The Grand Ballast (3 page)

“
Quiet ’less you want to
get beat,” Lein said.

“
Fuck off.” Bode stepped
out of the coffin.

He stumbled from the car on
weak legs. Mr. Lein followed close behind him, stealing a pinch to
his ass. Bode stopped for a fraction of a second, hands clenching
into fists, then forced himself to keep walking.

Oh, Mr. Lein had always
wanted him. Always, always, always. Nursing a gangly sort of lust,
thinking he was quiet about it, unaware his mouth was open in a
hungry restless roar like a panther’s.

The train had five cars,
each motorized and with a closed-off steering compartment at the
front so they could be driven individually. One was the engine. The
second car housed Kilroy’s office and living quarters. The third
car was for Mr. Lein’s personal use when he wasn’t serving as
conductor. That was where he kept his collection of trash—a rat’s
nest, the smell of which permeated the whole train. The fourth was
the coffin car, where the performers slept in their wooden boxes.
The fifth carried equipment and costumes.

Mr. Lein escorted Bode down
the wooden steps, across the grass, and up another set of steps to
Kilroy’s car. From the outside, Kilroy’s looked oldest and most
rickety of all the wagons. But inside it was impressive. Dark wood
interior with brass fixtures. Thick, green velvet curtains, a
mahogany desk. A bed in the corner, and a small, private bathroom
off to one side. A green and gold armorial rug.

Kilroy sat at his desk
doing paperwork. He still used paper, not computers—possibly to add
to the illusion that the Grand Ballast had hurtled in from some
long ago era. There had been few significant advances in technology
over the last few decades. Boredom had salt-pillared even the
boldest innovators, and gadgets were stagnant, their networks and
channels outdated. Even the virtual world had been scavenged to its
messy bones.

“
Thank you, Lein.” Kilroy
spoke without looking up. “I’ll return him when I’m
done.”

Before Mr. Lein turned to
leave, he looked at Bode. Poked his tongue inside one cheek, made a
loose fist near his mouth and moved his tongue and hand back and
forth in unison. Raised his eyebrows, grinned, and left.

Bode waited.

Kilroy put his pen down and
stood, stretching until his knuckles and shoulders popped. On the
desk in front of him was a vase containing a stalk of yellow
empress weed.

Kilroy stood and crossed
the room. “I’ve been thinking it will be good to have you out of
the Haze.” He stopped inches from Bode and stood too close, his
breath moving the fringe that covered Bode’s forehead. He took
Bode’s hands and ran his thumbs over Bode’s knuckles. “I’ve missed
you.”

Bode didn’t speak. There
were ugly accusations he could sic on Kilroy, but none that
wouldn’t turn on him. He kept his hands at his hips, a gunslinger
divested of his pistols, and breathed an imaginary fire that
charred Kilroy’s face and sent him reeling and
clutching.

Kilroy let his smile slip
into an artificial sadness. “You’re starting to remember, and you
hate me. Don’t, though. Because Bode, you
begged
.” He leaned closer. “You used
to hurt so terribly. And sometimes…I think…to remove the soul from
the equation is a salve.”

Always Kilroy had been this
way—stacking words on top of words, making unsteady towers of
rhetoric that gleamed for an instant and then tumbled
clownishly.

“
You loved me,” Bode said.
For an instant, it seemed the most savage accusation he could
make.

“
Mmmm
hm-hm-hmm.” Kilroy pressed his lips together impishly. He clasped
his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. “I
did. I do. I feel
bad.
I see now that I was never quite…” He lowered his
voice to a whisper. “What you wanted.”

For so long, Kilroy had
been
all
Bode had
wanted. And Bode had convinced himself he knew Kilroy in a way no
one else ever would.

“
I feel awfuuul, Bode.”
Kilroy leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Am I a devil, do you
think?”

Bode tipped his head
sideways. “Don’t.” He tried halfheartedly to pull back as Kilroy’s
lips brushed his throat.

