Tully

‘“Don’t go changing/to try to please me…”’ he sang drunkenly, bending closer to her. Tully ducked underneath his arm and saw Lynn Mandolini watching her from the kitchen.

‘Hi, Mrs M.,’ Tully said when she got loose.

‘Hi, Tully,’ said Lynn. ‘Who was that?’

Tully rolled her eyes. ‘Who the hell knows? Never talked to him before in my life. Rick something or other.’

‘He seemed to know you pretty well.’

‘He seemed to be drunk pretty well,’ said Tully. ‘There’s liquor at this party?’

‘Not anymore,’ said Lynn. ‘What are they playing? Listen to this noise.’

Music. The Stones? Van Halen? Tully couldn’t tell for sure. Ah, yes, The Who. There was a stone in their shoe, apparently, and they couldn’t get to it.

‘Pretty loud, huh? I rang but no one heard.’

‘Who’d hear you? And have you lost your key?’

Tully smiled. ‘Never had a key.’

‘Well, by God,’ said Lynn cheerfully, ‘maybe it’s time you got one.’

Putting her Marlboro out, she looked Tully up and down.

‘Let me take your coat.’ Lynn stared at Tully a little closer. ‘You’re a bit late,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know.’ Pause. ‘I got held up.’

‘Everything all right, I hope?’

‘Oh, yes, fine, fine.’ Tully became acutely aware of her swollen, bluish face. How well was it hidden behind the cake powder? My nose feels twice its size, Tully thought, I wonder how it looks. ‘Where’s Jen?’

‘Upstairs. They’re destroying the house,’ said Lynn, lighting another cigarette and downing her Alabama Slammer. ‘Simply destroying.’

Tully patted Mrs Mandolini on the arm. ‘It’s a good thing an eighteenth birthday comes only once, ain’t it, eh?’ she said, leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. Rick something or other was still out in the hall, now milling around another more willing victim.

Jennifer had the master bedroom. Needing a bigger room for all her junk, she pleaded and pleaded with her parents until they gave in, or so Jennifer had said. Tully and Julie postulated an entirely different scenario. Tully said that Jennifer probably mentioned it once at supper, and Lynn and Tony immediately started clearing out of their master bedroom.

Upstairs, the noise was less deafening. Again, beer cans, plastic glasses, cigarette butts. The Mandolinis really should’ve waited to install a new carpet, Tully thought. And what a nice clean cream color it used to be, too.

Five or six people stood in the hall, shouting a conversation at each other. They nodded to Tully; she nodded back and pushed her way into Jennifer’s bedroom.

‘Hi, Tull,’ said Jennifer. Tully grunted, looking around the room. Jennifer peered into Tully’s face and at Tully’s clothes. ‘Hey, you okay?’

‘Great,’ Tully said. ‘Couldn’t be better.’ She nodded hello to Julie and Tom, who were sitting on the love seat. But Tully wasn’t that interested in her friends just then. Instead, her eyes were on someone in the room she didn’t know. A young dark boy, nearly a man, very well groomed, who looked up at Tully when she walked in. Unfortunately, there was some bimbo on his lap, marring the otherwise impressive view. Tully would have to ask Jennifer about him when she had a chance. But right now she needed to go and get changed. Trying to look un-selfconscious, Tully sauntered over to the drinks bureau.

‘Mmm, nice,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘I haven’t seen so much Coke and lemonade in a long time.’

‘You know, we are not allowed to drink if we’re not eighteen,’ said Tom from the couch.

‘Really?’ said Tully, irritated by his self-righteous tone. ‘Wow, thanks. I didn’t know that. That’s so helpful.’ She gave Julie a withering look that made Julie move a foot away from Tom.

‘But Tom,’ said Tully sarcastically, ‘did you know that though we can’t drink, we can go to Kmart and buy ourselves a teeny-weeny handgun with super-duper bullets?’

Tom made some kind of a noise. Tully continued in the same helpful tone. ‘And did you know, Tom, that not only can’t we drink even beer, but we can’t drink hard liquor until we’re twenty-one?’

Tom methodically rubbed his hands together.

‘But that’s neither here nor there, Tom,’ Tully went on. ‘What is here and there, though, is that I distinctly remember seeing you at a twenty-one-and-over club last summer, swilling those twenty-one-and-over cocktails down with an incredible twenty-one-and-over speed –’ Tully saw Julie’s astounded face.

