In a soft voice, Calliope said, “Suze, do they work for George W.?” She shook her head. “I knew we shouldn’t have left him naked in that hallway.”
Will gave Calliope an incredulous look and released Mono.
“Moneys?” Clyde laughed. “Eees never about dee moneys. And dis time, Lady Abeegail ees very, how you say, peesed off. She have us go far for finding you, more far than other jobs. Most times we stay in basement and watch Dee A-Team.”
Shocker. I’d deduced that they worked for Abigail Westergaard, but how they’d gotten stuck in 1984 eluded me.
“Look,” Will said, “get in your car and go back to wherever you came from before we call the police and—”
“No police!” I blurted, then regained my composure. “Tell your boss I’m very sorry about what happened in Vegas, but I’m really in no position to … I don’t have a lot of time to make things right.”
As they walked away, Clyde pointed to the tape in my hand. “Watch dee tape. She say what happen next.” He snapped his finger. “Come, Mono. We fly.” When they got into their car, Mono lost himself in a Rubik’s Cube, while Clyde adjusted the stereo, unrolled his window, bobbed his head in time, and sang every word to Boy George’s “Karma Chameleon,” which blared without apology. I couldn’t help but laugh.
FOURTEEN
“Your eye is black.”
It was the first real thing James Andrews ever said to me. James and I were both Eagles, the smartest reading group in sixth grade. The teacher told us all the groups were the same, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the Eagles got the hardest spelling words and read books twice as long as the Robins, and three times as long as the Sparrows.
During reading time, James would sometimes ask me to pass him a book or tell me where we were if I lost my place, but it wasn’t until that day on the swings at recess that he actually talked to me. And I was happy. All the other boys smelled like stinky sixth grade, but James smelled smart and grown-up, a mixture of Dial soap and new spiral notebook.
“It’s not black, just dark brown,” I said, trying to convince him as my swing soared through the muggy Minnesota air. He synchronized his swing with mine so he could get a better look, and I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was suspicious of my contrasting chocolate eye and white-blonde hair, and of all the other traits that made me a cluster of anomalies.
He kicked his legs hard, pumping to make his swing go higher. “Is it true you can’t see colors?”
“Yeah.” My swing was slowing.
“That’s weird … Your birthday—”
“Leap Year,” I interrupted.
Even at the tender age of twelve, I knew what James Andrews thought of me. Most people end up rejecting what they perceive to be abnormal, even if they don’t want to.
At the height of his swing acceleration, he jumped, and when he landed, he fell harder than he needed to, like a stunt man exaggerating for an audience. I waited for him to help me off my swing, offer me his hand, or maybe his companionship for the rest of the day, but he didn’t. So I continued flying through the air, clinging to the safety of the strong, linked chain. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and ran over to Mrs. Emery’s flower garden, which bordered our playground. When he returned, he looked up at me, and, on the dirt in front of me, silently placed one perfect black-eyed Susan.
FIFTEEN
“Wake up, Susan. Time for lunch,” Calliope sang in the same key as the tune on the radio.
After dreaming my way through most of the morning, trying to forget about Mono and Clyde, I awoke in the backseat, sprawled out and groggy, to Calliope and Will singing to an all-eighties station. By the time “Tainted Love” wrapped up, I was awake enough to ask what state we were in.
Will turned to Calliope. “Whatcha think, Cal? Are we in a state of shock? State of grace? Perhaps a state of denial.”
Cal? He now had a nickname for her. How else had their relationship evolved while I was asleep? “Are you always so literal?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The word ‘state’ can have several meanings. I was just getting clarification.”
As I consulted my dictionary to find out what “state” was in French, I noticed Will’s watching me closely. “What?” I said to him. “I’m expanding my horizons.”
“Good to know,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Now, get up. I’m treating you two hot dames to lunch.”
I smiled at him. “You’re treating, big spender? Are we going to Denny’s? I’ll take the Moon Over My Hammy.”
