Revoltingly Young (29 page)

Feeling and looking extremely grungy. Haven’t showered or brushed my teeth since Saturday. Move over, Dad. I expect pigeons will be roosting on me soon.

WEDNESDAY, September 7 – Veeva’s package contained her brother Nipsie’s spare cell phone, one measly crummy $20 bill, the now redundant circus schedule, and this note:

Darling Noel,

I looked up Grangeville in Daddy’s atlas. It’s in the MIDDLE of NOWHERE! Hope you are COPING and holding together physically and MENTALLY. You sounded in a VERY bad STATE on the phone. Alas, Tyler has been able to find out NOTHING about Sarah Nunez. That dwarf may be LYING. You must deploy all your WILES against him. I realize you have mostly failed MISERABLY so far, but I DO have confidence in you. Remember, Noel, you are a TWISP–the most CUNNING and RESOURCEFUL of men. Sorry, this is all the cash I could muster. School is commencing and one is simply OVERWHELMED by financial necessities. Btw, Maddy reports her brother is MISSING you terribly. He keeps babbling about his LOST BUTTERFLY. Thought you’d like to know.

Also loving you,

Veeva

P.S. While I was at it, I looked up Winnemucca on the map. Your home town is ABSURDLY remote. You are WELL out of there!

Thanks a pantsful, kid, as I once heard my brother say to Ada when they were discussing which corkscrew he would be permitted to retain.

12:07 p.m. Had the cheapest budget lunch I could find, washed my face in a gas station restroom, and am about to blow this burg.

Montana here I come!

FRIDAY, September 9 – Sorry I skipped a day. One of these days, blog readers, I may just decide to skip the rest of my life. No, there is no such thing as justice in this world. I knew that already, but I got slapped with a fresh reminder yesterday. Señor Nunez denied any knowledge of my alleged kidnapping, and I think Mr. Patsatzis believed him. It was not just my word against the dwarf’s. His story was corroborated by Randy, who testified that when I returned from Señor Nunez’s trailer last Saturday night, I asked him if he wanted to drop some acid with me. The lying asshole also stated that I was always abusing various substances and asking him where I could score drugs.

Mr. Patsatzis was ready to send me on my way, but his wife said she thought I deserved another chance if I promised to renounce drugs and stay straight.

So now everyone in the show thinks I’m a deadbeat drug-head, and Randy is walking around pleased as punch.

6:28 p.m. We’re in Missoula. All these small western towns are starting to look alike to me. Business is way down because of the lousy weather. You wouldn’t believe the mud everyone tracked into my nice clean donikers while I was away. Very demoralizing. If I’m going to be subjected to LSD flashbacks, I wish they’d happen while I’m hunched sponge in hand over a stinking toilet. An out-of-body experience would be most welcome then.

I had to sit with Jin and Sam Pak at dinner tonight because the Lurrieta sisters have been warned by their parents not to associate with me. Jin was hot to arrange a duel of honor with Randy, but I told him I was still too wasted from my ordeal in Idaho. Señor Nunez, who serenaded everyone after dinner as if nothing had happened, is back to pretending I don’t exist. As I was leaving the cookhouse tent, that strange tall clown Marcel sidled up to me to chat. He reminded me that he had warned me about the dwarf, and added that he had seen Alfredo and Randy around midnight last Saturday muscling my unconscious person into the back of the big Dodge pickup. When I demanded to know why he hadn’t tried to stop them, he replied that he never gets involved in such affairs. And no, he wouldn’t go with me to the boss to back up my story. His parting words were, “Frankly, Jake, I thought we’d seen the last of you. I was amazed when you turned up here again alive.” Not that he seemed care one way or the other if I’d lived or died.

