Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [42]
They shook their heads, having no idea whatsoever.
“I’ll show you why,” she said, and walked into the kitchen to take the chart down from the refrigerator. She carried this, along with her second glass of cherry cordial (which, she thought, tasted exactly like expectorant) back into the living room. She displayed the chart for them to see. “Not since April have you boys had such an exceptional chart! This one goes into the family album,” she said almost tearfully, hugging the chart to her breast.
“Can we see High School Slaughterhouse 2?” asked her oldest boy, Ricky.
The dreamy expression left Peggy Jean’s face and was replaced by one of alarm. She set the cherry cordial down on a daisy coaster atop the mirrored coffee table and swallowed. “Most certainly not,” she said. “We will see nothing of the sort.” Then, resting the chart on top of a copy of Modern Woman magazine, she announced, “We are going to the seven P.M. showing of Gone With the Wind. It was one of my favorite pictures as a young girl.”
The boys looked at the floor. The middle boy, who seldom spoke, asked, “Can we just stay home instead?”
Peggy Jean laughed and took a dainty sip of her cherry beverage. “Of course not! You boys deserve a treat!” Then glancing at her watch, “Now go put your sneakers on, we don’t want to be late.”
In the car, all three boys sat in the back as usual. The eldest made a gun with the fingers of his right hand and pretended to shoot their mother in the back, through the seat.
The other two boys covered their mouths and tried not to laugh.
A
t 7:30 sharp the doorbell rang, and John Smythe bounded down the stairs wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, which he hoped showed off his muscular legs to their best advantage. Nikki was wearing jeans and a little white top. She looked fresh, as if she had just come from a nap on a bed of violets.
“Hi, Mr. Smythe,” she said when he opened the door. “I hope I’m not late.”
John invited her inside. “Not at all, Nikki. Perfect timing. But there’s been a change of plans, and it’s all my fault.”
She looked at him with big eyes.
“My wife screwed up and took the kids out to a movie. She must have forgotten that I told her I had a surprise.”
Nikki looked disappointed. “Gosh, Mr. Smythe, that’s awful. And it sounded like it was going to be so romantic.”
“Ah, well, another time,” he said, scratching his leg, drawing her attention to it.
“Do you run?” she asked.
“Now and then, just to, you know, keep in shape.” His face felt hot, flushed. “Well, since you’re here, can I get you something? A Pepsi or maybe some milk?”
“Do you have any wine?” she asked.
“Young lady, you aren’t even eighteen years old,” he said, smiling, flirting.
“I’m almost eighteen,” she said, shrugging. “Pepsi’s okay, I guess.”
She smelled, he thought, like springtime.
“One Pepsi coming right up. Go ahead and make yourself at home.” His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was worried she could hear it. He walked into the kitchen and got two glasses from the cupboard and two cans of Pepsi from the refrigerator, and filled the glasses with ice.
“So tell me, Nikki,” he said as he handed her a glass, “how’s life?
“Good, I guess. Why is your hand shaking?”
He sat down on the couch, putting his glass on the coffee table. “Oh, just the ice from the drinks, that’s all.”
She took a sip.
“So, ah . . .” thinking of something to ask her, “what are your plans when you finish high school?”
“Well, actually, I was kind of hoping to be a model,” she said bashfully.
He smiled. “Yes, yes indeed, I could see that. You do resemble Bridget Hall.”
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, turning sideways