‘Oh,’ Tully said quickly. ‘My mistake.’ She looked at Julie. ‘Ha! Must have been someone else. So many tall, skinny, freckled guys around. Of course. I’m wrong. Silly me, huh, Jule?’

‘Yes,’ said Julie, glaring at Tully. ‘Silly you.’

Moving away from them, Tully took a beer and peeked at herself in the mirror. My first party without Aunt Lena in a year and a half and look what I’m wearing. She sneaked a glance at the good-looking boy with the bimbo. He must’ve heard all that entire exchange with Tomboy. Yeah, but look how I look. Who cares what comes out of my mouth when I look like this? Tully wanted to speak with Jennifer before disappearing into the bathroom, but Jennifer was all over the place, in, out, in, out. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Tully was mildly surprised. Jennifer was usually a wallflower.

Propped up by a piece of furniture, Tully stood alone for a few minutes. Julie and Tom were kissing. Tully fought an impulse to roll her eyes. Tom held Julie with his right hand and a beer with his left. Well, I guess he’s eighteen, he can do those things, Tully thought. They weren’t the only ones kissing. The lap bimbo was making out with the cute guy.

Tully went over and sat by Julie.

‘What’s the matter?’ Julie asked.

‘Nothing. I want to dance.’

‘Let’s go.’

Tully rubbed her forehead. ‘Are there a lot of footballers?’

‘So many!’ Julie said. ‘You’re in luck.’

Tully ignored her. ‘Did Jennifer’s friend come?’

‘I think so. I haven’t been watching her every minute.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Tully.

‘Downstairs, I think.’

‘They spend much time together?’

‘Dunno,’ said Julie.

Tully shook her head. ‘How strange, don’t you think, Jule? I mean, don’t most girls like guys in the image of their fathers?’ Tully looked derisively at Tom.

Tom sat up straight. Julie laughed uncomfortably.

‘What kind of guys do you go for, Tully?’ he asked. ‘Do you go for guys who look just like your father?’

Julie stopped laughing.

Tully skipped one beat – but only one. ‘I don’t like to limit myself, Tom. I like all guys, but you should know better than most what kind I don’t like, am I right?’ said Tully. ‘Or am I wrong again?’

Julie was now glaring at Tully and at Tom.

Tom looked the other way, mumbling, ‘Oh, I’m sure you like all guys, I’m sure.’

Tully got up and walked out of the room.

‘Tom!’

‘Julie, calm down.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘What did I say?’

Julie leaned close and screamed at him over the Stones, who were screaming they could get no satisfaction. ‘I’m sorry I ever told you anything about my friends, you shit!’

Tully, at this time, was demonstrating her offended feelings by pinching Jennifer’s behind on the way to the bathroom.

She locked herself in and looked around. Whether she needed to or not, Tully always made sure she visited the Mandolini bathroom at least once. Their entire house was neat and well kept, but the best, cleanest, prettiest, most organized room in the house was undoubtedly the bathroom. Spacious and gleaming, it had spotless white tiles with roses and daisies on them, an ivory white carpet, mirrors on all four walls, chrome taps, soft pink bulbs, blush-pink carnations, fresh-smelling towels and shower curtain. Unlike the Makker household, where everything in their gray bathroom smelled of diseased mildew, the Mandolini bathroom smelled not like seaweed but like the sea. Not that I have any idea what the sea smells like, thought Tully, looking in the mirror.

Her face was puffy. No amount of makeup, no matter how diligently applied, could hide that in the harsh light. She turned off the fluorescent and turned on the soft pink. Ah, that’s better, she thought. Now I just look a bit…fuzzy. Oh, well. She opened her big bag (Mary Poppins called hers a ‘carpetbag,’ but even Mary would’ve been surprised to find what lurked in Tully’s) and took out her makeup case. She put on another layer of cake powder, added another hue of black to her eyes; Tully liked her eyes, her eyes were all right. A shadow of all colors. Yes. Oh, but her dress! She couldn’t have looked more frumpy in Aunt Lena’s nightgown. She retrieved out of her bag a thin black polyester skirt, with a zipper at the front, a slit in the back, and a length of about ten inches.

She quickly slipped out of her skirt and shirt and tried to stuff them into her bag, but they were much too bulky, sort of like squeezing a brick through a keyhole, and so she ended up dropping them into the hamper.

‘Jule, I’m sorry, don’t be mad,’ Tom was saying in the meantime. ‘I can’t help it that she rubs me the wrong way.’

‘And what the hell did she mean about that twenty-one club anyway?’

‘I don’t know what she meant,’ Tom said.

