R.E.M. Part 2

That’s me in the spotlight

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you...

“Kappa Alpha Delta,” said Kevin, all business, like he was the receptionist at his parents’ newspaper or his grandfather’s oil-soaked corporation instead of standing in a frat house getting ready for the biggest party of the year. (The last party of Todd’s life before Peter Manning threw him in a dungeon or, worse, community college.)

And I don’t know if I can do it...

“Yes, Sir, he’s right here.” Kevin held out the phone to Todd. “It’s your dad.”

As if it could have been anyone else. “Oh, no, no, no.” Todd backed away. “Tell him I died of some really rare disease.”

If it had been Powell or Zach, they would have done it. Zach at least would have lied automatically; he never would have admitted that Todd was there to begin with. Powell probably have told Peter that Todd was there, and then lamely claimed to be mistaken. His father would have seen through it, but what did Todd care? He was a dead man walking anyway.

But it wasn’t Powell or Zach, it was Kevin, and Kevin held out the phone and gestured like there was nothing that could be done. The worst thing Kevin’s parents had ever done to him was probably forgetting to kiss his teddy bear goodnight when they tucked him into bed.

“Thanks,” Todd mouthed sarcastically at Kevin. Kevin drifted toward the couch with the air of a man who thought he’d done a good deed. Todd clenched his fist around the receiver, hoping against hope that he would crush it into smithereens before he could catch his breath. He failed at that. He failed at everything.

“Hi, Dad, I--”

There was no need to say more. Peter Manning didn’t need an invitation to pick up right where he’d left off the last time they’d spoken, in mid-rant.

“Since you obviously don’t care about your education or your football team or anything other than getting drunk and pawing girls stupid enough to be impressed with the designer clothes I paid for, there is absolutely no reason for you to be anywhere but your bedroom at my house. A little boy’s room for a little boy. At least you’ll cost me less money that way. Fly home tonight.”

Todd’s stomach lurched and his breath caught in his throat. Listening to his father’s complaints over a telephone line that stretched 750 miles from Chicago to Llanview was bad enough. Being in the same room was a sickening prospect. “What? No-- Sir, I don’t think I can fly home right away.”

“And why is that?”

Todd was too unnerved to try anything but the truth. “Well, because I was planning on going down to Fort Lauderdale for a couple of days.” He sent up a mental prayer that maybe Peter would remember that he hated Todd and that time away from Todd was always better than time with Todd.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Are you really asking me why not? Let’s count the reasons very slowly. You’re a loser, you’re a failure, you’re a disgrace, you’re stupid-- is that too many reasons for you? Can’t count that high, and that’s why you flunked your math final when you knew everything in your future was contingent upon it? Did you forget that little detail? Is that why you think I would even consider letting you go gallivanting off to Fort Lauderdale on my dime?”

“Yeah, I know I flunked my calc final. How could I forget? You remind me, like, every day.”

“And the one thing you showed the slightest hint of aptitude for is gone, too. Did I hear the dean correctly when I spoke to him this morning? You’re officially off the team?”

“Yeah,” Todd admitted, because it was the kind of thing that was so much fun to say aloud over and over, more real every time. “Yeah, that’s what he said. He said no football next season.”

“All because you couldn’t be bothered to try to pass one measly exam.”

“I did try. I tried like hell!” The taste of ashes filled his mouth. He had tried. He had stayed up all night studying for the first time in his life. He and Marty had done problem after problem. She had quizzed him on formula after formula. He had come so unbelievably close... a 64 rather than the 66 he needed.

He wasn’t as stupid as his father thought he was.

He was stupider.

His back was to Kevin, but he could feel Kevin watching him with sympathetic, concerned eyes. Maybe now Kevin realized what he’d let Todd in for. It was too bad that with all of Kevin’s social graces, the little prince didn’t have the grace to go away.

“... And you still think I’m about to shell out for first class tickets to Florida?” asked Peter with a disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t care about that. I’ll take the--”

“You don’t deserve to be shipped to Fort Lauderdale in the back of a garbage truck. The garbage would complain of cruel and unusual treatment, and it would be right!”

“Well if you feel like I don’t deserve it--”

“Thank you very much. I do feel that way.”

“Well, maybe I feel like you should give me the benefit of the doubt just once instead of making me feel like I’m this total loser.”

