Blackbird (16 page)

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want
that
,” the Latin guy said, with a long, hissy esss sound on the word ‘certainly.’

“Cut it out, Raoul,” Marshall said. And from the look on his face and the tone of his voice, I could tell he was a little irritated, maybe a bit embarrassed by Raoul and his buddy. What he didn’t know was that, as far as I was concerned, I’d just died and gone to heaven. Because, unless my eyes and ears were playing some funny tricks on me, these two guys had to be gay. They talked and acted like every unfunny fag imitation I’d ever seen and forced myself to laugh at. They quoted
The Boys in the Band
. And unless I was mistaken, the big one was giving me a pretty obvious once-over. Here I’d thought I was the only one in town, and here I seemed to have fallen into a buzzing hive of them. I felt like Lassie, and I’d just come home.

“Really, you guys, you just can’t turn the shit off for a minute.”

Libby shook her head like a miffed mom. “Johnnie Ray Rousseau”

– Libby indicated the Latin on the couch – “this is Raoul Miranda.”

“Carmen’s younger, and uglier, sister,” chimed the big guy.

“And Arnold Rosenfeld.”

“Better known as the Incomparable – Lily Sabina.” At which point Arnold Rosenfeld sprang from the couch, struck a Lillian Gish posture and recited in a harsh falsetto: “Oh oh oh! Six o’clock and the master’s not home yet. Pray God nothing
se
rious has happened”

– Raoul joined in – “crossing the Hudson.” Arnold fell back on the couch (Raoul moved just in time to escape being crushed beneath

Arnold’s impressive girth), and the two of them fell all over each other with laughter.

“Take you two anywhere but out,” Marshall said with a big eye roll.

“Well, get you, Miss Thing!” said Arnold. “Getting awful butch in our old age, are we not?”

“Trying to impress Chicken Delight here, one can only presume.” “Kiss my ass, Raoul.”

“Any time, Pocahontas, any time.”

“All right, ladies, that’s about enough of that.” Libby lifted herself from the floor. “Let’s get to work.”

The first read-through was almost a total loss. Arnold and Raoul could scarcely let a line go by without a wisecrack or a sexual allusion.

Things had settled a bit by the second reading. Raoul played the part of Marshall’s cellmate, who’s also Marshall’s punk, his wife-away-from-home, really. And Arnold played the prison guard, a part that asked little except that Arnold look large and menacing, something he did quite well. The part of Billy asked little of me except to look young and innocent and scared – which, if Libby was to be believed,
I
did quite well. I was somewhat relieved to discover that the rape of Billy takes place offstage, and is only alluded to on.

Still, one element of the plot was that both Marshall’s character and Raoul’s character set out to seduce me – my character, that is; and as we began penciling in Libby’s preliminary blocking, it became obvious that there would be a certain amount of homosexual goings-on in
The Lockup
, most of it to include yours truly. Not the least of which was the jam-up-and-jelly-tight scene between me and Marshall; Libby asked especially that Marshall keep what she called that “crotch-grabbing business, like at the auditions.” “Lucky you,” crooned Raoul. I wasn’t sure if he meant Marshall or me.

The tail end of the rehearsal found Arnold and Raoul sprawled out all over the couch I found them in at the beginning of the rehearsal; Libby sitting cross-legged on the floor (her favorite perch, it seemed); Marshall in the big, lumpy overstuffed armchair that (except for the couch and what was probably once a coffee table) was the living room’s only furniture; and I, happy as I could remember ever feeling in my life, sitting on the floor between Marshall’s outspread legs. So many times, during so many rehearsals and so many cast parties of so many plays, I’d watched so many boy-girl couples holding hands or lounging around in each other’s arms, and I’d felt so jealous, so all alone. And now here I was, sitting between Marshall MacNeill’s big, sweat-socked feet (his shit-kicker boots long since tossed into a corner) just as natural as could be. And as Libby gave notes (“Pretty good first rehearsal,” she said. Then, shooting Arnold and Raoul a glance, “for the most part”), as Raoul and Arnold giggled like silly elementary-school girls, Marshall tugged playfully at my earlobe, stroked the side of my face and neck. Had an out-of-control twenty-ton Mack truck careened through Libby’s place, killing us all, I’d have died a happy man.