‘What club was she talking about?’

‘Julie, how should I know? She’s got me mixed up with someone else. She knows a lot of men, believe me.’

‘How the hell do you know?’

Tom giggled awkwardly. ‘Julie! She’s got a re-pu-tation.’

‘How the hell do you know? What does that have to do with anything? And who are you? The Pope?’

‘Look,’ Tom said. ‘Everyone in school knows.’

Julie got up. ‘Tom, you’re gonna have to stop this. You’re gonna have to stop talking about Tully that way. As long as me and you are together, you’re just gonna have to be nice to her, just gonna have to.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Because,’ Julie said, ‘I can always get another boyfriend.’

‘Oh, that’s delightful,’ Tom said. Julie became silent.

‘What is it, Tom? What is it? You have something personal against her, or what?’

‘Nothing personal,’ he said grumpily.

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t hound me,’ he snapped.

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped back, and walked out of the room.

Tully remained in the bathroom, with a long line of footballers lining up outside the door, knocking and muttering obscenities. To complement the black skirt, she put on black high-heeled pumps and a white short-sleeved T-shirt – plain, thin, no bra.

That’s me, thought Tully. That’s what I am. And when I die, that’s what will be on my tombstone. Plain, thin, no bra. The T-shirt was cut off at the navel, showing her young stomach. Some more red lipstick, some more black eyeliner, and she was set.

She strolled out of the bathroom, looked bemusedly at the herd of guys scrambling past her, and then stood against a wall. Lighting a cigarette, she scratched the inside of her bare thigh and smoked. A guy walked by and ogled. Another guy also ogled, until the girl with him pinched him hard; he walked on. A couple was walking up the stairs. The male gave Tully an appraising up-down. The female’s glare was less appraising, more abrasive. That girl didn’t even notice me before, thought Tully. I wasn’t properly dressed before. She smiled.

Tully must have looked good, judging by the reaction of the females; always, but always, she told herself, judge your appearance by the reaction of the females. The more derisive the look, the better Tully was attired. And I haven’t even danced yet, Tully thought gleefully.

She stubbed out her cigarette on her shoe and got out a piece of gum. Satisfied with herself, Tully was about to go downstairs in search of Jennifer when Julie stormed out of Jen’s bedroom with Tom behind her. Tully sighed.

Julie stopped near Tully and smiled. ‘Well, Tull,’ she said. ‘I’ll be damned. I shouldn’t be surprised, really.’

‘Surprised at what?’ asked Tully, ignoring Tom’s expression at the sight of her. He looked at her as if she were not the same person he had just insulted. Finally, she smiled an obnoxious smile at him and cracked her gum. ‘Mary Poppins bag to the rescue once again,’ she said to Julie. ‘Remind me to take my clothes out of Jen’s hamper before I go.’ She pulled out another Marlboro. ‘Julie, every day in school you see me metamorphose myself. Why are you looking at me as if I’m from Mars?’

‘Tully,’ said Julie, touching her friend’s upper arm, ‘like I said, I shouldn’t be surprised, but you never cease to amaze me.’ She rubbed some blush off Tully’s cheek. ‘Not too much metamorphosis, eh?’ she said.

‘Thank you, Julie,’ said Tully, moving ever so slightly away from Julie’s hand. ‘Earth to Tom, Earth to Tom,’ she said. He stood dumbfounded and deep red, obviously embarrassed by his own inability to stop staring at Tully’s breasts poking through the T-shirt.

Departing for the bathroom, Julie left Tom red-faced, self-conscious, and alone with Tully.

To talk at all seemed impossible – the music was loud and they would have to come close to each other. Tom would have to bend his head down to her mouth, and Tom looked as if the thought of coming closer to Tully were already rendering him insensible. But just to stand there and not talk seemed equally unpleasant, so Tully moved away from the wall and closer to him. He backed away, was stopped short by some guy right behind him. He looked to her as if he would burst. She stood on tiptoe until her mouth was an inch away from his ear and said, ‘I think you should grow up and not hold it against me anymore.’

Tom didn’t look at her. ‘I don’t hold anything against you,’ he said. ‘So when are you going to be eighteen?’ In January, she told him, and he said, ‘That’s nice!’

He didn’t hear me, thought Tully. He is not even listening. He has not stopped staring at my tits, and this really pisses him off.

Tully stopped trying. A misunderstanding between them – when any conversation was already so undesirable – was too much to take, so when Julie emerged from the bathroom, Tom rushed straight to her, and Tully slipped out of sight and down the stairs.

