TAPE FOUR 7/6/85

Halloween came and went. I didn't care much. I was too old for that stuff, anyway. Some of the kids on the team got together, but I didn't go. Good thing. One guy’s older brother had a car which they loaded up with eggs and garbage to throw at other cars, drove around the corner and were stopped by the GPD's anti-hooliganism squad - history's shortest ride of terror. The cops held them at the jail for a few hours, and their parents had to come get them out.
I thought I might go over or Al's, but he had to stay all night at his father's gas station to protect against any vandalism.
The trouble with being friends with Al was his family. They were nice and all - expect for Finley - but very close-knit, and he had to spend a lot of time with them. It only got worse the summer before when his father bought the gas station.
I didn't hang around with Al when he was there, and, because the station wasn't doing too well and his father couldn't afford to hire a regular helper, that was most of the time he wasn't in school. At first I did go there, but if I helped out I could tell his father didn't like it because he couldn't pay me, and if I just sat around he seemed nervous that I was wasting Al's time. So I saw Al less and less.
Because he was my only friend, I really saw no one, to tell the truth. Mostly, I jogged, or sat around the empty house, or played with the dog. About a month had gone by since my afternoon at Marlene's. I saw her daily, of course, but I didn't see her. I didn't go by her house anymore. I tried not to think about her, which was stupid, because the more you try not to think about someone, the more she fills your mind.
I've sometimes thought that if I'd just gotten my things and gone home after we did it the first time, things might have been different. I think that for a lot of guys the first time is pretty much like that - sort of like beating off with help - no real deep emotions except for the nervousness, just getting through it is everything. Maybe if I'd left it like that, my life would have gone a different way. It wouldn't have been such a big deal. I'd have tried it later with someone else, and it would have been a little different and so on, gradual-like.
But I'd gone back, and she'd taken me higher - let me feel the warmth and the craziness and a bit of the glory - and there was no way back and no gradual way in. As much as I denied it, I wanted her. I could have tried to get to know someone else, but the way I was - and the way those days were - who would it be? I passed Marlene at school and didn't see her, but in my mind I couldn't take my eyes off her. I didn't think about her and thought of no one else. I burned.
Everything burned. The weather that year screwed up completely. Usually in Southern California the summer heat fades as autumn comes on. The smog stays pretty bad until the rains begin in November, but it cools some. Then in late September or early October the wind turns for a week or two and you get Santa Ana winds out of the Mojave Desert that clear the air, but dry and burn everything. Every year ritzy homes are burned up in some dried out canyon set on fire by a local maniac.
That year, for some reason, this so-called Indian Summer came on much later. It was early November when the winds turned and the temperatures jumped into the nineties, even over a hundred, for more than a week. One of those nights, about ten o'clock, I was studied out and sick of thinking about not thinking. I decided to get to bed early to escape the heat and the problems. My room was off the kitchen in the back of the house and had two large swinging windows which I had wide open trying to trap some stray breeze.
The wind had stopped, but the humidity had gone way up, so that the night seemed almost tropical. I was already down to my shorts as I lay studying on the bed. I pulled down the covers, turned out the light and spreadeagled on the sheet, trying to gather in enough coolness to get to sleep.
The heat had even driven out sound. No cars passed. The mockingbird that usually chattered all night from the big pine tree in the yard was cooling himself somewhere else. I was about under when a light tapping on the screen less than two feet from my head brought me back with a rush. There was no moon yet that night, so, as I rose and looked out the window, I could only make out a black figure standing in the yard.
"Hey, can I come in?”
It was the voice I heard every night but that night it came from the shape in the yard, not from my head. The shock of getting up suddenly had me dizzy. My head screamed with voices. Pride screamed, "Tell her to go to hell." Vengeance whispered, "Play with her, stall, make her stand out there." But the voice that came out of my mouth said, "Sure. Go around to the back door.”
I grabbed some gym shorts and a T shirt and got them on as I crossed the kitchen. For once, my mother had been at home all evening. She was watching TV when I went to my room, but the front of the house was silent and dark now. Carefully, I let myself into the service porch and unlatched the back door. Marlene was scarcely recognizable. Her face was clean and her hair pulled into a tight bun. In a black sweatshirt and black pants she could have been a boy.
Silently she slipped across the kitchen into my room, but on the way I made some noise with the door and stubbed my toe on a small table. I closed and locked my door and turned on the light. For a few minutes she looked around the room - much plainer than what she was used to, I supposed - and then sat on the edge of the bed. It squeaked. I pulled the wooden chair from my desk and straddled it, my arms crossed over the back.
