Revoltingly Young (24 page)

“
I like your dad, Marty. Your mother’s OK too.”

“
That’s a joke, Jake. You don’t have to bullshit me. And I’m not going to bullshit you. OK?”

“
OK, Marty. It’s a deal.”

“
The thing is, Jake. It’s like this. I’ve got it all figured out. You’ve got two choices here. More wine?”

“
OK.”

Marty emptied the bottle into our glasses.

“
What are my two choices, Marty?” I hoped they wouldn’t be too difficult because my head was beginning to spin.

“
Number one, Jake, I can go upstairs and tell my parents who you really are.”

“
Not a very nice choice, Marty.”

“
No, not very nice, Jake. Or, number two you can invite me into that bed.”

That choice didn’t sound very nice either. I told him I was a bed-wetter from way back. He said he’d risk it, switched off the lamp, and shoved in beside me. I sensed immediately that he had left his flannel robe behind. Kind of an awkward situation for my muddled brain to cope with. A realization began to dawn.

“
Marty, are you gay?” I asked, pulling away from his embrace.

“
There’s no such thing, Jake. Everyone is bisexual, only some of us choose to admit it to ourselves.”

Damn, was that a yes or no? I couldn’t really tell, although his clammy hand down my shorts was pointing toward the affirmative. I told him I was straight and had two girlfriends. He reminded me that I only had two choices. So, to make a long story short, the houseguest received a more or less compulsory blowjob and then a tearful apology. Marty said he loved me deeply despite my being an uncultured clod, and I said he should go away and leave me alone. Eventually, he did.

Only the second blowjob of my life and I had to receive it from a guy. Even worse, it was not unenjoyable. In fact, I came rather more explosively than I did with Veeva. I’m hoping that can be attributed to a general relaxation induced by the wine and not a hitherto unsuspected sexual inclination. That is another problem I just don’t need.

The adults had both gone to work by the time I wandered into the kitchen looking for breakfast. Too bad too, because my dull headache from the wine would have enhanced any simulations of grief. Maddy said I looked like a homeless person and deigned to point out the cupboard containing the cold cereal. No sign of Marty, not that I was looking for him. I ate two bowls of organic granola, then tried calling Veeva. No answer so I left a message.

Now I have finished updating my blog and await the next houseguest activity. What does the proper houseguest do to avert excruciating boredom when he’s not fending off amorous assaults? Dare I sneak upstairs and snoop?

4:12 p.m. No call back yet from Veeva. Where is that chick? I had lunch out on the terrace with Marty. Excellent tamales made by the Dockweiler’s morose housekeeper. I decided I can’t hate a guy just because he loves me and thinks I’m an uncultured clod. Plus, he had gone out this morning and bought some antique games for my laptop. Very sedate ones, of course, so as not to tax my anemic processor. We kept the conversation on computers and did not broach the unmentionables. I’d probably like the guy if he wasn’t hung up on Brandon and butterflies and me.

When we were finishing up dessert, Marty’s mom came home, kissed her son, and invited the houseguest up to her office. Ominous feelings of dread washed over me as I trooped up those carpeted stairs behind her. I knew which room was her office, since I had given it a thorough inspection a few hours before. Her file cabinets had revealed some interesting facts that some prominent celebrities would probably pay Big Money not to have revealed. She dumped her purse on a shelf, closed the door, and waved to me to take a seat on the sofa. We both sat, got comfortable, and smiled at each other across her cluttered desk.

“
How are you, Jake dear?” she asked.

“
Not too bad. God, I still can’t believe my parents are dead.”

“
I have some good news for you, Jake. I had my administrative assistant check with the Highway Patrol. There were no fatalities on the 405 Freeway last week.”

“
Oh. . . Really? . . . Well, uh, that’s a relief.”

“
I’m rather disappointed that you guys felt the need to lie to me, Jake.”

“
Oh, you know, huh? Did Maddy tell you?”

“
She didn’t have to, Jake. I see with a mother’s eyes.”

“
Oh. Are you going to call the cops?”

“
Of course not, Jake. You’ve done nothing wrong in my eyes. I’m very happy for you, in fact.”

