Teen Angel (12 page)

“Shhh,” Miguel whispered.

They listened at the door until they heard D.B. walk away. Then Steve pulled Miguel’s leg and crawled up to look into his eyes, his tongue wagging. “Jayne, for a roll in the hay, I’d die today. Do you hear me? Right here. That’s poetry!”

Ruben turned and poked Miguel in the ribs. “Hey, does she let you do it to her?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. Does D.B. give you anything besides a case of blue balls?”

“Enough,” Miguel said, staring into the magazine.

“She’s the only one with anything besides Kleenex in her bra,” Steve said appreciatively. “Would you believe Mary was wearing a bra. I was just kidding, so I did a Robin Hood and pulled the back of her shirt. Well, I’ll be a roach’s jockstrap-ping! She had an over-shoulder-boulder-holder!”

“Strictly two mili-fingerfuls,” Ruben said.

“The Gooch has a fine ass though,” Steve continued. “She’d be okay from the back. Or she’d make one hell of a pillow fuck. The bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’ …”

Steve had hardly finished when Ruben’s fist skimmed his mouth and landed on his nose. A trickle of blood formed under his left nostril.

“Say what’s the idea, man?” Steve wiped his nose with his hand.

“I don’t like you talking like that.”

“Cool it,” Miguel said. “You don’t have to get all hot and bothered.”

“Why don’t we split from here.” Ruben stood up.

Steve took another swig of tequila.

“Maybe the party’s moving already.” Miguel stood up too.

“We are the party,” Steve said, gulping down the tequila.

“You
are
mentally retarded,” Ruben said, shaking his head. “Sorry about before. Are you okay?”

“HEY, YOU GUYS!” Mary called, banging on the door. “THOMEONE AROUND HERE HAS TO GO!”

They all looked at one another and tried to control their laughter. “Shut up, you asshole,” Ruben whispered. Mary left.

They lined up in front of the mirror. As Steve applied dots of Clearasil on his pimples, Ruben teased, “Too much self-abuse.” He shaped his pompadour like it was a Carvel sundae with a maraschino cherry balanced dangerously on top.

“Hey, anyone got a rubber? Just in case …” Steve whispered as they walked back to Crystal’s bedroom.

“The only rubber you’ll need is a sheet for your mouth. Did you bring the booze?” Ruben bent over and adjusted the blade in his right boot.

“What’ve you all been doing? Giving each other blowjobs?” the Gooch said.

“Why don’t you get a nose job,” Steve answered.

Dot played “In the Still of the Night.” Ruben and Miguel lined up and began, “Shaddup and shove it up, oo oo, shaddup and shove it up …”

“In the still,” Steve sang solo, “of the night … when I held you so tight …”

“Shaddup and shove it up, shaddup and shove it up …” Ruben and Miguel continued harmonizing.

When the record ended, the Gooch stood up. “Hey Rube, let’s dance. A slow one, okay?” she said to Dot.

“The Ten Commandments of Love.” Dot played the slowest song known to man.
Shit
.

“Hey, Rube,” she called. He joined her and she stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around his neck, proceeding to grind so hard it looked like they might scrape each other’s pelvises off. And she blew in his ear and played with his hair. Sonny turned to look out the window. D.B. and Miguel joined them, and even though the song hit a beat every half hour, D.B. waved her arms and shook her ass like she was doing some interpretive dance. Miguel held on tight for the ride.

“Who’s got the tequila?” Steve asked. Mary passed it to him. He took a sip and for a moment his face contorted with pain. “Great stuff.”

“I’ll have some of that,” Miguel said, trying to grab the bottle and hold D.B. at the same time.

“Just a minute, grub.” Steve took another torturous sip.

“Great party,” Sonny remarked as she counted flowers on the curtains. “Did you hear about the two queer judges who tried each other?”

Steve groaned. When the song ended, Ruben joined Steve on the windowsill.

“How about playing Thpin the Bottle?” Mary suggested.

“Yuck,” Steve said, looking at Dot and not trusting chance. “Postman is better.”

“You people,” D.B. cried, “are too much. The only game worth anything is Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“What’s that?”

“You go into another room and call whoever you want in there with you. Then you have to stay there for seven minutes and, well, you know, and then the other person calls someone in.”

“Thome game.”

“You can do that on your own time.”

“Postman sounds good.”

