Flavor of the Month

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Neil took a gulp, then put his glass back down. “I mean it, Mary Jane. Come with me now. I could buy a ticket on my credit card, and we’ll be gone. Just do it.”

  Mary Jane shifted in her seat. “I can’t do it, Neil. You know that.”

  “I love you,” Neil said. “Now that you’ve split from Sam, I can say so. I love you. I dream of you almost every night. I want to touch you all the time. I want to take care of you.”

  Mary Jane felt the tightening in her chest. Oh, good Christ, it was too much. It was impossible. And, in a way, insulting. A cosmic message: Sam was too good for you; this clown is all you get. But Neil wasn’t just a clown. He was her friend. She looked over at him and saw his pain. “Neil, I thought…I thought we were just good friends. I didn’t know.” She began to cry. “I’m so sorry, Neil.”

  “If you won’t do it for me,” Neil said, “then do it for yourself. You have a unique talent, Mary Jane. You could get work out there.”

  She tried to get control of herself, mopping her eyes with the damp cocktail napkin. “Neil, if I didn’t get cast in the movie version of Jack and Jill and Compromise when I’d originated the role on the stage, I’m never going to get a role in the movies. Jack and Jill and Compromise was my only chance. I know that now.” She saw Neil’s face fall, the dejection causing his eyes to turn down at the corners. His sadness was more than she could bear. She didn’t want him to leave New York so glum. And she prayed he didn’t feel about her what she felt for Sam. “Hey, Neil,” Mary Jane said. “What time is it when your best friend dresses like your fantasy?”

  Neil tried to smile, but didn’t answer.

  “Time to get out of town,” Mary Jane said, and patted his hand.

  Neil sighed. “Okay,” he said. “So I get out of town. What about you?”

  “What about me?” Mary Jane asked. “I have the theater group, I have friends. I don’t know, maybe one of these days I’ll even get another successful play. And when Sam comes back…”

  “Forget Sam.”

  “Don’t, Neil. I’ve asked you before.” Mary Jane felt her color rise. They paused, looking intently at each other as they listened to the boarding announcement on the public-address system. “That’s your flight,” she said, and was grateful that this scene was ending.

  Neil picked up his carry-on bag from the seat next to him. Without looking up, he said, “Forget Sam, Mary Jane. He was never good enough for you. He was just a nice tall body and perhaps a dick the size of his ego. And he stuck it into anything that walked.”

  Mary Jane got up quickly. “This isn’t the time or the place, Neil. I didn’t want to hear this.” She began to walk toward the exit.

  “I’m sorry, Mary Jane,” Neil said as he caught up to her. They stood in silence next to the security desk leading to the boarding gates. Neil dropped his bag and turned Mary Jane around by the arms to face him. “I do love you, Mary Jane. But I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t tell you what I think. I don’t dislike Sam because he’s with you. I dislike him because he uses people, and he’s used you. His play would have folded in a minute, just like his other plays, if your talent hadn’t held it together. And I think, Mary Jane, that you just fell for a pretty face. Don’t be shallow. I’m not so great to look at, but I think you ought to look twice.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.” Mary Jane looked intently into Neil’s eyes. “Goodbye, Neil, and good luck.” Mary Jane turned and began to walk away, choking back the tears of sadness and anger.

  But Neil pulled Mary Jane toward him again and hugged her. “I won’t ever forget you, Mary Jane,” he said, then kissed her on the lips. It was a real kiss, his tongue darting into her mouth, his lips wet against her dry ones.

  Mary Jane froze.

  Neil let her go, then picked up his bag. “Am I still a frog, or have you turned me into a prince?” he asked, his voice hard.

  “You’ve always been a prince to me,” she told him.

  “That’s the first lie you ever told me,” he said. “You know what? I’m tired of playing a supporting role in your life. I’m ready for the lead. Why is it that I called you ‘Veronica’ but you never once called me ‘Archie’? It was always ‘Jughead.’ Sure, Jughead had the lines, but Archie got the girls. I could see you as Veronica, Mary Jane, but not once, not once could you look past the surface and see me as Archie. Every time you called me ‘Jughead,’ it hurt. Every single time. Well, I’m sick of that role. I’m trying out for Archie’s part. And if I’ve failed the audition, fuck you!” Then he turned, walked up to the security desk and dropped his bag on the conveyor belt, moving through the security check. He didn’t look back.