11:49 p.m. If I had a gun, I could fire it straight down into my mattress and kill Randy. What an intriguing idea, except I’m not sure eliminating that moron would merit the destruction of a perfectly good mattress. As I was pondering these matters, someone tapped lightly on my roomette door. I feared it was Señor Nunez back to finish the job, but it turned out to be darling Miren. Since my quarters were not secure from eavesdropping slimeballs, we sneaked off in the rain to the cab of the swamp-cooler truck. It smelled of diesel fuel and old seat covers, but I found that if you snuggled close to Miren, you hardly noticed such things. I gave her the full scoop on what happened to me, and she gave me a great deal of sincere and welcome sympathy. By then we were rather fully embraced, so I tried an experimental kiss. Extreme fireworks such as I had known only briefly with Uma. I don’t know if all that acid expanded my mind, but I had never before experienced such a feeling of complete union with another person. It was like a direct connection through our lips from one beating heart to another.

Miren had to get back, but she promised to try to see me again when she could.

What a revelation. Is it possible there’s another girl in this universe for me besides Uma?

SATURDAY, September 10 – We jumped this morning to Butte, an old mining town perched on the edge of a giant hole in the ground. I’m told this is an abandoned open-pit copper mine, now filled with acidic water so toxic it will boil the flesh right off your bones. A real environmental disaster, but helpful for attracting tourists, who come to gawk at its scary immensity. Mr. Patsatzis is hoping some of them will come to look at us. Butte is also the birthplace of Evel Knievel, a bus- and canyon-jumping daredevil who inspired generations of dirt bikers and snowboarders to sail off into the sky in bone-breaking disregard of gravity.

The gray clouds have all blown away and things are starting to dry out. A soggy circus is a very forlorn thing, which may be why they call our type of smaller circus a “mud show.”

While waiting for the first bounce house customers to show up, I used my latest hand-me-down cell phone to check in with my old pal Stoney Holt, who informed me that she has now experienced heterosexual lovemaking three times with studly Scott Chandler.

“
So how is it?” I asked.

“
Aw, it’s OK. Hurt sorta bad the first time. I mean that’s a pretty big thing to be shoving in a guy.”

“
You didn’t enjoy it?”

“
Not really. I’m not seeing what all the fuss is about, Noel.”

“
Well, perhaps Scott is just a clumsy lover.”

“
I don’t know. He seems to be doing the usual stuff. I like it when he goes down on me, but then I could get some cute chick to do that. And I wouldn’t have to pretend to be some feminine princess all the time.”

“
Well maybe you are a dyke, Stoney.”

“
I don’t know, I think sometimes I am, but then I see him with that bitch Uma and I want him really bad.”

“
Is he making it with her too?” I asked, attempting to sound marginally disinterested.

“
He claims not, but I know all you guys are lying assholes in that department.”

“
I think you should keep doing it, Stoney. Some chicks just take longer to get warmed up to sex.”

“
That’s easy for you to say, Noel. You’re not the guy with the pussy getting banged.”

“
I know, Stoney, but lots of chicks just can’t get enough of it once they get, you know, stretched out.”

By then there was a parent in my face wondering what the hell I was talking about. I took her tickets, admitted her two rugrats, and told Stoney I had to go. She reminded me to call my grandmother and said she’d call my new cell phone number if she heard from Carlyle.

I can’t let Stoney break up with Scott. She’s my only hope of keeping him away from Uma. I know he’s just the sort of experienced male that misguided Uma would be inclined to yield her virginity to. If only there were some way I could make Stoney’s complaints known to Uma. Not to mention contrast them with the numerous good times enjoyed by Veeva with yours truly. Clearly, the facts prove that I am the preferred sexual partner for aspiring virgins.

11:14 p.m. Pretty good crowds today. Mrs. Patsatzis said her daughter the advance man did some heavy flirting with a bigwig in the Butte schools, who agreed to distribute an Annie Oakley (free ticket) to every grammar school kid in town. The bounce house alone did over $400 in business, which pays for a whole month of my valuable services.

After the last show Kardos Herczegh stopped me to ask in his very halting English if I would sell him some weed. He was disappointed when I replied that I wasn’t in that line of work, but invited me to share a joint with him. This we did in the cab of the ostrich truck. Quite powerful, mind-expanding stuff. In reviewing my experiences with various intoxicants, I’d have to say it’s more likely that I’ll wind up addicted to drugs than alcohol. Kardos smokes several joints a day, which is how he copes with missing his girlfriend back in Sopron and having to ride ostriches for a living. He speaks only about 200 baby English words, but is fluent in German, which overlaps much more with English than Hungarian. So whenever he’d get stuck for a word, he’d say it in German and I’d try to figure it out. (I, needless to say, know no German.) A tough way to communicate, but his potent grass helped grease the language skids.