“Who’ll be the Postman?”

“How about Dot?” Steve volunteered.

“Uh uh,” she said. “I have to change the records.”

“We don’t need music for this game. Come on, don’t be a party pooper.”

“Every party needs a pooper that’s why we invited you, party pooper, party pooper …”

“Okay, what do I have to do?”

“Someone goes into the other room and they call the Postman, who has to deliver a letter to the person that person wants,” D.B. began.

“Like, say I go in,” the Gooch interrupted, “and I have a letter for Ruben. You call him. Then, when we’ve finished, he stays in the room and calls the Postman so he can send a letter.”

The words spun in Dot’s brain like a sea of alphabet soup that threatened to drown her. “But where’s the letter?”

“Listen, Dot, it’s real simple. Just do it.”

“Who’s the first sender?”

“Not me.”

“Forget about it.”

“You must be kidding.”

“I’m the Postman.”

“Come on, this is ridiculous,” D.B. said. “How about one of you guys. Steve?”

“Sure.” He staggered out of the room. The first thing Steve saw when he walked into Crystal’s parents’ bedroom was a large crucifix of Christ dripping what looked like blobs of ketchup when too much came out on a cheeseburger. It hung over the double bed. “And don’t mess anything up in there,” Mary called after him.

“Dot, go ask Steve who he has a letter for.”

“I still don’t get it,” she repeated as she lumbered out of the room, looking regretfully at her stack of records.

“Spastic,” the Gooch said after she left. Then no one said anything.

“I have a letter for the Gooch,” Steve whispered to Dot.

Dot returned to Crystal’s room and pointed to the Gooch. “Oh, gross,” she said but stood up and followed Dot out of the room. When she entered the bedroom, Steve closed the door behind her.

“Okay, let’s get this thing over with,” she said, sitting down on the bed.

Steve grabbed her and they began to make out. The Gooch did not resist him but said, “God, you smell like a brewery.” Steve wanted a repeat performance but she wasn’t into it. She pecked him back on the lips and loosened herself from his hold.

“I have a letter for Rube,” she called to Dot. “Bye bye,” she said. Steve used the walls to help him walk back down the hallway to Crystal’s room.

Dot called Ruben, who stood up and followed her. When he opened the door, he found the Gooch lying on the bed. “Hi,” she said.

Ruben nodded to her.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” she said. “You haven’t been coming around lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said sullenly.

“You got a thing for Sonny?”

“Come here.”

“She ain’t gonna live to enjoy it,” the Gooch said.

Ruben kissed her and then grabbed her by the hair. “You better not touch her. You understand?”

She looked at him. “Fuck you,” she said as she slammed the door behind her. Dot followed her in and called, “Sonny.”

Shyly, she opened the door. Ruben was recombing his pompadour.

“So what are we supposed to do in here anyway?” Sonny asked, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“As if you didn’t know,” he said, taking her in his arms.

“Okay, let’s make this short and sweet,” Sonny said, her arms still crossed.

“I don’t believe this,” Ruben said. “Do we have to play this stupid game again? Why don’t you take your jacket off anyway?”

“Because I like it this way.”

Ruben forced her arms apart and then placed each one around his neck. “That’s a good girl,” he said. Then he kissed her squarely on the lips which, the third time around, she returned. That was when Dot knocked on the door. She gave Ruben a final, quick kiss.

“Postman,” Sonny said to Dot after Ruben returned to the other room. “I have a special delivery letter for D.B.”

Dot looked curiously at Sonny but went into Crystal’s room. “Special delivery for D.B.,” she announced.

D.B. shook her head but followed after Dot.

“I don’t know why,” Dot said, “but she told me to call you in.”

“What’s the big idea?” D.B. said, closing the door behind her. “You’re supposed to call in a guy.”

“I didn’t know who to call in. Besides, I wanted to ask you
something,” Sonny said. “Can you tell?” She unzipped her jacket.

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to know if you can tell?”

“What?”

“You know,” she said sheepishly. “The bra …”

“Sonny, you are too much. I don’t believe you.”

“These scarves make me itch.”

“Then take them out.”

“And have potholes where my boobs are supposed to be?”

“Look, I don’t know … You really can’t tell. I promise. Okay?”

“I feel as if Ruben keeps looking and he knows it’s a big fake. He wanted me to take my jacket off.”