All this while speeches, one-liners, snappy come-backs and put-downs had been flying through my head on fast forward. Whatever I said first was crucial, I knew. I'd been too quick to let her in. Now I had to put the situation in correct perspective. Things - many things - had to be set right. Carefully I weighed and sorted. It had to be something deep, something penetrating, the tone was everything.
“Well,'' I said profoundly.
Moved by that eloquence, she replied, "Well."
Clumsy silence followed. Stupidity was next.
"I didn't expect to see you here."
"No, I guess not."
"I mean, you were pretty clear that you didn't want to see me again."
"Yes, I guess so."
Just then the kitchen floor creaked. I motioned Marlene into the little bathroom next to my room and opened my door before my mother could see that it was locked. I made like I was going for something in the refrigerator.
"Did I hear you go out Just now? I thought I heard something," she said.
"It was the dog. She got out of the garage," I said very offhand. "I heard her in the back yard and put her back in."
"It must be the heat in the garage. How did she get out?"
"I guess I didn't close the door tight."
"Well, you know you've got to finish fencing the back yard. That dog can't be locked up or on a chain all the time."
"I know, Ma, I'll finish it this weekend."
"You've been working on it for two months."
"I know, I know, I'll do it."
"Are you going to bed now?"
"I was in bed, Ma."
"Your light is on."
"That's because I got up, Ma."
I opened the refrigerator and poured some juice.
"I was thirsty."
"You're going to bed now?"
"Yes, Ma."
"Good night."
"Good night."
I went back to my room and sat down again, listening to my mother bumping around the front of the house. Then it was quiet. Marlene sat on the bed again, but in the dark I couldn't make out her face. Finally, I turned on a small desk lamp.
She hadn't said anything about the exchange with my mother, but she was smirking a little. Her face was beautiful, as I remembered it, but that seemed to piss me even more. The muggy heat pressed ever more tightly into the room, squeezing my head so it throbbed. Thoughts had no meaning. This was not going right at all.
"You know," I said, dropping the mind games in frustration, "you hurt me. You hurt me a lot."
She said nothing, but her expression changed, and she looked away.
"Why?" I asked.
"Maybe I thought we shouldn't be seen together."
"What?"
"Maybe I thought it wouldn't do you any good to be seen with me." Her tone was direct.
"You mean you were protecting my reputation?"
"No, I'm becoming a nun soon, and I thought you might blow it for me."
I gave her a dirty look.
"And maybe I thought you'd tell your friends what we did."
"I never did.”
"I know."
"How?"
"It doesn't take long for that kind of stuff to get back to you, believe me."
I didn't like the thought that she'd had so much experience with that, but it wasn't like she'd ever lied about who she was. I changed the subject.
"How'd you know where I live?"
"If you can spy me out, I can spy you out, too."
"I never spied on you."
"Right!"
"So why'd you come over tonight?"
"Well, isn't it socially correct to return calls? You called on me, didn't you? Or should I have sent my card first?"
"Well, ten o'clock at the back door in the dark doesn't really need all that formality.
"Listen, it was a shitty idea, OK? I'll let myself out. And I won't wake up Mama."
"No," I said, standing up to block her exit. "I'm sorry. You don't have to go. I mean, you can go when you want, but I don't want you to."
She walked around the room for a few minutes, although there wasn't that much space and certainly nothing to see. Finally she sat down.
"My father was acting like an asshole, alright? He had one of his fancy lady friends over for a little visit, and it pissed me off. I told him so, and we had a few words, and I walked out."
"Where does your mother live?" I asked without thinking.
"She's dead. He killed her," then, smiling sarcastically at the look on my face, "No, he didn't kill her, but he might as well have. Ah, listen, this wasn't such a good idea. I don't even know why I did it. I just didn't want to walk around all night, and I sure as hell don't want to go back there."
"You can spend the night here."
"Look, I really don't think..."
"You can use the bed and I'll sleep on the floor."
"I don't want to take your bed."
"No, really, I'm used to it. I camp out a lot," I lied. "I've got a sleeping bag, see?"
I opened the closet and grabbed the bag off the shelf. The truth was it belonged to my brother, Danny, and he was the one who camped out a lot when he was younger. It never really interested me.
After a little more, I convinced her. I thought she might at least take off her sweatshirt in that heat, but she only took off her shoes and lay on the bed. It groaned.
"Nice bed."
"Yeah. It's not the greatest. Sometimes it sounds like the Boston Symphony."
"Oh? It sees that much action?"
'Huh? Oh yeah," I said, embarrassed. "Well, really, you were there for the only action I've ever seen."