At the end of rehearsal, Libby said, “Announcement, kids. Your friend and mine, Marshall Two-Hawks MacNeill, has graciously given permission for us to use his place for subsequent rehearsals. We are very grateful for this, both because Marshall has much more floor space than I do, and because my roommate has objected, loudly and long, to the use of this place for rehearsals. Thanks, Marsh.”

It seemed understood that Marshall would drive me home. We wished Libby and the boys good night and just went out to Marshall’s car, as natural as could be. As if Marshall MacNeill were my boyfriend. My Boyfriend, I repeated to myself, strong-arming the door open, watching Marshall open his door and palm his hair behind one ear before getting into the car.

“You shouldn’t mind Raoul and Arnold too much,” Marshall said, wrestling Bob Saab into gear.

“I don’t mind them at all.” True, they weren’t the most professional actors I’d ever worked with, but they certainly weren’t boring.

“Well, they can be a bit much sometimes. All that ‘Get you, Girl’ stuff, you know. I just don’t go for it.”

I didn’t have a reply for that one, and nobody said anything for a couple of stoplights’ worth of time.

Then Marshall said, “I was wondering – ”

“What?” My head lit up like Christmas Eve. Marshall was going to ask me to stick around after rehearsal Friday night. I knew it. I just knew it.

“I was wondering if, maybe, after rehearsal tomorrow, you might want to have supper with me. Just hang out a while. Listen to some music, maybe. You think?”

“Sure,” I said, hoping I appeared cool and casual, even though I felt like doing the Charleston on top of the car, even though I was grinning the Cheshire Cat grin of the year.

“Great. Good. How about I pick you up at your place tomorrow, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can walk it.”

“About a quarter till?”

“Sure.”

Marshall swatted the radio on, and Lou was singing “Take a walk on the wild side” again; and when the colored girls sang “doot-da-doot-da-doo,” I leaned back, closed my eyes, and sang along. I felt good. Real good. Because for the first time in my life, I had a boyfriend, practically. And because I’d decided then and there that on Friday evening, after rehearsal, after supper, I was going to make love with Marshall Two-Hawks MacNeill. Or know the reason why.

When we got to my house, Marshall and I must have set Guinness records for long-term handshakes. We just sat in his front seat with our right hands clasped, staring into each other’s eyes, both of us (well, I for sure, and him for practically sure) wanting to kiss good night so bad we were steaming up all of Bob’s windows. But we were parked right in front of my folks’ house, in the middle of a very well-lit street. So, of course, we couldn’t.

Chapter Fourteen

I fully expected to dream about Marshall all night long. Instead, I hardly remembered any real dreams at all. But I know I dreamed about Todd. I don’t remember any plot to the dream, but I remember Todd, just Todd’s face. He looked sad, like he’d looked the last couple of times I’d seen him, and I remember feeling sad for him. And then he looked terrified, and he was screaming, screaming. But it didn’t exactly look like Todd’s face anymore, more like a mask of some sort – maybe because I’ve never actually seen Todd scream in real life. And the dream was silent, so it was like that old painting of the silent scream.

The Todd mask screamed and screamed, and it was more horrible than if I could have heard it. And suddenly I awoke, feeling startled and strange. I looked at the alarm clock next to my bed, saw it was nearly four o’clock, and quickly fell back to sleep.

Following the bacon scent into the kitchen for breakfast, I could hear Mom’s voice say, “Well, all we can do is remember them in prayer. That’s right,” she was saying into the telephone as I entered the kitchen, “leave it in the hands of the Lord.” I reached to take a slice of bacon from the paper-towel-covered plate on the stove, when I felt a sudden blow to my stomach, almost like a fist, and something in the back of my head said Leslie. I looked at Mom. Her eyes met mine for a split second, then she looked quickly away and said into the phone, “I’ve got to get Johnnie Ray’s breakfast, Hildy.” She was talking to Hildy Brooks, our church secretary and the unofficial chairwoman of the church gossip club. I don’t think Mom likes Mrs. Brooks very much – but, like most women, she likes to get the latest news.

