Crowned Heads

by Thomas Tryon

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Willie could see that Arco meant it; or perhaps it was only that he wanted to believe it. Suddenly, and with no apparent reason, it had become important that Arco like him. He said, “I’m sure you are.”

  “Hey—psst—c’mere.” Arco beckoned him to the pool’s edge with a confiding gesture. “You want to drop?”

  “Pardon?”

  “We all just dropped half a dot—y’know, acid? There’s a half left if you want it.”

  Willie cleared his throat. “No, thank you. I’ll abstain on that, if you don’t mind. I want to watch my movie with a clear head.”

  Arco laughed. “Oh, sure, sure. We’re all going to watch it. What’s to eat?”

  “Well, there are some hot dogs, and I’ve made a salad—”

  “Terrific, man.” In only a brief while his cultivated speech seemed to have undergone alterations: the careful diction had disappeared; in its place was a kind of street jargon, hip, cool, jazzy. His arm still hung on the coping and Willie noticed a colorful tattoo on the knotted deltoid: an ornate letter Z circled by what looked like a snake eating its tail.

  Willie adopted a casual, pleasant tone as Bill and Judee paddled their floats over. “It’s all right, just an accident, nothing really, the glass can be replaced.” Judee began shrieking as Arco upended her from her perch, and there was a lot of good-natured splashing while he appropriated the raft. He flopped onto it backward, with no attempt at modesty as he paddled to the deep end of the pool, where his pale form became half obscured in the shadows. Willie filled two of the cheaper glasses with champagne, and when he handed them to Bill on the raft he noticed that his shoulder bore the same tattooed emblem as Arco’s, the Z circled by a snake. Bill maneuvered out into the pool and paddled over to join Arco, where the rafts paired side by side, also the two heads; Willie could see them, the fair handsome one, the dark not-so-handsome one, also side by side. He absently touched his toupee, then turned to Judee, who was chattering again.

  “’S really a treat,” she chirped gaily. “I just love shampoo.” Drops of water clung to her lashes, lending them an odd, sparkly effect, creating a kind of jeweled fantasy face. Coyly, demurely, even flirtatiously, she clambered out, stretching naked along the stonework and squeezing her kinky-wooly hair between her fingers. She rolled onto her stomach, propping her head on her hands and staring up at the sky. The red lines on her back were more obvious, and there were yellow bruises on her thighs and buttocks. “Gee,” she said, “d’ya think it’s gonna rain?”

  “According to the news, it’s supposed to.”

  “The stars just went in, all of a sudden. Like they turned off a switch or something.”

  Scanning the sky, Willie was surprised to discover it had clouded over; there were no stars. At the end of the pool Bill and Arco lay on their rafts; Bill’s deep baritone floated across the interval, his words unintelligible. In the watery light his body was golden, while the other one’s was pale and marmoreal, as if it seldom saw the sun, or even daylight.

  “Hey, what’re you fellows doing over there?” Willie called genially. Arco’s laugh was muffled, and Bill glanced back over his shoulder, but neither answered.

  Judee said, “Isn’t he terrific?”

  “Bill?”

  “Oh, Bill, too. I mean Arco. I never had sex with anyone until him—can you believe it, a virgin at sixteen? He’s really fantastic. Better than Bill.”

  “Uh—” Willie thought a moment, not caring particularly for the turn in the conversation. “How old are you now, if one may ask a lady?”

  “Seventeen. How old’re you?”

  “Uh—that is a question I do not choose to answer.”

  “What sign are you?”

  “I’m a Libra.”

  “Oh, Libra? Gee, I don’t think I know any Libras. Arco’s Taurus—they’re terrific. Bill’s Leo—they’re terrific, too. I’m Aquarius—y’know, the water-bearer?”

  “Yes, I know the water-bearer.”

  “Don’tcha believe in astrology?”

  “Not particularly. I tell fortunes, though.”

  “Oh, gee, honest? Cards or what?”

  “I read hands.”

  She stuck out her palm. “Do it, do it. Hey, gang—Willie’s going to read my fortune.”

  He took her hand and turned it toward the light, so he could see the lines. He traced several with his thumbnail, and pointed out the various areas of the hand as Bee had explained them to him during her palmistry phase.

