Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale

by Chuck Kinder

  4

  Ralph’s hands shook as he slipped the quarter into the pay phone on the porch wall of the main building. Insects swarmed crazily about the bright porch light. They flicked in blind and confused from the darkness. Bright points in intricate elliptical motions, they were helpless. On hands and knees Ralph had searched in vain around the bottom of the drained pool for the lost bottle of Four Roses. Unless he could figure a way to rat out the big-time businessman, lay the blame on him, Ralph’s number was up here at Duffy’s. All Duffy had to do was check that bottle for fingerprints. Out beyond the frail light from the porch, the darkness under the trees was immense, impenetrable. Earlier on the night he died, Ralph’s dad had been working the swing shift at the sawmill. He got home at midnight hungry

  for his big meal of the day: pot roast, homemade rolls, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans with bacon, garden salad with Thousand Island dressing, fried apples, cherry pie a la mode, a fifth of Four Roses. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ralph’s mom watched Jack Paar while his dad ate his supper and drank. She took a notion to stay up and watch the Late Show that night after she had bickered with Ralph’s dad about the usual old stuff, and he had staggered off to bed with his bottle bitching and fuming as usual. Just another day in America. It was a hot August night and Ralph’s mom was worked up from the argument and resdess, and the Late Show was The Moon Is Blue, one of her old favorites, starring William Holden, in her opinion the most handsome star who ever came down the pike, a star who, in fact, she always fancied Ralph’s dad looked like before the bottle had taken its toll. Ralph’s mom often stayed up late like that, watching TV or writing a letter to her sister back in Little Rock. Ralph’s mom had dozed off on the sofa and did not wake up until dawn to face another day in America. She put out a bowl, spoon, and box of Frosted Flakes for Ralph’s breakfast, then headed off to bed herself, whereupon she had discovered Ralph’s dad drowned in vomit.

  Ralph let the phone ring twenty times, then decided to go for thirty. The hot night was thick, heavy, so sluggish a fellow could hardly suck air. Ralph wished with all his heart it would just pour down rain. He’d stick his head out in it. He’d wash that fat businessman’s godawful urine out of his hair. He was sure he could still smell it, that godawful piss. God, that was awful. God, he hoped that fat businessman had dropped dead of a heart attack somewhere down the road. Ralph hoped those black clouds to the west were thunderclouds thick with lightning. Let the sky cloud up and Alice Ann gets edgy. A clap of thunder and she was hiding in a closet, trembling from memories of those terrible Midwestern storms of her childhood, when lightning seemed to seek appointed people out. How often had Ralph sat in a hot, closed closet holding that chosen woman? Dozens upon dozens of times, hundreds of times, that’s how many. Ralph couldn’t begin to count the times. Over the years.

  When the rings reached thirty, Ralph decided to go for forty, give Alice Ann the benefit of the doubt. All right, Ralph thought when the rings reached forty, fifty was the limit. There had to be a limit. Ralph’s trembling hands were bloodless in the bright porch light. Corpse hands, Ralph thought, and shuddered. Ralph froze when he saw a face in the porch-door window. It was his own reflection. His heart beat wildly.

  At fifty rings Ralph hung up the phone. It was all over now, he thought. That chapter in his life was over and done. End of story. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to accompany Alice Ann to that horrid bankruptcy proceeding now. Ralph was shaking by then almost uncontrollably. He looked out into the darkness beyond the porch and imagined the worst. Motion in those dark trees, the murmur of voices, low drums like heartbeats, returning alone and unarmed to his cabin, a white man in the tropics.

  Ralph decided then to call long distance to Lindsay. Lindsay would answer the phone pronto, two, maybe three rings, and she would accept the charges. No question. Ralph would explain things. Standing under the porch’s white light, Ralph trembled with the urge to travel. All he had to do was get body and soul back together, bail out of this Duffy’s dump, tie up a few loose ends, then relocate with Lindsay in Missoula, Montana, the garden city of the Northwest, where life would be sweet for him, where he would write one thousand words a day, rain or shine. Finally Lindsay answered the phone and accepted charges, albeit, it seemed to Ralph, hesitantly. Whereupon out of nowhere Lindsay brought up stuff, blindsided Ralph with it, low-down stuff that that asshole Jim Stark had led her to believe, and Ralph had no real answers, or alibis, that he could make Lindsay believe, before she abruptly said good night and hung up.

  The next time Ralph let the phone ring fifty-one times (one hundred and six was his record) before Alice Ann finally answered, whereupon Ralph gasped to her, Honey, honey, whatever you do, don’t pay the ransom. I’ve escaped.

