but this time stopped at the bar, and was careful to keep my eyes on the floor.  “Where is Lizzie?”

“She went to the movies with a friend.  She is going to stay the night.  Where are your manners, dear?  Can’t you say hello?” 

You would have thought we were at a garden party or something the way she was acting instead of in my kitchen with two-thirds of the people unclothed.

“Hello” I said, and looked upward just enough to see that the naked man was no longer donning just an over mitt.  He had added a bright yellow apron that I did not even know I owned.

He waved the spatula at me.  “Hi, I’m Evan,” he said.  “Glad to finally meet you.  Sorry about the circumstances.”

“No problem,” I said, keeping my eyes on the floor.  I did not even bother about his name.  The fact is the vision of Terry Bradshaw standing nude in his naked-room was the only correlation my mind had in regards to mom’s friend.  I glanced at my mom’s feet and asked, “Which friend is Lizzie with?”

“The short one with the braces.  The food is almost ready.  You sure you don’t want any?”

I wanted to gag.  “No thanks.  I’m going to change.” 

As I walked away, I heard the naked Terry Bradshaw guy.  “Well, I’m sure she’s very nice.  She doesn’t look a thing like you or your granddaughter though, does she?”

“Ha!  How original,” I thought.  “Like that’s never been said before,” I grumbled to myself on the way to the bedroom.
 
Once more, I came to a sudden stop when I entered a room.  My bedroom was in shambles, which is its usual state, but for once, it was not from me.  The bed cover was tossed on the floor in a muddled heap.  The top sheet was half on and half off the bed.  Clothes were strewn everywhere.  My mom’s shirt and shorts were on opposite ends of the room, both lying on the carpet.  Which is very strange because she is such a neat fanatic, she even folds her dirty laundry.  A man’s sock lay by the window across the room and about three feet from where I stood lay the other sock.  Just inside the door was underwear that also belonged to a man, and unfortunately, it was the Speedo type.  Now, I was gagging.

I was afraid to go in my bathroom and I was not about to go back into the room with Mom and the Naked Terry.  The sooner I got rid of that image the better.  I stood in the hallway like an idiot unsure what to do.  It suddenly occurred to me that the backyard was my best option.  It was sunny and warm and now was as good a time as any to start working on the new me.  I dashed into the closet, dug in the back through a pile of clothes on the floor (I am not very organized) until I found a bathing suit from many years back.  I haven’t worn it in ages because it is a bikini.  My body calls out for more coverage than that.  Nevertheless, I was desperately in need of a tan so it was perfect.  All I needed now was to change and escape unnoticed.

I went into my daughter’s room to change.  We only have two bedrooms so I didn’t have much choice.  I carefully wrapped two towels around me to cover what the bathing suit wasn’t.  Just as I was opening the door I saw them coming down the hall so I shut it again and froze by the door, listening.  I felt like a kid trying to sneak out of the house after curfew.  As soon as I heard their voices in the bedroom, I tiptoed to the kitchen.  Grabbing the pitcher of iced tea and a glass, I snuck to the patio.

I pulled the plastic foldable recliner into the yard and stretched out.  At first, I positioned myself so my stomach and chest would tan.  I tried to concentrate on reading a book and sipping the tea. I failed.  I hadn’t sunbathed in a long time so the heat was uncomfortable.  After a short while, the backside of my legs and my back got very sweaty.

That was the thing about this cheap recliner.  It has those soft type of air-filled plastic strips across it that makes you sweat even more than you normally would.  I really hate it because it also puts these red streaks across your skin with creases and indentions that are not flattering to skinny bodies but actually makes a fat, out of shape body look a whole lot worse.
 
I cannot afford the more expensive patio furniture that my sister and my mom have.  I bought two plastic chairs, one small drink table, and the foldable recliner all for under $15 bucks at the end-of-summer-sale last year.  Besides, my patio is only a 6x6 space, so there is not room for much.

I forced myself to stay put long enough until I saw just the slightest pink hue and then rolled over to lie on my stomach.  I turned my head to one side, and with my arms by my side, I closed my eyes and prepared to bake.  I don’t even remember getting hot so I must have fallen asleep immediately.  A couple of hours later, I woke up to a strange voice.  I tried ignoring it at first, but whoever was talking would not shut up.

I gave up, raised my head, squinting into the bright sunlight.  All I could see was black.  Then a silhouette came into focus with a bunch of white spots everywhere.  I stood up, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes, trying to get them to adjust.  This time when I looked, I saw a man leaning over the fence.