Watching Tully disappear, Julie poked Tom in the chest. ‘You’ve obviously frightened her. I’ve never seen her go down the stairs so quickly. Why, I think she took them two at a time!’ Tom wiped his sweating forehead and apologized to Julie for his earlier behavior.

Tully found Jennifer loading up on apple strudel in the kitchen.

‘What a loser,’ she muttered.

‘Ease up, will ya?’ snapped Jennifer. ‘I want to eat it, it’s my birthday, so ease up!’

Tully looked at Jennifer as if she were from outer space. She came close, broke off a piece of the strudel, shoved it into her mouth, and said, ‘Hello, Mars. Not you, you nut, Tom.’

‘Oh.’ Jennifer looked relieved. ‘Him. I thought you were gonna bug me about my weight. Forget him. He doesn’t like us. He thinks we are a bad influence on Julie.’

‘He’s an idiot,’ said Tully. ‘I think he is a bad influence on Julie.’

Tully wanted to change the subject and ask Jennifer, who seemed absentminded and listless, about the brown-haired boy, but Mrs Mandolini came in with a clutter of people wanting more ice, more strudel, more Jennifer.

Jennifer left Tully in the kitchen peacefully stuffing her face and smoking.

‘You shouldn’t smoke, Tully,’ said Mrs Mandolini from behind her. ‘It’s bad for you. And your mother would kill you if she found out.’

How right you are, thought Tully, taking a deep drag and moving toward the living room.

Tully stood against the wall in the living room and watched Jennifer offer a beer to a blond guy. In the way Jennifer handed it to him and looked up at him and minutes later danced to ‘Wild Horses’ with him, Tully took a shot in the dark and guessed it was the guy. He sort of looked like the guy at the lockers. It was dark and Tully couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t wearing a football jersey.

Look at her, Tully thought, amused. Jennifer was stumbling over her own feet, looking at them instead of at him. She looked awkward, especially when compared to the boy’s tall, fluid grace.

Tully lit another cigarette and sighed. She wanted to dance, too.

Dancing. Tully had learned when she was young how to dance; with a God-given talent and a love for music, both classical and rock, she had learned at twelve how to move, dancing naked in her room late at night in front of the mirror. Tully had spent endless solitary hours in her room, banned from the living room or the dining room, or avoiding sleep – dancing. She had learned to make good use of that mirror, of her naked body in front of that mirror, of music and her naked body, breastless, hipless in front of the mirror; and then, when she began to bud and grow, Tully had already worked out her own private, emotive, erotic act. She started to dance at the spin-the-bottle parties, at first with others and then tentatively by herself in the corner, and soon in the middle of the room. She danced fast and she danced slow, the boys clapped, the girls joined in or just watched; in any case, it became quickly known around Robinson Middle School that Tully Makker was a fine dancer.

But it was at fourteen, when Tully volunteered to dance at a special talent show one Friday night, that the whole faculty was made aware of her ‘gift’ as she danced with her eyes closed to Beethoven’s Emperor. The principal, labeling Tully’s dancing morally reprehensible, called Hedda, who had missed her daughter’s performance. Where had a fourteen-year-old learned to dance like that? the principal asked Hedda. Mrs Makker wrung her big, clammy hands and cried, but Tully was suspended for a week anyway.

The full-length mirror was taken away and Tully was never locked in her room anymore, but it was too late. Tully had grown to love the reaction of her peers and her elders. Feeling that she had a true talent, Tully, in the next three years, proved to the enchanted and drunk patrons of Topeka’s nightclubs and bars, to the students and the rugby players and the farmers, just how prodigious and how wasted her talent was. Tully was sure the punishment Hedda meted out when she found the condoms in Tully’s room would have been a lot harsher had she been aware of the hundreds of dance contests that Tully had won, of the money her daughter had made, of the boys and men Tully had danced with, and more.

And tonight, Tully stood alone and smoked only briefly, barely managing to finish her cigarette before three guys from school came over to her and asked her to dance, all at once; and she smiled and did. She was so breathless afterwards that she even danced with Julie. Cheek to cheek, Tully danced with her friend, knocking into people and bouncing off. And then she grabbed on to Jennifer, but there were now too many guys around Tully who, having recognized her, would not let her alone, and Tully, still wanting to have a word with Jennifer, managed only a quick whirl with the birthday girl to part of Neil Young’s ‘Hey, Hey, My, My.’

Afterwards, Julie got Tully alone for a moment.

