Jeffrey Eugenides - Middlesex

The only people who stayed were Aunt Zo, Father Mike, and our cousins, because they were related to us. Tessie was angry with Milton for causing a fight. She told him so, he exploded at her, and she gave him the silent treatment for the rest of the day. Father Mike took advantage of this to lead Tessie up to the sun deck. Milton got in his car and drove off. I was with Aunt Zo when we later brought refreshments up to the deck. I had just stepped out onto the gravel between the thick redwood railings when I saw Tessie and Father Mike sitting on the black iron patio furniture. Father Mike was holding my mother’s hand, leaning his bearded face close to her and looking into her eyes as he spoke softly. My mother had been crying, apparently. She had a tissue balled in one hand. “Callie’s got iced tea,” Aunt Zo announced as she came out, “and I’ve got the booze.” But then she saw how Father Mike was looking at my mother and she went silent. My mother stood up, blushing. “I’ll take the booze, Zo.” Everyone laughed nervously. Aunt Zo poured the glasses. “Don’t look, Mike,” she said. “The presvytera ’s getting drunk on Sunday.”

The following Friday I drove up with the Object’s father to their summer house near Petoskey. It was a grand Victorian, covered with gingerbread, and painted the color of pistachio saltwater taffy. I was dazzled by the sight of the house as we drove up. It sat on a rise above Little Traverse Bay, guarded by tall pines, all its windows blazing.

I was good with parents. Parents were my specialty. In the car on the way up I had carried on a lively and wide-ranging conversation with the Object’s father. It was from him that she had gotten her coloring. Mr. Object had the Celtic tints. He was in his late fifties, however, and his reddish hair had been bleached almost colorless now, like a dandelion gone to seed. His freckled skin looked blown out, too. He wore a khaki poplin suit and bow tie. After he picked me up, we stopped at a party store near the highway, where Mr. Object bought a six-pack of Smirnoff cocktails.

“Martinis in a can, Callie. We live in an age of wonders.”

Five hours later, not at all sober, he turned up the unpaved road that led to the summer house. It was ten o’clock by this time. In moonlight we carried our bags up to the back porch. Mushrooms dotted the pine-needled path between the thin gray pines. Next to the house an artesian well chimed among mossy rocks.

When we came in the kitchen door, we found Jerome. He was sitting at the table, reading the Weekly World News . The pallor of his face suggested that he had been there pretty much all month. His lusterless black hair looked particularly inert. He had on a Frankenstein T-shirt, seersucker shorts, white canvas Top-Siders without socks.

“I present to you Miss Stephanides,” Mr. Object said.

“Welcome to the hinterland.” Jerome stood up and shook his father’s hand. They attempted a hug.

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s upstairs getting dressed for the party you’re incredibly late for. Her mood reflects that.”

“Why don’t you take Callie up to her room? Show her around.”

“Check,” said Jerome.

We went up the back stairs off the kitchen. “The guest room’s being painted,” Jerome told me. “So you’re staying in my sister’s room.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s out on the back porch with Rex.”

My blood stopped. “Rex Reese ?”

“His ‘rents have a place up here, too.”

Jerome then showed me the essentials, guest towels, bathroom location, how to work the lights. But his manners were lost on me. I was wondering why the Object hadn’t mentioned anything about Rex on the phone. She had been up here three weeks and said nothing.

We came back into her bedroom. Her rumpled clothes lay on the unmade bed. There was a dirty ashtray on one pillow.

“My little sister is a creature of slovenly habits,” Jerome said, looking around. “Are you neat?”

I nodded.

“Me too. Only way to be. Hey.” He came around to face me now. “What happened to your trip to Turkey?”

“It got canceled.”

“Excellent. Now you can be in my film. I’m shooting it up here. Are you up for that?”

“I thought it took place in a boarding school.”

“I decided to make it a boarding school in the boonies.” Jerome was standing somewhat close to me. His hands flopped around in his pockets as he squinted at me and rocked on his heels.

“Should we go downstairs?” I finally asked.

“What? Oh, right. Yeah. Let’s go.” Jerome turned and bolted. I followed him back down and through the kitchen. As we were crossing the living room I heard voices out on the porch.

“So Selfridge, that lightweight, pukes ,” Rex Reese was saying. “Doesn’t even make it to the bathroom. Pukes right on the bar.”

“I can’t believe it! Selfridge!” It was the Object now, crying out with amusement.

“He blew chunks. Right into his stinger. I couldn’t believe it. It was like the Niagara Falls of puke. Selfridge woofs on the bar and everybody jumps off their stools, right? Selfridge is facedown in his own puke. For a minute there’s total silence. Then this one girl starts gagging . . . and it’s like a chain reaction. The whole place starts gagging, puke’s dripping everywhere, and the bartender is— pissed . He’s huge, too. He’s fucking huge . He comes over and looks down at Selfridge. I’m going like I don’t know this guy. Never saw him before. And then guess what?”

“What?”

“The bartender reaches out and grabs hold of Selfridge. He’s got him by the collar and the belt, right? And he lifts Selfridge like a foot up in the air—and Zambonis the bar with him!”

“No way!”

“I’m not kidding. Zambonied the Fridge right in his own barf!”

At that point we stepped out onto the porch. The Object and Rex Reese were sitting together on a white wicker couch. It was dark out, coolish, but the Object was still in her swimsuit, a shamrock bikini. She had a beach towel wrapped around her legs.

“Hi,” I called out.

The Object turned. She looked at me blankly. “Hey,” she said.

“She’s here,” said Jerome. “Safe and sound. Dad didn’t run off the road.”

“Daddy’s not that bad a driver,” said the Object.

“When he’s not drinking he’s not. But tonight I’d wager he had the old martini thermos on the front seat.”

“Your old man likes to party!” Rex called out hoarsely.

“Did my dad have occasion to quench his thirst on the drive up?” Jerome asked.

“More than one occasion,” I said.

Now Jerome laughed, going loose in the body and slapping his hands together.

Meanwhile Rex was saying to the Object, “Okay. She’s here. So let’s party.”

“Where should we go?” the Object said.

“Hey, Jeroman, didn’t you say there was some old hunting lodge out in the woods?”

“Yeah. It’s about half a mile in.”

“Think you could find it in the dark?”

“With a flashlight maybe.”

“Let’s go.” Rex stood up. “Let’s take some beers and hike on in there.”

The Object got up, too. “Let me put on some pants.” She crossed the porch in her swimsuit. Rex watched. “Come on, Callie,” she said. “You’re staying in my room.”

I followed the Object inside. She went quickly, almost running, and didn’t look back at me. As she climbed the stairs ahead of me, I whacked her from behind.

“I hate you,” I said.

“What?”

“You’re so tan!”

She flashed a smile over her shoulder.

As the Object dressed, I snooped around the bedroom. The furniture was white wicker up here, too. There were amateur sailing prints on the walls and on the shelves Petoskey stones, pinecones, musty paperbacks.