She shook her head at my frankness. I spread the sleeping bag on the floor and turned off the lamp. In the dark I got out of the shorts and the T shirt and stretched out on top of the bag. The sticky heat seemed to flow to the floor and settle. There was no movement at all. For a long time I lay still, listening. For a while the bed groaned and squeaked as she tried to find some comfort. Then it was quiet. A little later I could detect her soft, even breathing.
That was worse than the noise. I seemed to feel her breath on my shoulder. The constant thought that she lay only inches from me built an enormous tension. Sweat stood out on my face and chest and rolled down my neck. I tried rolling to my stomach, like I usually slept, but in my condition and on the hard floor, that was really painful. After a long time, from plain exhaustion, I dozed off.
About two or three in the morning the weather changed. The desert wind finally turned, and a cool ocean breeze flowed in. I felt the chill and woke up. At first I didn't know where I was. I'd never really seen a rug's eye view of my room before. Then I remembered.
Both windows were still wide open. I got up to close them. The moon was high overhead and lit up the yard and the room with its silver-grey shine. I looked at the bed. Marlene lay there uncovered. She had only her bra and panties on. The full moonlight, streaming through the window, suspended her above the bed, glowing and shimmering, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. For a long while, despite the chill, I stood fixed, unable to break the hold of that chance vision, burning its beauty into memory.
Everything ached. I wanted to touch her, to hold that beauty, if nothing more. It seemed like all my other dreams, but so intense it could kill. Finally, I closed the window. I got the blankets off the floor and covered her carefully, then went back to the steeping bag.
The knocking from the door made me jump up from the floor. A glance at the clock showed that it was past seven-thirty. I only had forty minutes to dress, eat and walk a mile and a half to school. A glance down at Marlene showed me I had more to worry about than that.
"Andy, why aren't you up? It's a school day. Why is your door locked?" my mother called.
Marlene was gradually waking up. I motioned frantically for her to slide off the bed, away from the door, which she did, hiding herself between the bed and the wall. I grabbed whatever clothes I could and kicked them and the sleeping bag into the bathroom, then opened the door.
"What happened to you?" my mother said. "You look terrible, like you hadn't slept a wink."
I grabbed at that opening.
"I must have had stomach flu last night. I had to go the head a lot. I don't feel too good."
"Yes, I heard you tossing around. Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to disturb you. Maybe you should invest in a new bed so you wouldn't have to hear me tossing around."
She shot back a glance at me, but she missed Marlene's sweatshirt tangled around my foot. I kicked it under the dresser.
"Well, can you eat anything now? I'm ready to go. I have to get there early for a meeting. I'm just having toast and coffee."
"No, I feel rotten. I'd better stay home today. I'll just throw up if I go to school."
"Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone," she said, making a stab at motherhood. I didn't have much doubt about that lasting too long.
"Nah, it's alright. I'll make some tea and toast later."
"I'll call later to see how you're doing." I knew she wouldn't.
Once she'd left,Marlene surfaced with a sour look on her face.
"You sure lie to your mother."
I looked at her in disbelief.
"You're saying I should tell her the truth? Wait, her car isn't gone yet." I looked out the window. "Hold on, I'll call her back."
"Never mind."
"You never lie to your father?"
"No."
I felt like saying something like maybe that's why she had to spend the night on the street, but my head was clear enough to know I didn't want to go that way. Instead, I put on my bermudas and went into the kitchen. At first I got down some cereal, as usual. I thought Marlene would follow me, but in a few minutes I heard the shower in my bathroom.
Now, that got me thinking about my brother, Danny. He didn't talk much about personal things, but one day he let slip something about taking a shower with his wife. After that, I fantasized about taking a bath with a girl and what it would be like. I pictured Marlene in my shower and felt my curiosity rising.
Returning to my room, I saw the bathroom door was closed. Quietly, I tried the handle. It was locked, but an idea began to form. Taking a sweatshirt from my drawer, I went up to the front bathroom. With a damp cloth I sponged the night from my face, arms, and chest, put deodorant, brushed my hair and used some mouthwash.
When I returned to the kitchen, I took out eggs, bacon, bread, sweet rolls and juice. While I waited, I scrambled and fried and toasted enough for four or five people. I don’t know why my mother always bought all that stuff. We hardly ever ate much breakfast. She just couldn’t get over not having a family anymore.
All of the food was piled on the breakfast room table when she finally came out. I'd set the table with my grandmother’s best china which my mother kept separate in a big glass breakfront cabinet in the dining room.
