Just All of It
BETSY’S HEAD IS RESTING ON the cushion and as I take her hand, she turns her head to me. I speak first, knowing I’m the one who needs to grovel a bit. “I’m sorry I went to your shows and was a creeper.”
“I’m sorry you went behind my back and lied,” she says but smiles at me. “I guess I forgive you.”
“I wish I could properly convey to you how much you move me when you dance.”
She leans forward. “Not just moving your pants?”
I shake my head. “Don’t do that,” I say and she closes her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you how your dancing has changed my life and you’re making a joke. I get it. I’d do the same. I’m serious, Bets, you are luminous and soul moving.”
She sits up and takes my hand. “I’m sorry, I believe you, it’s hard for me, because most of the time I just hear about the masterful boner I made the person have. It means a lot to me that you get me and my passion.”
I squeeze her hand. “I do, I get you. Not for nothing, my boner was majestic every time.” I laugh and she pulls her hand from me and pushes me over.
“Dick.”
“That’s me,” I say as I right myself. “Tell me about Ohio.”
Her laughter stops abruptly. “Ohio? You want to hear about how I was an awkward kid, braces, pimples, and bad haircuts? Or do you want to hear about how my dad hit me with a belt when he caught me touching myself in the bathtub when I was six?”
I take her hand back. “All of it. I want to know all about you—the pain, the joy, the awkward. Hold on,” I say and run to the kitchen to get us each a fresh beer. “Here, this will grease your squeaky story wheels. Leave nothing out.”
She shakes her head. “You are something else, Joe. I agree to tell you about me, but I want awkward pre-teen stories about you too.”
I reach out and pull her slouchy shirt up over her shoulder. “Tits for tats?”
“That makes no sense, especially because you don’t have either of those. There’s no exchange.”
I just smile like the idiot I am and stare at the poppy on the side of her throat. Someday I’ll get to lick all of her flowers, as well as her lady garden. “I’m an open book, Bestie, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Even about the time you shit your pants at Alicia’s?” she asks, her hands steepled under her chin.
“Sure, everyone thinks I’m embarrassed by that story and I’m not,” I say because it’s true. I pretend I’m scared but I just do that so my friends think they have some power over me. I couldn’t care less about it. “I’ll save it for later, I have a feeling we will need some comic relief. I wish Jack was up, he tells it the best.”
“Deal, so is there anything specific you want to know?”
“Nah, just a general idea of your childhood and then how you ended up in our fair city. Then your life of misery until I showed up on your doorstep.”
“I’ve never met someone who loves themselves as much as you do,” she says. “How did you get such a strong self-esteem?”
“I can see you projecting, but I’ll allow it,” I answer, shaking my finger at her. “My mom and dad were great and they gave me a lot of freedom to develop my music and whatever else interested me. They supported me no matter what but didn’t put up with any bullshit either. I completely realize how lucky and privileged I am, but I also fully realize how fucking awesome I am. Not just as a guitarist or running my business. There’s this amazing package, too.” I lift up my shirt to show my abs.
“Ugh, you are the worst while also being the best,” she teases me. “You are fucking awesome to me because you are thoughtful, smart, and a great dad.”
My heart stops for a beat and then a wash of feeling pours through me. “Thanks, Bestie. I mean it,” I say when she looks skeptical. “I don’t get many compliments about my intelligence or parenting skills. Enough about me though, spill it.”
“Fine,” she says and lets out a huff of air. “My childhood was rather privileged as well. My dad is a pastor of a super church and my mom was a teacher—she’s retired now. We lived in a big house and I had everything I could ever wish for, except parents who treated me like a child instead of a way to improve their image. I was supposed to be the perfect pastor’s kid. If I stepped out of line, I got the belt or locked in my closet. I quickly learned how to either drop things that upset my parents or hide it well. Then, in middle school and high school, I didn’t have many friends. People didn’t want to be associated with the goodie-goodie church girl. Well, some did, the boys who wanted to see if I had a naughty side.”
“Which you did,” I say because she is smiling.
“Hell yes, I did. I was really good at sneaking around but was smart about it. I didn’t fuck around with guys I didn’t trust, and I brought my own protection or we didn’t get down.”
“How old were you when you lost your v-card?”
“I was 17, not too early. I had one boyfriend for a while in my senior year, but he dumped me by email and never spoke to me again. Later, I found out my dad paid him to break up with me. He didn’t approve. I guess he was right if the guy took the money over staying with me.”
“Your dad sounds like a real peach,” I say.
“Yeah, we’ve had our issues. Once I went away to school, he was forced to accept me or lose me. We didn’t talk for a year. He was livid because I applied to schools on the west coast without his permission. I got into Stanford with a full ride and there wasn’t jack shit he could do about it. I drove the car he gave me for my 17th birthday out here and sold it to pay for things until I could get a job. I haven’t been back since.” She stretches, arching her back, and her shirt falls down to reveal her colorful shoulder.
