by Richard Dry
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He probably went back to the station to sleep.”
“I’m not worried.”
“He might even be right outside in the bushes here.”
Love turned to look out the giant, arching window but saw only his reflection against the darkness outside.
“I know what will help,” Joyce said. She went to the piano and sat down on the bench. “Do you know ‘Moonlight Sonata’?” she asked. He shook his head. Her naked foot pressed on one of the brass pedals, and she placed her hands gently on the keys. Straightening her back, she leaned her body forward into the first notes.
Love sat on the couch and watched her concentrate, her eyes focused at a spot just above the black surface of the piano. He could see her fingers gracefully caressing each key, sustaining the sweet, sad notes into the lulling repetition. The music reverberated off the wooden floor, into the high spaces of the living room and back around him. The deep, longing melody surrounded him and filled him with an ache for Li’l Pit. He knew something had changed, that Li’l Pit hadn’t even looked to see if he was following. And now he was a thousand miles from home and from where he was supposed to end up. Love had an intense sense of being alone, of always having been on his own, even when he was at Ruby’s, or at Los Aspirantes, or in Ace Trey. Even earlier, with his mother. The strongest memory he had of her was of being next to her but knowing that her mind was somewhere else.
The music rose suddenly in volume, and Love watched Joyce’s fingers flowing across the keys, her hands moving together in an unconscious complexity that seemed to him a kind of magical power. It spread into her face as she anticipated the melody with a slight opening and closing of her eyes; it undulated through her chest and her strong arms. She hit the final notes and the room echoed with the ominous chords. As though a spirit were slowly draining from her, she stayed at the bench with her hands resting on the keys.
Love didn’t speak.
“I had lessons since I was six,” she said. “But I started seriously again in junior high, after we came back from France and I saw this one pianist that was really good.”
A sort of anxiety was building inside Love, something he couldn’t name, though he knew how to make it into anger. But that wasn’t what he wanted to feel. He shook his head and stood up but felt unsure where he wanted to go.
“In France?” he said.
“Yeah, you know, in Europe.”
“I know where France is. I’m not stupid.” He turned away.
“I didn’t say you were. Where are you going?”
He walked to the front door and stopped, his back still to her. She got up and followed him, put her hand out to touch his back.
“What’s wrong?”
LaTanya came in from the kitchen, and to avoid facing her, he opened the door and stepped out. He stood there with his back to them, looking out into the quiet, dark suburban street, feeling utterly separate from everyone and everything.
“What’s the matter with him?” LaTanya asked.
“Shut up.” Joyce walked back to the hallway.
“Come see my room,” she called to him. He didn’t move.
“Come on. I want to show you my room.”
“What am I going to do?” LaTanya asked.
Joyce stared at her hard, and she walked back into the kitchen. When the kitchen door shut, Love turned. Joyce was already down the bright hallway. She smiled at him and waved him in with her fingers, like a hypnotist drawing in her victim. Love smiled and went back into the house. The hallway walls had pictures of Joyce as she was growing up and her father, and in the middle a gold plaque hung in a glass frame. The gold was molded into the shape of a tall, rectangular building.
“This your daddy’s?”
“He won it. Some engineering thing.”
She walked into her room and flopped herself on her bed. It was a small bed, but high off the ground with a yellow cover on it. It had a white metal frame, and she grabbed the metal bars at the headboard, her arms stretched above her.
“You like my room?”
He’d never been allowed to be alone with a girl in her room at the girls’ house at Los Aspirantes, and he hesitated at the threshold.
“Come on in.”
He walked in but stayed away from the bed. He looked around at the pictures on the walls. There were magazine cutouts of frogs pasted all over: a little Day-Glo frog on the tip of a person’s finger, a giant bumpy red frog, and a giant web-footed jumping frog.
“You sure is frog crazy,” he said.
“They’re cute.”
“Frogs aren’t cute, they’re ugly and they eat insects.”
“Well, I like them. Besides, they turn into princes if you kiss them.”
“Don’t come near me with your frog-kissin lips.”
There was one cutout picture on the closet door of a black man in a cowboy hat, sitting on a fence and strumming a guitar.
“That’s Charley Pride,” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders and went to the other corner of the room where there was a giant gum-ball machine. Love twisted the knob.
“You need a penny,” she said.
“Give me one.”
She got up and went to a small wooden box with a dolphin carved into its side, took out a penny, and tossed it to him, then jumped back on her bed.
“Your daddy give you this?” he asked.
“Yes. It was going to be a present to one of his managers for when he first stopped smoking. But then he started again, I guess.”
Love got a giant yellow gum ball and popped it into his mouth. His cheek bulged as he chewed and walked back to her closet.
“You sure got a lot of shoes.”
“How come you don’t come sit on the bed with me?”
Love shrugged.
“Why don’t you close the door?”
He went to the door and closed it.
“And lock it,” she said. He did.
