‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ I said, and sat down.
‘Oh. but you’ll find it “right up your alley,” so to speak. Lurid, brutal, sordid and trite.’
‘Oh. thanks. In that case, I’ve got to hear it.’
‘I know.’
‘If it’s such a good story, maybe you should save it until Eileen gets here.’
‘That would hardly be appropriate.’ He wrapped the ascot around his neck and began to tie it. ‘This is for your ears only.’
‘Are you sure you want to tell me?’
‘We’ll both have secrets to keep.’
‘You said I could write about it.’
‘Someday.’
I looked at my wristwatch. A quarter till five. ‘Maybe you oughta just skip it.’
‘Oh, no. I insist.’ He took a drink of wine, then commenced. ‘I’m sure the basics are all quite familiar to you: the overly sensitive, fatherless boy with the relentless and irrepressible mother; the boy being picked on by Neanderthals at school; taking refuge in the safety of books. All terribly trite and predictable ...’
I took a drink of wine and wished I were elsewhere.
With any luck, Eileen would show up immediately.
‘The other kids used to laugh and call me names.’
Like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I thought, and felt a strange urge to laugh. Then I realized his name was Rudy, short for Rudolph. His name seemed like a bizarre and not-so-funny joke.
‘I could never walk down a hallway at school,’ he explained, ‘without someone tripping me or bumping into me or knocking the books out of my hands. During recess and lunch, a great sport was to grab me and stuff me into a trashcan. Sometimes, a group of jocks would jump me and run off with my pants. And of course I was regularly beaten up. In short, I grew up friendless, trusting no one, fearing and despising my tormenters. Not unlike the childhood of countless other chaps.’
‘I knew a few,’ I told him. During my schooldays, I’d only been a level or two higher on the social scale, myself, and I’d befriended guys who were worse off than me. I couldn’t tell Kirkus that, however. You can’t say ‘one of my best friends was a geek ... or gay ... or black ... or Jewish ...’ It might be true, but you can’t say it. There’s a lot you can’t say.
So I kept my mouth shut about the cool band of social rejects with whom I used to hang out.
After a deep sigh, Kirkus resumed. ‘Ironically, they were calling me a queer, a homo and a fag long before I’d ever engaged in any sexual activity with anyone: boy, girl or aardvark. Apparently, my appearance and manner were the only oddities they required.’
‘It’s pretty rotten,’ I said.
‘You may not believe this, Ed, but I was a nice young lad. I’d yet to develop my aloof and cynical demeanor, nor the smug pomposity that you seem to find so irritating.’
‘Hard to imagine you without ’em.’
‘Oh, I was a dear.’
I laughed softly.
‘However, they hated me anyway. My chief oppressor was a chap named Dennis Grant, a rather typical high school bully: strong, fat, ugly and stupid. He tormented me constantly - usually in front of his friends, of course, in order to show off his toughness. Then one afternoon I stayed at school late to help one of the teachers. By the time I’d finished, the hallway was deserted. Except for Dennis. He was waiting for me with his knife. He pulled me into one of the bathrooms and made me get down on my knees. Then he opened his fly and hauled out “George.” Why he called it George, I have no idea.’
Kirkus tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. His eyes were suddenly shiny.
‘I said to Dennis, “What am I supposed to do with that?” He said, “You know what to do with it, you fuckin’ fag.” I said, “Look who’s calling who a fag.” That, as it turned out, was a vast error.’ A couple of tears leaked out of his eyes. He rubbed them away with the back of a hand. ‘At any rate, after pounding me to a sticky pulp, Dennis gave me my first taste of George there on the filthy bathroom floor. And thus was I introduced into the joys of the gay lifestyle.’
All I could say was, ‘Jeez.’
‘It lacked a bit in the way of romance and comfort.’ He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then sighed and put his hanky away. ‘We did, however, have a smoke afterward.’
‘Did he do the tattoo?’
Kirkus shrugged. ‘I’ve never learned whether the artistry was performed by Dennis or by his buddy, Brad.’
