Revoltingly Young (18 page)

“
You think not?”

“
I doubt it. French men are very charming, but they can be pretty traditional in their attitudes.”

“
But surely someone in your family must know if Sheeni had the kid.”

“
Well, perhaps my father, but I doubt it. No one even heard from her until after she was married. She like totally disappeared.”

“
Weren’t your grandparents concerned?”

“
My father’s parents are a case, Noel. You’d have to meet them to believe them. We hardly ever visit them. They’re like these total Bible thumpers up in Ukiah. My dad also disappeared for years when he was young. Sheeni mentions that in her letter, but I knew that already.”

“
You’ve got to see if your father knows anything about the kid, Veeva.”

“
I’ll try, Noel, but it won’t be easy. Daddy hates talking about his family–not that I blame him.”

My brother a father at age 15? The same age as me. Very shocking indeed.

WEDNESDAY, August 3 – No sign of bed-wetting or thumb-sucking for days. And no zits either. More proof of the healing properties of the human touch (in all its tantalizing forms). Has anyone noticed that when a guy gets an erection it rises to the optimal angle for sliding into the receptive vagina? I mean was that well thought out or what? Too bad, though, they didn’t give us guys a little more control over our orgasm timing. I hear some lizards can do it for 12 hours, which may explain why no lizard has ever won the Nobel Prize in anything.

It was with a heavy heart that I applied Toby’s greasepaint this morning. Why does work have to be such an imposition on one’s time and lifestyle? Mr. Dugan was in fine form when I finally showed up. You’d think I was single-handedly trying to bankrupt the guy. He ranted on about how all the jobs were going to China because nobody in this country wanted to work any more. That’s funny, I thought the jobs were going over there because China was a police state with no unions, no benefits to pay, no environmental laws, and millions of workers willing to be exploited for 25 cents a hour. It’s like every patriotic Republican’s dream business climate. I didn’t tell him that. I just swallowed meekly and muttered something about visiting my sick brother down south. Then I was off with my signboard in the blazing sun. On my second round Uma called and said to meet her at St. Paul’s church at 3:30. Damn, what a guy has to do these days for love.

6:12 p.m. Here is a blow-by-blow account of Toby’s first encounter with a holy father in a Catholic confessional:

Toby: Hi, Father, this is Noel, uh Noel Wescott. Bless me for I have, uh, sinned. It’s been, uh, six months or so since my last confession.

Priest: Aren’t you the boy whose picture was in the paper?

Toby: Uh, right. That’s me.

Priest: I don’t recall your being a member of this parish.

Toby: Uh, yeah well, we usually sit in a rear pew. Like way in the back.

Priest: You know your employer is not really a minister. He has no theological training. He used to be a mortician. The man is a charlatan.

Toby: Oh. Uh, I just carry his signs. Do you want to hear my sins? I’ve got them all lined up.

Priest: And what is this ‘adore ceremony’ you people offer?

Toby: Well, it’s kind of a marketing deal. You get your candle-lit mood lighting and your organ music and your certificate. The snacks and keepsakes are extra though.

Priest: I’ll tell you what it is, young man. It is a bogus sanction for sin–for fornication by the youth of this community. Yours is a vile enterprise that should be stopped.

Toby: Uh, well my guess is a lot of the kids were getting it on even before they got the certificate. Our service is just kind of a going-steady ritual. Mostly the girls like it. But, really I just carry the signs.

Priest: I see. You’re just obeying orders.

Toby: Right. Now about my sins . . .

Priest: Where did you receive your catechism and communion?

Toby: Uh, well, I was home sick for a few years. I did it all by mail.

Priest: Very curious indeed. And what are the sacraments of the church?

Toby: The sacraments? Uhmm, I don’t think I recall those. Not right off hand.

Priest: You know, Mr. Wescott, this is a church of God. It is no place to be playing games.

Toby: Uh, maybe I should just go now.

Priest: If you have a sincere interest in the church, I suggest you call the office and make an appointment. Are you involved with a Catholic girl?

Toby: Who me? No, not at all.

Priest: I certainly hope not. You sound like a most unsuitable young man.

Toby: Uh, right. Well, take it easy.

Priest: You get the hell out of here!

Damn, that was brutal. I didn’t spill the whole conversation to Uma, but she says we’re now in much worse shape than before. She took it as a very bad sign that I wasn’t assigned any Hail Marys or Our Fathers to say. For some reason I drew Father Gillis, who normally is in Elko harassing infirm oldsters on Wednesday afternoons. She had anticipated my encountering laid-back Father Sheldrake, a native Nevadan well steeped in our frontier culture. That priest can be relied upon to keep things in perspective.

The only good news is that Uma and Mary Glasgow have filled out a profile for Aunt Rosa at Match.com. They noted she was a great cook and loved housework, so they are already attracting responses from marriage-minded males. Our only hope is to get her distracted by hunky and pious suitors as soon as possible.

11:22 p.m. An unsettling evening. Uma came over for Bingo Night and took off her shoes for show and tell. Her toenails were now a deep midnight blue covered in a profusion of tiny glow-in-the-dark stars, comets, planets, and moons. Very dramatic with the lights off, which I accomplished without delay. Extreme snuggling then ensued. Eventually, our garments were quite awry as they say in the police reports. I probed for Umanian G-spots, while she familiarized herself with my bare inflamed member.

“
What happens when I stroke up and down like this?” she inquired.

“
Your popularity goes way up. And how does this feel, darling?”

“
Quite stimulating indeed. Oh, my!”

“
I know something even better.”