Marlene had put on her clothes. She'd washed her hair and only partially dried it. It looked almost black and was combed straight down, making a stark frame for her face. The breakfast didn't interest her. She took some toast and asked for coffee. There was only instant, which she made a face at, but drank. Outside, the ocean breeze of the night before had turned to heavy fog. Beyond the bushes bordering the house only a shining grey could be seen. Still, she stared into it, not looking at or speaking to me. I could hear only the "splash, splash, vroom" of occasional cars crossing the culvert in Stocker Street and gunning up the hill or the “lub, lub, lub, splash, splash" of cars decelerating down. Even when you thought it was quiet in that house you could always hear that sound, so you never heard it. That morning it roared.
Nerves began to close in. In the deafening silence, confused feelings piled up. There was excitement. There always was with Marlene: the excitement of the unknown, the forbidden, the dark places. The air crackled with it. It burned over my skin.
There was desire. From the start there had been desire, but I'd put other names to it. Now I knew its face. If I could desire her when I only saw her across the campus, covered with pounds of paint and ridiculous outfits, what could I feel when she sat so near - her face scrubbed and shining, her hair damp and fragrant or when I remembered how I'd seen her the night before?
And there was fear. I feared her moods, her temper, her secrets, her honesty. I feared the insight all women seemed to have that lets them see into the miserable grain that's the core of all men. Mostly, though, I feared her leaving.
In a few minutes, I knew, she would get up and leave me again. I had no hold on her at all. Desperately I tried to trap her with a web of words. Grabbing at the latest school scandal, I began.
"What do you think about Wiggy?"
"Wiggy?"
"You know, Mrs. Magnusen, the American History teacher?"
"What about her?"
It wasn't something I could tell about from having seen it. American History was a junior class, so, naturally, I didn't take it. But the story was that Tom Kier and Mike Brady, two guys who were on the baseball team, had pulled it off. It was funny that baseball guys would do it. They were always such square, clean-cut types. It was more like something a football guy would do.
Anyway, Mrs. Magnusen was a nice enough old lady, I guess, but everyone had this thing about whether she wore a wig or just had the same ugly hairstyle every day. In those days not many ladies wore wigs just for looks, so everyone guessed that, if she did, it was because she was bald. Kier and Brady, who were in her fifth period, got the idea to sneak in during lunch and tie some clear fishing line to the back of the chair. On the end of the line was a small fishhook. They taped it to the chair some way so it wouldn't be noticed.
Once class had begun, Kier used some excuse to come up to the desk, and while he was talking to her - she was sitting in the chair - he loosened the fish line. Then, acting all clumsy, he sort of fell against her and at the same time lightly dropped the hook into her hair. He apologized and went back to his desk.
The class was ready to explode; everybody knew what was going on. Still they kept pretty quiet until finally she got up to teach and let out a scream. Now here is where I couldn't really be sure what happened. Some kids swore they saw the wig move, but others said no. If she had one, it must have been pinned on pretty good because it didn't come off. Actually, though, that might have been because the fishhook went into her scalp and stuck, nailing any possible wig to her head.
Of course, all hell broke loose. Kier and Brady were suspended and almost expelled. The principal wanted to charge them with battery or something. The whole class was disciplined, and that led to a lot of parent protests. I was amazed that Marlene hadn't heard about it. It was all anyone talked about during the last week.
As I was telling about it in a real peppy, joking way, I began to notice a change coming over Marlene. She'd been distracted and distant, but now she was giving complete attention, and I wasn't sure I liked it. Something dark moved over her face. When I finished she said,
“And you think that's funny?"
'Well, a little bit, I guess. I mean, a lot of kids did."
"And you get your opinions from the other kids?"
"Well, no, not really. I wasn't there. It's just a story I heard."
Suddenly I felt very defensive for some reason.
"Oh, so you don't mind repeating it, even if maybe it's not true."
"It must be true. Those two guys were suspended."
'And you don't mind continuing to get laughs at that poor lady's expense?"
"Oh, now, wait a minute. I didn't do anything."
"No, you wait. I was there. I saw the whole thing. The woman was bleeding -bleeding - do you understand? Here she only comes in to do her job, to teach the shitheads who go to that half-ass school, and she has to put up with physical abuse from those two smug assholes - assholes who only expect everyone to say how wonderful they are and don't contribute one goddamned thing to the world except pain for a nice old lady."
I knew where all Marlene's classes were, but I hadn't bothered to find out where Mrs. Magnusen taught. Anyway, I thought Marlene had only senior classes. Still, if she really saw the whole thing, I bet she was the only one in the class who felt that way. It seemed like I'd heard all the others joking about it.
"Well, I'm sorry I brought it up then," I said.
"No, I'm glad you did. It gives me a better idea about you; I really don't know you very well, you know."
That made me a little hot.
"Well, it's funny you didn't seem so choosy about who I was last night when you were hurting for a place to spend the night."
"Oh. Oh, of course, you'd have to say that."