  “Oh, I know all that stuff.” Judee giggled impatiently. “Tell me if you see a trip somewhere. Like to the South Seas—Fiji, y’know?”

  Well, yes, he thought possibly there was. He found the lines muddled and obscure, with little revealing about them, but he dreamed things up, evoking the inevitable stranger entering her life, happy prospects, the trip she sought, and anything else he could think of to give her pleasure. She beamed, then crowed excitedly, “Hey, gang, c’mere—this guy’s fantastic.”

  The rafts were now empty; Bill and Arco sat side by side on the diving board, still engrossed in their conversation.

  “Look at them, aren’t they gorgeous?” Judee called to them again. Bill waved, handed his glass to Arco, then stood on the tip of the board and dived.

  Judee applauded. “Doesn’t he make you want to cream? That body—Arco says it’s absolutely the Greek ideal. Oh, God—Arc-o, be careful!”

  Having carelessly set the glasses on the diving hoard, Arco was bouncing up and down. One by one the glasses moved to the edge, then fell into the pool.

  “It’s okay, I’ll get ’em.” Willie watched Bill deftly execute an elegant surface dive, his thighs flashing in the turquoise light as he submerged, his body gone quickly dark as he traveled downward. Arco continued jouncing on the board and Willie, suddenly embarrassed by the display of nudity, bent down to dust the toe of his boot.

  “Honest,” Judee said, “wouldja b’lieve that thing? Everytime he takes it out I want to stick my head in a gas oven.” She made a comical face, screwing up her features and widening her mouth into a downward grimace, the Greek mask of tragedy, through which she poked her pink wet tongue; Willie laughed in spite of himself. Meanwhile Arco had sprung off the board in an awkward, leggy dive, and came up looking for Bill, who surfaced behind him, holding the glasses aloft.

  “Got ’em!” Together the pair made their way to the coping, where Bill set the glasses down, then they got out of the pool.

  “Towels in the cabaña,” Willie called to Bill. As he passed, the light played across his bare back and flanks, and Willie noticed red marks and bruises similar to Judee’s; some were almost welts. Dripping, Arco had taken Judee’s place on the chaise, ignoring Willie’s mild remonstrance that he wait for a towel.

  “It’s okay,” he said breezily. Judee took his right hand and presented it for Willie’s inspection. Without touching it, Willie looked at it for a long moment. Like Arco’s body, it was slim and well made, rather delicate, like a woman’s. The nails were long and carefully manicured, the fingers spatulate; the mound of Venus was pronounced, indicating an active sex life. When Willie finally took the hand in his own, it again felt curiously warm, which was strange, since Arco had just come out of the pool. Willie bent it back so the lines showed more clearly. He studied them for some time, aware that Bill had come up from behind with a pile of towels, another nipped around his waist.

  “Well?” Arco’s eyes, bright and watchful, snapped with nervous concentration. Willie peered into them, then down, then suddenly dropped Arco’s hand, pressing it quietly from him and crossing himself.

  “Sorry …” he muttered, and stood.

  “What d’you mean, sorry?” Arco demanded with a perplexed expression. “Something wrong with it?”

  “No no no, not at all.” Willie caught himself rubbing his palms on his thighs. “It’s really silly, isn’t it? Judee, I think you’re right—it’s going to rain.” He pretended to be studying the sk
y. Scowling, Arco jumped up and leaped out into the water.

  “Jeez, Willie,” Bill said, “you oughtn’t to of done that. Why wouldn’t you read it?”

  “It doesn’t matter, really. It’s all rather medieval, fortune-telling. No basis in fact whatever.” Bill turned away, then took a running start and dived back in the pool, clearing the water with beautiful strokes which quickly brought him to the far end of the pool, where Arco hung on the corner. Then, together, they started swimming back toward the shallow end.

  “Arco must be a city boy,” Willie observed to Judee.

  “From outside Detroit. Howdja know?”

  “He’s not a very good swimmer. And he dives badly. Bill should give him lessons. … He doesn’t seem to get much sun, does he?”

  “He can’t go in the sun—it’s bad for his skin. He never goes in the sun. Arco, Willie says you should have swimming lessons,” she called as he swam by.