I did her with my tongue (as practiced with Veeva), and she went off like the noon fire whistle. Tasted very similar, though her button seemed more pronounced. She wasn’t ready for full reciprocation, but did the job manually with very satisfactory results.

“
So this sticky stuff is what makes babies. It certainly shoots out with great velocity.”

“
Yeah, sorry it got in your hair.”

“
Better there than some places. You’re all stiff again, Noel. Shall I do it some more?”

“
Sure. If you like.”

She did.

“
There’s less volume this time and it’s somewhat runnier,” she observed. “All the trouble you went to make it, and it just winds up in a hankie.”

“
Not to worry, Uma. I’ve got a bottomless supply.”

We did up our zippers, snaps, and buttons, and lay together on our ratty couch. I nuzzled her ear and told her all I had learned in the last few days about my brother and his possible offspring.

“
What I can’t understand, Noel, is why an intelligent girl like Sheeni agreed to marry him–even if she was pregnant.”

“
Why shouldn’t see marry him? If she loved him?”

“
Well, clearly she didn’t care that much for him. And she was much too young.”

“
She was 15–that’s not so young. Lots of people get married when they’re 15.”

“
Like who, for instance?”

“
Well, like various country and western singers. And millions of people in places like India and China.”

“
That’s because women are oppressed in those cultures.”

“
I’d like to marry you, Uma.”

“
That’s sweet, Noel. But aren’t you confusing lust with love?”

“
I don’t think so. The sex part is nice, but it’s you who I love. My brother fell in love with Sheeni when he was 14 and according to Veeva he’s still stuck on her all these years later. She says his whole life has been on hold because of her. It’s not just lust with us Twisps.”

“
Then, Noel honey, I’m going to do you a favor–a big favor.”

“
What’s that, darling?”

“
I’m not going to see you again.”

“
What!!!”

Nope. No further explanations. Uma got up off the couch, put on her socks, shoes, and bike helmet, and pedaled off into the darkness.

I can only assume this is some kind of joke. Not very funny though.

THURSDAY, August 4 – A miserable night. I called Uma around midnight in a panic, but her aunt Rosa answered. She said Uma did not wish to speak to me. She also said she’d had a disturbing conversation about me with Father Gillis, and that I was not to call their home ever again.

Damn! What did I do? What did I say?

Grandma dropped a bundle on her diabetes supplies and was having trouble making this month’s rent. So I donated Nick’s crisp $100 bill to the cause. She said she’d accept it as a loan, but I told her she didn’t have to pay me back. A guy doesn’t need any spending money to lie around a trailer in a state of acute emotional paralysis.

Stoney dropped by while I was staring suicidally at my cereal bowl. I hardly recognized her. She had a flattering new hairdo, was nicely made up with lipstick and all the trimmings, was wearing a neat new blouse and skirt, and had installed attractive gold earrings completely devoid of skulls, snakes, or Harley insignias.

“
Something wrong with those cornflakes?” she asked. “They’re getting awfully soggy.”

“
I’m not hungry.”

“
Hit another speed bump with your bitch goddess?”

“
If you’re referring to Uma, she appears to have dumped me.”

“
Shit! I knew that was coming.”

“
Why, Stoney?”

“
You forget, dude. Scott Chandler returns today.”

“
Oh, right.”

“
Face it, Noel. You were just a mid-summer fill-in for that bitch.”

“
You think so, Stoney?”

“
It’s obvious. But what that slut doesn’t realize is she’s got some competition now. How do I look?”

“
Amazingly feminine, Stoney. I hardly recognized you. How does it feel to wear a skirt?”

“
Nice ventilation in hot weather, but I feel a little vulnerable. I mean if you’re not careful when you sit down anyone can get a clear shot at your beaver. Guess what color panties I got on today?”

“
Virginal white?”

“
Pink! Can you believe that? My mom’s in seventh heaven, the bitch. Heard about Jamal?”

“
Who?”

“
Jamal Bogy, our fellow gang member. He’s black like you. Likes to autograph every tree and wall in town.”

“
What’s he done now?”

“
He disappeared. Gone. Kaput.”

“
When?”

“
Saturday. His foster parents are major pissed. They drove to Reno and found that black woman he’d been talking to. She claims she hadn’t seen him.”

“
Did they tell her that Jamal was white?”

“
They mentioned that detail. And also that he was only 15. She promised to call them if he turned up. You heard from him?”

“
Not a word. ’Course I was in Vegas.”

“
How was that?”

“
Nice. Can you keep a secret?”

“
Sure.”

“
I got laid.”

“
You lie!”

“
No, honest. It’s true. I crossed the great divide.”

“
You did! Who with?”

“
Veeva. But you can’t tell anyone! Especially Tyler.”

“
You got some ass, dude! So how come you’re sitting here all miserable?”

“
I don’t know. It was nice, but I’m still stuck on Uma.”

“
That’ll pass. I thought that Veeva chick was 14.”

“
Well, she’s a very mature 14.”

“
You popped her cherry?”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
How’d she take it?”

“
Great. She liked it.”

“
She just say that, or did she really mean it?”

“
No, Stoney, she had a good time. She wasn’t faking it. So you might like it too–if you get it on with Scott.”

“
Well, that’s good news. You didn’t get any off Uma, huh?”

“
No, but we’d made quite a bit of progress. She was very loving–right up until she walked out the door.”

“
Chicks are weird, dude. Take it from me. I am one, and I’m always amazing myself with the shit I pull. I think it’s the hormones. Turn your head.”

“
Why?”

“
I got to scratch my pussy. It’s really hard in a goddam skirt.”

I turned my head and she scratched away. Yes, there’s more to being feminine than just changing your wardrobe.