Mom put the phone down and looked at me with a look of absolute horror on her face.

“It’s Leslie Crandall, isn’t it?”

“How do you know? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Nobody. What is it?”

“Oh, Johnnie Ray.…”

“Mom – what?”

“Leslie’s dead, baby.” Mom walked over to me and touched my face with her hand, as if quietly thanking the Lord I was still alive.

Her hand smelled of bacon. Then she sat down at the kitchen table, her hands clasped tightly one in the other. “She’s dead. Yesterday.”

“Why? How?” My legs felt weak, and I leaned against the stove.

“She – she tried to – ” Mom turned her face away from me. “She was trying to get rid of the baby.”

“She tried to abort – ”

Mom nodded: “With a – ” Her voice fell nearly to a whisper. “A knitting needle. A
knit
ting needle. Lord ha’ mercy today,” she said softly.

“Todd? What about Todd?” In my mind, I could see that screaming mask.

“He’s gone. Just, just gone. They don’t even know how he found out. He just jumped on that motorcycle of his and – ” She shrugged a big helpless shrug. “His mother is half crazy with worry, and Martha Crandall, poor Martha.…” Her voice trailed off.

Then she whipped around to me. “Lord Jesus, Johnnie Ray, what is wrong with you children? What is it?” She looked imploringly into my eyes, as if she somehow believed I had an answer.

“I don’t know, Mom.” I turned to go.

“Don’t you want your breakfast, baby?”

“I’m not really hungry, Mom.” What I was was angry. At the world, at this town. At Mom. It had made perfect sense to her to send Leslie Crandall halfway across the country, to hide her in her disgraceful pregnancy. To make both Leslie and Todd miserable, punish them both for loving each other, wanting each other.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, getting my shirt and the front of my pants wet in the process, thinking about Leslie. I’d never thought of her as the smartest girl in the world, but she was nothing if not sweet. I could imagine her thinking, If only I could get rid of this baby, they’ll let me go home. I leaned over the sink, and left the water running while I cried.

When I got on the bus, I found Carolann sitting alone in one of the front seats, reading. I was pretty sure it was Carolann, since she was wearing a sort of pinafore number in red plaid, the sort of thing Crystal wouldn’t be buried in.

“Carolann.” She looked up. I gestured her to follow me further back in the bus. “I need to talk to Crystal.”

“You like her better than me, don’t you?”

“No. It’s not that.” Actually, I did like Crystal better. “I just need to talk to her about something, that’s all. Please?”

“Did you hear about Leslie Crandall?”

“Yes, Carolann, I heard about it. Could I please talk to Crystal?”

“All right.” Carolann closed her eyes; when she opened them, it was Crystal. Funny: I was beginning to see where they actually looked different. She said Hi, then looked down at herself. “God, I hate this dress.”

“I suppose you’ve heard what happened to Leslie Crandall.”

“Sure. The whole town knows.”

“Look, I have to tell you about something: I got the weirdest feeling this morning. Actually, it started last night.” I told Crystal about my Todd screaming dream. “And when I heard my mom on the phone, I knew it was about Leslie. Not like a guess or anything. I knew. Do you think it’s – ”

“Yeah.” Crystal nodded. “That’ll happen. Don’t be surprised.

Just let yourself be open to it, and you’ll probably notice it happening more often.”

“I don’t know if I want it to happen more often. It’s a little bit creepy.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re real worried about Todd.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s not a whole lot you can do.”

“I know.”

“But that won’t stop you from worrying, will it?”

“No.”

“Thought not.” Crystal put her hand on my knee, and I put my hand over hers. And it felt warm, and good. Like somebody who understands. Like a friend.

Cherie and Efrem met me outside the choir room. Cherie ran up to me, and threw her arms around me, and buried her face into my neck.