Of course I had to say that, stupid as it was. The whole conversation was stupid, especially because I knew exactly what was coming next.
"Well, thank you for the bed, and thank you for the food. I'm sorry I don't have any cash on me right now. Send me the bill."
And with that she slammed out.
So I got what I wanted, right? The reunion of the century, right? But things didn't exactly go back the same as they were before.
Marlene began to acknowledge that I existed at school. It was nothing over-whelming: a quick look in my direction when we passed, a slight nod, a hint of a smile. I still didn't talk to her or try to sit by her; I knew that would be too much. She didn't come by my house again, but maybe she was waiting for me to go to hers. I thought about that, but I didn't go.
There were a couple of reasons why not. First, I really took a little time to think about her and me. Mainly I thought about something that I'd known from the first time I met her, but that had been buried by my fascination for her: she was crazy. Maybe not totally, maybe not constantly, but I knew that she was mad as well as I knew that there were good places and evil places in my path. It was just a sense I had of things, and it was as basic to me as any other part.
The funny thing was that on the one hand, I didn't really mind her madness in my life. Madness has sometimes even attracted me. Maybe it was a better way to see things. Maybe escape and freedom lay there. Maybe it was full of colors and lights and weird shapes: a mental Disneyland. On the other hand, I've never gone that way because of a vow I made to myself when I was just twelve. I guess I've never made another promise to myself. I don't think I'm up to keeping many promises, but this one I've never broken. It had to do with my father, but by the time I knew Marlene it was something packaged and stored away, and I never thought about it. More and more she brought that hidden thing to mind, and I didn't much like it.
But there was another reason I didn't go back to Marlene's and that was because I made a new friend. And this time I could say that I made a friend and was not just befriended. To do it, I used humor.
For some time I'd been aware that I had the ability to use humor if I wanted to. It started out like when I was in a group of kids and something weird happened. I could usually think of something funny to say. Gradually I began to say it. Kids would laugh until they looked around to see who it was. Then they would look like they'd just stepped in dog shit and would look at each other and laugh again, but this time all smirky.
Still, I noticed there were some who began to expect me to say funny things, and in spite of themselves they laughed with me. It's strange, because I was never like that when I was a little kid. Everyone always said what a happy little kid I was, but now I was becoming a funny kid, instead.
When you think about it, humor's strange. I've heard that it's a sign of intelligence, but it's really a kind of cover. It's like a coating that makes things easier to take, or sometimes it hides things better not seen. And kids who aren't up to it look for the ones who are. Maybe a laugh helps them get through the day.
When I deliberately decided to try my sense of humor on one person, I picked Glenn Potter. Glenn was a basketball player, only JV, not varsity; but that was OK for a sophomore. He was a very nice guy - not too snotty and a lot of kids liked him. Actually, that year being a basketball player was almost as good as being a football player, because the football team had done so shitty.
Glenn sat right in front of me in geometry class, and the technique I used on him had to do with our teacher who was a great butt for jokes if there ever was one. He almost looked like a cartoon. He was fat and redfaced and bald. He'd been an army sergeant, and maybe as a reaction to his years of military discipline, his clothes were always baggy and unironed and about twenty years out of style. I guess it wasn't really fair of me making fun of him, because he was a good geometry teacher, but what I was after was more important than fairness.
The teacher, Mr. Cazas, had one really irritating habit. He liked to tell jokes, but he always repeated the same ones. I guess sergeants could get away with that shit in the army. He had six jokes. I numbered them. I could tell when he was about to start one because he would lean on his lectern and take off his glasses. I told Glenn about my system, and when the teacher was about to start a joke I'd tap him on the back two times or three times, depending on the number of the joke. Some of the girls who sat around us even caught on to the system and would smile when I tapped Glenn. I knew they would never smile at me alone.
One day Glenn tried to beat me at my own game. When Mr. Cazas leaned on the lectern, Glenn held up four fingers to me (two and four were Mr. Cazas's favorites), but I'd refined the system even more and could pretty well tell from situations what the joke would be. For example, that day he'd gotten off into Pythagoras and I knew - Italy and Greece being close - that the joke would be the seldom used one about two Italians, number five.
Seeing Glenn's four, I tapped him back five, and when the joke began he had to fight so hard to keep from laughing that he nearly fell out of his desk. I guess the teacher figured out what we were doing because he shot me a look that made me damn glad we weren't in the army.
After class, Glenn was still cracking up in the hall. He couldn't believe how I pegged that joke, and I just soaked it up, especially since other kids were seeing how friendly he was being with me. Then he surprised me by asking where I lived. I hadn't considered that we might be friends out of school. He said he might come by around seven if I wasn't doing anything. I said I wasn't.