He smiled back in his coy way. “Nope, no Denny’s. Cal’s choice. Wherever we are, she says it’ll be good for you.”
I looked out the window and saw a modest sign, simple and unassuming, stuck in a gravel path.
We were in a small parking lot surrounded by pine trees. The temperature was cool, so I grabbed my jacket as the three of us made our way down a path. We passed eleven cabins, small and simple, on our way to the main building, which was an old country schoolhouse-turned-restaurant. I got the feeling this establishment didn’t get many customers—several minutes passed before we were greeted. The front reception area, abandoned when we got there, featured a worn wooden podium, and on the wall behind it hung an old, large chalkboard advertising the day’s special.
“Wild yams and rice?” I frowned. “Yummy.” I turned to Calliope. “So you think more yams in my diet would be good for me?”
Calliope snuggled up close to me. “This place is all about getting back to the basics, Suze.” Sunlight streamed through the window, and when it caught her eyes, they seemed other-worldly. “Adventure,” she whispered in my ear.
I was confused until our greeter arrived. He was about five-foot-ten, relaxed, friendly, and completely naked. “Welcome to Barely On the Map, population thirty-seven.”
“Thirty-eight, Adam!” yelled a woman from the adjoining room.
“Sorry, Jane!” he hollered back. Adam smiled at the three of us. “She just joined us last week.” He kept looking at us. “Are you lost? Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“We were hoping to grab some lunch,” Calliope said, “the brochure said—”
“Oh, sure! Didn’t realize we were still advertising.” From beneath a pile of papers, he dug out three menus for The Naked Truth Restaurant & Lounge. “Sorry, we don’t get many visitors,” he said, his head bobbing from side to side, “for obvious reasons.”
He took us to our table in the next room. When we walked through the doorway, the very crowded and very naked room fell silent. Being clothed made us spectacles. “Don’t worry about them,” the greeter said as he pushed in our chairs. “They don’t mean to stare. We don’t see many of your kind.”
“Do you know what time it—” I started to ask, but Calliope slapped my hand and gave me a no-no finger shake. She took out a brochure from her bag and pointed to the back page, which contained the history of the Barely On the Map Nudist Community.
The man spoke in a passionate voice. “We don’t believe in the concept of … that word you said.”
“What word? Time?” I asked.
He winced.
Now I was officially freaked out.
Will grabbed the brochure and skimmed the last paragraph. “Cool, man. I’m with you.” Will looked at me like I was an idiot, and said, “He’s Moken.”
“Technically, we’re not Moken, but we’ve fashioned our community after the basic values and tenets of the Moken people”—he pointed to a big map on the wall—“a tribe off the coast of Thailand.” Up until then, he’d had his folded hands resting in front of his bare genitals, but in the excitement of explaining his staunch beliefs, he flung his hands in the air, revealing his Mokenness in all its glory.
Will noticed me blushing and averting my eyes, and leaned in close to me. “What’s the matter, Susan? Afraid of the one-eyed trouser snake?”
“There are no trousers here,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You’re cute when you�
�re embarrassed,” he said, patting my hand.
I directed my attention to Adam and his … snake. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Oh, no offense taken, my dear. We’re a forgiving, accepting people.” His face was warm and inviting. “There is no hatred here, no jealousy, no competition.”
“No underwear,” Will whispered, and I stomped on his foot under the table.
Adam continued in a dreamy tone. “No beginning, no end.”
I thought of my father. “There is no beginning. No end.” I hate it when parents are right, especially fake parents.
“I’ll take a cup of your Moken tea. No hurry,” Will said with a wink, pointing out the sentence in the brochure containing other words that didn’t exist in either the Moken tribe or the Barely On the Map Community.
“Fast, faster, want, need, desire, hello, goodbye.”
What a peaceful place to die. I wanted to end it right there. Where’s a suicide door when you need one?