“You haven’t seen your parents in ten years?” I ask.
“My mom came to see me a few years ago and she cried over my tattoos and my hair, which was bright pink at the time. She left after two days because she said she couldn’t stay in my apartment where the devil had surely taken up residence along with me.” She shrugs and sighs. “It’s fine, I’m resigned to having them only half in my life. Like I said, we find safe things to talk about and they don’t ask me about anything in my life.” She laughs suddenly. “Oh my god, they’d love you.”
“Really? I mean, most people do, but how would I pass muster?”
“You’re clean-cut, you have no tattoos or piercings, you own a business, your own home and raised your brother.” She puts her head in her hands. “Do you believe in God?”
“Not so much one God, but more of a general possibility of some higher power. My parents were not religious and were adamant about us making our own choices about our faith when we were adults.” She looks at me and smiles. “Jack is a full-on atheist.”
“Okay, so you’re not 100% perfect but they’d still approve. When I was in college, I went through a six-month phase where I read the Bible, joined a campus bible study and really tried to take it seriously. I just couldn’t. In a huge fight with my dad once, I told him it was his fault I left the church. He made it so I resented anything to do with it because it hurt me both mentally and physically. The only reason we still talk is because of that argument. He hung up, prayed, and then called me back and apologized for the physical abuse. He was so sincere I forgave him and now we have a very limited interaction but I can’t shut him out completely.”
My heart is breaking for her. She is clearly affected by her parent’s scorn and lack of support. “You are so strong, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I never knew anything else. It has kept me from making friends easily.” She looks at her hands. “Did I tell you how I met Jeannette?”
I shake my head. “I thought you met when you came to see the house?”
“Nope, she was the one who told me about it. I got in early because she knew about the sale before it was officially listed. She and I met at a women’s shelter years ago.”
“So, you are a tech genius, a superstar dancer and a saint?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Definitely not a saint. When I first moved to the city after graduating, I felt lost. I had a great job since I was recruited in my senior year, and my apartment was fine. I hadn’t started at Lady Marmalade yet and had no creative outlet. I was 22, living by myself, working ten-hour days. My social life was non-existent and I had zero friends.”
“You didn’t have college friends?”
“A few, but the majority went to grad school or moved back home. None of them were that close that I kept in touch for very long.” She shrugs. “Don’t feel sorry for me, I’m a loner and it’s okay. One day, I was walking in the mission and I saw a flier on a church bulletin board looking for volunteers. A lot about church left a sour taste in my mouth, except for the ministry. I loved offering my time, skills and enthusiasm to others for no return.”
“So, you started volunteering for the shelter?” I ask, wanting to know more.
“Yes, and it changed my life. I realized my own childhood wasn’t normal and that my parents, my dad especially, abused me physically and emotionally. It was like someone dropped a bucket of ice water on me. I woke up. Shortly after I started there, I met Jeannette. She was a volunteer counselor. She did pro-bono therapy for the women and the children. Her other practice was in Pacific Heights until she retired a few years ago.” She takes a breath, leaning her elbows on her knees. “She and I had an easy friendship. We talked about our love of the city, burlesque dancing, and food. I opened up to her about my family and childhood and didn’t realize until years later that she was subtly counseling me along the way. She helped me get to a place where I could forgive my dad and my mom. I trust her with my life.”
“She’s pretty rad, plus she likes me, so she’s obviously brilliant,” I try to lighten the mood a little. “I’m glad you have her. Is she your only friend?”
“Until you and Jack busted your way into my life. I don’t trust easily. I have some surface friends at work and the theater, but no one really close.” She picks at some imaginary thread on her pants.
“I’m so happy you’ve finally seen the light that you and I were meant to be besties,” I say and nudge her hip with my foot. She really is a fantastic friend. I wish she believed it. I wish she believed we could be more than friends.
We sit quietly, listening to Frank’s pathetic snoring for a while. Finally, I get up and hold out my hand to her. She takes it and I walk her to her room, stopping at her door. I place my hands gently on her shoulders and pull her in a little.
“Don’t think I forgot about that poop story, Joe,” she says squinting at me.
“Nah, but Jack really does tell it better, I’ll get him to lay it on you tomorrow.” I play with a lock of her lilac hair. “Thanks for sharing with me. I can’t wait to hear more,” I say and brush a soft kiss on her cheek.
I’m rewarded with a smile as I pull back. “There’s not much more really, but if you want to hear all my thrilling tales of playing Dungeons & Dragons solo in my parents’ basement or how I’ve never had a roommate, I’ll share.”
“It’s all fascinating to me, you are fascinating to me,” I say, give her shoulders a squeeze, and turn to walk to my room.
“Joe,” she says softly. “You are, you know.”
“What?” I ask over my shoulder.
“My best friend.”