Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [68]
It really had been quite a day. I could hardly believe I was hearing this from Ella Gerard, perfect daughter of perfect parents. Her true soul and spirit were finally beginning to emerge.
Maybe a little too much.
Ella folded her arms in front of her. “So,” she said. “Why did you lie?”
It was time, I could tell, to unleash the truth. I turned my eyes on the rich mix of life that was milling around the front desk while I answered.
“I didn’t lie,” I said quietly as some guy in handcuffs was dragged down the hall. “My father does live on Second Avenue. He has a rent-controlled apartment and a dog named Negus.”
Stu cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, “this is really fascinating, but could one of you please tell me what happened? The last thing I remember is throwing a CD at Steve.” He made a face. “And I only remember that vaguely.”
But Ella was no longer interested in Stu. She leaned close to me. “You told me your father died in a motorcycle accident,” she said very loudly and clearly.
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. “All right,” I gave in. “So I exaggerated a little.”
She almost laughed. “You exaggerated a little? You killed off your own father, and you call that exaggerating a little?” Her Gestapo gaze bored into the side of my head. “What do you call exaggerating a lot?”
“Look,” I said, still trying to avoid direct eye contact. “Can’t we talk about this later? Don’t you think we should tell Stu what happened first?”
The old Ella would have backed down instantly. She would have apologized for being rude and, remembering all the rules about politeness and manners instilled in her by her parents, would have started being helpful to Stu. But the new Ella couldn’t care less.
She shook her head. “I think you should tell me what happened. Why did you say that your father was dead?”
I shrugged. “I had a reason.”
“Well that’s a start,” said Ella. “And what, pray tell, was that?”
Pray tell? Since when had Ella started stealing my lines?
Stu’s head moved back and forth between us as though he were watching a tennis match.
Before I could answer, Ella held up a hand. “And don’t tell me you lied because he’s a criminal or was tragically maimed rescuing a baby from a burning building, either,” she warned me. “This time I want the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yes,” said Ella. “The truth. You do remember what that is, don’t you?”
Sure, I thought, it’s boring.
“Were we in a diner?” asked Stu. “I have this image of old Christmas decorations…”
Ella stopped staring at me. Temporarily. “If you could just hold on a minute,” she said, “I’d be happy to explain. But right now I’m talking to her.” She turned back to me as she said “her”.
Stu turned to me, too. “Tell her, will you? I’d like to know what’s going on.”
I sighed. I know when I am beaten. “All right,” I said. “The total truth.” I looked at Stu. He had no idea who I was and wasn’t as hostile as Ella. I took a deep breath. “I lied because I wanted to make myself seem more interesting, that’s all.”
“More interesting?” repeated Ella. She glanced around the room as though taking a quick inventory, starting with the two women of the night who were standing at the front desk and ending with Stu. “We’re sitting here, in a New York police station with a cultural icon, waiting for your dead father to show up, and you want to be more interesting? More interesting than what?”
“You don’t understand,” I said – sadly, as a person used to being misunderstood would. “It was a new town, a new school…”
“I understand,” said Stu. “I think.”
I immediately felt less defensive. I believed him. If anyone could understand, I was pretty sure he, a true artist and kindred spirit, could.
“It wasn’t intentional,” I told Stu. “It just came out like that and then I couldn’t change it.” I smiled dauntedly. “I mean, if I’d been thinking more clearly I’d have had him move to Tibet or something.”
“Tibet’s good,” said Stu.