“
Please?” Kilroy glanced
up. “I’m so very, very frightened tonight. There are people who
believe I’m nothing. A worm. Am I a worm?”

Bode shook his head slowly.
His hand came up of its own accord to touch Kilroy’s back. “You’re
not a worm.”

Kilroy sighed and rested
his head on Bode’s shoulder. “People poison me…with their
words
.” His voice
ruptured prettily at the end. He rubbed his cheek against Bode’s
shirt and snaked his arms around Bode’s waist. Bode flinched back,
but Kilroy held fast. “I sometimes think you’re the only one who’s
ever been loyal to me.”

And then Bode might as well
have still been in the Haze, because Kilroy released him, walked to
the desk, and turned on the old Cadence player. Played a suite
Bode’s muscles remembered before his mind did. Kilroy took him in
his arms again, and Bode kissed Kilroy in slippery flashes of pain
and grief, until his feet started to move in time with
Kilroy’s.

They were dancing, dancing
and scuffing the rug, and there was no air between them; it was
like drowning.

“
We
haven’t danced in ages.” Kilroy gazed at Bode, his blue eyes dark
and his mouth curved in a smile that looked almost sincere. “It’s
been so long since I’ve shown you any
kindness
.”

It was no kindness now,
Bode knew, but it was a thick lust his memory gorged on. It was the
shine of what had been, the glued-together ghost of what might
always be, as long as the music played.

TO THE DANCE

Then.

Bode entered the Little
Comet Theater and let out the breath he’d been holding. He felt at
ease here in a way he never did when he was out sharing the
sidewalks with vacant-eyed people.

“
Hello,
Bode!” Garland called from the box office. Garland sold tickets and
taught tap class. He looked fiery and sloppy—red hair, pudgy
cheeks, and a liveliness in his expression that countered the
downturned corners of his mouth. Bode was always especially
conscious of his own beauty in front of Garland. Arrogant, he knew,
but he couldn’t help it. He liked his looks, though he did appear a
bit delicate, maybe—nose almost too fine, lips gently curved but
not plump. His eyes were wide and brown; Jessie joked that he
looked like the unwanted dogs in commercials for the animal
relocation center.
“Just ten cents
a day,”
she’d said once,
“and you could make a difference to a pet like
Bode.”

“
Hello,” Bode called back,
slinging his messenger bag into one of the front
lockers.

Garland stepped out of the office. “If I ask
you on a date tonight, will you say yes?”

“
I’m worried you still have
feelings for your right hand.”

“
The hand and I are just
fuck buddies.”

Bode grimaced. “Aw.”

“
Did you just
wince
when I said ‘fuck?”
Garland put a hand on the locker next to Bode’s. It’s a word,
Bode.”

“
It’s gauche.” Bode ducked
under Garland’s arm and headed for the rehearsal studio.

“
You’re gauche,” Garland
called.

Bode grinned. He entered the studio,
slipping off his street shoes. The room was small and cold. The
floorboards creaked, and mold gathered in the corners of the
ceiling no matter how many times Bode got up on the ladder and
cleaned. Still, this was a place of magic—an escape from the dull
and the ordinary, from the people with their nothing-souls. It was
almost impossible not to hear music in here, even when none
played.

Garland entered a moment
later, eating a banana. “You want to know where we’re going on our
date?” he asked around a mouthful.

Bode tossed his jacket over
a chair and checked his reflection briefly in the wall mirror
before facing Garland. “Hit me with it.”

Garland waved the banana.
The peel flopped against his fingers and a phloem stuck to his
thumb. “You hear what’s coming to town?”

“
Tell me.”

“
Vice on Ice. An
X-show.”

Bode made a
face.

“
I thought you’d be
floored.” Garland started pumping his elbows. “Don’t you want to
see a little errrr-rr-rr, errr-rr-rr…?”

Bode walked toward the
mirror, stretching. “X-shows are also gauche.”

