Now Is the Hour (55 page)

Your mother and father did
that
? Billie said.

Only mother, I said.

Your father's not the only one out looking for us tonight, I said.

Oh fuck, Billie said.

Oh fuck is right, I said.

My money's on Mom doing the most damage, I said.

Right then, I wanted to tell Billie all about how I'd escaped from Mom. But I didn't. She was too freaked out.

A long Idaho moment with so much to say and saying nothing.

There we were: Billie Cody and Rigby John Klusener.

As fate would have it, all Billie and I were trying to do was go to the prom.

Jeez, Billie, I finally said. Look at you and me. I swear, we're so weird we're moving into the ludicrous.

Into the absurd, Billie said.

The resemblance is phenomenal, don't you think? I said, We look exactly like Yves Montand and Simone Signoret.

Billie and I do exactly the same thing at the same time. Inside us first, down deep, something inside that has to come up and out, and when it does, my weird sound mixes up with Billie's weird sound, and then both of us are sitting in this sound that we are making from the inside, and we are looking at each other in the eyes as we are making the sound.

Weird thing, laughter.

Here Billie and I were again, a year and some months since we met, still laughing, holding our stomachs, our bodies slamming around
inside the Pontiac, arms flailing, feet kicking, high screams laughing like a couple of damn fools.

Billie's whole body is rolling, rumbling, trying to accommodate the weird sound coming up and out, and sure enough, wouldn't you know it, boing, out pops one nipple, then, boing, out pops the other nipple. Billie's laughing so hard, she can't even put her nipples back in. She just sits there, these massive, soft pink mounds of flesh, two brown nubs, two beings, bouncing up and down, alive themselves.

My God, the laughter. Sore belly. Snot and saliva, then coughing because of cigarettes. Then just because we're Billie Cody and Rigby John Klusener, because we're so Yves Montand and Simone Signoret, as fate would have it, just to make the cycle complete, wouldn't you know it, one of us has to fart. It was me this time. The oatmeal cookie dough. My fart was abrupt and real loud. Made a tent in my suit pants and traveled down my leg. Thank God it didn't stink.

It was too much.

Really, the way Billie and I laughed, wasn't like we'd ever laughed before.

And I tell you, since then, nothing, never, nothing ever has made me laugh for so hard, so long. Never.

I met Billie Cody laughing.

And that evening, in the root-beer brown '57 Pontiac, under the silver maple on West Herzog Street, hailstones covering the ground, laughing is how we parted.

And despite all the shit that came down later on that night, that's how I plan to remember it.

Remember her. Billie Cody.

The problem was, when we quit laughing, we still had the problem. Billie was still pregnant. Billie's father was out to kill me. And my mother was out to crucify Billie and suck out my blood.

Then there was the problem of the joints.

Billie had promised a bunch of people she'd have joints to sell them that evening before the dance. The problem was she told them she'd meet them in the Snatch Out.

If we stay in this car, Billie said, we should be safe. My father doesn't know this car, and neither does your mother.

Saturday night, the end of July, heat lightning and intermittent rain and hail, Pocatello, Idaho, the Snatch Out. It's about eight-thirty, and the place is buzzing.

Billie and I are parked in the root-beer brown '57 Pontiac. Billie's behind the wheel, and I'm sitting on the passenger side. Billie is back to wearing the rose-colored John Lennon glasses. She's also wearing a wide-brimmed felt cowboy hat, and I'm wearing a porkpie hat. We got the hats from Karen.

Karen and Cheryl are driving Cheryl's parents' white Buick Riviera. They've come and gone and bought two joints.

Still to buy joints are four people, all girls. Liz and Diane and Kathy and Carrie.

I don't know any of them.

The joints are in my shirt pocket.

By this time, Billie is smoking. Her cigarette is a windshield wiper. Then a straight dive to the ashtray.

Billie, I say, so far we've seen two cop cars.

Rigby John, Billie says. It's your Catholic sense of doom again. Everything's going to be fine. What we're doing is completely safe.

Just act like everything is perfectly normal, Billie says.

Perfectly normal, I said. We look like Laurel and Hardy, and everything's perfectly normal.