Kardos would rather be going to university in Germany to become a sanitation engineer. He says you can get a very good job in Hungary with a German technical degree. Hard to believe a good-looking guy like him wants to devote his life to cleaning up the stuff people flush down toilets, but there you have it. His parents, though, are insisting that he stick with the family trade even though he finds it boring and unchallenging. Plus, he doesn’t care much for ostriches except grilled with garlic and onions. Plus, he’s horny in the extreme because all the attractive chicks in this circus are either married or too young. He had his eye on Dorcas, but then she ran off with the “damn dog man.”

He said he knew Nerea was interested, but didn’t dare go near her. Basque parents, he explained, are even less enlightened than Hungarian ones. If he so much as touched Nerea, who is only 15, and her father found out about it, he would likely be: 1. Brutally killed, 2. Arrested and prosecuted for rape, 3. Forced to marry her at gunpoint, or 4. A combination of the above. He wasn’t taking any chances and advised me to steer clear of Miren as well.

Damn, how can I do that now that I’ve tasted her sweet lips? I’ve had the appetizer and am more than ready to sample the main course.

SUNDAY, September 11 – I found a large fried cockroach in my scrambled ostrich egg this morning. Head chef Mr. Povey insisted the bug hadn’t come from his “spotless kitchen,” but we all know its source. These provocations can only end in violent bloodshed. I must recall my UPT heritage and prepare for a fight to the finish. Too bad I have virtually no muscles and weigh a scant 131 pounds.

Things weren’t entirely grim this morning. A note was passed to me from Miren inviting me to “attend church” with her. She left with her Bible in hand as she does nearly every Sunday morning, and I met up with her a few blocks away. We strolled into town and explored its sleepy streets. Parts were almost like a ghost town. Whole city blocks of old brick and wooden buildings were boarded up and abandoned. None of the churches we passed appealed to Miren, so we found a café open downtown and had a coffee. I held her warm hand under the table and we discussed her father’s temperament. Yes, he was excessively protective toward his daughters and no, he did not regard me with favor. Yes, he had a German Luger concealed in their trailer, and yes, as a veteran of the Spanish Army he knew how to use it. Yes, his restrictions bothered her, but they really bugged her sister, who has been scanning their audiences for cute boys for as long as Miren could remember. Having tried and failed all summer to get Kardos alone, Nerea was thinking seriously of giving up on Hungarian men. Miren feared she might next focus her amorous attentions on me. I told her not to worry, and we exchanged an invigorating coffee-flavored kiss. She looked amazingly desirable dressed for worship in her hand-crocheted head scarf of white lace. Almost like some of the brides that Toby used to escort along the bridal path.

That’s a thought. Except that I’m a fugitive and have no money, I can think of no compelling reason why we shouldn’t run away and get married.

It’s true. When I’m with Miren, I can barely remember what that chick Uma looked like.

10:18 p.m. I’ve been observing Señor Nunez. That dwarf always locks his trailer door when he exits and slips his key ring into his pants pocket. All the clowns change into their costumes in a small “clown alley” tent in the back yard behind the big top. According to Miren, each of them has a trunk in which they stow their street clothes while performing. Señor Nunez secures his trunk with a combination padlock. Presumably, he also locks his key ring inside, since his various costumes have only big floppy pockets for props.

I’ve borrowed a flashlight from the cleaning supplies cabinet. I will now go into maximum stealth mode to see what I can see.

11:31 p.m. I’m back. Pretty quiet out there on the lot. Only person about was Mr. Barker walking his pugs before that final assault on bed and Dorcas. I sneaked into the little tent and located the trunk with the combination padlock. Fortunately, it’s a fairly common brand. I tried my high-school locker combination, but not surprisingly that didn’t work. Still, I think I’ve worked out a plan. It will probably get me arrested or killed, but, hey, it’s a plan.