That evening my mother went out to some party thrown by a bigwig who did a lot of business with the bank. I got dressed up, but then sat around feeling stupid when seven, then seven-thirty passed. But around eight there was a knock, and when I opened, there was Glenn in a pork chop hat and a long grey overcoat. The outfit should have seemed funny, but on him it didn't look too bad. I hadn't realized how tall he was. He explained that he couldn't find the house at first, and he seemed really friendly.
For a while we sat around the living room talking about not much. He took off his hat, but not the coat. He asked where my parents were, and I told him about my mother and that my father was dead. Like everybody, he said he was sorry for that. Then he said we had a nice house and a few other things, and then we got quiet because there wasn't really much more to talk about. I thought that if I weren't such a nerd I'd think of something to say or do and that he'd probably get pissed and go pretty soon.
Suddenly he stood up and asked if we had orange juice. Of all the things I might have expected, that was about the last, but we went into the kitchen, and I found some frozen and mixed it up. He produced a half-pint of vodka from a big pocket of the overcoat, went to the cupboard like he'd lived there a while, got two glasses and poured the juice. Then he topped off both glasses with vodka.
I'd never thought much about drinking. If anyone in our family ever did it, I never saw it. I saw some beer once at Danny's, but he never drank in our house. My mother's father was a Presbyterian minister, and she was raised with no alcohol in the house, but I think she drank a few when she was at parties. It was funny my father never drank, being in construction, but I never saw him do it, and I never smelled any on him.
I really didn't want to have any, but I looked across at Glenn who raised his in a sort of toast and then drank as if that were the natural way to begin the evening. I didn't want to kill a friendship before it even started, so I took a sip. It went straight to my brain with a rush, and I blinked. Glenn laughed. I guess he figured I hadn't drunk much before, but he didn't
ask.
After the first rush I didn't notice anything different, though. We went back to the living room and sat around talking some more. I couldn't figure why the hell people messed up good orange juice with vodka, but I didn't seem to care much. We were finding more to talk about, which made me more comfortable, and Glenn seemed to think a lot of what I said was pretty damn funny. I really couldn't tell why, but I found myself laughing, too.
At one point he took the empty glasses back to the kitchen and refilled them. I suppose the way he took charge of the house would have irritated me normally, but it didn't seem to then. It just seemed a natural part of him, and somehow he did it in a way that wasn't offensive.
After we finished that round, he asked me how I'd like to go to a party. Some kid I didn't even know was giving one not far away. My reaction was about the same as it had been to the vodka. Somehow it scared me. I really didn't want to, but the alternative - having Glenn go by himself - seemed much worse.
I got my jacket, an olive windbreaker my mother had bought for me a month before. Glenn took one look at it and said it wasn't right and for that matter didn't I have a sweater instead of the shirt I had on. I felt like saying that no one had dressed me for a long time, but I didn't. Maybe that wasn't the truth anyway. The truth was that I really didn't think much about clothes. I just put on what appeared in the closet. My mother liked to shop, and that was at least one motherly thing she did for me.
We found a sweater that Glenn thought looked good for the evening, but the jacket was a problem. The only other one I had was too small. Danny had lived in that house for a year before he got married, but the only things I found in his closet were old shirts. Finally I thought about a trunk my mother kept in the storeroom, but I didn't hold much hope for that. There were some old clothes there, but it was mostly filled with blankets and bedspreads. About halfway down, though, I found a dark blue navy jacket my father used to wear when he was working. I expected it would be all crummy, but I guess my mother'd had it cleaned. I was surprised she even kept it; she threw out just about all of his other things.
Glenn told me to put it on, but I didn't want to. It reminded me of my father too much, and I was sure it looked stupid. Glenn thought it looked great, so I went to a mirror, and the funny thing was it didn't really look bad at all. I'd liked it when my my father wore it, too.
The party was only about three blocks from my house, but I had no idea who lived there. Glenn knew more about my neighborhood than I did. I recognized the kid. He was a junior or senior,but I didn't know his name. He seemed real happy to see Glenn, but then he looked at me like I was the village leper who'd just come in and dropped a body part on the floor. It had happened before. I didn't like it, but I'd always just accepted it as somehow reasonable, given me and given Glendale, but this time, when the kid turned his back, I made a face and a few obscene gestures. I don't know why. Maybe it was the booze. Glenn cracked up, but when the kid turned around we were all serious and sober. I swear, it had gotten so I just had to cross my eyes and Glenn would crack up; I was his resident joker.
