Resnik. Violet and I had met through the dance studio my parents owned, her mother attempting to get her out and socializing when she was three. We had been friends ever since. Even though my dance career took me away from home quite a bit, she had always been there. Even if it was through letters and calls, it all added up to dedication.
The girl you see hanging from the barre sticking her tongue out? Violet. The girl you see grinning at her but playing her part? Moi.
Violet was the Alicia Silverstone to my Liv Tyler. The nutty peanut butter to my grape jelly. We were two colors of a different spectrum in the same crayon box.
Our laughter tapered as the rain picked up and the sounds of water pelting tin got louder. Another glance in the mirror and I turned from the reflection staring back at me.
It was hard enough to learn that Brando had never thought of me as anything more than his friend’s little sister, but losing the leather jacket was a symbol of losing him, of what he had offered me, and the struggle to let him go became a tangible thing in my hand.
“You look beautiful, Scarlett. The color brightens everything about you.” Violet gave me a reassuring smile, misreading my sadness as nervousness. “In fact, it looks much better on you. Keep it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. My grip tightened around the lipstick; a weapon in my palm. Then I stared at the house, again, asking myself if I was ready for this.
“It’s like knowing you’re about to knock on Adonis’s door, isn’t it?” Violet said, her voice quiet.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s such a…man.”
“I can’t see him in school, sitting in our desks, or ever wearing diapers. Damn. Was he ever little?”
Her diaper comment made me grin. “He’s human, Violet,” I said. “I’ve heard his heartbeat.” Felt his blood surging through mine, the pulse of it echoing the beat of my own heart.
“If you say so.” She sighed. “Do me a flavor once you’re in? Snoop! Check what kind of toothpaste he uses. Go through his underwear drawer. Does he wear boxers or briefs? Oh!” She sucked in a breath, strangling my wrist with her grip. “What if he goes commando?”
“I am not digging in his drawers, you creeper!”
“Why not?” She pouted. “We need proof that he’s human. Or better yet, that he has good oral hygiene. You’re nothing if you don’t brush your teeth, no matter how fine of an ass you have.”
She made me smile. I had an obsessive disorder when it came to my teeth. In fact, my mother had taken me to a doctor to see about it. He told her I was attempting to gain some semblance of control in my life. My dentist gave me sticker stars and the best toys out of the treasure box full of fake rings and bouncy balls. My mother made him stop doing this, claiming that the “treats” were rewarding obsessive behavior.
Looking back at the house, I gulped down the unease, trying to push down all of the untamed emotions. “I better get going.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait?”
I shook my head. The wrong side of the tracks was not a far walk from the dull side of the tracks. Not for me. “No, I’ll be fine.”
She narrowed her eyes but nodded.
Removing my bag from the backseat, I placed the lipstick in the front pocket. I gripped the door handle and stepped out before I could stop myself.
Now or never. I was sick of never.
Marilyn Monroe sung to me from the moment I stepped out of the car until the moment I made it to the door of the house. Encapsulated in Violet’s Mustang, I had been in current time, where the Gin Blossoms sang about whispers and rumors and schoolyard antics, but out here, in front of Brando’s house, the ’50s had made a comeback, as if Marilyn Monroe in her famous candy pink ensemble were offering the welcome.
I stopped for a moment halfway up the walk. Had Mick given us the right address? Had we found the right address?
First things first. I double-checked the door number. Correct. All right. Walking backward to the end of the driveway, I stopped at the curb and looked down the street to make sure we had the right one. Also correct.
Mick wouldn’t give up much information, so I had no idea whether Brando still lived with his parents or, like Mitch, with