  One-Whore Town

  Lindsay took the two leftover pieces of cold pizza from the greasy box and put them on separate plates. She loaded up with items from the fridge and carried them over to the kitchen table. She sliced a tomato thinly and spread the slices over the pieces of pizza. She sliced an onion thinly, then some mushrooms, took a handful of black olives, then scattered them all over the pizza. Lindsay popped an olive into her mouth and suddenly laughed. She returned to the fridge for other items. On Jim’s piece of pizza Lindsay layered sliced sweet pickles. She added a layer of sliced beets. She covered this piece of pizza with chocolate fudge sauce. She covered both pieces of pizza with slices of American cheese and placed them in her microwave.

  Back up in the bathroom Lindsay placed the plates on a stool beside the tub. Several scented candles lit the room, and from her bedroom stereo floated a Mozart violin concerto. Lindsay removed her robe and tossed it onto the floor. Her flesh was golden and shadowy in the candle flame. Jim lay back in the big old-fashioned tub that sat up off the floor on lion paws, his arms resting on its rim, his old fedora tilted over his eyes as though he had died and gone to heaven.

  You can’t be asleep, you turkey, Lindsay said. —That’s not fair. You made me go get the pizza. I almost fell down the god¬damn stairs. God, I’m stoned. That damn dope of yours.

  I ain’t asleep, Jim said. —I just passed away and went to heaven. I am the late Jim Stark now. Please donate my organs, such as they are, to medical science. Donate my liver to the Bud- weiser Research Institute, for serious study.

  Goody, goody, Lindsay said, as she slid into the steaming water. —The late Jim Stark ran more hot water before he passed.

  The late Jim Stark likes to keep things steamy.

  You want me to donate this little organ, too? Lindsay said, and wagged waves in the steaming water with Jim’s dick.

  Shore, why not? When I was a kid I’d stretch my nightly bath out until I’d used up all the hot water in the house, if adults would let me get away with it. The air would get to feel like the hot breath of some real big animal. Like the hot breath of an old bear in a close cave, say.

  Why would you do that? Use up all the hot water in the house? Here, mister, you better eat your pizza, Lindsay said, and she held up a piece for Jim to bite. —Here you go, this is good for you. Let Mommy feed you, baby.

  I can safely say, Jim said, as he chewed the bite of pizza Lind¬say had maneuvered into his mouth, that this is unlike any pizza pie I, for one, have ever eaten before in my lifetime.

  This is Mommy’s mystery pizza pie, Lindsay said, and held the piece up for Jim to bite into again.

  Somehow this don’t exactly taste like that there perfectly pre-dictable pizza we ate for supper, Jim mumbled as he chewed extravagantly.

  Don’t you just adore it? I used all my culinary skills preparing this special pizza for my own boy.

  You don’t say? All your culinary skills?

  You don’t adore it, I can tell. My culinary spirit is crushed. I distinctly recall you saying you would eat anything of mine. Even raw, I remember you saying. Were you being insincere with me, Jim?

  To the best of my recollection, I didn't mention no mystery pizza.

  But it is so good for you. I
t’s covered with such healthful items. You'll be able to see better in the dark. And always land on your feet. And your boners will be the talk of the town.

  Maybe I will have me another bite or two, Jim said, and gnawed off another hunk.

  Eat your head off, honey.

  Now, what's this here healthful thing? Jim said, and held up a greasy item between his thumb and forefinger.

  That is either a very healthful beet or an enormous booger.

  Well, Jim said, and popped the thing into his mouth, it shore hits the spot.

  Would adults spank you if you used up all the hot water in the house? I’ll bet when adults spanked you you wouldn't even cry, you’re such a tough guy. I always cried. I wept for days sometimes. Even if I did something bad and didn’t get caught, I’d cry and cry. I’d cry just imagining the spanking I should have gotten. I always believed what adults told me about God seeing everything, every little-bitty sin. So to get into heaven I was certain I would have to endure days, weeks, months of saved-up spankings from God because I had been such an evil girl. Anything that drew my atten-tion to the sky, a soaring bird, beautiful clouds, a starry night, the moon, anything, would inevitably lead me to thoughts of heaven and the waiting hand of my spanker Lord.

  Adults pounded the shit out of me, all right, Jim told Lindsay. —But not about the hot water. They would be too embarrassed at those times. Adults would just bang on the door and yell, You’re using up all the hot water in the house, you little piece of shit.

  Why would adults be embarrassed?

  It was an adult’s duty each night to come in after I had my bath and check out my deformed condition. This meant for an adult, usually my old drunk daddy, to finger and poke about between my slippery little legs and have me turn my head to one side and cough my head off. My slippery little pecker would bounce against the back of his or her adult hand. Sometimes I’d even inadvertently tinkle on his or her adult hand. Or my little weeny would start to magically bonerize. Now, that would really make an adult blush red as a beet.

  Adults are so bizarre.

  You can say that again.

  Adults are so bizarre. Why do you wear your hat in the bathtub?

  It’s my lucky hat.

  Why do you have to be lucky in the bathtub?