She took off her sweater and her shirt lifted up over her stomach, which she let stay that way. She patted the bed, and he walked to her cautiously like he was approaching a wild animal.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He folded his arms. “Nothing’s the matter. I just ain’t like one of your frogs, gonna hop in so quick.” He lay down next to her on his back, crossed his legs, and propped his head up with a pillow.
“Are you going to take your jacket off?” she asked.
“When I’m ready.”
She rolled over onto his thin body and kissed him. Then she pulled back, reached into his mouth with her fingers, and took out his gum. She tossed it into a wastebasket full of tissue, then went back to kissing him. He wanted to enjoy it, but he was trying to keep himself from getting too excited. They kissed again, and he began to rub his hand over her short hair.
There was a bang on the door.
“What you want, LaTanya?” Joyce yelled.
“What you doin in there?” It was Li’l Pit.
“Hey, dog, where you been?” Love said. He felt tears come to his eyes and he stood up.
“What you doin?” Li’l Pit yelled again.
“None a your business,” Joyce said. “Go on and play.”
“Let me in.”
“See,” Joyce said to Love. “I told you he’d come back.” She went to the end of the bed and grabbed his arm.
“We got to go!” Li’l Pit said.
“Not right now, dog.”
“When?”
Love let himself be pulled back onto the bed and Joyce kissed his cheek.
“What are you doin? What are you doin?” Li’l Pit cried.
“I’m busy now. The next bus don’t leave until noon tomorrow.” Li’l Pit hit the door again and then there was silence. Joyce rolled on top of Love, straddling his body.
“See,” she said. “Now you can relax.”
He was still looking at the door.
“You’re a good kisser, you know that? You did h
ave a lot of girlfriends.” He didn’t answer her. She took his hands and moved them down the sides of her body, over her T-shirt, and then up to her breasts. He kept his hands on them and she didn’t say anything or move away at all. Instead, she reached down and unbuttoned her jeans. She wiggled out of them and threw them to the floor. Love looked down and saw her smooth legs and pink underwear. He undid his pants, but then stood up and got under the bedcover.
“Are you shy?” she asked.
“Naw. I’m just cold.”
She smiled and got under the cover with him. They moved together again, their smooth skin sliding against each other, and then she took off her shirt. He stared at her erect nipples. She put his hand back on her and removed her underwear. Then she reached down and pulled off his underwear. She tossed it onto the floor and then touched him between his legs. He could sense himself losing control again.
“Do you think I’m a tease now?”
He nodded.
“Do you want to go inside me?”
He nodded again.
“How much?” she asked with a smile.
He just nodded again, trying with all his might to hold back.
“Do you really want me? Tell me.”
“Yes.” He rolled onto her, and she began to push against him. It felt so good he thought it was over.
“Now,” he said.
“Tell me that you love me,” she said. The feeling overwhelmed him and he collapsed onto her, pushing frantically. “Say you love me.”
“I love you,” he whispered into her ear. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said, and caressed his head with the palm of her hand.
* * *
AFTER THEY HAD sex, they fell asleep against each other, Love’s face on her breast. Then Joyce woke up and whispered, “Get off me now. I’ve got to pee.” She got up, held her underwear between her legs, and went into her bathroom. He rolled over and covered his face with his arm. She came back in and lay close to him, her hand on his stomach.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Was it the best you ever had?”
“D-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.”
She laughed. He lifted his arm off his face and looked at her. “What about for you?”
“The best.”
“Better than them frogs, I bet.” Love got up and pulled on his underwear and pants.
“You are my frog prince, come to rescue me from this evil kingdom,” she said.
“You crazy? You call this an evil kingdom? Man, I could tell you stories.” He walked around the room looking at the magazine cutouts on the walls.
“You think you’re so bad,” she said.
“I am bad.” He turned to her with a straight face. “I am bad, and you shouldn’t get mixed up with me.”
“I know, I know: you a G from Oaktown. A hard-ass G with a bad rap.”
“That’s right.”
“You ain’t all that.”
“I killed someone once.”
“You did not.” She sat up in the bed, like she was about to hear a ghost story.
“You don’t know.” He walked around and put his fingers on the giant plastic bubble of the gum-ball machine.
“Then tell me.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You just don’t have nothing to tell.”
He shook his head and stared at the multicolored balls rising halfway up in the clear globe.
“You just talking,” she added.
“I wish I was. But I ain’t. I killed a boy named Snapple.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“His name was Murrell, but he called himself Snapple. You know: ‘made from the best stuff on earth,’ like the commercial.”
“Why’d you kill him?” She took the other pillow and held it in her lap.
“He was bugging me.”
“So you killed him?” She shook her head and turned on her side.
“Ask my brother.”
“Like he’s going to deny anything you say.”
“Whatever.” Love went to the picture of Charley Pride, sitting on a fence in a wide-open expanse of grazing land. Joyce sat up again.