  In just another moment, he was gone.

  Mary Jane stood at the curb outside the terminal, waiting for the Carey bus that would take her back to the city. She dabbed at her eyes with a tattered tissue, then dropped it into the trash barrel beside her. She looked up and saw the bus pull into the pickup lane. She turned back to the trash barrel, took off the stupid charm bracelet and pin, and dropped them in, too, then boarded the bus without looking back.

  When she got back to her apartment, Midnight greeted her, along with a yellow Western Union envelope. What fresh hell is this? she wondered, and tore it open. Am I being evicted, or has the IRS decided to audit penniless actresses this week? She pulled out the message.

  YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIED THIS A.M. PLEASE COME TO ELMIRA NO LATER THAN TOMORROW TO MAKE ARRANGEMENTS. PLEASE CALL ASAP. EDWARD ROBINSON. ROBINSON’S FUNERAL HOME.

  Mary Jane stared at the message. Her grandmother was dead. After all those false alarms and miserable complaints, when Mary Jane had finally decided to ignore the old woman just for once, then the old woman dies. Tearless, profoundly tired, Mary Jane stared at the slip of paper. Her grandmother was dead.

  And, with a pull deep in her gut, Mary Jane realized that she envied her.

  14

  Sharleen’s fear had begun to recede, lulled by the comforts of Dobe’s car and the easy living. And, she thought, if the police were looking for her and Dean, they wouldn’t be lookin’ for a family. Together, the three of them did look like a family. It was pleasant in the car. Dobe told funny stories, and Dean kept them busy with license plates. “Look! There’s an Oklahoma. ‘Oklahoma is O.K.,’” he read off the tag.

  “Never struck me that way,” Sharleen said.

  “Well, at least they’re not making exaggerated claims,” Dobe said mildly. “Not like Louisiana.”

  “Sportsman’s paradise!” Dean told him proudly.

  “Depends on what you consider sport,” Dobe said grimly.

  They stopped in gas stations, and each time Dobe filled up with water, sold a dozen pills or so, and they moved on. They spent more than a week in Arizona, then moved up to Nevada. And at each state line they crossed, Sharleen said a prayer and drew a deeper breath than she’d been able to breathe before.

  That night, in yet another motel, this one outside Carson City, Nevada, Sharleen knelt in prayer and thanked the Lord for all the blessings He sent her way, and for His help in taking care of her and Dean. And she thanked Him again for Dobe, who was a gentleman and a Christian. As always, she prayed for the souls of Boyd and her daddy then. Sharleen stood up and walked to the night table, opening the drawer. Again there was a Bible. God must be leading them. But she was starting to think there might be a Bible in every motel room, just like there were towels and soap. She walked to the bathroom door, knocked, and called in to Dean.

  “They got another Bible here, Dean. Almost ready?”

  “What are you going to read tonight?” Dean asked from behind the door.

  Sharleen took the black-covered book and put it aside. “I like reading from Momma’s,” she said, as she placed the motel’s Bible back into the drawer of the nightstand, picking up their mother’s tattered copy instead. “I don’t know just yet, Dean. You know I like to open it without any plan, and just let the Lord and Momma give us their message.”

  From
the time Dobe had spoken to her about Dean, she had been mulling over what he had said. The lie that Dean wasn’t her brother troubled her, but not as much as the fact that he was her boyfriend. And her half-brother. It all seemed so complicated. Dean in many ways was like a child, but he also was her protector. She took care of him, but she needed him, too. He was her family. At home in Lamson, she could keep the problem out of her mind. On the road, their relationship troubled her far more.

  Dean came out of the bathroom. “Read me the one about Daniel with the lion again, Sharleen. I like that part. I don’t understand some of the other stuff.”