The party was a dud. Glenn was pissed because there was no liquor, but it turned out the kid's parents were holed up in one of the bedrooms, letting junior have his party, but spying on everyone. Glenn poured us some Seven-up and spiked it, but the vodka bottle was almost empty. We sat around for a while, but the kids who showed up were nerdly, even by cross-country standards, and pretty soon he gave me the sign, and we left.
We just walked around aimlessly, or so it seemed to me. I thought we might head downtown, but I noticed we were working our way back toward the hills. We were on Howard Street, just a block over from my house.
"D'you like to make out?" Glenn asked.
I looked at him sort of funny and stepped away from him.
"I mean with a girl, asshole."
"I guess."
"I know one who's really hot, and she lives right oh this street."
"Does she go to Hoover?"
"Nah - St. Lucy's."
I didn't know how a girl was going to be any good for both of us, but by that point I wasn't capable of serious mental activity, so I didn't push it. I just followed Glenn up to this large, two-story, Spanish style house. After a minute a tall, blond girl, fairly good-looking, answered the door. She was all smiles for Glenn, which seemed to be required by municipal law, but she looked at me kindly,too, as he introduced us. Her name was Jo Riggs, and her brother and Glenn's brother were great friends. They were both out at a party so Glenn said that he was worried Jo might be lonely.
The house had a big living room, well decorated, although nothing like the Barzani's, but we went into a family room which was heavy with fake Spanish stuff. The TV was on. Jo offered me an easy chair and sat on a big black leather sofa with carved wood ends while Glenn did his usual scouting of the kitchen, opening just about all the drawers and cabinets.
"Don't you have any vodka?" he called. "We're drinking vodka, and I don't want to screw up my friend's stomach. He's the star of the cross country team, y'know. He's gonna letter this year after he takes the league championship."
I really went red. Jo laughed and went into the back of the house. Later I heard her and Glenn talking quietly in the kitchen. Then they appeared again with three drinks and some chips. He brought me a drink and whispered,
"Jo really likes you."
But then he went and sat by her on the sofa. In a few minutes he had his arm around her, and pretty soon they were kissing.
I didn't know what the hell to do , so I concentrated on the TV - I think it was Sergeant Bilko - while they made out. I had kept a pretty constant buzz since we started, but now it was starting to get heavy. Between the TV and sneaking looks at them going at it, I was starting to feel screwed up. Finally, I got up and went to the kitchen. I saw a head on the back porch and used it. Then I just wandered around the house, exploring, but not really interested. When I finished the downstairs rooms, I inspected the bedrooms upstairs and then returned to the family room. I thought I'd given them a chance to go somewhere more private, but they were still at it. It'd been more than a half hour.
When Glenn heard me, he stopped and gave me a smile. Then he stood up.
"I gotta use the head," he said.
I tried not to look, but you could only tell he was hard. Then, amazingly he signaled me to sit next to Jo. I'd come to accept that this was how things worked in Glenn's world, so I sat. After he left Jo and I smiled, and I felt very embarrassed, but I really did want to kiss her, so I did. She kissed me back and picked right up where she'd left off. The booze cleared long enough for me to wonder if another guy had just been kissing a girl and you started kissing her, whether it wasn't the same thing as kissing the guy, but then the vodka washed back, and I gave up thinking.
For a long time we just kissed. I liked it. Marlene's kiss was more exciting, but I'd never kissed her for more than a few minutes. Jo was getting passionate. She'd been at it quite a while with Glenn and was hot. When I came in Glenn had been massaging her sweater like we was testing oranges at the store. I put my hand under her sweater and rubbed her back then got my hand under her bra and felt her breasts. They were smaller than Marlene's, but respectable. At first she started to pull back, but then she just groaned and tensed a little each time I touched a nipple. Soon I felt her hand on my pants, rubbing my hardon. I mumbled something about the bedroom, and she mumbled something I thought was yes. But at that moment Glenn came back.
"OK, ol' buddy, it's time to hit the road. The heat'll be here soon," he said from the kitchen.
With one deft movement of her arm Jo cleared my hand from her sweater. In an instant she was sitting up primly, smiling and fixing her hair as Glenn came in. I could only sprawl against the back of the sofa, amazed again. Glenn already had one arm in his overcoat and he threw the navy jacket to me.
It was one thing to give over control of my life to Glenn Potter; it was something else to get jerked around. I got the jacket on, but didn't make a very gracious exit. I didn't say anything, but it wasn't much of a secret that I was pissed. Jo stood at the door saying goodbye, still smiling, but underneath you could see bewilderment, like she wasn't really sure what had happened .
We walked a little down the street when Glenn said,
“You pissed? I don't know what you're pissed about."
“I'm not pissed."
"You weren't so nice to Jo when we left. She said something shitty to you?"
"She was alright.”