“How did you kill him then?” she asked.
“I thought you didn’t believe me.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
“I pushed him off a building.”
“High up?”
“No, I pushed him from the ground floor and he died.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean off the roof?”
He turned to her. She was lying on her stomach, her chin in her hands, the blanket covering the lower half of her body.
He shook his head. “Why you smiling at me like I helped some old lady across the street or somethin?”
“I don’t know. I guess it just seems funny to me.”
“Well, it ain’t funny. I’m probably going to hell for it.”
“I didn’t mean funny like ha-ha funny. I mean interesting.”
“Well, you got a sick mind.”
“I’ve got a sick mind? You said you killed a kid ’cause he bothered you, but I have a sick mind.”
“That was a long time ago, and I didn’t mean to do it.”
“You killed him by mistake? That ain’t no hard G.”
“I pushed him on purpose. It’s just that I didn’t want to kill him.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“I just meant to hurt him. Never mind. You can’t understand.”
“Yes I can. Tell me. You didn’t want to kill him, but you had to. Right? It was some G thang to get yo props.”
Love shook his head.
There was a crash in the hallway, like a stack of china falling to the floor, and LaTanya screamed.
“What was that?” she said. She stood up, naked except for her underwear. She pulled a red robe out of her closet and ran to the door. Love opened it and almost stepped into the hallway, but Joyce pulled him back. Large pieces of glass lay on the carpet around the frame of the gold plaque. The front door was open, and LaTanya was standing in the middle of the street yelling: “You better come back here or I’m calling the police!” She ran back inside and shook her hands anxiously like she was drying nail polish. “He was chasing me with the fork,” she said. “I locked myself in the bathroom and then I didn’t hear him anymore, and when I came out, he took the frame and then smashed it against the wall and took the award and then he ran out of the house, and he’s running down the block now, but I can’t chase him. He ought to be locked up.”
“Shut up,” Love said. “Don’t worry about the award. I’ll get him.” He went back into the room and put on his shoes.
“What are you doing?” Joyce asked.
“I’m getting the award back, what you think I’m doing? Then we’ll be out of your hair. We’re too much of a handful.” He walked up the hall to the front door, but she came after him.
“Wait. You can get it tomorrow at the station.”
“Don’t you want me to get it now? He might not have it tomorrow. What if he loses it, or sells it or something?”
“Your daddy’s gonna trip, Joyce,” La Tanya yelled.
“Shit, shit,” Joyce said. “What am I going to do?”
“I’ll go get it,” Love said.
“I don’t want you to go. He’ll probably just come back here tonight anyway, right? Where else is he going to sleep?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think he might sell it, really?” she asked.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not his.”
Love raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
Joyce bit her thumbnail. “I bet he comes back. If not, we can check the station tomorrow.”
Love took a step toward the open door, but Joyce put her hand on his back. He stopped, turned to her, and then they went back into the house.
* * *
LOVE AN
D JOYCE checked the station the next day before noon, but Li’l Pit never showed. They waited at her house that night and checked again on Friday, when LaTanya had to leave. There was still no sign of Li’l Pit when the bus took off to Atlanta.
“He thinks you’re planning to leave Saturday,” Joyce told Love. “That’s when he’ll show up.”
Love nodded but didn’t say anything. He stayed at the bus station until it got dark, then went back to Joyce’s. That night, the night before her father was to come home, Love and Joyce talked until two in the morning. He told her about growing up in Oakland with his mother and Li’l Pit.
She lay on the bed as he paced the floor, and when he was done with his stories, she opened her arms to hold him. He made love to her as hard as he could, pushing her over onto her stomach, holding her arms down, but it was not enough to rid himself of the unpleasant feeling he felt after telling her the stories, and he thrust himself at her again and again. When they were done, he lay against her, exhausted, and she held him like a baby after a temper tantrum.
* * *
LATER THAT NIGHT, while Joyce slept, Love wandered into the living room. He didn’t need to turn on the light, for the streetlamp illuminated the house through the front windows. He walked over to the piano and put his fingers on the keys. He petted them, feeling their cold smoothness, but he did not press down. Next he wandered over to the TV, picked up the remote, but then put it back.
There was a rustling out front, and he quickly ran to the window to look. There was movement in the bushes, but he realized it was just a soft drizzle starting to fall. He looked up the street but saw no one in the mist of rain under the yellow lights.
Love let out a breath and sat down on the couch, pulling his bare feet up under his knees. The ticking of the mounted clock grew steadily louder in the spacious and hollow room, so that it seemed to be crying out for him to jump off the couch and do somersaults in the air. He stood up again but didn’t go anywhere. He had to do something. He felt himself sinking into the house as if it was quicksand, like all of Dallas was quicksand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave. He hoped Li’l Pit would be there on Saturday, but he also didn’t want to leave Joyce now that he’d found someone who loved him. He might not find anyone like her again. But at least he now knew it was possible.