We ate a traditional Moken meal as Will attempted to get Adam to “break character,” as Will put it. After his second helping of rice, Will raised his eyebrows and asked, “How old are you, Adam?”
Adam smiled and threw his hands up. Trouser snake again.
“You’re good, Adam,” Will said. “No concept of time.” Then Will whispered, “I mean the t-word.”
Adam seemed to like us, so after we finished eating, he invited us to the Bonfire Hall, which was a cozy, added-on room where naked people assembled around a cobblestone fire pit. They were eating mush that looked like oatmeal but smelled like butt. And they took turns drinking from one cup.
“No s’mores?” Will asked.
“No, Sir William,” Adam said, and both Calliope and I burst into laughter, no doubt thinking of the same spastic sword simulation. “We believe in keeping everything pure here. Food, drink … feelings.”
“Keepin’ it real,” Will said. “Isn’t that what I always say, ladies?”
“How would I know?” I said.
Adam looked at Will, the supposed man of our tribe, and asked, “Would you like to smoke my Moken pipe?”
“Is that a metaphor? I’m pretty open-minded, Adam, but I’m not sure I’m up for that.”
Adam looked confused and presented him a pipe crammed with some sort of leaves. Will took a big drag, then handed it to me. I figured it couldn’t hurt an already malignant lung tumor, so I breathed in hard, tasting a damp sweetness, and felt a warm rush in my head.
I’m not sure how much of the t-word passed, but the next thing I remember, we were all outside in the former playground, and the stars were starting to twinkle. Adam and Calliope were laughing and telling jokes on the merry-go-round, and Will and I were on the swings. I don’t remember being cold or embarrassed, just naked. Ironically, the only one of us with any clothes on was Calliope.
Will looked over at me and said, “So, do you have a last name, Susan? Seems like something I should know now that I’m seeing so much more of you.”
“Spector.”
There was a long pause during which Will was perfectly at peace and I was not.
“Maybe we should say good night, Will.”
He flew out of his swing, then performed an acrobatic tuck-and-roll on the ground, followed by some fancy footwork, à la Gene Kelly. “No! Don’t you remember? There is no saying goodbye in the land of Moken, and no saying good night.”
When my swing came to a full stop, he walked over to me. Just when I was about to jump down, he put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Susan Spector.”
“Again,” I added.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “I knew another Susan, but she was a real buzz kill.”
I pursed my lips so I wouldn’t smile.
Still holding my hand, he went down on one knee and said, “Let me help you down, my Moken princess.” He bowed his head.
I’d seen him in armor, but for the first time, for just a split moment in the twilight, he looked like a real knight.
SIXTEEN
“Is this heaven?” Will mumbled. His head was nuzzled between my naked breasts.
“No, it’s Colorado … with nipples.”
It took me a while to feel self-conscious, partly because it was cold and he was warm, and partly because I was sleeping off a major Moken-induced hallucinogenic hangover.
I reached for my sweatshirt and noticed Calliope still asleep in the backseat. Will and I spooned each other in an invisible coffin in the back of our funeral coach-turned-motel.
Will looked out the back window at the Rocky Mountains. He helped me zip my sweatshirt and tucked the blanket under our legs.
When I looked outside at the pine trees blowing in the morning breeze, I missed my Minnesota forests and lakes. Even as we lay there, naked and vulnerable, knowing Will and I had consummated our Moken experience, I couldn’t remember one goddamned thing about it. At least I could check “Have Sex With A Stranger” off my list. A cool air pocket pried its way between us as we both began to fidget, and as quickly as my knight had blown into my life through those double doors, he left.
“So, how long have you had this snoring problem?” he asked while pulling his jeans on.
Probably as long as he’d had his ruin-any-moment problem. “I don’t snore,” I said.
He leaned over the back seat. “Cal!” he said, shaking her awake. “Cal, Susan snores, doesn’t she?”
Calliope sat up, rubbed her eyes, and with conviction, said, “Like an old man in a Lazy Boy on Sunday.”