“You don’t need me to make you feel like a loser. You made yourself a loser all by yourself, Todd.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way.” Todd’s phone manners could be just as polite as Kevin’s.

“If you are not here by tomorrow morning, I will personally come down there and drag you home by your overlarge ears. I promise you, Todd, you do not want that.”

Peter’s voice was pure finality. There was nothing left to do but agree. “Okay, all right. Yes, Sir. I’ll be on the next--”

The click of the phone echoed in his ear. His father had hung up.

I thought that I heard you laughing

I thought that I heard you sing

I think I thought I saw you try...

Kevin’s hands were warm on Todd’s shoulders. “You all right?”

His first impulse was to punch Kevin for having the nerve to set up the whole scolding, sit there eating popcorn while listening to the show, and then ask if Todd was all right, like they were friends or something.

His second impulse was to punch himself for wishing that just once Peter Manning would ask Todd if he was all right and mean it.

He pushed the rage down and stood up without looking at Kevin. “Weren’t you listening in? I just bought a one way ticket back home to parental hell.”

He left then. He would have his last hurrah. He would have his revenge. But not on Kevin, no, not on the soft spoiled little prince who was too pampered to know better. He would save everything for Marty Saybrooke.

It got harder and harder to keep his cool as the preparations for the party dragged on.

He pretended that it was funny when a blowup doll appeared with the announcement that she was just airheaded enough for Todd. It sounded like something Peter Manning would say.

Airhead. Stupid. Loser.

After that, Todd grabbed a marker and wrote loser above his picture on the frat house wall. It was better that he did it before someone else got the chance.

Powell and Zach materialized from nowhere. In the frat house, they were all on top of each other all the time. In better days, Todd had liked it. It was always full and loud, where it had been empty and quiet in the Manning house after Peter had driven Bitsy away (except when Peter was on a tear, of course). There was no suspense in a frat house, no waiting for the next blow.

At the moment, Todd hated it. He hated everything. He bit down the urge to punch Zach. He was saving it for Marty, he reminded himself. Marty was the one who’d made sure he flunked the calc exam. This was all Marty’s fault.

He still grimaced when he felt Zach’s hand on his shoulder through his thick cable knit sweater. It had been bad enough when Kevin-- the guy who actually had a “this is your brain on drugs” poster in his bedroom-- had tried to play the pitying, compassionate friend. It was worse when it came from Zach. Even Todd realized that Zach was an amoral sociopath. That was what Todd liked about Zach, actually. That and the periodic bursts of sycophantic behavior.

“Hey, Todd, come on, give us a hand with the wings, all right?”

Take the exam. Come home. Give us a hand with the wings. Todd was tired of the demands that came from every direction. And in that moment it occurred to him that he wasn’t going to answer to anyone, anymore. His voice was mellow when he spoke. “No, you see, I don’t take orders from you. I don’t take orders from my old man, either. I ain’t going home tonight. I’ve decided. This condemned man has one more night to party.”

He reached for his beer. The beer was, finally, starting to help. It helped with everything but the unfairness of Marty getting away with her plan to get Todd expelled. All because he hadn’t cuddled her needy ass after their roll in the hay. Like she hadn’t known it was a booty call. Like she hadn’t initiated it. Like she hadn’t done the same thing with half the male population of L. U. But, of course, Todd was the one who had to pay.

“I only wish Marty Saybrooke could be here so I could show her my appreciation for all she’s done for me. Not only did she help me flunk, not only am I off the football team, but I am this close to being expelled, and it’s all because of that stuck up slut,” he mused.

He wasn’t so drunk that he missed Zach cutting his eyes to Powell like the two of them were deciding how to handle poor, crazed, irrational, delicate Todd.

“Todd, Marty didn’t exactly keep you from studying all semester, did she?” tried Powell, the one who had never had an original thought in his life. He’d been talking either to Kevin or to Marty herself, Todd just knew it. Or maybe he’d been chatting with Peter. Everything was always Todd’s fault to Peter; why not to Kevin, Powell, and Marty, as well?

“What do you mean? Are you saying this is my fault?” Todd lunged at Powell.

Powell, never one to stand his ground, backed up like the easily swayed coward he was. “I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault--”

“You calling me a liar?” Todd demanded.

Zach ended the conversation. “Why’re you trying to argue with him when he’s hammered?” Zach asked Powell. Todd didn’t bother to correct that he wasn’t nearly hammered enough.