I was in ecstasy!  It was Charles Ingalls or well, I mean Michael Landon as Charles Ingalls.  Michael Landon in the flesh.  Michael Landon leaning on my fence.  Michael Landon staring at me.  Michael Landon laughing.  Michael Landon laughing, I think, at me.  I actually believe I started to drool before I became conscious enough to comprehend that after all it was not the real Michael Landon, but some one who looked just like him.  Some one who looked just like Michael Landon as Charles Ingalls.  I swear this guy was his twin.  He was beautiful.  He was gorgeous.  He had on no shirt!  It was Charles!

Whoever he was, he was moving his lips, but I wasn’t taking anything in.  It was my fantasy come-to-life, only I was the one mesmerized.  I wanted to shout “Oh, Charles” or “Please, Pa” and then throw myself in his arms, begging him to forgive me for not being Caroline Ingalls.  Then I would tell him it was okay to take me anyway.
But I didn’t.  I stood there, drooling.  After a minute or maybe days, I really don’t know, he shrugged his shoulders, and started shaking his head.  And then, in an instant, he turned and walked into the house and was gone.

I couldn’t believe it.  It was like a dream, only it wasn’t because I was still standing there with my drool in the middle of the yard.  I was trying to sort it out, to figure out if what had happened had really happened.  Had I really just seen him?  Had Charles Ingalls truly just walked into the house next door?

“Oh my God, the house next door.”  At last, it clicked.  The house next door is the other half of my duplex.  Charles is in the other half of my duplex.  It follows that Charles must be my new neighbor.
 
I felt giddy all over.  What could be better?  This was the first good thing that had happened in weeks.  I was so excited I even forgot I was wearing the old bikini.  I was so excited I didn’t notice the red creases and indentions that were patterned all over my thighs and belly.  I was so excited that I didn’t realize that one-half of my face had those same patterns all over it.  I was so excited that none of this occurred to me until I touched my hand to my face and one side hurt, really bad, because it was sun burnt. 
That brought me back to earth quickly. 

I ran inside to the mirror in the living room, and gasped in horror. The back of me and one side were deep red, which made the rest of my skin look hideously white.  My face looked like someone had used globs of old paint to spray one-half of it.  My hair was a frizzed mess, sticking out in all directions.  Just the fact that my forty-year-old body was displayed in a bikini was enough to scare anyone, but the bizarre patterns tattooed all over the fat definitely made me a prime candidate for the part of a monster in some B rated movie.  I could easily have been in “The Creature from the Black Lagoon”, coercing a lot more screams from the audience than the monster ever did.

I was mortified.  This atrocious eyesore is what Charles saw.  No wonder he was smiling.  No wonder he was laughing. He must think I am some whacked-out monstrosity that can’t do anything but drool.

I was trying to come up with more graphically descriptive words to beat myself up when it dawned on me that I was not alone.  My mom and Naked Terry, who I assume had been watching TV, were now watching me.  I gave them both a little smile, muttered an apology for interrupting, and then turned my attention back to the mirror.  I couldn’t help it.  I looked so bad.

My mom whispered something to him, and even though I wasn’t looking at them, I knew she was doing it.  I figure she must have told him to leave the room, because he jumped up and went into the kitchen without saying a word.

“Your new neighbor came by,” said Mom.  “I told him you were out back on the patio.  Did he find you?  He really is very nice looking.”  She got off the couch and came over by the mirror.  When she got close enough, she took one look at me and changed her thought.  “Oh, sweetie, is that what you were wearing?”

“Unfortunately, yes, this is what I was wearing.  And yes, he did find me only we didn’t have a conversation.  I think he took one look and ran away.”

“Oh, he did no such thing.  He told me his name, but I don’t remember it.  What is it?”

“I didn’t talk to him, Mom.  I’m telling you he ran away.”

“Oh, stop that.  You are always so negative.  He seemed very nice.  He’s divorced, you know.”

“No, how would I know that.  I’ve never talked to him.  I don’t even know him.”

“Well you should.  He’s from around here, I believe.  He has something to do with cattle, I think.  He has one son in college - A&M, I think he said.  Not Baylor.”  To my mom, Baylor is the only university that really counts.  She stepped in front of me and ran her hand across her flat stomach, smoothing the material.  This just made my red rippled skin look even worse.

At least this time she was fully clothed, as was Naked Terry, I am happy to report.  I do not mean she was wearing a bra because she gave those up when she retired.  She said she has spent years entrapped in bras and stuffy clothes just because that was what had been expected of her, and since she no longer worked, she wanted to feel free and unencumbered.  She had stuck to it too.  She gave away all her suits and kept only two.  These she reserved for funerals and special church services.  She also threw out all her bras and again only kept two.  These were to be worn with the suits.  She feels she can only pay her proper respect at funerals and other such occasions if she is wearing a bra.  Everything else she wears for all other aspects of her life is bright or exotic and usually covered in ruffles.
 