‘This Brad was there, too?’
‘Oh, no. Not at all. Dennis and I were quite alone that day in the school bathroom ... and quite alone on every occasion afterward. Or so we thought.’
‘It happened more than once?’
‘Oh, my dear Eduardo, Dennis got together with me almost daily after that.’
‘You couldn’t stop him?’
‘I saw no point in trying. He’d done what he’d done. I’d done what I’d done. It did seem horrid at first. Before long, however, I found myself looking forward to our sessions. Dennis was rather magnificent, really.’
I tried not to look aghast.
‘Unfortunately, his friend Brad caught us in the act one fine evening in Dennis’s garage. In a valiant attempt to maintain his dignity, Dennis pretended to be the victim of an unwarranted assault by yours truly and they both beat me senseless.’ Lightly stroking the front of his ascot, Kirkus said, ‘I returned to consciousness the next morning naked in a dumpster behind a 7-Eleven store ... tattooed with perhaps the only three-letter word Dennis and Brad were capable of spelling correctly.’
‘My God,’ I muttered.
‘And that’s my tale. Lurid enough for your taste?’
‘It’s awful, Rudy. Jeez.’
‘It isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but it is the tale of my tattoo.’
‘What happened to Dennis and Brad?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Kirkus. ‘I left all that behind when I came to Willmington. I brought nothing of it with me except the memories, the scars and the tattoo.’
‘You could probably get the tattoo removed.’
‘Oh, certainly.’ Again, he stroked his ascot. ‘Unfortunately. I’m rather fond of it.’
‘If you’re fond of it, why do you hide it?’
‘It’s private. I share it only with certain special friends. Friends like you.’
‘Ahh.’
‘You are my friend, aren’t you?’
‘I guess so,’ I said, feeling slightly sick. ‘In a way. I mean. you’re okay except when you’re being a pompous, smug asshole.’
‘You’re such a dear,’ he said.
‘I can do without you calling me that. And I don’t want you trying any funny stuff with me, either.’
‘Have you ever given it a try?’
‘No, and I don’t aim to, either.’
‘As the sage says, “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”’
‘Sometimes, the sage is full of shit.’
‘Ah, Logan! You never cease to astonish me. Is anyone more plebian than you?’ Chuckling, he picked up his glass. He drank it empty, then held it out in my direction. ‘More. please?’
Chapter Forty-seven
A few minutes later, Eileen arrived. I buzzed her in, then opened the door and stood at the threshold to watch for her. She soon appeared at the top of the stairs, a grocery bag hugged to her chest. She wore a yellow windbreaker, but it reached down only to her waist. It seemed to be covering the top of a forest-green evening gown. The gown’s skirt was clingy, reached down to her ankles, and had a slit up the left side.
‘Back in a minute,’ I said over my shoulder.
Kirkus answered, ‘No rush, old man.’
I hurried down the hall. As Eileen walked toward me, her left leg came out of the slit, went back in, came out again. She obviously had no stocking on. Her leg looked very bare.
When I took the bag from her, she put a hand behind my head and I leaned toward her. The bag was between us. O
ur bodies crunched its paper, squeezed whatever was inside it and made a couple of bottles clink softly. We kissed. Her face felt cool from the weather outside. I took it easy on her lips, but then she slipped her tongue into my mouth and we really went at it for a while, Eileen moaning and me growing stiff.
Too soon, she eased away from me. She was wet around the mouth. She smiled. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that.’
‘Me, too.’
‘Guess we’d better not keep Kirkus waiting.’ she said. ‘What did he do, get here early?’
‘Half an hour early.’
‘Was it edifying?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
I carried the groceries. As we walked side by side, she said, ‘It’s a little warm in here for this,’ and took off her windbreaker. Her gown had a plunging neckline; it plunged nearly to her waist, her long V of bare skin gradually narrowing on its way down.
‘Wow,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘Like it?’
‘You look fantastic.’
