Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp (39 page)

Finally, at 4:45 I announced I had caught Mr. Rogavere’s migraine and hastily departed before anyone could object. In the library’s ornate, pseudo-Gothic reading room, I found the beautiful Apurva bent industriously over her homework.

“Good afternoon, Nick. I was afraid you weren’t coming. What do you know about algebra?”

“What don’t I know about algebra is a better question,” I replied, quickly solving for two unknowns and correcting several glaring errors on her worksheet. Her numbers, though incorrect, were decorated charmingly with many cursive loops.

Clearly Apurva was impressed. “Thank you, Nick. I’m afraid I have very little aptitude for this subject. Vijay is the mathematician in the family. I dislike asking him for help, however; he adopts such a supercilious manner.”

“I’ll help you anytime you like, as humbly as I can,” I said, inhaling her delicious scent. She smelled of sandalwood and blackboard chalk.

“Thank you, Nick. You are too kind. How are you enjoying school?”

“It’s OK. No worse than lingering paralysis. How’s your school?”

“Quite stimulating. It’s much better now that the other students are beginning to accept me. It was difficult when I first arrived.”

“You don’t mind that it’s only for chicks, I mean, women?”

“No. I’m used to it. I went to a girls’ school in India, you see. I prefer it, in fact. You get a much better education at a sex-segregated school. Boys are too much of a distraction in the classroom. Of course, after class they can be quite pleasant to have around. I was fortunate to meet Trent here in this library. We have a mutual interest in poetry. I was even more fortunate when you came along last summer and took Sheeni away from him. You did not know it at the time, but you had a very grateful unknown friend in Ukiah. How surprised I was when Vijay announced he had met you.”

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for keeping Trent occupied so well,” I said. “Though I wish I could feel more sanguine about his suitability for friendship.”

“What do you mean, Nick?” she asked in surprise.

“I happen to know that he has been making false statements about Sheeni.”

“What sort of false statements?”

“Libelous ones, I regret to say,” I replied. “He has cast aspersions upon her morals.”

Apurva bristled. “From what I understand, her conduct has indeed merited censure. And believe me, I have not heard the full story of her misdeeds. Trent has been remarkably discreet. I will not hear him maligned on this matter. His conduct has been above reproach. It is your friend, Nick, whose character should be scrutinized.”

“Well,” I said, taken aback, “clearly we have a difference of opinion here.”

“Yes, we do,” she said, calming down. “And I suppose it is likely to persist. We are both in love, Nick. No doubt our feelings rule our judgment. But let us agree to disagree. We can still be friends and work toward our common interests.”

“You mean blasting those two out of Santa Cruz?” I asked.

“Yes. The last letter from Trent that escaped Father’s detection was devoted almost entirely to encomiums to windsurfing. The ocean is proving a decidedly bad influence. Trent is neglecting his poetry. He must return inland—before his mind suffers permanent damage.”

“Sheeni is befriending farm boys from Iowa,” I said. “She talks of nothing but Holsteins and hybrid corn. I must bring her back so that she may resume her intellectual life.”

“I have a plan,” whispered Apurva, leaning closer.

I leaned forward also. I liked the way soft round forms swelled beneath her clothing. “What is your plan?” I asked.

“We must make them jealous, Nick. We must pretend to be having a torrid affair. I know Trent will come back to me if he believes there is strong competition here. Especially if his rival is someone who has bested him once already.”

“That is an excellent plan,” I said enthusiastically. “Just last night Sheeni was telling me she wished you were not quite so attractive. I’m sure she will be terribly jealous.”

I wasn’t sure at all, of course. But I liked the idea of having an affair with Apurva, even if one of us was only pretending.

“There is just one problem,” she added.

“What’s that, darling?” asked the now unleashed François. Conducting torrid affairs was his field of special expertise.

“Well, love of my life,” she replied coquettishly, “we must have our wild, passionate, public affair without my father finding out. He’ll murder you.”

I gulped. “Literally?”

“Perhaps not. But I don’t want to find out. Do you?”

“No, darling. We must keep your father in the dark. At all costs.”