“He’s starting to scare me,” said Powell. Since Powell was scared of his own damn shadow, Todd let that slide, too. He needed another beer. The party had almost arrived. It was time to change into their ridiculous matching KAD shirts and turn up the music.

Red red wine

Goes to my head

Makes me forget...

Todd didn’t know about red wine, but beer didn’t make him forget. How could he forget, with his father calling every five minutes to demand that Todd’s frat brothers confirm that Todd was on a plan to Chicago? How could he forget, when Marty still had to pay for ruining Todd’s life?

“Marty isn’t coming,” Powell repeated.

But Todd knew Marty. He knew girls like Marty. He knew what Marty would do just as surely as he knew what she had done. “She’ll be here. This is her scene. She can’t help but be drawn to a place like this. She’ll be here. Like a moth to a flame.”

An hour passed.

No Marty.

And far too many comedians.

“So, Todd, how come you can read the chicken scratch Coach lays out for you but you can’t pass a lousy calculus final?” joked one of his teammates.

“We’ll miss you on the football team next year, Todd. Too bad you couldn’t make the grade,” chirped Emily, who was about the sluttiest girl at L.U. other than Marty.

“I can make it where it counts,” he told Emily. “Dance with me.”

“No.” She yelled and shrieked and backed away.

Everyone knew that Todd was a loser now, and no one wanted him.

That was when Marty came in.

Drunkenly, the first thing Todd noticed was the black ribbon around her throat. A choker, it was called. How apt. Choking was exactly what Marty needed.

“There she is,” Todd told Zach. “The woman who ruined my whole entire life.”

“Whole entire? That’s redundant.” Zach laughed drunkenly. “How’d you do on your English final?”

Todd flicked his fingers in Zach’s face for form’s sake only. Suddenly the jokes didn’t seem so bad. A happy warmth spread through him. Marty was here. He would get his revenge. The slut would be the butt of the jokes, not Todd. “I knew it. I knew she’d be here! She just can’t say no to partying. I’m gonna show her just how much it costs to party at Kappa Alpha Delta.”

He could turn it around. He rescued Dolly from one of the upstairs bedrooms and brought her down to the milling throng below. “This is Marty,” he re-christened her for all to hear. “She put out for me, she’ll put out for all of you.”

Todd glared at Marty. But Marty didn’t turn back into that needy, quivering mess who had begged him to hold her, just for a minute. She squared her shoulders and stuck out her jaw. She grabbed the doll and took center stage for herself. “Everybody, look! Todd’s finally found the perfect date! Whaddya think? She doesn’t take much money to entertain, she doesn’t eat much, and she’s his intellectual equal!”

Naturally, she got a round of applause.

And then Kevin dragged Marty off to dance, like this was a party, and Todd was left to fume.

But Marty wasn’t going to leave Todd alone, no, she was just as set on destroying him as he was on destroying her. “I hope you’re better at chugging beer than you are at calculus,” she yelled to the room.

“Try me,” said Todd. He didn’t have football anymore, thanks to Marty, but he was still good at drinking.

“That’s the idea,” said Marty.

The whole party cheered for her.

The whole party joined in her victory dance.

Everyone was glad she’d taken everything from Todd.

Powell and Zach ran to dance with her. “What’re you guys doing with a moron like Todd?” she asked them. She had him all but expelled; she had his reputation and his dignity; and now she was coming for his brothers. He moved angrily to intercede. “Excuse me, this is a private affair,” dictated Marty. “Why don’t you go hang out with the pump up doll? You guys got an awful lot in common. Air on the inside and plastic on the outside.”

“Yeah?” he asked. That should have been enough to threaten her and put her on guard.

“Yeah.”

“Shut up!” he snarled. As many times as he’d heard the Todd-is-an-airhead joke tonight alone, he should have been able to say something clever, but...

“That’s a snappy comeback. No wonder you’re flunking out.”

“I’m sick and tired of you busting my chops every time I turn around.” All that seemed to be coming out of his mouth was honesty.

“Then don’t turn around,” Marty directed with giggling drunken confidence.

“Where do you get off acting like you’re the center of the universe? You know something? You ain’t no better than anybody else. You ain’t nothing but a stupid, stuck up little slut!”

Of course, if Todd was going to stand up for himself or point out something that was absolutely true, Kevin had to come running to protect Marty. “Hey, Todd. Back off, all right? Now.” He turned to the others. “Powell, Zach, take him outside. Let him cool down a little.”