Putting a hand on my shoulder, she leaned toward me. Breath tickling my ear, she whispered. ‘If Kirkus has on the same outfit, I’ll just die.’
‘Oh, you bitch.’
We both laughed, but it tapered off before we reached the doorway of my apartment.
As we entered, Kirkus stood up.
‘Hi, Rudy,’ Eileen said.
‘Eileen. Aren’t we looking splendid tonight!’ He bobbed on the balls of his feet, tilted his head to one side and said, ‘On our way to the prom, are we?’
‘Just an old frock,’ Eileen said. ‘Glad you could join us tonight.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘Do you like Mexican?’
‘Mexican of what variety?’
‘Of the food and drink variety,’ Eileen said. ‘Such as beef fajitas and my infamous Hoocha de los Muertos.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, grinning.
‘Let’s go in the kitchen and I’ll show you.’
I followed Eileen into the kitchen, Kirkus tagging along behind us. I set the grocery bag onto the counter. Eileen peered inside, then reached in and took out a quart bottle of Cuervo Gold tequila. Next, out came a somewhat smaller bottle of Triple Sec.
Holding a bottle in each hand, she turned around and assumed a serious demeanor. ‘This.’ she said, ‘and this. A glass, some ice, and a lot of this.’ She gave the tequila bottle a shake. Then a wee tad of this.’ She shook the Triple Sec. ‘Stir briskly with a coffin nail.’
‘A cigarette?’ I asked.
‘Don’t be absurd. The nail from a coffin.’
‘Ah. Well, I don’t think I have one of those.’
‘In that case, a finger will have to do. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Ed, why don’t you get down the glasses?’
I removed three glasses from the cupboard. Eileen instructed me to add ice cubes. Then she instructed Kirkus and I to wait in the living room. ‘Too many people in the kitchen! I’ll be out in a minute with the drinks.’
‘Which you fully intend to stir with your finger?’ asked Kirkus.
Smiling, she twirled her forefinger in the air.
‘How sanitary,’ he said.
‘The alcohol kills the germs,’ she explained. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Laughing, I left the kitchen.
Soon, we were all in the living room, sitting around the coffee table, sipping our Hoocha de los Muertos and munching on tortilla chips dipped in salsa. Eileen was beside me on the sofa. Each time she leaned toward the table, slack came into the top of her gown, letting me see most of her right breast ... including a bruise near the front that couldn’t be seen when she was sitting up straight.
The smooth, pale breast, smudged by the bruise, excited me and reminded me of what we’d gone through together and made me feel closer to her. It also made me feel like a louse. Eileen was too beautiful, too smart and funny and good, to deserve having me slip away at night to seek out Casey.
Luckily, with the drinking and talking, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on how I was betraying her.
When our glasses were empty, Eileen took them into the kitchen. She came out with two fresh drinks. I vowed to take things more slowly with my second Hoocha. They were nothing but booze —margaritas minus the citrus additives - and my head already felt light.
Her back to Kirkus, Eileen bent over at the waist and set both the glasses on the table. The front of her gown loosened and drooped. I could see her entire left breast. It was swaying slightly. Its nipple was erect. From her smile, she knew exactly what I could see. Remaining bowed, she asked, ‘Should I bring you in some more chips?’
‘I can come out and get them.’
‘No, no, stay right where you are. I’ll bring them in.’ She straightened up and turned toward Kirkus. ‘How you doing, Rudy?’
He grinned. ‘Tip-top.’
‘Hand me my glass?’ she asked me.
Hers wasn’t quite empty. I picked it up and gave it to her.
‘Gracias,’ she said.
‘Da nada,’ said I, and immediately wondered whether I’d responded in Spanish or French. It shouldn’t have been a problem; I’d had only one drink so far.
As Eileen went into the kitchen, I tried to think of ‘you’re welcome’ in French. Da Nada? Or was that Spanish, as I’d intended? Then I thought of Hemingway. ‘Our nada who art in nada.’ So it is Spanish. But no, maybe not. He’d spent all that time in Paris.