9:30
P.M
. Another pleasant evening in the bosom of my family. Lacey is sulking in her bedchamber. Dad is fuming in his bedroom. Mr. Ferguson is soaking his inflamed toe in front of the TV. I am in my room coping with a sudden attack of Persistent Erection Syndrome. I have administered three treatments to my nagging T.E. and each time it springs back for more. I am attributing this sudden libido inflammation to lingering Apurva enchantment in confluence with the full moon. Or perhaps Mrs. Crampton is putting aphrodisiacs in the chicken stew in hopes of prodding Lacey back into Dad’s bed.

During dinner Dad hit Lacey with a $45-a-month rent increase. He had worked out all the figures on paper based on square footage of occupied floor space and hot water consumption. His girlfriend responded by tossing down her fork and instructing him to do something unpleasant with his calculator, his clipboard, and his modular home.

Just as the shouting was tapering off, the phone rang. Dad took the call and listened with an odd, quizzical expression while the handset squawked nonstop for five minutes. Finally Dad said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t call here again.” He slammed down the phone and looked at me accusingly. “You know some girl named Sheeni?”

“I think so,” I said noncommittally. “The name sounds familiar.”

“That was her father,” said Dad. “He was yelling about you corrupting her or something. What’s all that about?”

“He’s a nut case, Dad. It’s a real sad story—in and out of institutions, psychotic episodes, wearing women’s clothes. His new medication is working great, but he has bad relapses during full moons.”

“Well, stay away from the whole lot of them,” instructed Dad. “We don’t need any more wackos around here.”

You can say that again.

I realize now there is much to be said for parents who are indifferent to your welfare. Sure, they don’t take much of an interest in you, but they don’t snoop too deeply when the shit hits the fan either.

TUESDAY, October 23
— A strange day and getting stranger. Sheeni called me collect before breakfast:

“Nickie, why didn’t you tell me about Albert?” she asked brightly.

“Oh, you found out about that, huh?” I said, fighting panic. “It wasn’t my fault, Sheeni! I really tried to take good care of that dog.”

“Don’t worry, Nick. It’s all turned out fine anyway.” She seemed remarkably cheerful considering the circumstances.

“So you’re not upset, Sheeni?”

“No, darling. I’m delighted, in fact.”

Had I uncovered a new, unanticipated strain of ghoulish sadism in my love? Or was this simply extreme sarcasm brought on by shock?

Sheeni went on, “When did Albert disappear, Nick?”

An odd euphemism, I thought. “He, uh, disappeared early Sunday morning. But don’t worry, he didn’t suffer.”

“Well, I’m sure he must have suffered a little,” she said happily.

“Well, possibly. We’ll never know for sure.”

“I hope you haven’t gone to the trouble of putting an ad in the newspaper for him.”

“No. We had a simple ceremony. Just the immediate family.” “Nickie, what are you talking about?” “Uh, what are you talking about, Sheeni?”

“Albert, of course. He’s here, Nickie. He turned up on our doorstep last night. The darling dog slept the night on my bed!”

I knocked the phone receiver against the wall. “Bad reception here, Sheeni. What did you say?”

“I said Albert is here. He walked all those miles just to see me. Wasn’t that sweet? Although, come to think of it, if he left there on Sunday, he must have gotten a ride or two along the way. Still, it’s quite miraculous.”

I’ll say it is. “Are you sure it’s Albert, Sheeni?”

“Of course, I know my own dog. Admit it, Nickie, Albert is not there with you.”

“Uh, no. Actually, he’s not.”

“Well, he will be there shortly. The matron says he absolutely must go today. That sad girl Bernice Lynch is allergic to dogs. So I’m putting him on the bus. You may pick him up at the station late tonight.”

“OK, Sheeni. Will do.”

“Nickie, you have to promise me you’ll be nicer to Albert. I can sense he was not really happy living with you.”

“OK, Sheeni. I’ll treat him like a prince.”

“Do that, Nickie. He has very high expectations. As do I.”

“Yes, Sheeni, I know.”

“The shipping is going to be $42, Nickie. I’m sending him express.”

“OK, Sheeni. I’ll send you a check.”

So Albert has a twin in Santa Cruz. Thank God Sheeni found him. What’s a mere $42 for the safe return of our love child? Things are looking up!

5:30 P.M. Well, maybe not. I came home from work to find Lacey and Sheeni’s brother Paul sipping herbal tea together in the dining room.

“Oh, hello, Paul,” I said, surprised.

“Hi, Nick,” he replied. “Sorry your plan didn’t work out.”

