Tell Me It's Real(117)

“That’s such an apt song for right now,” Nana said.

“If you start singing it, I’m going to lose it,” I growled at her.

She sniffed. “I’ll have you know that I was considered quite the singer back in my day. I didn’t even have to show my breasts like all the young women do now. What happened to talent for talent’s sake? Now if you want to be famous, it’s about how much meat is on your dress or how much nipple you are willing to show.”

“It’s a tragedy,” Dad agreed. “I don’t know why we have to live in a time with meat nipples or whatever you said.”

“Shall we get started?” Mom asked. “I have a feeling if we don’t start now, we’ll never get this done, and Paul will waste away in there because his pride won’t allow him to give in.”

“My body will just suck up its fat stores,” I reminded them. “Maybe it’ll be a good idea for me to stay in here. When I finally come out in a week, I could go into modeling and forget this week ever happened when I’m walking the runway in Milan.”

“You’ll have to change your name,” Sandy said. “Paul doesn’t sound like a modeling name.”

“Well, I think Paul is a handsome name,” Mom said. “I picked it, after all. But I could see how Sandy could be right. Maybe you should change your name to Gregorio?”

“Or Tunus?” Dad said.

“Or Talon?” Nana added.

“Ooooo,” they all breathed.

“Talon is a good one,” Sandy said. “Okay, let’s get started.”

“What are you guys doing?” I demanded through the door as something started to scrape on the other side.

“None of your business,” Mom said. “Go back to pouting.”

“I wasn’t pouting!”

“Dear, remember that little pouting face he would get whenever he didn’t get something he wanted? I always thought that he looked like a little cherub with those cheeks, even if it was the most annoying thing on the planet.”

“Yes,” Dad said, “but you fell for it every time.”

“That’s because I’m a good mother.”

“You are pretty good,” I agreed. “Most of the time. Right now is not one of those times.”

The scraping continued until I realized that they were unscrewing the hinges from the door so they could take it off its frame. “I’m going to call the police and tell them you’re breaking in!”

Sandy snorted. “If you do, can you make sure the fire department comes too? I am pretty sure I am owed some eye candy after having to put up with these shenanigans. And tell them I want the fireman to look exactly like the fireman calendar you had in 1999.”

“Mr. October,” we both groaned. Mr. October had been the most drool-worthy man ever to walk the face of the earth. My teenage fantasies of him (he who I had named Rodrigo) had included everything from him saving me from dragons (I was on a bit of a fantasy kick there for a while) to he and I being spies and falling madly in love on an undercover assignment, only to be betrayed by a mole higher up and being torn apart (no worries, though; the fantasy continued and after the betrayal, we were reunited three years later in a fiery passion on a beach in his homeland of Italy).

“I want firemen too,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just call them anyway.”

“I thought we were doing this because you were in love with someone already?” Nana asked. “I don’t think your parents raised you to be a whore.”

“Language!” Dad barked.

“I think he might try to beat our record,” Mom said.

“I’ve known him longer than a week,” I said for some damn reason.

“Yes, but you didn’t actually talk to him the first time until Monday, right?”

“I don’t think I told you that, so the fact that you know kind of creeps me out.”

“I have spies everywhere,” Mom said, cackling.

“She really does,” Dad said.

“Sandy is your spy, isn’t he?”

“You bet he is,” Mom said.

“No firemen for Sandy!” I decreed.

“You’re going to make me a spinster,” he muttered.

“And that should do it,” Dad said. “You know, you kids today with your fancy iPads and iPhones and iTunes and iPods. None of those would have helped you here. Maybe I should market this as the iScrewdriver and see how much money I could make.”

“Billions,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure the market value just dropped 300 percent on my house since you unscrewed this door. Thanks, Dad.”