Hollywood Royalty | JENLISA (GP)

33

JENNIE

I walked into a heated discussion, Mama and Jimin facing off across the dining table, the topic of conversation—apparently—gay marriage. Jimin was of the opinion, obviously, that it was A-Okay, and Mama… well… Mama's from the South. If a marriage doesn't have a penis, virginal vagina, and a preacher, it doesn't count. I, myself, am of the opinion that two people should be able to do what they want, assuming that action doesn't hurt anyone else. I walked to the couch and decided not to voice my opinion, should the wrath of anyone turn to me.

"Jimin." He ignored me, talking fast, his fingers counting off a list of inalienable rights.

"Jimin!" This time, his head popped toward me. "That asshole is waiting for you outside."

"Jennie!" Mama chided.

"Now?" Jimin asked, moving to the door. "Did you—"

"No," I interrupted.

"Did she what?" Mama asked.

I groaned, Jimin gasped at my idiocy, and from outside there was the long blare of a horn. Jimin waved a goodbye and scampered for the door. I closed my eyes and felt the couch sink next to me. Opening one eye, I saw my mother, her head settling back on the couch pillow, mimicking my pose.

"Bad day?" she asked quietly after a long moment of rest.

I could only nod.

"She's very beautiful."

"Yeah."

There was a long stretch of silence, and I pulled at my sweaty T-shirt. It had been too hot on that porch, with both the bathing suit and shirt on.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"I was going to put that Stouffer's lasagna in. Give it a try. Carla says it tastes homemade."

Mama sighed. "We already out of that cabbage and sausage?"

"Yeah. Jimin and I ate that for lunch."

She didn't say anything else for a while. I guess the idea of pre-created and frozen lasagna appealed to Mama about as much as it appealed to me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No. Not yet."

"She's very beautiful." The repetition didn't make the observation any less obvious.

"I know, Mama."

We didn't say anything else, and I drifted off to sleep there on the couch, waking once when she covered me with a blanket and a second time when the kitchen timer went off, the room smelling of cheese and meat sauce.

The lasagna ended up not being half bad. After eating, we stuck our dishes in the sink and moved out to the porch, a pint of strawberry ice cream passed between us, the porch light off to deter mosquitoes, the summer heat leaving us alone for a brief moment.

Mama went in first, kissing me on the cheek and patting my shoulder. I stayed out, my feet gently pushing against the porch, rocking the chair. It was a gamble, turning down the role that Lisa Manoban had offered. A hundred thousand dollars was more than I would ever have the opportunity to earn. But it wasn't the money that had been the issue. It had been the respect. Lisa Manoban had no respect for me, for this town, for our way of life. I could smell it on her skin, read it on her beautiful face, in the tone of her voice.

When I stood up, the ice cream pint empty in hand, I stretched, my back popping, my eyes to the north, to the Kirklands' big, two-story home with one light on upstairs. Soon, Lisa Manoban would be there. Jimin had gotten her a room at the Raine House for four or five nights, until the Kirklands were able to get out and let Lisa in. It'd be odd to have her just a quarter-mile away. To see her come and go. For her to see my comings and goings. Not that she'd be watching.

I turned to the door and decided not to second-guess my decision any more. It was done. As we said in these parts, that egg had been laid. It couldn't be put back in the chicken now.