Our reflections made a stark contrast; she in a flowing lightweight hot pink and yellow sundress with sandals and her hair styled up, and me in my bikini with splotchy skin and hair all over the place.  Between the two of us, she looked a lot better than I did, but that was nothing new either.  She had stopped talking and the same thought evidently occurred to her.

“You know, sweetie, I’m not really sure that bathing suit is right for you.  Have you considered trying another color?”

“It’s not the color that’s the problem.  And don’t worry.  This is an old one.  I just threw it on so I could get some sun.”

“Well you know that is horrible for your skin.  I mean look at you.  You are sunburned all over. When are you going to start taking care of yourself?  You worry me so much.”
“Well that makes two of us.  Did the neighbor say what he wanted?”

“Not to me.  I got the idea it was you he was looking for.”  She winked at me in the mirror.  “He really is very nice looking.”  With that parting comment, she went to the kitchen.

Okay, now my mom was trying to play matchmaker.  I cringed wondering what kind of things she said about me to this total stranger.  I have no doubt she told him quite a bit.  Getting and giving information is just one of her fortes.  She really missed her calling.  The CIA could have gotten a lot of use out of her.

I could only hope that whatever it was Charles wanted, it could wait until after Mom and Naked Terry left.  The last thing I wanted after already humiliating myself was to run into him with Mom’s watchful eye bearing down on us.

I kept looking at myself in the mirror.  I’m not sure why.  It really depressed me.  I was kind of hoping that if I stared at myself long enough, I would magically look better.  It wasn’t working.

I could hear them in the kitchen and though I could not clearly make out what Naked Terry was saying, I could hear Mom distinctly.  She was talking about me.  When I heard her say that she wished that I would at least attempt to attract a man, I couldn’t stand it anymore.  Does she not get that this is a small house and that I can hear everything she is saying?  I didn’t waste my breath defending myself.  I just gave up and headed for the bathroom.
   
I had a lot of heat in my backside so I decide to soak in some cool sudsy water to sooth it.  I was just getting my teeth to stop chattering when Naked Terry and Mom decided to head to the bedroom.  As they shuffled by the bathroom door, my mom said, “I don’t know what the problem is.  She just doesn’t want to hold onto a man”.

I was too miserable to take it.  I threw a sponge at the door and yelled, “I CAN HEAR YOU!” 

I gave up on the bath.  I was freezing anyway.  I wiped lotion on all the places on my body that I could reach and then wanted to slap myself because I didn’t have any clothes to put on.  I dug around in Lizzie’s closet and found her favorite sweat suit.  I knew she would be mad, but she would just have to get over it.  This was an emergency.  I was not going back in that bedroom with them in there.

The kitchen I am pleased to say showed no signs of the harried event that had taken place in there earlier that day.  I hesitated, deciding between the Ding Dongs and the Cheetos, and then remembered I had to become beautiful for Jason in less than a month so I shut the pantry door and turned to the fridge.  It didn’t offer much but I did find some celery and cheese.

I dug in the dishwasher for a clean knife.  The spatula that old Naked Terry had been waving around caught my eye and I did not hesitate at all in throwing it in the trash.  I am aware that it is a waste of a perfectly useful utensil but I know that I will never be able to use it again.  Whether he was using it to flip the pancakes or to flip something else on my mom, I wasn’t sure.  No good would come of risking it.

I looked around the kitchen for any signs of another possible play toy he might have used.  I saw the oven mitt and tossed it into the trash as well.  I did not need that reminder.  I really just felt irritated by the events of the entire day.  I knew that tomorrow I would probably be laughing about the whole thing but tonight I just couldn’t.

It’s not that I really begrudge my mom a boyfriend or anything.  I mean, my dad died years ago so there was no reason why she shouldn’t have one.  She deserved to have somebody.  And it’s not even her remark about how I can’t hold onto a man.  I mean, who knows that better than I do?  It is not as if that’s breaking news.  I have known it for years.  And even the catastrophe with the neighbor wasn’t the problem.  I was use to humiliation.  No, it was the whole Jason thing.  I felt all out of whack.  What I needed was to go to bed and forget the entire day.

In the bedroom, I grabbed the first DVD I could find which was a Scooby Doo movie, put it in the player that Lizzie got for Christmas and cranked up the volume on her TV.  Anything was better than the occasional giggles and grunts coming from the other room.