So Todd was escorted away, the bad little boy who couldn’t pass a calc test or stay on the football team or win a drinking contest or or get a girl to dance with him keep up with the town’s drunk slut. Said drunk slut was now busily dancing on a table to the pleasure of her many admirers.

“Look at that.”

“Come on, Todd,” Powell tried to appease, on Kevin’s orders.

“No, man. If you’re gonna drag somebody away, you drag away Marty Saybrooke.”

“Can you forget about Marty for one minute?” tried Zach, probably more because he was bored than because he enjoyed jumping at Kevin’s command.

“She twists everything around and makes it look like it’s my fault. No way am I gonna forget about that. I’m gonna see that bimbo take a major tumble.”

And with that, Kevin removed Marty from the table and started to take her up the stairs to his room. Kevin, who already had the perfect family and the perfect life and the perfect girlfriend. (Okay, Todd would allow that Rachel was snobby and judgmental and had a permanent stick up her ass. If Rachel were Todd’s girlfriend, he’d cheat on her too. But Kevin seemed to like her, at least when he wasn’t pining after his LeeAnn.)

“I can’t believe he’s up there with her, alone!”

“What do you think Kevin said to her?” Zach wondered.

“I think it’s something that she said to him.” Todd knew how Marty worked.

“Kevin was doing all the talking. All the way upstairs. Marty Saybrooke, man. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Kevin Buchanan’s gonna get something that I couldn’t get.” Kevin Buchanan had everything Todd would never get. Giving Marty a pounding after what she’d done to Todd was just unbrotherly, especially when Kevin had been so damn pitying that afternoon. Pretending like he cared. Pretending like he wasn’t just in league with Peter and Marty and the Dean and everyone else who liked to make Todd the butt of all of the jokes because Todd was stupid. Todd would show them stupid.

“I think that’s pretty much out of your hands now, Todd,” said Powell, the unimaginative one.

“Like hell it is.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” asked Zach.

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m gonna do something.”

Cause I want somebody to shove

I need somebody to shove

I want somebody to shove me...

Todd stared after Kevin and Marty, willing the staircase to give him inspiration. He’d lied to Zach. He already knew what he was going to do. Marty was drunk, even by Marty standards, and she was already in a bedroom. Without a roomful of defenders, it would be easy enough to remind her who was in charge. He’d take her right back to that quivering mess who had begged him to hold her “not for the whole night, just for a little while.” He’d remind her what it was like to be the one no one wanted.

He could overpower Kevin. That was no problem. If everything was lost, including all hope of using Kevin’s connections to make some kind of comfortable life after the graduation that wasn’t going to happen, what did it matter if he smashed Kevin’s self-righteous brains in?

No, better. Kevin was the president of the fraternity (how that had happened, Todd wasn’t sure). He was taking the fraternity’s reputation and the party very seriously. Kevin would leave Marty high and dry (or wet) in his bed if his presidential duties called. Then Todd would take his place. He’d bring Powell and Zach along as witnesses. Hell, he’d give Powell and Zach a turn when he was done.

Marty might chirp about her newfound popularity in public, but she wouldn’t say a word about Todd and his buddies, no, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t want anyone to think she was a slut. She wouldn’t want anyone to know he’d left her crying and begging again. She’d be cowed and quiet, just like Carol Swift.

You're a dream for insomniacs, prize in the Cracker Jacks

All the difference in the world is just a call away

And I'm waiting by the phone

Waiting for you to call me up and tell me I'm not alone

He began to push his way through the crowd to the stairs, and that was when he slammed into her.

He’d had all the rejection he could take that day, but every fiber of his being drunkenly screamed that he was not going to pass up the chance to talk to this woman. He hadn’t seen her before, and he would have remembered. She was more beautiful than any of the other women in the packed house of gyrating flesh. She made Marty look like a broken down whore who’d been ridden hard and put away wet.

“Sorry,” he said, even though he wasn’t. He stepped back as much as he could, which wasn’t much. The party was in full swing. There were bodies everywhere.

“You can make it up,” she told him. “Dance with me.”

It was the perfect camouflage. He kept one eye on the stairs, waiting for Kevin to come down and leave Marty unguarded. He kept his other eye on his inexplicably hot dance partner.

“What’s your name?” he yelled at her over the roar of the crowd and the music.

“Blair.”

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