Traitor.
Somehow Will made his way to the driver’s seat, and when he got there, he looked back at me, motioning with his head to come sit by him. But Calliope didn’t see his invitation to me, and plopped herself down in the front passenger’s seat. I ended up in the backseat—again.
We said our non-goodbyes to the Naked Truth, and I committed myself to a day that would be neither naked nor truthful. Cal and Will could be brutally honest at times, but at least they weren’t liars—like me.
I’d always resented women who projected misleading images—you know the ones. They order a double-cheese mushroom burger on their first date instead of their usual no-dressing lettuce salad and ice water because they know their Romeo will think it’s cute that the skinny girl can eat like a man. And there are those girls who wear industrial strength, gravity-defying push-up bras filled with silicone or water or some other manufactured breast tissue, and then they have the gall to look hurt when their date, having seen their deflated, not-so perky breasts for the first time, frowns in disappointment.
We call people who withhold certain truths “false advertisers,” and that’s similar to what I’d become: a false friend. I was a potentially redeemable coupon worth toting around the country, but I’d failed to advertise the fine print that explained my rapidly approaching expiration date.
Calliope threw her hair up into a French twist, situated her feet on the dashboard, and took out the map. “How much further, Suze?”
“For what?” Will asked. “Wait, let me guess, Susan. You’re on your way to a posh mental institution famous for rehabilitating disgruntled disc jockeys.”
He looked in the rear-view mirror to see my reaction. He didn’t look like he was trying to attack me, but rather get information about me. I sat stone-faced wondering what else big-mouth Calliope had told him yesterday while I was sleeping. Had she also told him the truth about herself?
“So, Cal, have you told Will about your old job?”
“Oooh, someone’s a little testy today,” she said. She turned around to try to fake tickle me, but I pushed her away with my hand. “I did, actually,” she said, sitting back down in her seat.
Will came to her rescue, and I hated how jealous that made me. “The way I see it, Cal was doing her part to bring the fine art of dance to the men who couldn’t make it to New York City to see a decent ballet or musical,” he said, smiling at Calliope.
Calliope could’
ve said something defensive and catty, like lots of women I’d known, but instead she called me by a name she must have instinctively knew would disarm me.
“Susie Q here told me at the bar that she has a destination, although, for whatever reason, she’s not being entirely forthcoming about it. I bet it’s on her list.”
Will was intrigued, and I wanted to puke. He fired off a litany of questions. “List? What kind of list? Can I see it?”
I acted nonchalant. “It was just a stupid game.” I was not yet ready to reveal that much about myself, and explaining my destination would do just that.
“Was?” Calliope sounded disappointed. “Aren’t we still playing?”
Thus far, Will had not been overly concerned with having answers to things, but for some reason, when it came to me, he had a lot of questions. “Is it a list of places you want to visit?” He stared with a newfound intensity. “Go ahead. Make my day.”
“Sort of,” Calliope answered for me. “It’s supposed to help her live in the moment, a hypothetical list of things to do if she were dying.”
I felt more naked at that moment than I’d felt the night before, basking nude in the Moken moonlight.
“You need to pretend you’re dying in order to prioritize?” He laughed and sighed at the same time. “That’s fucked up.” No one said a word. Looking almost sorry for having said that, he followed with, “Hey, I’m down with a little mystery. This is an adventure, after all. Just let me know if I miss any turns.”
And as it had done so many times in my life, the radio saved me. “Turn it up, Cal,” I said. “Things to Do In Denver When You’re Dead” rang out in stereo, and Warren Zevon defended me better than I could defend myself. “See, I’m not the only one who’s motivated by death.”
Will tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Now there was a guy who died on his own terms—took up smoking when they told him he had six months to live.”
I was feeling more and more like an aimless, dying jackass. “Enjoy Every Sandwich,” I said, referring to his last album.
Black Eyed Susan Page 8