“
Bode. Come on.” Garland
followed him to the ballet bar. Looked up at him. “God, you’re
tall. Are you getting taller?”

Bode liked the way Garland
flirted with him. They’d kissed, once—though it had been mostly a
joke, and Garland had been horrified when he’d learned it had been
Bode’s first.
“I’m so sorry. It shouldn't
have been me.”

“
Getting taller just for
you.”

“
Uh-huh. So what do I have
to do to get you to come to the show with me?”

“
Why would I want to watch
people having sex?” He braced for Garland to make fun of him for
saying “having sex” instead of “fucking.”

“
Why
wouldn’t
you?”

“
Because that’s…private.
Besides,” he added quickly. “I’m seeing someone.”

“
Seeing
someone?”

“
Mm. We’re going on a date
tonight, in fact.”

Garland looked unimpressed.
He pulled the banana string from his thumb, no longer looking at
Bode. “Is it that man who came to a couple of our
performances?”

“
Maaaaybe.” Bode stretched
slowly, breathing out.

“
He was handsome, in an
evil doctor kind of way.” Garland pinched the bottom of the banana,
turning the last bite to mush and then squeezing it into his mouth.
He swallowed and smacked his lips. “Well, invite him
along.”

“
Never.” Bode couldn’t
imagine a man as elegant as Kilroy Ballast wanting to watch trash
like that.

“
Why? It’ll get him in the
mood.”

“
We don’t do
that!”

“
Of
course you don’t, you sweet little boy. What is it, roses?
Chocolate?
Spooning
?”

Bode laughed, stretching
the other side. “What’s wrong with spooning?”

“
Nothing. Unless
you—”

They were interrupted by a
cry from one of the smaller rehearsal rooms down the
hall.

Bode reached the room
first. A sixteen-year-old student named Danielle Hendrix sat in a
plastic folding chair, clutching her phone in one hand. She was
sobbing. Another student hung back, looking uncomfortable. A third
girl had a hand on Danielle’s shoulder.

The students all looked at
Bode and Garland.

“
What’s wrong?” Garland
asked.

“
Danielle—” the third girl
began. She had a dark bun and large eyes fringed with
mascara-clumped lashes. “Um, her parents are divorcing.”

The other girl whacked her
shoulder. “Don’t
tell
him. That’s Danielle’s business.”

Danielle dropped her phone
and sobbed into her hands.

“
Oh
my
,” Garland whispered to Bode. “Melodramatic much?”

Bode ignored him. He walked
up to Danielle and sat in the chair beside her. The other two
students left the room quietly. “Hey,” Bode said. “I’m sorry to
hear about your parents.” He vaguely remembered Danielle’s mother
and father. They’d come to the revue opening night, and to a couple
of other Little Comet shows. Danielle’s mother was very tall, and
her father always looked like he was watching a hypnotist’s
pendulum—his eyes moving back and forth, his mouth hanging
open.

“
I don’t
know why I even
care
.” Danielle’s anguish hurt to
hear. “N-nobody f-f-f-falls in love anymore. But they
did
. They
were
.”

Bode nearly understood. His
own parents had once appeared to feel a clipped, efficient
affection for each other. They were kind, but not passionate.
Knowledgeable about each other’s histories and habits without ever
having learned each other’s hearts. And now…

Bode thought of
marbles.

“
I know
it’s wrong,” Danielle went on, “but I wish they could
just
pretend
. I liked that they were different. I liked thinking love
was—love was real, and it could last.”

“
It is.” Bode spoke without
thinking. “It can.”

He remembered taking the
flowers from Kilroy. He’d felt a sweet, soft jolt that had seemed
to wake him, mind and soul. What did he know of love? Not much. But
he wanted to know everything. Wanted to grab greedy handfuls of
every notion of love that had ever existed in the world, and let
the excess pour through his fingers like sand, leaving grains of
truth in a small pyramid.