"Well, then, what the fuck?"
"Nothing."
"Come on!"
"I thought we were going upstairs.
"Upstairs? What's upstairs?"
“I just thought we were."
“What? You hadda use the head? They had one off the kitchen. Use the bushes."
"I don't need to piss."
"Then what the hell's upstairs? Oh...Wait a minute. You mean you thought you and Jo...Look, I thought I told you when we got here, she's not that kinda girl."
“What did you tell me?”
"I told you she goes to a Catholic school."
"And Catholics don't do it?"
"Of course Catholics do it. There's enough of 'em. I don't even know if she's Catholic. Man, you gotta learn about girls. I mean, just because they make out... She's a good girl."
"And what's bad about fucking?"
"Nothin's bad - for you and me -but for a girl. Look, you ever done it?"
I started to answer, then studied his face for an instant.
“Yeah, sure... Almost."
“Almost? What's almost?"
I don't know why I didn't tell him about Marlene. Maybe I wanted to protect her. Maybe I didn't want to be associated with her. But mostly, I was pretty sure he'd never done it, and I wondered how he'd feel if he thought I had. I searched around for some way out.
"Well, there was this girl I used to take out last summer, where I worked in the mountains. We were, like, pretty close, and this one night we were all ready to do it, but then she didn't want to."
"You see? She was a good girl, too. Just what I was telling you about. It's a lot more serious for a gal than for us. And the ones that do it you gotta be damn careful - they've got VD and stuff."
I decided just to shut up. I hadn't gone out that night for sex; I'd gone out to make a friend, and I was damn close to blowing it. We'd walked on a little way in silence when Glenn turned around and stepped in front of me, walking backward. He punched me on the shoulder. I couldn't tell if he was kidding or pissed.
"Hey, what kind of buddy are you anyway?" he asked.
"What?"
"Here I take you to a gal's house for a little making out, and right away you plot to get in the sack with her. What about me? What am I supposed to be doing, watching TV? Knitting?"
"I thought you were going upstairs, too."
"For what? Sloppy seconds?"
"I thought you'd go first."
Seeing I was serious, he stopped. His expression changed.
"And what would you be doing meanwhile?"
"Watching? Waiting outside? I don't know. It never got to that."
Now a hungry look came over him.
"When I came into the family room, you had your hand up her sweater?"
"Yeah."
"Under her bra?"
"Well..."
"Did she say anything?"
"She said she would."
"Damn!"
Now he panicked. In agitation he took a few steps back toward the house, but at the same time, a car that had been coming down the hill turned into Jo's driveway. A nice-looking lady in a short fur jacket and a red cocktail dress got out and let herself in the front door.
"Son of a bitch!" he said, whirling around. "You nearly got us killed. I told you her mother was coming home."
His face was disappointed, but his voice was relieved.
The rest of the way down to Stocker Street we walked in silence. I glanced over once or twice, but couldn't tell if he was deep in thought or just stoned. When we got to the corner, he didn't even notice, but stepped off the curb and nearly sat down. He recovered and turned to face me again. With him in the street and me on the curb, his face - even featured, squarecut - was about on level with mine. He studied me, then said,
"Y'know a lot of kids think you're weird. I think they're right. I mean, who else would come up with you and me and Jo in the sack together?"
Then this deep character analysis crumbled into a lewd giggle. He stepped up and clapped his arm over my shoulders.
"And what if it had worked? Man, oh man. What an idea. And we were that close. Y'know what? I like you. You may be weird, but you're not phony. You're alright."
And we staggered on to my house, bonded by something that never happened.
When we got there, he said,
"Listen, would your mom mind if I spent the night?"
"I don't think so, would your folks?"
"Nah, I already told them I would.”
Naturally .
"It's a long way to walk home when you're a little tipsy, and besides, my old man's getting a little shitty lately when I come in late. Smells my breath and all that."
"He doesn't like you to drink?"
"He doesn't like me to steal his booze."
"Do you?"
"Sometimes, but not tonight. A friend of my brother's got it for us. And by the way, you owe me $1.60."
A few minutes after we lay down I could hear his heavy, even breathing coming from the sleeping bag on the floor. For me, sleep didn't come so easily. Too much had happened in too short a time. For a long time I lay plowing back and forth over all of it, trying to make some order, but it was useless; I was exhausted. What was worse, the session with Jo had left me horny as hell. I thought about Marlene.
Then Glenn started to snore. It didn't bother me; it was like listening to a rhythmic sound of nature, like a river or ocean waves. It reminded me that things were changing, that after all the loneliness, I was making friends, that a popular guy was sleeping in my room. Maybe better things were coming. And with that thought I fell asleep.

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