I didn’t quite see how she could be so thrilled that I was a fugitive from justice. Was it possible she was one of those left-wing Hollywood liberals?

“
Then you’ll let me hide out here?” I asked.

“
You don’t need to hide, Jake. We’re completely understanding. Marty is old enough to make his own choices. We’re happy that he’s chosen such a nice person as you.”

“
What!?”

“
Forgive me, Jake. I don’t want you to think that I’m prying into your affairs. But I know that you two fellows spent last night together. And that’s perfectly OK with us.”

“
It is?”

“
Of course. So you didn’t have to invent that crazy story about your parents dying just to spend the weekend here with my son.”

No doubt about it now, she was one of those Hollywood liberals.

“
Oh, OK,” I replied.

“
And please forgive another motherly trespass,” she added, reaching for her purse. “Here’s a small gift–for both of you.”

She handed me a white paper bag. I peeked inside. Two dozen condoms–lubricated with the deluxe nipple ends. An expensive brand too.

“
Uh, gee thanks, Mrs. Dockweiler. I can use these.”

“
I hope you do, Jake. Enjoy them in good health!”

A bit embarrassing, but I appreciated the gesture. My stash had been getting rather depleted.

TUESDAY, August 23 – On the bus to Spokane. Got on last night at 11:30. Been riding all night and we’re still in California. How is that possible? Well, this bus does things like stop for 50 interminable minutes in Modesto in the middle of the night. Then it’s on to Lodi, Stockton, Sacramento, Marysville, and on and on and on. We just passed Mount Shasta, a tall mountain that looms up all by itself over the dry brown plains of Northern California. Still a few patches of snow on its summit. Personally, I’d rather be flying over that mountain in a fast and comfortable jet, but Veeva insisted there was no way she could get such a charge past her mother’s eagle eye.

My trip is being funded through a generous grant from Rita Krusinowski, who handed $700 in cash to Veeva yesterday for “school supplies.” Must be some expensive pencils in L.A. Veeva wanted to split it with me, but I made her hand over the whole bundle. It’s not that big of a wad for traveling across three states in search of a dwarf. Veeva got the windfall after spending the day buttering up her granny at a dog show in Costa Mesa. That’s why she wasn’t answering her phone: she didn’t want to “interrupt the magic.” The show was restricted to little dogs, so the yap factor–she informed me later–was not to be believed. What we kids have to do for a little spending money.

We had quite a torrid good-bye kiss at the bus station. I didn’t tell Veeva about my episode with Marty, but I expect she’ll hear about it from Maddy. I hope it’s not blabbed over the entire L.A. basin. I got a kiss as well from Marty when the houseguest was leaving, but only on the cheek. I suppose I should feel flattered that someone found me attractive, since so comparatively few have felt that impulse. I wonder if he’s right that we’re all bi at heart? Well, he certainly wasn’t proving his thesis, since he registered a stone cold zero on my attraction meter. The gusher in bed I’m attributing solely to applied friction in the dark.

2:37 p.m. Only able to doze on this bus, so now feeling like a zombie. We just took on a new driver in Bend, Oregon–a place that’s probably the butt of countless rude jokes. Very pretty country though, with daubs of gold among the green from trees getting an early start on fall. Had a long chat with a girl going as far away as her money would take her from a scary-sounding ex-boyfriend. She was wearing sunglasses over her black eye and chomping on nicotine gum to quell her raging urges on this non-smoking bus. I’m glad now that Grandma raised hell so I never got hooked on cigarettes. Two packs a day killed her husband pretty quick–not that the world is missing that bastard.

Seems to me this business shouldn’t take long. I’ll go to the circus, find the clown, and nail him on the missing kid. If all goes well, I should be back in L.A. by the weekend. Perhaps by then Veeva’s granny will have hit the road, and Nipsie can move back into his old room. If not, I may have to go back to fending off lovesick Marty.