“I’m working on a new one.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Who’s very beautiful?” asked Lacey.

“Nick’s friend from India,” answered the ever-omniscient Paul.

“Oh, I know her,” said Lacey. “She is lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you,” said Paul, sipping his tea.

Lacey smiled and looked over at me. “Nick, Paul brought us a surprise. Go look in the living room.”

I peered through the doorway. A small black ugly dog looked up from a bone he was chewing on the couch. I had met that gaze of canine contempt before. Albert had returned.

“It’s your dog, Nick!” said Lacey. “He didn’t die.”

“But, but I buried him,” I protested.

“Well, he must just have been stunned or something,” she said. “Then he revived and dug his way out.”

From three feet down?

“Uh, Paul, did you by any chance find him near the bus station?” I asked.

“No, Nick. He was sitting on our back porch this morning. Mom pitched a fit when she saw him. So I brought him back.” He smiled at Lacey. “And I’m glad I did too.”

Lacey returned his smile. “Nick, Paul has his own jazz combo. I’m going to go hear him play Friday night. Would you like to come?”

I gave the desired reply. “No, I have plans that night, Lacey. You’ll have to go by yourself.”

“OK,” she said happily. “Where’s your father, Nick?”

“He stopped at the hospital to get his stitches yanked out.”

“Good,” she said. “I hope they do it without anesthetics. Paul, could I offer you anything? More tea?”

“Of course,” he replied, flashing me a lascivious wink.

7:30
P.M
. Dwayne was overjoyed to see his exhumed rental dog. Nevertheless, he immediately demanded a refund of all paid-in purgatory fees.

“Sorry,” I said, “I already mailed your money to God.”

“How do I get it back?” he demanded.

“Pray,” I replied.

9:30
P.M
. We just received a disturbing call. It was Greyhound Package Express telling us to come down and pick up our dog.

10:15
P.M
. We’re back. Albert II has just been introduced to Albert I. They don’t seem to like each other. I don’t blame them. Everyone is confused. Dad is coping with the muddle by yelling profanities at me. Why couldn’t Sheeni have liked cats? Or better yet, rabbits? When you have a surplus of them, you can always eat one.

WEDNESDAY, October 24
— The phone rang again before breakfast.

“Nickie, this is your mother.”

“Oh. Hi, Mom. What’s up? Are you getting a divorce yet?”

“Don’t be smart. Lance and I are very happy. I called about your dog.”

“What about him?” I asked ominously.

“He’s here. He showed up yesterday. I can’t keep him. Lance hates dogs.”

“It’s not my dog, Mom. My dog is right here.”

Dogs I and II were on opposite sides of the kitchen growling at each other.

“Don’t be silly, Nickie. I know that dog. He was perfectly friendly. He walked right in and went to sleep in his old bed in Jerry’s Chevy. I’m sending him back to you.”

“Don’t send him, Mom!” I implored. “We have too many already.”

“Nickie, you’re not talking sense. I already sent Lance down to the bus station with him. You can pick him up this afternoon.”

“Great! Thanks a pantsful, Mom.”

“Don’t speak to me like that, young man. I’m still your mother. That reminds me, I want you to send me a sample of your fingerprints.”

“Why?” I demanded. It did not seem like a particularly motherly request to me.

“Lance needs them for his burglary investigation. He’s found lots of prints, but he wants yours so he can eliminate them. Don’t worry, Nick. He’s already fingerprinted me.”

“Sounds like the honeymoon is over, Mom,” I said.

“Watch your smart mouth!”

I’ve heard that line before.

More bad news. At lunch, Fuzzy and Vijay nixed my canine adoption proposal.

“But it’d be cool,” I pointed out. “We’d all have matching pets.”

“Mom won’t let me have one,” said Fuzzy. “She’s afraid it’d give me fleas. Besides, I don’t want a little rat dog. I want something cool like a Doberman.”

“My parents are philosophically opposed to animals kept as pets,” said Vijay. “Or so they insist. Actually I think it’s just their Brahman prejudice against unclean beasts. Why don’t you put an advertisement in the newspaper to give away your surplus dogs?”

“I’d rather find homes for them with people I know,” I replied. “That way, if mine croaks again, I’ll still have two in reserve for backup. I need this dog. My relationship with Sheeni depends on it.”

“Is that so?” murmured Vijay pensively.