  Sharleen sat at the edge of the bed. Dean was sprawled the length of it, wearing only his jockey shorts. He had his eyes closed, his hands behind his head, and a small, peaceful smile on his lips. Sharleen looked down at him, marveling as usual at his beauty and the perfection of his body. He reminded her of an angel, a frightened, gentle, loving angel, and it was her responsibility to take care of him, to see that his gentleness and beauty would not be destroyed by the harshness of life. Sharleen knew she wasn’t too smart herself, but at least she was smart enough to make sure that they both got along without getting in too much trouble with some of the wicked people that roam the earth.

  Sharleen flipped the pages of their mother’s dog-eared Bible, then stopped and opened to a page. “Tonight’s reading, Dean, is from Deuteronomy, chapter ten, verse nine. This is in the Old Testament, Dean, before Jesus was born.” Sharleen looked closer at the passage, and saw that the scripture she had chosen had been marked in pencil by their mother, as many had. “Dean, guess what! Momma liked this passage, too, and marked it. So let’s see what she’s telling us from the Lord.”

  Sharleen leaned back on the bed’s headboard, the Bible opened on her lap. As she settled in, Dean turned his face toward her, rested his forehead against her thigh, and threw one hand across her legs. He kept his eyes closed.

  “This is the place Momma marked,” Sharleen told Dean. “‘Wherefore Levi hath no part nor inheritance with his brethren; the Lord is his inheritance, according as the Lord thy God promised him.’”

  Sharleen closed the book slowly, holding a finger in it to keep her place. “Levi hath no part…with his brethren.” She thought of Dobe’s advice to her about Dean, of her shame, and she got gooseflesh all up her arms.

  “Go on, Sharleen. It sounds real pretty.”

  “Dean,” she said very gently. “This is a message from Momma.”

  “She says things in her book so pretty, Sharleen.”

  “Momma is telling us something, Dean. Sit up and listen.”

  Dean opened his eyes and pulled himself up to a sitting position, also using the headboard for support. “I can’t understand what Momma tells us in the book, Sharleen. She don’t talk like she used to back home.”

  “These aren’t Momma’s words exactly, Dean. These are the words of God. Momma just tells us where to look in the book. And tonight she told us to look at these words because they tell us something. Something very important. It says Levi has no part with his brother.”

  “Only Levi I know is dungarees. What do you mean, Sharleen? Who’s Levi?” Dean asked.

  “It don’t matter who he is. He just ain’t supposed to have no part of his brother.” Dean looked at her, and slowly, very slowly, she saw the fear come into his clear blue eyes.

  Sharleen put her arm around Dean’s shoulder and stroked his white-blond hair, so like her own. “Dean, Momma is telling us we got to sleep in separate beds from now on. Now that we’re growed, it’s time we slept alone.”

  “But why? Your name ain’t Levi. It don’t say Sharleen don’t have no part with her brother. And why should Momma want us to sleep alone now? She always tucked us in together back home. Why’s she saying now we got to sleep separate?” He sounded petulant, almost on the verge of tears.

  “Because we don’t just sleep. And it ain’t right, what we do. Brothers and sisters ain’t supposed to share the same bed. They ain’t supposed to touch each other like we do.”

  Dean’s face crumpled. It pained Sharleen, right to her heart. “You mean we can’t be close and feel good no more?”

  “That’s right, Dean. We can be close friends, but we can’t make each other happy in that way no more.” Sharleen thought again of Dobe’s comment. About seeing how things were between her and Dean. Before he had warned her, she had tried real hard not to think too much about it, it had felt so natural at night to be close to Dean, safe and happy. Why, they had always been close like that. She couldn’t sleep any other way. It was their secret. But Dobe was a good man, and smart, and now Momma sent this word from the Bible. That’s twice now she had been warned.

  Sharleen rose from the bed and pulled the covers over Dean’s body. She noticed the bulge in his briefs, and quickly covered it.

  Dean continued to cry. “But the dreams, Sharleen. I get so scared. I can’t go to sleep without you holding me, Sharleen. I never had to before.”