“Well, it does look pretty stupid wearing your jacket inside. Why don’t you either take the bra off or shut up about it,” D.B. said in a voice that meant the subject was closed. “I have a letter for Miguel.”

“One more thing,” Sonny stalled. “Okay? Mary said you can’t get pregnant if you give a guy a blowjob first. That way you can go all the way?”

“That’s total bullshit,” D.B. said. “Probably some guy who didn’t have a bag told her that. A letter for Miguel Tell Dot, okay?”

“One more thing …” She opened the door and then closed it again. “Are you still my best friend?”

“Of course,” D.B. said impatiently.

“Well, sometimes you don’t act like it.”

“Sonny, I don’t want to talk about it now. Miguel, okay?”

“Okay.” She walked into Crystal’s room with Dot. Miguel stood up and walked out like he was just made school valedictorian.

“How’s it going?” he asked D.B.

He sat down next to her on the bed, and they only came up for air when they absolutely had to.

“Time.” Dot knocked on the door.

Miguel was breathless. His pompadour had fallen like a house of cards. “You’re beautiful,” he said, trying to kiss her again.

“Who are you going to call in now?” D.B. asked jealously.

“Who should I call in?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“I don’t know who,” he said desperately. “You won’t be angry?”

After D.B. left, he opened the door and said, “I have a letter for the Postman.”

“That’s not allowed,” Dot said.

“Who said so?”

“It’s against the rules.”

“No, it’s not. Go inside and ask.”

Dot ran into Crystal’s bedroom. “Is the Postman allowed to receive a letter? Miguel says so.”

“Nah,” the Gooch said impatiently.

“Why not?” D.B. protested.

“Sure, the Postman can receive a letter,” Steve said, grinning. “But then the Postman has to call someone in, too.”

Dot walked in as Miguel was fixing his hair. He came over to her and tried to think of something nice to say. “You know, Dot, you have the best record collection I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?” Dot beamed with pleasure.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Maybe you should be on the radio. You know, like Cousin Brucie.” He took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. “You’re okay,” he said. “Who do you have a letter for?”

Dot was too dazed to answer but Ruben’s name escaped from her lips.

Miguel pointed to Ruben. Steve groaned, then took another sip of tequila. Sonny punched him in the arm, making him spit out the liquor all over himself.

Ruben knocked on the door. Dot was looking out the window.
“I didn’t know who else to call in,” she stammered. “I hope you don’t mind … It’s just that I didn’t know …”

“Come over here,” Ruben said. He took her in his arms and kissed her. They could hear the apartment door slam but did not stir. “It must be Crystal,” Ruben whispered. Dot kept her arms locked around his neck. Her eyes were closed tight, as if she were making a wish. Ruben gave her one more kiss for the road.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

Crystal’s six-foot-five-gas-pumping-maniac-of-a-brother, Robert, kicked open the bedroom door. “How did you get in here?” he screamed at Dot and Ruben. “I saw all the lights on from the street …” He ran into Crystal’s room. Miguel and D.B. were making out. Mary was sharing a cigarette with the Gooch while Steve sipped the tequila, saliva dribbling out of his mouth. Sonny was changing a record.

“MOTHER OF CHRIST!” Robert rushed back to his parents’ bedroom and grabbed Dot by the arm. He dragged her back into Crystal’s room like King Kong, with Ruben following behind. “I saw the lights on …” he repeated.

“I didn’t do anything,” Dot whined. “Let go of my arm.” Robert’s fingers left five red spots just above Dot’s wrist. She cowered away to sit by Sonny next to her records. “That hurt,” she whispered, rubbing her arm.

“You thee, Crythal thaid we could come over and–” Mary began, lisping more than usual because she was terrified.

“WHAT? WHAT?” He wore a black leather band around his wrist. His eyes darted madly from one person to another.

“Crystal invited us so we came,” the Gooch said.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded.

“Crythal gave uth the key tho–”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS LITTLE
GIRL TRYING TO
SAY?” Robert grabbed Steve by the collar.

“Leggo, man,” Steve said drunkenly, pushing Robert away.

“Listen,” he threatened, “this is my house. You dig? So don’t push anyone around here.”

D.B. climbed off the bed, running her fingers through her hair. “Well, I guess we better be splitting, you all …”

“Not so fast,” Robert said, staring at her partially unbuttoned shirt. Quickly, she buttoned it.