10:30 p.m. Homeless shelter, downtown Spokane. The only accommodations I could dredge up. Went to a half-dozen motels along the main drag, but nobody would rent a room to a kid on his own. They all wanted a credit card in case I went berserk and busted up the room. This shelter is pretty down and out, but at least they provide lockers to secure your valuables overnight. I hope I don’t pick up any bugs or diseases. The smelly cots don’t look super comfortable, but I’m so exhausted I don’t expect I’ll have any trouble sleeping through the snuffling and snoring.

Spokane is another place like Winnemucca that you wonder how it came into existence in the middle of nowhere. Much bigger than my home town though. A wild-looking river roars through the center of town on its way to somewhere. Kind of scary being alone in a strange city, but at least I have some money in my pocket and I can say I’m seeing a bit of the country.

WEDNESDAY, August 24 – Gathered up my stuff and had breakfast at a café downtown. When I went to pay, I discovered my wallet had been cleaned out. It appears somebody tampered with my locker. The only money I had was the $50 bill Veeva told me to fold up and hide in my shoe. Less than $45 to my name now that I’ve paid the check. I can’t believe how much that sucks. People are such rotten filthy bastards. The asshole did leave me my laptop, since it’s probably too worthless to steal.

Walked about a mile to the fairgrounds, where I saw the circus setting up. The big tent was already up and men were moving stuff into it. There was a line of people waiting by an office trailer, so I joined it. I filled out an application, and a middle-aged lady with enormous glasses gave me a test. She handed me a $20 bill and had me make change from a money drawer for a purchase of $6.73. I knew the secret is to forget about subtraction and just do it with addition. You start with the figure of $6.73 and add coins and bills until you come to $20. A simple test, but most of the applicants looked like they’d never even seen a sum as large as $20. I was one of three temps hired to fill out the crew of refreshments vendors. Fortunately for me, the circus sometimes takes on locals in the bigger towns for such jobs. Pay is minimum wage, plus anything you can hustle from tips.

On the application I gave my name as Jake Darko and my age as 17. I kind of like the name Jake. It’s less frou-frou than Noel, and Darko also has a certain dark appeal. They asked for a Social Security number, so I wrote down one that Veeva had gotten from Benecia, her resourceful housekeeper. According to Veeva, it’s an internal control number used for debugging, so the computers won’t challenge it. Don’t ask me how Benecia got hold of it. Perhaps some of her relatives use it too. Now I’m hoping I can find some corner in the fairgrounds to stash my stuff and hole up tonight after the evening show.

7:48 p.m. All in all, a rotten day. A sparse crowd for the first matinee, so there was lots of competition among the vendors to hawk our overpriced snacks. The lucky guys got to hustle floss (cotton candy), but I was loaded down with back-breaking cans of soda. Very exhausting work trooping up and down the risers while trying not to bash people in the head with your load. Lots of cash to handle because about nine customers in ten pay with a $20 bill. One idiot tried to pay a $2 tab with a $100 bill, but I indignantly refused. I mean
nobody
had the correct change.

I did get to watch the show a bit. Several clowns were tumbling about in the center ring, but I figured that the short one with the mustache was Alfredo. I cornered him as he was going into this smaller tent for dinner (we local hires are on our own for eats). The guy totally blew me off. He said he didn’t know anyone named Sheeni Saunders and didn’t know anything about some kid. Then as we were getting ready for the evening show, the vendor crew-chief told me I was fired. He said I was too light for the job, lacked hustle, and that “complaints were received.” He gave me 20 bucks for my labor and told me to beat it.

I just called Veeva and she got totally pissed. She blamed me for losing her $700 and said I should have used more finesse with Alfredo. No, she didn’t have any more cash to send me, so I’m stuck up here in Washington state with less than $60 in my pocket. I’m not sure if it was Alfredo who complained, or the customer with the hundred bucks, or the guy whose daughter’s hand I stepped on. I thought that kid was never going to stop howling. Veeva said if it had been Alfredo who had me canned, that meant he knows stuff and doesn’t want me around. Very true, but what can I do about it now?

I should never have agreed to go on this crazy chase in the first place. Guys should never say yes to anything when they’re lying in bed with a naked chick. Yeah, and I don’t give a damn what any cop who may read this thinks about that incriminating statement. So maybe the aforementioned chick was 43, and it was she who was molesting me.