Lot Lizards (8 page)

Leaning out of the cab, Bill extended his hand and said, "Come on up, Jon. We've got a lot to talk about."

CHAPTER 6

They smelled. Both of them.

Jenny wrinkled her nose when they stepped in front of her, making her stumble to a halt.

"We'd like a table," the fattest one said.

"Well...you're supposed to be on the list, you know," she said. "There's a wait."

Jenny was relieved when Debbie, the hostess, stepped up and said, "Can I help you?"

"We'd like a table," the fat, smelly man repeated.

"Well, you'll have to wait. We're pretty full, in case you didn't notice."

"How long?" the man asked.

"Maybe an hour. Maybe more."

The man looked at his partner, not as fat but just as smelly, and both of them smirked as they turned and walked away.

Debbie looked at Jenny and said quietly, "Some day I'm gonna come in here with a gun."

Jenny nodded with a sympathetic smile, then hurried to her original destination: a newly occupied table. She took the order without really listening, writing it down automatically on her pad like a robot, then turning to take it to the cook. Someone touched her shoulder and she turned.
 

"You gotta phone call," Debbie said, hurrying back to the register.

Jenny turned in the order, then went to the front and picked up the receiver behind the register. "Hello?"

"Hi, Jen, it's me. Grace."

Jenny's stomach lurched. "Is something wrong?"

"No-no-no. It's just that Shawna's...well, you told me to call if anything was unusual and... well..."

She clutched the receiver with both hands. "What, Grace?"

"Shawna can't seem to go to sleep. She keeps saying... well, she keeps saying something's wrong."

"What?"

"She doesn't say. Well, she doesn't know, I guess. She just keeps saying that something's wrong. I just took a cup of cider up to her, but she's still...she's disturbed. I don't think she's going to go to sleep. I just thought I should call. You know. I thought I'd ask you what to do."
 

Jenny closed her eyes a moment to think. Shawna had had trouble sleeping in the past, but never for a reason, never because something was "wrong." When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring over the counter at the fat smelly men who had demanded a table just a few minutes ago.
 

The first one smiled at her, his fat cracked lips framing darkened teeth that were clamped together on the end of a stubby cigar; the other chewed on a wooden match. Between them stood a petite girl, maybe in her teens, pretty but pale and very thin, with blond buzz-cut hair that showed off the three delicate silver earrings that dangled from each ear.
 

"Is she there, Grace?" Jenny asked, looking away from the customers.

"She's in her room, but she's not asleep yet. I just heard her roll up the shade on her window. She just won't stay away from that window. She saw a couple of truckers fighting down on the road earlier and I think that upset her."
 

"Well...go ahead and put her on, let me talk to her."

"Okay, hold on."

The line fell silent and Jenny looked at the young blond girl again. She was talking to Debbie, staring intensely into her eyes, leaning close as if what she had to say was a terrible secret.
 

Debbie stood with her head tilted forward, lips parted and jaw slack, back straight and stiff, which was odd for her because she was usually smiling and always relaxed, sometimes so relaxed she looked rather slumped.
 

When Jenny looked at the man with the match in his mouth, he winked at her and she turned away quickly, looking at Debbie again, who nodded and said flatly, "Sure, right away."
 

Debbie turned, scanned the restaurant, then motioned for them to follow her as she headed for a table where a man, woman and little boy were just standing to leave. But the girl did not follow; she turned to the man with the cigar, who nodded at her, as if in thanks. Then he said, "Watch yerself out there," and shouldered by her. The girl left the restaurant while the two men followed Debbie to the cluttered table, which she began to clear off without waiting for the busboy.
 

Jenny frowned. The only time she'd ever seen Debbie seat anyone out of turn on such a busy night was a little while earlier when that family had walked in soaking wet and bleeding from cuts and scratches after walking up the freeway from their wrecked car; usually, she was very careful to uphold the restaurant's first come first serve policy so as not to upset those customers left waiting for a table. And Debbie never cleared off a table without snapping at the busboy for not getting to it first. But now she took away the dirty dishes, wiped the table with a rag and poured coffee for the men, gave them menus, then hurried past the register and ducked into the restroom.
 

"Hi, Mom," Shawna said.

"Hello, Pumpkin. How're you?"

"Fine."

"That's not what Mrs. Tipton says. She says something's bothering you."

"Well..."

"What is it, honey?"

"I don't...really know."

"You're not sick?"

"Uh-uh. I just...I don't know. Are...you okay, Mom?"

"Of course I am, honey. Why, did you think maybe I wasn't?"

"I just...wasn't sure. That's all. I'm fine, though."

"Well...okay. Look, if you can't sleep, tell Mrs. Tipton I said you could stay up and watch TV, okay? And I'll call and check on you during my break."
 

By the time Jenny got off the phone, Debbie had returned to the register.

"Hey," Jenny said quietly, "how come you seated those guys?"

"What guys?"

"Those guys." She pointed to their table and Debbie squinted as she peered across the restaurant.

"That family? They looked awful and I figured—"

"No, no, the table next to them."

"I didn't seat
those
guys."
 

"Yes you did. I just stood here and watched you. They came in with some girl, a teenager, and she said something to you and you seated them. And here we've got all these people waiting to—"
 

"What girl?" Debbie faced her and Jenny could see that she was genuinely puzzled, confused. "I didn't talk to no teenage girl."