‘Tully,’ Julie said, ‘I’m sorry about Tom.’

Tully waved her off. ‘But Jule, how could you have told him anything at all about me?’

Julie looked embarrassed. ‘Tull, I’m sorry. He is my boyfriend. I thought I could trust him.’

‘Oh,’ panted Tully. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s not yours to trust him with.’

Julie lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Tully, and went back to dance.

After an hour of frenetic dancing, a sweaty and exhausted Tully sat down on the sofa in the living room, soaking up the lights, the music, the smoke, the booze, the guys.

I spy with my little eye something beginning with – ah, but I don’t know his name. She spied the brown-haired guy, dancing with his girl, though dancing was a strong word for what she was doing. Tully did not pay attention to his dancing; she was much more forgiving when it came to the male sex.

Jennifer was talking to her blond footballer in the corner. As Tully studied him, she had to grudgingly admit that with the lights off, strobes blinking, music blaring, cigarette smoke fogging up the room, he did not look bad. In fact, he almost looked kind of…okay. He was tall and broad-shouldered. It impressed upon Tully in some visual, non-specific way that he held his head high, impossibly high, even when he was bending down to hear Jennifer.

The Stones were ‘Waiting for a Friend’, and the brown-haired boy and his girl, deciding to sit this slow one out, snuggled on the couch next to Tully. She watched them out of the corner of her eye. Eventually he got up – to get a drink, apparently. His girl sat still, not turning her head to look at Tully. She sat there with her little skinny doe-like legs uncrossed and close together.

The boy came back with the drinks and sat down, not between Tully and his girl, but rather at the very end of the couch. Well, that’s all right, thought Tully. Now I can see his face.

After a few moments, he looked away from his date and stared calmly at Tully, then politely smiled and once again faced his girl.

He is even better looking than I first thought, Tully mused, sipping her beer, but older than most guys I know. She appraised his groomed slick look, his southern European, round, clean-shaven face. When he talked to his girl he tilted his head and smiled, showing perfect white teeth. When he laughed, his eyes lit up. Tully noticed his Levi’s were ironed (what kind of a man irons his Levi’s!) and even his pink Izod shirt looked freshly pressed. He doesn’t look very tall, thought Tully, but in every other way – Tully smiled inwardly – well, let’s just say I wouldn’t climb over him to get to his date. But it was obvious that the little mouse was not about to let him out of her sight and in fact kept turning around and shooting lethal glances at Tully.

Tully supposed that if she had a hunk like that, she would be throwing lethal glances at everybody, too. Tully was eager to ask Jennifer about him, but Jennifer had not stopped talking to her blond, who by now seemed quite drunk (how come he has a full beer bottle in his hand at all times while the rest of us are still nursing the beer we latched on to at seven?) and was leaning over her, his arm strapped around Jennifer’s neck. Her face, usually devoid of expression, tonight was a happy face. Tully saw it and felt a stab of pleasure and light envy. She looked at the blond’s face and immediately felt something else, too – anxiety, small and sharp.

For there was no happiness in the blond boy’s face; only beer.

Tully sought Julie out with her eyes and found her talking heatedly to a group of people, including Tom. Probably about whether or not the Americans should have been helping the French in Vietnam in the first place, thought Tully.

Minutes passed. Tully did not move from the couch. The boy got up and offered his girl another drink. She nodded. He was about to walk away, but then moved carefully toward Tully and asked if he could get her anything.

Good voice, she thought. ‘Oh, yes, please, a Bud, please, if you can find it.’

‘If that’s what you want, I will find it,’ he said.

He has a good, deep male voice, Tully thought; so what if he’s as corny as the rest of them?

Sitting stonily with hands firmly clasped to her knees, the mouse shot Tully another poisoned-arrow glare. Tully smirked and settled back on the couch, uncrossed and crossed her bare legs, one arm on the arm of the sofa, one arm on its back. Tully sat in this pose until the boy came back, handed her a beer, and sat next to her.

‘Thanks,’ said Tully, and smiled. He smiled back politely.

‘Yeah,’ said the girl. ‘Thanks, Robin.’

Robin! That’s his name! That doesn’t sound too Italian. Tully’s thoughts were interrupted by a guy perching himself on her lap, asking her to dance. Tully gave him a hearty push and he fell off, laughing hysterically, and crawled away. Under no circumstances was she about to get up from the couch. Tully could’ve gotten up and danced – she had wanted to at one time – but here, in this smoke-filled, music-filled, people-filled house, she had found what she had come for.