  Arco stopped and stood waist-deep, his brows still knit. “Oh?”

  “I simply said I thought you probably came from the city,” Willie explained, “and hadn’t much opportunity to swim.”

  “That’s right,” Arco returned coolly, wading over to the coping. “Just a poor city boy. They didn’t hand out swimming pools in Hamtramck.”

  “That’s where—Hamtramck,” Judee said, gulping from her glass.

  “Detroit, pops. Where the Polacks come from. Us wops needed a passport to get in.”

  Judee laughed shrilly, the others joined her, excluding Willie from the moment.

  “Why don’t you drop your duds and take a dive, Willie?” Arco suggested. Their eyes locked again and Willie saw that he was being dared.

  “Sorry, no swimming. I’ve got”—he couldn’t say “gout”; it sounded like an old man’s disease—“respiratory troubles,” he finished weakly.

  “Gee, that’s too bad.” Arco’s sympathetic expression flattened out into mere careful watching. Watching and waiting; this was the impression Willie had.

  Then Arco reached from the water and tickled Judee between the legs. “Pussy pussy.”

  She shrieked with laughter; Willie looked away in embarrassment again.

  “C’n I have some more shampoo?” Judee waved her empty glass.

  Willie picked up the bottle. “Feel free at any time.”

  “Put it down,” Arco said sternly. Willie’s mouth dropped, and he set the bottle back on the table. “Ask again,” Arco ordered Judee.

  “Please-Arco-may-I-have-some-more-shampoo?” It seemed a sort of child’s ritual between them.

  “Yes. Then you may take six giant steps.” She held her glass out to Willie; he filled it, and she went marching nude around the pool.

  “Hey, let’s see your medals,” Arco said casually to Willie. “What are they?”

  Willie held out the cluster of gold medals on a gold chain around his neck. “This one’s Saint Genesius, patron saint of actors, this one’s Saint Christopher, that’s for travelers. And this,” showing a third, “is Saint Dympna.”

  “That’s a new one on me.”

  “Oh, she’s very helpful—patroness of those suffering from nervous distress. This medal has been touched to her relic.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Sent away for it. In TV Guide. You mail a coupon.”

  “I see.” Arco appeared interested. He got Willie bending forward from the chaise so he could examine them closer. There was also a gold heart and two keys. “What’re they?” Arco demanded.

  “A present.”

  “What’re the keys?”

  “To my heart”

  “Jazzy.”

  “I thought so.”

  Arco extended his empty glass and Willie tipped the mouth of the bottle to it. From inside came the sound of the telephone. Before he could move to answer it, he found himself being grabbed around the wrist and drawn from his seat. The strength in the small hand, the thin arm, was enormous.

  “No—no,” he murmured in panic, realizing Arco’s intent, but the force was irresistible. The phone continued ringing; he could do nothing. He was dragged to the edge of the pool, forced to step awkwardly around Judee, his protest rising to a quaver, then a cry as he was yanked off balance and tumbled into the water. He glimpsed the pale loins and dark pubic hairs, as first he was submerged, then forcibly held under. The blood was pounding in his throat and ears while a merciless hand bore down on him, he felt a swirl of current and saw Bill’s legs thrashing toward him, then sudden release. He shot to the surface, choking.

  “Hi, pops.” Arco greeted him with a grin. He was holding something in his hand; Willie realized it was his toupee. When he tried to grab it Arco first dangled it out of reach, then flopped it onto his own head, and paddled backward.

  “Hell, Arco,” Bill shouted, “whadya want to do that for? In all his clothes?” Fuming and sputtering, Willie waded to the steps and bent to wring the knees of his trousers. Judee came running around to help him up, while Arco stood arms akimbo, ludicrous under the wretched toupee. Inside, the phone rang and rang.

  “Damn,” said Willie. “Damn.”

  “You okay?” Bill asked. Willie was already stripping off his soaking shirt, fighting down the urge to order Arco from the house. His clothes, his toupee, his boots, the broken Baccarat goblet. No, he told himself, it wouldn’t do any good to get mad; better to take it as a joke.

  “All right, Arco,” he said, wagging a playful finger. “I’ll get you for that.”