At least it's different, Billie said.

Differnt,
I said. It's pronounced
differnt.

Then it's rain so hard you can't see out the windshield. It was like when you're in a car wash, the windows. The neon of the Snatch Out sign, the headlights of cars, smeared ghostly lights, running in together.

A knock on Billie's window.

Billie looks over her glasses at me first, then rolls down the window slow. Under the black umbrella is a girl in a red shiny dress. Her hair is black, and curly like the girl on the good ship
Lollipop.

Hi, Billie, she says, can I get in back till the rain stops?

Sure, Billie says, and reaches around and unlocks the back door.

The dome light goes on, and the girl with the black hair ringlets and the red dress collapses her umbrella and gets in the back seat.

Liz, Billie says, this is Rig. Rig, Liz.

Liz and I say hi. Liz is wearing lots of mascara and auburn eye
shadow. Her hair bounces every time she moves. She looks at my porkpie hat and the iron burn on my collar. My untied red tie. She looks at Billie's Hoss Cartwright hat.

I thought you guys were going to the Senior Summer All Night Party? Liz says.

We are, Billie says. We're incognito.

I turn my head around.

My mother, I say. Her father.

Oh! Liz says. Right.

This Liz person doesn't know what the fuck, so she says: How much was it for one joint?

Two dollars, Billie says.

Billie goes to pat me on the shirt pocket, but I already got the joints out. I unroll the plastic sack. My fingers aren't shaking. Seven fat joints lying in the palm of my hand.

Liz looks at me like I'm the coolest guy she's ever seen.

Take your pick, I say.

Liz points with her index. Her fingernail, red, the same red as her dress.

I'll take the fattest one, Liz says. The one in the middle.

Two dollars? Liz says.

Two dollah, Billie says.

Another knock on the window. This time it's on my side. The rain is still coming down hard. There's no way I can see out.

A flashlight shines in the window. The flashlight beam is right on my crotch. I quick close my palm over the joints.

A man in a dark hooded coat with shiny gold buttons is standing outside the window. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure that Liz and Billie can hear. A squeaky noise out of Liz in the back seat. Billie whispers a low
shit.
I don't look at Billie because my heart has stopped beating.

The breath. When I roll the window down, it's loud rain.

And it's Diane.

Billie says, Diane! so I know it's Diane. Diane is wearing a man's black hooded parka with gold buttons over her prom gown.

Groans and moans all around.

Jesus Christ! Billie says.

You scared the shit out of us, Liz says.

It's just a flashlight, Diane says.

Then: Any illegal drugs in here? Diane says.

I reach around and unlock the back door on my side.

When Diane gets in, the dome light goes on. She pulls off the coat. Her hair is short and brown. She's wearing a diamond tiara. Her prom gown is silver white with spaghetti straps.

Love the hats, the dress is appropriate, Diane says. Anybody got a cigarette? I've got a thermos here of gin and tonics.

Diane unscrews a black thermos of gin and tonics, hands the thermos to me. I take the thermos, tip it up, take a long swig.

Gin and tonics with lime in the summer, you can't beat it.

I take out George's pack of Camels, offer one to Diane, one to Liz. Billie takes one too. We all light up, four on a match, and there's the joke about three on a match and we're four. We're smoking, passing the thermos around. Billie isn't drinking. Billie turns the radio on. “Purple Haze” comes on, and we all scream a little. We all say,
Ooh, this is my favorite song.
We all sing,
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky
real loud.

Outside the windshield, headlights and exhaust fumes. The rain has stopped. Everything wet and shiny. Passing by is an endless parade of kids in their cars.

I have my hand out with the joints in my palm. Diane has just taken her joint, just laid the two dollar bills in my hand and is looking at me as if I'm the coolest guy in town.

Just as Diane says Carrie wants to know if you got any hash, there's a loud cough out of Billie.

When I look, Billie's white as a sheet. Her hand is covering her mouth.

In front of us, the endless line of cars. Behind a white '60 Chevy that's just inched past, there's a white pickup truck with
CODY PLUMBING
on the side of the door. Billie's dad is honking his horn, and yelling really loud,
Fuck you, you little cocksuckers! Get the fuck out of my way!

