Читать книгу Death Wishing - Laura Ellen Scott - Страница 9

4.

That night, as the sun set and the world went violet, I got drunk in my room, swigging from a bottle of refrigerated white that was still a little cold by the time the punt became an island. Gerald Pollin’s horrible bloody face kept popping into my head, and I was on a self pity jag. I still wasn’t sure what all had happened, but my suspicions ran dark. Was the world so off kilter? My quality of life had been so much better before Gerald, even a mere fifteen minutes before he appeared on my scene. Those golden moments with a beautiful girl on my arm—I worried I might never feel that good again.

Poor Pebbles. If I was this weak, how the hell was she coping?

And I kept thinking about Val, as well. I’d talked too much about the past with Martine. Now it was impossible to shake off the regrets that tumbled around my mind.

When he was a sandy haired, plump boy, I used to call Val the “bean counter.” It was a dumb nickname, never meaning anything more than the fact that I found his food intensity adorable. No matter what was on his plate, it would go into his mouth with deliberate passion. He was such a sweet little guy, sweating at the table, fist wrapped around a fork with which he speared every pea and tater tot and spaghetti-o as if they were the last of their kind. But always one piece at a time. He didn’t like to mix his food or collect too great a mouthful in one go.

The little things come back to haunt you, especially if you are a parent.

I punished myself with a small pizza, and once sequestered in my room for a feast of shame, I discovered the order was wrong—a large by mistake, loaded with evil, fatty meats. There was definitely a force at work in my life. I ate and drank like a free man.

My room was a wreck, like a student’s room. A low bed, piles of books, pale yellow walls, and a ceiling so far away that I hadn’t changed the bulbs on the fan or dusted it either. Three of the six were burnt out, and it was beginning to look like I could grow wildflowers up there. I couldn’t walk from one corner to the other because of the computer and all its paraphernalia. But my room did have one priceless feature. It was directly parallel to Pebbles’ apartment across the avenue, and though a lush magnolia tree partially obscured my view, I could usually spot her as she passed by her window. Sometimes it looked like she lived in the top of the tree. I ate and drank and watched for my lady from Arkansas, but apparently she was out. I got myself pretty tight, pretty quick. Three more swallows would finish the bottle, so I vowed not to. I felt proud of myself as I set it aside.

And then it was dark. I woke still in my chair, head on the desk, my back aching. I’d passed out. An ATM receipt dangled from my lower lip. At last, Pebbles was home; the light from her apartment had roused me. I stood up, wobbly, and sent the nearly empty wine bottle to the floor where it kindly rolled under the bed and out of sight. “Damn it!”

She couldn’t have heard me, and yet there she was, her palms lost in the magnolia leaves, arms locked for support as she leaned out her window. A street lamp lit her softly from below. Her torso was curled and cocked to one side. Her concern was muted by the glass and street that separated us: “You okay?”

Breasts. She leaned forward and I could see the bottom of her brassiere, that little triangle of fabric between the cups.

I struggled to pull my window up. It hadn’t been opened since the Christmas parade. My fingers screamed around the painted metal handle, but I got that sucker unstuck, and a child-sized entity of humid air slipped under the sash, followed by an army of its kind.

I tried to be jolly. “Excuse me, Darkling?” Darkling? Where did that come from? My heart pounded. I burped surreptitiously to relieve the pressure. “I’m all right hon’. Just stubbed my toe is all.”

“Oh.”

“But thank you for asking.” Darkling.

She stepped back and removed her breasts from that magic illumination. Her head tilted and her hair sorted itself into a geometric silhouette, and I got this tingly feeling like she was going to start dancing or something. She didn’t. She withdrew until her face was in shadow. She said, “We still on for church?” She was referring to the Wish Local presentation I’d invited her to attend.

“Of course, dear.” At the moment I couldn’t imagine being in any shape to get up before noon the next morning. My head throbbed and my tongue was thick. But there was no way I would call off our second date.

“And Val? Is he coming along?”

I was about to tell her that Val had another appointment when he decided to answer her himself. “Where are we going then?” He stood right behind me in my unlit room, but I denied him the satisfaction of seeing me jump.

“And what are we doing in the dark, Daddy?”

He flicked on the small reading lamp by my bed, and suddenly I was exposed. All lit up for Pebbles, and all revealed to Val. He frowned at the sight of the yawning, empty pizza box on my bed. He sniffed out the wine on the air.

“Take a little nap, did you?” Val nudged me away from the window and leaned out. “Hey there Miss Pebbles.”

