Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(18)

“DeeDee? Everything all right?” Mom calls.

“Yep,” I call back in as cheery a voice as I’m able to muster (not particularly cheery). But speaking out loud causes my composure to start slipping from my grasp like a greased rope, and I begin weeping as quietly as I can. The toilet seat is cold and hard under my gasoline-skunk-scented legs.

At least I’m dignified.





I’ve been waiting for about ten minutes when a black pickup slows, stops, and parks in front of my house. He must have hauled. I’m guessing he doesn’t live nearby because he doesn’t go to my high school. I hurry downstairs and go outside as Lawson steps out of his truck. He’s traded his T-shirt and jeans for an untucked button-down shirt, khakis, and gleaming white sneakers. He carries himself like he dressed up for me. There really is something endearing about him, but no.

Lawson, holding the dog costume, squints as I approach. “Whoa, I almost didn’t recognize you. I’ve only ever seen you with vampire makeup and fangs.”

“Sorry to scare you.”

“No, no. I mean, I think you look great.” His face reddens. “Really pretty,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t need to do this. I don’t have, like, a dog costume emergency going.”

“No, I know. I just—I didn’t want to forget.” He hands me the costume. “By the way, I wanted to tell you again—you’re amazing on TV. You seem like a pro.”

“Well, thanks. It’s what I want to do, so…”

“Like as your career?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d watch.” He fidgets and scratches at the ground with a toe like a chicken. He seems to be gathering himself for something.

“Tomorrow night. Eleven on channel six. But your episode will be on next week.”

“Oh, I won’t be able to watch myself. Too embarrassing.”

“But you don’t mind getting karate-kicked in front of people?”

“That’s different. When I’m in the moment, I’m too busy to get embarrassed about that.”

“Huh. Well, thanks again for bringing this by and for helping with the show. Tell Tater I said hi.” I start back inside. I hope he got what he wanted out of our brief visit.

“Josie?” he calls.

I turn.

“Do you maybe wanna go get something to eat?” There’s a nervous tremor in his voice. It occurs to me that he’s probably got more jitters asking me out right now than when facing imminent bodily injury.

“Uh…” I wonder how long I can say “uh” before it gets unseemly. I’m doing some quick math in my head. Yes, I am hungry because tilapia doesn’t float my boat. Yes, I am in the mood for some social interaction because Delia is tied up. No, I do not want said social interaction with my family. Yes, I would like to get away from them. But…But…This Lawson dude is sweet but very not my type. And I don’t even really have a type. Just not fightjock; I know that for sure. I guess I wouldn’t be committing to marry him.

It would be fun too to spend some time being looked at the way Lawson looks at me. And I really need to wrap up this “uh,” which has been going on for a while. “Okay. You gotta come inside and meet my mom and dad, though. Rule.”

He beams. “That’s cool.”

“Okay.” I lead him inside. He follows me into the living room. “Mom, Dad, this is Lawson—” I start to grab for his last name but realize I’ve forgotten it. “He and I were going to get something to eat.”

Lawson comes from behind me to shake my parents’ hands. “Sir, ma’am, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Lawson Vargas.” He even gets Alexis. “Hey. You Josie’s other sister?”

“I’m her only sister,” Alexis says.

Lawson looks confused. “What about Delia?”

Alexis looks at him quizzically and laughs. “Josie and Delia look nothing alike.”

“You thought that because we play sisters on the show,” I say.

“That and because you guys talk the same and have a bunch of the same mannerisms,” Lawson says.

“We get that a lot,” I say.

Alexis assesses Lawson. “Why’s your face all messed up?”

I roll my eyes. “Alexis? Could you not?”

“I don’t mind,” Lawson says.

“Mind or not, that’s not how we talk to a guest, is it, Alexis?” Mom says the last part with steel, and her eyes focus on Alexis like she’s trying to burn an ant with a magnifying glass.

“Am I not allowed to be curious?”

“You are, while still being polite,” Mom says.

“I was wondering too, to be honest,” Dad says.

“It’s fine. I practice mixed martial arts, and I had a tough sparring match. Took a couple hits.”

My dad nods, clearly weighing the relative virtues of athletics against the vices of violence. “Kickboxing?”

“Yes, sir. Sorta.”

My dad stands and puffs himself up. He’s an accountant and a giant teddy bear, but he fancies himself as very intimidating and stately. “All right. Here are the rules: curfew is midnight. Not midnight and one minute. Midnight. Second rule, and most important, is that my daughter is the boss while you’re out. That means if you want to do something she doesn’t want to do, she wins and you don’t get to do the thing you wanted to do, no matter what it is. The third rule is that there are no exceptions to the rules. Any questions?”