Jenny opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it; it was the look on Debbie's face that stopped her, that pinched look she got when she didn't understand something or thought someone was pulling one over on her.
 

"What the hell're you talking about, Jen?"

"I, um...nothing. Nothing."

Troubled, Jenny left the register and went to take the men's order, not looking forward to getting close to them again...

It was cold in the cab, but Dad did not offer to turn on the heater. He'd turned out the light in the sleeper so they were left with only the glow of the streetlight outside and Dad's face was hooded in shadow as he sat behind the wheel.
 

"So you're mom's inside, huh?" he asked, looking toward the restaurant.

"Yeah. They're having dinner."

"The girls, too?"

Jon nodded and started to add,
And Doug
, but stopped himself. Dad didn't know about Doug. At least, Jon didn't
think
he did. Before Mom had packed up and taken them to live with Grandma for a while, Doug had always visited while Dad was on the road. Jon had wanted to tell him about Doug, felt it was only right that he know because, as time passed, Doug's visits became longer and more frequent and he and Mom spent more and more time alone together. But Jon had said nothing, knowing how his mother would have reacted, how she would have shouted at him and probably grounded him until he was thirty. Then, when Dad just sort of disappeared, Jon had wished he'd told him, just come right out with it no matter what Mom would have done. Maybe then the past year would have been very different.
 

"Who else?" Dad asked.

Jon was startled. "What?"

"Who else is she with? You were about to say someone else. Who?"

"Oh. Um. Well..."

"It's all right. You can tell me."

"His name is Doug."

Dad repeated the name softly: "Doug. Hm. Doug." Then he nodded as he stared at the restaurant's bright windows. After a moment, he turned to Jon and asked, "Does he live with you?"
 

Jon bowed his head, feeling ashamed, as if he had betrayed his dad somehow, as if he had asked Doug to move in with them himself. "Yeah."
 

"It's okay, Jon. Don't feel bad about it. Is he a good man? Does he treat you well?"

Jon shrugged.

"Oh, c'mon. He's gotta have some good qualities."

Another shrug. "I don't know. Things just aren't...the same."

"Things don't ever stay the same, Jon."

Looking into his dad's black face, Jon asked, "Can I come live with you? I could go on the road with you. I've only got another year of school left, and I could take a correspondence course. We could—"
 

But he was already shaking his head. "No, Jon. You've got to stay with your mom. She's really going to be needing you after Grandma dies. And just in case this Doug
isn't
such a good guy after all, she needs someone around to keep an eye on her. And you need to finish school with your friends."
 

Jon clenched his teeth as a surge of anger welled up in his chest, anger at the unfairness of his life. He had no control over
anything
around him; he wasn't able to make any choices for himself, they were made for him by others, whether he liked the outcome or not. Suddenly he didn't want to be with his dad anymore, even though he'd wanted for the past year to see him so badly. He felt like throwing a tantrum, the kind only children threw when things didn't go their way. He felt like hitting something, like shouting, like—
 

"Why the hell did you have to just disappear like that?" Jon shouted. His voice was deafening in the cab and his dad started. "Did you think just because she wanted to leave you that
I
did, too? You couldn't
write
? You couldn't
call
once in a while? Just pick up a phone somewhere and
call? Other
people are divorced, some of my
friends'
parents are divorced, but they at least keep in
touch
with their kids, you know? They
call
, they
visit
. But you, you just...you just
disappear
, like a fucking
criminal
, like you're wanted by the
police
, or something! And you look so bad, so sick, like there's something
wrong
with you, but you won't
tell
me anything, like where you've been or where you're going or if I'm ever going to see you again, and…and I..." His next words stuck in his throat for a moment, clogging with the hot tears that were burning there and welling up in his eyes. Lowering his voice, but still speaking with trembling intensity, he added, "I hate you for that. I've thought about you so much this past year, thinking you'd come back or get in touch. But I had to meet you here by accident, and if I hadn't I'd probably
never
see you again. And I really don't care if I do." He fumbled with the door's handle to get out but it was locked and he groped around to unlock it, saying, "Because I
hate
you. For leaving me with her and just taking off, I hate you, I
hate
you for—"
 

His dad closed a hand gently around Jon's wrist and Jon gasped, shocked by the icy chill of his dad's skin. He froze, looked down at the hand on him, so white, veins so pronounced, fingers so boney...then he looked at his dad.
 

He'd leaned forward and his face was in the light. He looked different than before and worse than Jon had originally thought. His skin, impossibly drained of all color, seemed to be stretched taut over his skull, showing every bone in his face but his eyes were now bright above half moons of sagging flesh, wide, more alive than Jon had ever seen them, but sunken so deep into their sockets that they seemed about to completely disappear.
 

AIDS
, Jon thought with horror, unable to speak the word,
he's got AIDS. He's dying.

"Please don't hate me, Jonny," he said in a whisper. "I didn't
want
to disappear. I've thought of you every single day since the last time I saw you. But I...couldn't see you. I didn't want you to see
me
. Not like this."
 

"What's... wruh-wrong, Dad?"

"Something's happened to me. I'm...different now."

"Do you have—"

"No-no, I don't have anything. Not...really. I guess you could say I'm not well, but it's not a sickness. Not exactly." He looked down at his hand on Jon's wrist and frowned, thinking, struggling with something.