“Hey there Val. Your Daddy and me are going to a meeting tomorrow. I thought he told you?”

I hadn’t told him a thing, but calling me on that omission would be non-productive at the moment. “Oh wow,” he said. “Yeah, I remember now. Slipped my mind is all.”

Pebbles moved forward, leaned out and sort of exposed herself as she had before. Val cast me a quick, big eyed look that said, I know what you’ve been up to old man. I feigned innocence. I feigned disinterest. I’m a good feigner I think, but Val wasn’t buying.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. Then he looked over his shoulder at me and added: “Whatever it is.”

My moment at last. “It is a Wish Local rally.”

The smirk slid from his face, and a dot of panic lit his eyes. He was extremely suspicious of any organized efforts to cope with the Wishing. He mouthed so that Pebbles couldn’t hear: “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I shook my head no.

Somehow I had fully recovered from whatever parental guilt I’d been wallowing in earlier. Competition is a powerful healing force. Did he really think he was getting something going with Miss Arkansas?

He did indeed. He proceeded to make himself comfortable at the window where he wooed my lady out from under me, ripping off my balcony scene. Prince Val.

I accepted defeat and retreated to my computer, sinking into a black, fake leather office chair. A trash find: only three of the four rollers rolled, but the thing held my weight without complaint. Where was I going to roll to anyway? As Val chatted with Pebbles, I logged into the V3C site and answered a few inquiries.

Flirting is an illusion. It’s a made up activity that works well in films, but in real life flirting almost always ends on a flat note. Because for flirting to work, both parties need to be social athletes, untouched by darkness, and in synch. And if they are already in synch, then there’s no need to flirt in the first place.

All I know is that Pebbles said something innocuous, and Val reacted ungenerously. His voice went flat, and the conversation stopped. By the time I realized something was wrong, Pebbles was tilting her chin into her collarbone. She was embarrassed.

“Son?” I stood up, pretended I needed something near where he stood. “Excuse me there.” I plucked a copy of The Watchmen off a tilting pile of old Smithsonian magazines and acted as if it were the very thing. But it was enough. Val shook off his spoiled mood as quickly as it had come. Pebbles was understandably confused.

I gave her my most apologetic look, but I doubted she could see it so far away and in the dim streetlight.

Nevertheless, the spell was broken. We said our goodnights. Pebbles went off to her bed presumably, and I shut the window. As the room cooled I watched Val collect my leavings. The pizza box was crushed under one arm, and the discovered wine bottle was now gripped by the neck like a club. He was pissed, punishing me by tidying up. That’d show me.

“What the hell was that about?”

“Nothing. Dumb stuff, it’s not important. She said the Wishing felt like a dream.”

“And you said?”

Val shrugged. “I said that was an offensive way to think.”

“Jesus.”

“I apologized.”

“You really didn’t.”

“Oh? Well I’m sorry.”

“Look, could you just steer clear of my fantasy? It’s depressing to watch you hit on your future step mother and then abuse her in the next breath.”

“She could go either way, Dad.” He pointed to himself and then back at me. “You still have a shot.”

“Maybe I do. You know your grandpa was a prick too, but he had an excuse. He was a veteran.”

“She doesn’t care if I’m nice or not. But I’ll try to be sweeter, for your sake.”

“You don’t like her.”

“Not particularly. She’s just a kid. But she likes me, and she likes you. And you’re nutty about her. So I’m probably wrong.”

“She’s been through a lot.”

“You’ve been through worse,” he said. Val left me then, almost making it down the hall. But he was back in my doorway after a few moments, gesticulating with the empty pizza box. Not done with me yet, apparently.

“Don’t do this Dad.”

I was back at the computer. The Net was all kittens all the time. It was astounding.

“Don’t do this any more,” he repeated, indicating the pizza box. His tone was unexpectedly gentle. “You are doing so well. And I’m very proud of you.”

This caught me well off guard. I didn’t know what to say. I am not a regular receiver of attaboys. I fumbled the etiquette. “I haven’t really lost that much.”

“Well, your man boobs are gone. That’s a fact.”

I touched my chest. Weight loss done right is a gradual event, and one can’t always gauge success on one’s own. Sometimes only an outsider can re-do the inventory. “Really,” I said, but I could feel the difference for myself.

“Yeah,” said Val. “So no more pizza and pinot orgies. No matter how weird things get. You’re better than that, okay?” Now he walked away for real, having put his stamp of authority on the evening. I felt proud and appreciative, and he felt victorious, no doubt.

What a controlling bastard he was. He’d make a great Dad some day.