Looking back, he knew it was the happiest moment of his life—onstage before a cheering crowd and proud parents, holding the hand of his first real girlfriend. A moment he would remember forever.
Later that evening, the whole cast and crew—some two dozen kids—piled into the function room of the Casa Loma, a local Italian restaurant where they celebrated with pizzas and Cokes and filled the place with youthful exuberance. His mom would pick up him and Becky at eleven.
At around ten, when the crowd began to thin, he and Becky receded to a booth in the rear, and like some of the other kids, they began making out. He had kissed her before, mostly theatrical air kissing—the equivalent of shaking hands for thespians. Because she was still wearing makeup, his mouth and lower face was smudged red, as was his shirt collar.
At eleven o’clock the manager flicked the lights that it was time to go. The handful of kids made their way outside.
It was a cool April night with a million stars blazing overhead. He had never felt more alive and sucked in the night air as if to drain the atmosphere, thinking how he could not wait until tomorrow evening’s performance. Across the parking lot his mother waited for them in her car. In the light he could see her beaming from the driver’s seat.
He took Becky’s hand and followed the headlights. But as they drew near, Lila’s face looked like the film of a smile played backwards. They got into the backseat, and he could feel her eyes glare at him in the rearview mirror. “Hi,” he said, feeling a little charge in his chest.
Becky said hello, calling her Mrs. as she always did, but Lila did not respond. She looked back at them both, then rammed the car into gear and pulled away.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
Still she said nothing, just jerked her head around to check for oncoming cars as she pulled into the street. He looked at Becky, who raised her eyebrows as if to ask what the problem was. After a minute of crackling silence, he asked again, “Is something wrong?”
Lila flashed him a look. “Yes, something is wrong. What the hell have you been doing?”
“What do you mean? We were just having pizza.”
“Looks like you had more than pizza.”
Baffled, he looked at Becky, who indicated his face. Her lipstick was all over him. Immediately he pulled his hand out of hers and began wiping his mouth. Lila shot Becky a savage look.
“It’s okay. I can walk home,” Becky said.
“You’re not walking home,” Lila growled. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“But I can call my parents. There’s a phone booth at the gas station up there.”
Lila said nothing and roared past the Gulf station.
For several minutes they rode without speaking. Becky kept glancing at him, but he just kept his face out the window, feeling mortified. The lights from the street flickered and silence filled the car like toxic fumes. When they reached Becky’s house Lila slammed on the brakes. She said nothing, as Becky jumped out. “Thanks for the ride. Good night.”
He got out to walk her to her door when Lila said, “Where do you think you’re going?”
He tried to tell her, but the words had no air. “G’night,” he muttered, and watched Becky walk up the path and go inside. He wanted to get in the rear seat, but he knew Lila would object. With his heart slamming he slipped into the front. Without a word she jammed the shift into drive and peeled away. After another minute, he couldn’t stand the tension any longer. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she snapped, and turned to him. “Your little friend is a goddamn little slut is what. Your face is painted with her.”
“W-what’re you—” But before he could finish, she backhanded him in the mouth, the diamond of her engagement ring catching his upper lip and splitting the skin. He grabbed some tissues from the box on the dashboard. “I’m bleeding,” he said in disbelief.
“Good for you.”
“What’s your problem?” he yelled, outrage burning through fear. “It’s just makeup. We weren’t doing anything.”
Through her teeth she snarled, “I don’t want you seeing her again.”
“How come?”
“Because she’s a slut.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Don’t tell me she isn’t. She’s a little slut, and everybody in town knows it.”
“What are you talking about?” His mind scrambled for something solid to land on. Did Becky Tolland have a reputation that he knew nothing about? Maybe some kind of secret parent network that shared dark rumors about kids? That didn’t make sense. If there were a buzz about Becky Tolland, it would be all over Franklin High. He’d know about it. There was no such buzz. It was Lila’s own paranoia. She was jealous, and the realization hit him like a hammer.
After a brittle moment, she brushed back her hair. “Are you fucking her?”
It was the first time he had ever heard her use that word. In fact, it had crossed his mind that Lila may not in her entire life have ever uttered that word, imagining her uncorrupted by such a vulgarity because she was so proper and didn’t want to offend Jesus. “W-what?”
“You heard me. Are you fucking her?”
This time she pronounced the word with such violence that a jolt shot through him. Her face was white and drawn, the flames of her hair rising like fire from her skull, her eyes crazy-askew in the streetlights. He could barely recognize her as the same woman who just hours ago applauded him with tears of joy. It was if some dark malevolence had taken possession of the woman who had raised him. “Don’t talk that way,” he whimpered.
“Don’t go stupid on me. I know what you kids do. Answer me: are you fucking her?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not lying.” His voice was a thin warble. Whatever came over her made him wonder in terror if she was losing her mind.
She nodded. “After all I’ve done for you. After all the sacrificing, trying to bring you up right.”
Against his will, he began to cry. “What did I do wrong?”
In a flash she snapped down the visor mirror. “Look at your face and shirt. Just look at you.”
“We were just fooling around. Everybody was.”
She continued nodding as if in private conversation with a voice in her head. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Did she go down on you?”
He wasn’t even sure he knew what she meant, but the suspicion was appalling. “What?”
“Is there lipstick on your dick, too?”
“You’re sick, you know that? You’re sick.”
She tried to swat him again, but he blocked it. “You shamed me and you shamed yourself, you know that?”
“But how? It was only a little kissing.”
“Yeah, with Becky Tolland, who does it for any boy who looks at her.”
“That’s not true.”
She turned the wheel hard, then braked. With a jolt they were home.
Without a word she got out of the car and slammed the door. He sat there for several minutes, trying in vain to compose himself, trying to make sense of what had happened. Then he got out and slouched from the driveway, into the house, and up the stairs to his room, grateful that she had receded to the family room and that his dad was in bed.
He did not see her the next day because she slept late, and in the afternoon she drove to Boston to audition for a movie. Three days later, she returned, her face strained with disappointment. She did not get the part. When she showed up, she went right to her room without speaking.