  I like to be lucky everywhere. Fire up that last joint, why don’t you. Did you and Ralph ever take a bath together?

  That is an adult question. That’s not playing fair.

  Let me shave you.

  Do I need one? Lindsay said, and rubbed her chin.

  Let me.

  I just shaved yesterday, Lindsay said, and rubbed her legs.

  Under your arms, Jim said, and picked up the Lady Schick safety razor from the soap dish. Lindsay smiled sweetly and raised her right arm, and Jim soaped her. He ran the razor gently over the slick skin under her arm. He soaped and shaved under her other arm. Lindsay lifted each of her long, sleek legs in turn, rest¬ing her heels on Jim's shoulders, and he soaped and slowly shaved them while she hummed softly. Then Jim took the bar of sweet soap and rubbed it over her breasts.

  Good God, Lindsay said, do my tits need a shave, too?

  No, not quite yet, Jim said as he caressed Lindsay’s breasts with his soapy hands. —Maybe tomorrow. I just like how they feel and look all soapy and slick in the candlelight. So, did you and Ralph ever take a bath together? I’m just curious, mildly curi¬ous, that’s all. I don’t care what you’ve done, you know, in the sex department, with other men. I can forgive you for anything you’ve done with other men.

  You can forgive me for anything I’ve done with other men? Lindsay said, and tossed her head, laughing. —Well, lucky me.

  I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But did you, you know, take a bath with Ralph?

  Not that I can immediately recall.

  Have you done it with many other men?

  It? You’ll have to be more specific, hon. Done what exactly?

  You know, taken baths. Or showers. Those things.

  A few, I suppose. I am a very clean-cut girl. I believe in a vig-orous program of personal hygiene.

  Plus you like to wash things before you eat them, right? Like a raccoon does.

  I didn’t say that, you did. But raccoons are pretty smart ani¬mals, you know, Lindsay said.

  The phone began to ring from the bedroom. Lindsay didn’t make a move to get it. It rang and rang.

  Ain’t you gonna get that?

  Nope.

  Why not? It might be somebody or something important.

  I don’t care. I’m happy right where I am.

  Are you afraid of who it might be? What if it’s old Ralph?

  I don’t want to speak with Ralph right now. The only man I’m afraid of is that crazy Larry I told you about. That nut. That nut made my life miserable. I tried to break off with him, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Even after I started dating Milo he would follow me. Once he followed me to Milo’s. There was a ter¬rible scene. He slapped poor Milo around in his own living room. I called the police. Larry ran out screaming it was not over yet. I’ve always been afraid crazy Larry is going to slip back into town and cause big trouble. That nut carried knives. He was always sharpening those knives. Larry was a very dangerous man. I’m sorry to babble. Just before you and I got together, I thought I spotted somebody following me around, and I thought maybe it was him. But I was just being paranoid, probably.

  Slapping old Milo around is no big deal in the tough-guy department. I’ve known nuts like that Larry. You aren’t being paranoid. You can’t be too careful with nutcases like that. Did you recognize him as the nut who was following you around?

  I couldn’t tell who was following me. He was a stranger to me. I never got a good look, really. Maybe he wasn’t anybody at all. Probably I simply imagined him.

  You can’t be too careful. That older guy I pulled those armed robberies with, that guy I told you about, Morris Hacket, he said that he planned on looking me up again someday, if he ever got out of the can, in order to reward me for ratting him out. I keep my eyes open. I look over my shoulder. You don’t have to worry about that nut following you when I’m around, whoever he was. I can take care of that Larry creep for you. I can be a dangerous man, too.

  Lindsay took Jim’s hat off his head and placed it on her own.

  Hey, I need that old hat.

  I want to be lucky for a change.

  That’s more than my lucky hat. That’s my magic fictioneer hat. I like to wear that hat when I write. I need it. Sort of like old Frosty the Fictioneer.

  Are you writing right now?

  You can never tell. Maybe. Well, so how many men would you say you’ve hopped in some hot water with? Offhand?

  Does a sauna count?

  Shore. If you were, you know, naked as the day you were born.

  God. Offhand? Well, okay, let’s see, Lindsay said, and began to count off on her fingers. —Honey, can it be off-foot, too?

  Off what?

  Foot. I’ve run out of fingers, Lindsay said. She lifted a foot from the water and began to count on her toes.

  Just forget it, Jim told her. He took his fedora from Lindsay’s head and replaced it on his own, where it belonged.

  Oh, don’t get pouty, Li

  I ain’t gettin* pouty. I’m just kidding around. Besides, Mis¬soula is just a small one-horse town.

  What in the world does that mean? Missoula is the second- largest city in the state, as a matter of fact.

  It is?

  Yes, but that doesn’t mean much outside Montana, I suppose. The population of Missoula probably isn’t much more than, oh, thirty thousand.