  “You’re on, pops.” Arco tossed the toupee, which whizzed through the air and fell sopping on the deck. Judee retrieved it and stroked it as if it were a pet. The phone stopped ringing, began again.

  “Please—someone answer the phone!” Willie hurried into the cabaña, removed his wet things, and sat shivering on the bench, huddled in a monogrammed bath sheet. Outside he could hear them laughing.

  “Did someone get the phone?” he called through the louvered door.

  “They hung up,” Judee said.

  Willie was angry; he hated missing calls. “Bill, would you check the time? I don’t want to be late for the TV show.”

  “Right, Willie.”

  Silence.

  Whispers.

  Giggles.

  He finished drying himself and put on a robe. He opened the door, then as an afterthought stuck on the little cap that hung from a peg. Along with the cap he stuck on a smile as well, slid his feet into a pair of Japanese zoris, and came padding out.

  Bill was sprawled on one of the chaises, wrapped in his towel. Arms behind his head, staring at the sky, Arco lay on the diving board, occasionally making it jiggle as he kicked his feet. Siren-like, the girl lounged in the fountain shell, singing, dangling her legs, too short to reach the pool. Willie headed for Bill, and took the adjoining chaise.

  “Hey, that’s terrific,” Bill said of his robe. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Bee bought it for me in Marrakech,” he said shortly. It was a striped djellabah, with braid around the cuffs of the short sleeves and the low-cut neck.

  “And the cap—Morocco, too?”

  “No, it’s from India. Gypsy Rose Lee gave it to me.” The cap was small and round, with small squares and circles of mirror stitched into colorful embroidery.

  Willie wished Judee would get out of the fountain; it was badly balanced and could easily be upset. He angled his head away as Arco walked from the diving board onto the grass and stood on his hands.

  “It’s okay, Willie,” Bill said consolingly. “He was just having some fun.” He moved beside him, put his hand around his shoulder, and gave his arm a squeeze, then three or four little shakes. “Arco’s a real pal. He don’t mean nothin’.”

  Willie stared at his thin arm, saw goose flesh form, lifting the sparse hairs that grew there. He thought for a moment, then turned to Bill. “Listen to me. Your friend Arco—”

  “Yes?” Bill persisted.

  “Your friend Arco is going to be in a lot of trouble one day.
”

  “Why?”

  “He has a very bad hand.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Willie, you just got finished saying that don’t mean anything. It’s a lot of crap.”

  “Nevertheless. I saw it. He’s a dangerous person and I’d advise you to be careful unless you want to get in trouble.”

  Bill started away; Willie caught him by the arm. “Don’t say anything, please,” he cautioned.

  “You think I want to get my head knocked off? Heck. You never seen him when he’s really angry.” He strode off to where Arco and Judee were horsing around in the fountain. She screamed, he yowled, Bill dashed forward as the stone shell tipped, pitching them into the water while the shell struck the coping, bounced, and dropped like a cannonball into the pool. As it settled to the bottom, water from the broken fountain pipe shot into the air against the darkened sky. Willie ran behind the cabaña to turn the valve off, then hurried back. Judee was climbing up the pool ladder while Arco stood looking at the cracked coping. In the glimmering light his flesh was as pale as a piece of marble statuary, as if his veins had been opened and drained of their blood. Bill sat beside Willie and hung his heavy arm over his shoulder again. “Hey, pardner, c’mon—you’re so nervous. Relax, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Drunk, he still felt tense, stiff as a board, as if he might shatter, break. He drank from his glass in long gulps, thinking what did it matter, he might as well be plastered. He leaned and whispered into Bill’s ear.

  “I want him to go.”

  “Why, Willie?” Bill asked gently.

  “I don’t … like him.”

  “Why?”

  “He scares me.”

  “Hey, man.” Bill exerted a greater pressure, gripping Willie’s wrist with his other hand, making encouraging little movements. “Hey, man … hey, man.” Uncomforted, Willie lifted his face to the darkened sky as the first drops of rain spattered the pool. In the yellow garden lights the nude figures looked bizarrely unreal as the palm trunks reached their swaying shadows across them to bleed again into the darkness. Their leaves trembled and whispered, and Willie imagined for an instant that the sound was like the whisper of the wings that death flies on; he felt afraid.