  Sharleen thought of her own, more recent bad dreams, but bent over him and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be right here in the other bed, right beside you. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you, not as long as we do what God wants us to do.” She pulled back the covers of the other twin bed and slid in, then turned off the light, leaving her mother’s Bible on the table between them. “Now, just say your prayers and go to sleep. The Good Lord will watch over us. And don’t forget to pray for Boyd and Daddy, and especially for Momma, and thank her for her guidance.”

  Dean sniffled. “Okay, Sharleen. I will, if that’s what you want.”

  They lay in silence for a long while. Sharleen knew she would not be able to sleep, but hoped that Dean would finally drift off. And she prayed he wouldn’t dream. Not one of the real bad ones anyway. She continued to lie there, wide awake, as Dean’s breathing slowed. She missed his warmth beside her, but now she knew what Dobe had meant. Still, it was hard to relax without Dean next to her. Silly, because their daddy couldn’t hurt them now. It mustn’t be right to be with Dean. Hadn’t Momma’s message practically said that exactly?

  Eventually, she heard Dean’s breathing even out into sleep. She tried to sleep herself, and dozed a little, but just as she became aware of the first streak of light on the horizon outside her window, she heard him.

  Dean had started to thrash in bed, whimpering. “No,” he moaned. “No, please!” Sharleen couldn’t bear it, but forced herself to stay in her own bed. It will pass, she thought.

  But Dean’s cries grew louder, and his movements in the bed more violent. “No! Daddy! Please!” he cried out. She knew he was having one of the bad ones, but she was resolved to do the will of God. It was torture, though. Dean writhed, groaning. She picked up Momma’s Bible on the nightstand, hoping to find words of comfort. She clicked on the small light over her bed, and ran through the pages of the Bible. Dean quieted down, but he still wept in his sleep. Sharleen closed her eyes and prayed. “Oh, Lord, please help me do the right thing, and give Dean peace in his sleep. Momma, help me.” She, too, began to cry softly, and once again opened the Good Book, to Psalms, her favorite. But once again Dean moaned, a deep, pained cry.

  She flipped a page or two and stopped at Psalm 133. “Behold,” she read in the dim light, “how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”

  She stared at the page, running her finger over the text, over and over. Then Sharleen put the book back on the night table and said in a whisper, “Thank you, Lord.” She got out of bed and went over to Dean. She touched him gently to make room for herself, and got in next to him. She put her arms around him and whispered in his ear, “I’m here, Dean. Everything is going to be all right now.”

  Dean had wakened as Sharleen came into his bed. Without opening his eyes, he nuzzled deeply into Sharleen and said, “Don’t never leave me alone, Sharleen.”

  Sharleen rocked him gently in her arms. “No, Dean,” she promised, “I never will.”

 
; 15

  Mary Jane was suddenly and completely awake, but she knew the effort of opening her eyes was beyond her for the moment. She lay there, her body fitting into the familiar depression of the lumpy mattress. Her skin quickened from the cold in the damp, unheated room.

  She allowed her eyes to flicker open for a moment, saw as much as she could bear, then shut them again. Oh, God! No. She hadn’t meant to wake up. At least not here. Couldn’t she do anything right? She was a nurse, for chrissakes. She was lying on the bedspread, no blanket, still wearing the black dress she had worn to the funeral yesterday, now twisted about her body. One black pump lay on its side at the bottom of the bed.

  The funeral. I came back here after the funeral yesterday. And then…? And then I had a drink, she remembered. And that was as far as she could go for the moment. Another chill ran through her body, this one forcing her to sit up, the sudden movement making her lightheaded. She turned to the edge of her bed, very slowly now, and lowered her feet. She sat there for a moment, gathering her resources for the next movement. And then, without warning, she vomited.

  When she was done, Mary Jane looked around the sparsely furnished, unadorned room, feeling like an intruder, even though this was the bedroom in which she had grown up. Hell, she’d felt like an intruder then! Her eyes fell on the closet door, knowing the remains of her childhood were in cartons in there. The smell of mildew mixed with the smell of her vomit. Slowly, she stood, tottered over to the bureau, and wiped up the mess with an old tattered towel. She opened the half-rotted window sash and dumped the fetid rag outside.