Billie pulls her hat down, ducks low, quick puts out her cigarette. I put the joints in my shirt pocket, duck down too.

Who is that asshole? Diane says.

My father, Billie says.

Oh! Liz says. Then: Well, I got to go. My date is waiting.

When Liz opens the door, the dome light goes on.

Billie can't go down any farther because her belly's up against the steering wheel.

Fucking Liz! Billie says.

Holy shit! I say.

Billie's dad looks across the cab right over at us. For a moment, my eyes and his eyes meet and stay locked on each other. I swear Billie's dad has got me nailed.

Liz slams the door. The dome light goes off.

Bye-bye, you guys! Liz says.

Time for me to go too, Diane says.

Diane goes to open the door.

The dome light! Billie and I jump to stop Diane.

Ha-ha, Diane says, her diamond tiara twinkling. Fooled ya.

Then: You don't have to worry about that old fart, Diane says. He can't see past his nose.

Billie's dad opens the door to his pickup and gets out. When he comes around the front of his pickup, one hand is on the front hood of his pickup and his other hand is on the back end of the '60 Chevy. The bald spot on the top of his head. As he walks between his pickup and the Chevy, the headlights of his pickup are bright once, then twice, against his red T-shirt. He manages to take three steps our way, then falls flat on his ass. Horns start honking, and everybody's headlights go on. Kids are pointing at this drunk guy who's on the ground. Across the seat from me, Billie is not Billie. She's a photograph of Billie. She's not moving a muscle, not making a sound. Mr. Cody gets himself back up. When he's standing, he isn't looking our way. All the headlights of the cars flashing on and off make him look like a zombie. His red T-shirt is up, and his butt crack is poking out. Mr. Cody starts yelling and waving his arms. He picks up some gravel, starts throwing gravel around. Horns honking, headlights flashing. Plus, now the white
CODY PLUMBING
pickup is blocking all the traffic.

A red and white flashing light on Pole Line Road gets Mr. Cody fast back into his pickup. In no time at all the pickup's gone, and Mr. Cody's gone, and Billie and I are breathing again.

Did he see us? Billie says.

I don't know, I say.

He didn't see shit, Diane says.

What about the cops? Billie says.

Your dad's OK, Diane says. They were pulling someone over on Pole Line Road.

When Diane leaves, I reach over, take a hold of Billie's hand. Billie and I sit there trying to get our shit together. Neither one of us can speak. I light a cigarette, one for Billie, one for me. My hands shake while I hold the match to Billie's cigarette. I figure I should say something nice to mellow things out.

He's gone now, Billie, I say. Your dad's too drunk. He won't come back.

That's when in a moment, something else.

On Pole Line Road, past the flashing cop car, the Buick drives by. Mom's driving the Buick, and she's on the other side of the four-lane highway. Just as I look, the Buick's in front of the driveway to the Kraft cheese factory. Mom's head is stuck out the window. Her hair is flying, and she doesn't have her face on.

I don't say a word to Billie. Billie and I just keep sitting and smoking, trying to get our hearts back inside our chests. We smoke our cigarettes, put out our cigarettes, light two more. Billie's got her Kleenex out again, blowing her red nose. She's no longer breathing like she's going to bust a placket. My breath, of course, is something else.

Where's Kathy and Carrie? I say. We've got a dance to go to.

Billie opens her mouth. She's telling me something about Kathy and Carrie, but I don't hear a word she says.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Out the back window of the Pontiac, I see hair poking up, I see Mom. She's walking between the Snatch Out fence and the backs of the cars. She looks in the back window of the green '54 Mercury on Billie's side of us.

Mom comes around the back fender of the Mercury and heads straight for Billie's window. I quick lean across Billie, push down the lock on her door, then the door lock in the back.

My hand bumps into Billie's Hoss Cartwright hat. When Billie looks around, I smile and say: Just in case.

I lock my side too, front and back.

Mom is walking past the Pontiac on Billie's side. There's nothing I can do. My heart pounding. Where's the breath? The feeling in my arms that means I'm helpless, I go fucking catatonic.