‘Something amiss, old boy?’ asked Kirkus.
He was about the last person to whom I would confess such befuddlement. ‘Eileen is a miss,’ I said, making an effort to speak clearly.
‘I heard that,’ she said, coming out of the kitchen with the bag of tortilla chips. ‘Hell, I was hoping to be a hit, not a miss.’
‘Miss as opposed to Mrs,’ I explained.
‘So you say,’ she said, and bent over the table just as she’d done before and shook more chips into the bowl. Just as before, I gazed at her breast. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked, remaining bowed. I met her eyes. She looked vastly pleased with herself.
‘You’re driving the poor lad to madness,’ said Kirkus. Though he couldn’t see what I could, he obviously realized what was going on.
Eileen’s smile widened. ‘Am I?’ she asked me.
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
‘Good.’ She straightened up. ‘Now you two boys will just have to get along without me for a while. My fajitas are beckoning. Just give a shout if you need anything.’ She turned toward the kitchen.
I didn’t want her to go. ‘Could you use a hand?’
‘Nope, thanks anyway. You stay out here and entertain our guest.’
‘You might not be able to find everything.’
‘If I get stuck, I’ll give you a shout.’ She went on into the kitchen. A few moments later, the sounds of her activities were joined by Willie Nelson and Ray Charles singing ‘Seven Spanish Angels.’
I took a drink and smiled at Kirkus. ‘Great music,’ I said.
‘Once again confirming your pedestrian taste, good fellow.’
‘Up yours.’
‘Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘That’ll be the day.’
‘“The lady doth protest too much. methinks.”’
‘I ain’t no lady.’
‘Ah, and vive la différence.’
Though I understood the French (or was it Spanish? - damn the Hoocha de los Muertos!) I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. I scowled at him.
‘Oh, don’t pretend to take offense. You’re flattered and you know it.’
‘Huh? Flattered?’
Leaning forward, speaking quietly, Kirkus said, ‘And well you should be, here in your apartment with two beautiful people, both of whom would simply love to eat you alive.’
For an awful moment, it ran through my mind that perhaps Eileen and Kirkus had set a trap for me, that they intended to have me for din
ner. After what I’d seen under the bridge Wednesday night - and what I’d heard from Casey - it didn’t seem terribly far-fetched.
Yeah, right.
Of course, I knew full well what Kirkus had really meant.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I told him.
‘I can hardly resist thinking about it, dear boy. You’re so luscious.’
‘You wanta knock it off?’
‘Oh, lighten up. I’m not about to pounce on you. I am a gentleman, after all. I’ve never forced myself on anyone.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘If you want me, though, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you? Put your lips together ...’
‘Give me a fuckin’ break.’
Eileen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing my one and only apron - which I had never worn, myself. ‘Eddie, you want to come in here and clear off the table?’
‘Saved by the belle,’ I said.
Kirkus smirked. ‘You’re excused.’
Chapter Forty-eight
After removing my computer and books and papers from the kitchen table, I put out the place mats, napkins and silverware.
‘Won’t be long, now,’ I said to Kirkus.
At his seat facing the coffee table, he raised his drink toward me, winked, and took a sip.
I went over to Eileen. She was standing in front of the stove, an area of the kitchen that couldn’t be seen from the living room. She held a spatula in one hand and her drink in the other. I stepped behind her, slipped my hands underneath her apron, wrapped my arms around her waist, and looked down over her shoulder. On the burner was a skillet full of sizzling strips of marinated steak.
‘Smells great,’ I said.
She finished her drink, then set down her glass. ‘How goes it with Kirkus?’
‘He wants me.’
‘Don’t we all.’
‘But he promises to leave me unmolested unless I whistle.’
The way Eileen’s cheek pressed against my face, I figured she must be smiling. ‘Do you know how to whistle?’ she asked.
‘You were eavesdropping?’
Her head shook. ‘Saw the movie.’
‘That wasn’t in the book, you know. To Have and Have Not. The whistling business.’
Night in the Lonesome October Page 25
