by Payne, C. D.
“I don’t know. I like it. I like the nice varnished wood on the walls. What is it–birch?”
“Hell if I know.”
We put down our drinks and indulged in a long and passionate kiss. Very inflaming to the senses. After a prolonged interval, we paused.
“Uma, darling, would you like to retire to my bedroom?”
“I don’t know, Noel. I think we should discuss the situation.”
I was in no condition for human speech, but managed to inquire what she had in mind.
“Well, we could discuss our respective virginities.”
“Oh, right.”
“Now, I’ve always heard that for a girl’s first time she should do it with an older guy. You know, someone who’s had some experience and knows what he’s doing.”
“Well, there’s something to be said for that, I suppose,” I grudgingly conceded.
“I mean two virgins going at it is the worst possible scenario, Noel. We could fail miserably and both be traumatized for life.”
“Well, I’m willing to risk it, Uma.”
“The other thing is what having sex does to a relationship.”
“It elevates it to a much higher plane, darling.”
“Not from what I’ve seen. It just causes lots of jealousy, hard feelings, and possessiveness.”
Crushing disappointment, though Uma helped me cope by placing my hand on her breast. Infinitely more pleasurable than touching Awanee’s. Don’t ask me why.
“Do you like old movies, Noel?”
“Sure I guess so.”
I liked the way her nipple stiffened when I caressed it through her shirt.
“Movies have become the myths of our culture. You see these great old movies, but everyone up there on the screen is dead now. The actors are like talking and moving two-dimensional ghosts. Kind of a celluloid window into another time. Did you ever see the film ‘Hud’?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
“Melvin Douglas is in it. He plays this old broken-down rancher. Very decrepit. But slip in another DVD, and now you can see him in ‘Ninotchka,’ when he was young and handsome and debonair, and charming his way into Greta Garbo’s heart.”
“I didn’t see that one either.”
I slipped my hand under her shirt. Much nicer that way. Why do breasts feel so divinely entrancing?
“I saw ‘Hud’ last year–with my aunt Rosa. We liked it a lot. Of course, she went for Paul Newman, but do you know who I liked in that movie?”
“The old guy, uh, Melvin Douglas?”
“No. I liked the young kid: Brandon De Wilde.”
“Oh.” It was all beginning to make sense to me now.
“You know, Noel, you could be Brandon De Wilde’s younger brother. The resemblance is striking.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Is that why you like me?”
“Who’s to say, Noel? I like your warm hand on my breast. I like that hard part of you pressing into my thigh. I like your laugh. I like your version of Toby. Much more imaginative than Rot’s. I like your sneakiness in trying to get me alone out here. I like your kisses.”
I liked hers too. We lay entwined on the sofa and kissed for two straight hours by the clock. It was by far the greatest two hours of my entire life.
THURSDAY, July 28 – A dry night and no thumb-sucking either. If my lips hadn’t received their quota of oral gratification last night, there’d be no hope for them. I’ve been thinking it over. Sure, it could be hazardous for two virgins to have sex. But how healthy in the long run is all that frustrating celibacy? Damn, I should never have been so reserved in L.A. Had I been practicing like mad with Awanee, I’d be totally up to speed now for Uma.
Stoney called early, and I met her for breakfast at the pancake place on Main Street. We apologized mutually for the ugliness of the past weeks. It was good to get that behind us, though I still feel some resentment toward her. She was appalled to hear of my romantic progress with Uma. I don’t know why Stoney is so dead set against her. I assured Stoney it was very healing to the psyche to lay hands on the warm body of a loved one.
“I know that,” she replied. “Don’t forget, I got pretty far along with Tyler.”
“Sure, that’s all well and good, Stoney, but you’ve got to hook up with someone local. People need this sort of thing more than once a year.”
“I hate this town and everyone in it.”
“You don’t hate Scott Chandler.”
“No, I suppose not. He’s coming back from sailing camp next Thursday.”
Damn, only a week in which to convince Uma to marry me. A daunting task.
“Stoney, you’ve got to forget all this looking-butch business. Face it: you’re not a dyke.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because there are plenty of attractive girls in town, and you’ve never once had the hots for any of them.”
“That’s true.”
“So you’ve got to start dolling yourself up and making a play for Scott. You’re the prettiest girl in town with a fabulous body, so just get used to it.”
“You sound like my mother, Noel.”
“Well, once in a while even mothers know what they’re talking about.”
“Not my mom. She’s a total fake and phony.”
Long-suffering Mrs. Holt always seemed perfectly nice to me, but I wasn’t going to open that can of worms.
“OK, forget your mother. Just do this for yourself.”
“But if I do that, my mother will have won. The bitch will be so smug.”
“Cut the cord, Stoney. Jesus, don’t ruin your life just to get back at your mother. Shit, just ignore her. That’s what I do with my mother.”
“Yeah, well it’s easier for you. Your mother’s in another fucking state. All my mom has to do is look at me, and I want to murder her.”
“What about your father?”
“You mean my stepdad? Every time I come out of my room, that creep undresses me with his eyes.”
No wonder Stoney was a mess. Her home life sounded even unhealthier than mine. I tried to reassure her.
“All guys do that, Stoney. The incest taboo is very weak in males. You shouldn’t take it personally. What you’ve got to do is divorce your parents. Even though you have to live with them for a few more years, now is the time to separate emotionally from them. Be your own person.”
“Yeah, that’s right. What the fuck do I care what those assholes think?”
“Right. And maybe consider cleaning up your language. Guys don’t find chicks who swear all that attractive.”
“Not feminine, huh?”
“Not very.”
“Shit, I guess I should have played more with Barbie when I was a kid and less with my battery-powered Harley.”
So it was Mrs. Holt’s fault. There’s a good lesson for parents: inappropriate toy choices can come back to haunt you later.
4:12 p.m. Mr. Dugan added a new leg to Toby’s circuit today (at no increase in pay). I now have to take a detour through the main floor and gift shop of the Buckaroo Hall of Fame, one of our local cowboy-theme tourist attractions. He’s made some kind of arrangement with the management there. On one of my walks this afternoon Toby had to fire a warning spritz of dog repellent at Biggie Smalls, a cute but hostile Boston Terrier mix. Its owner came roaring out and screamed at me. She ranted that she would never ever employ the services of the Dixie Belle Wedding Chapel. Toby held his tongue and did not point out that as she was ugly, old, and overweight that was not likely to happen anyway. I did pull down a sock to flash my still-draining dog bite.
Later Toby detoured through the Silver Sluice and had a nice chat with Uma. She invited me over for dinner tonight. Fat Marvin Tuelco burned like fire when Toby kissed her, but he is under strict orders not to mess with the boss’s daughter or her friends. Yes, complaints had been made.
10:45 p.m. Trying to make a good impression, I was right on time at Uma’s house. It was just the three of us for dinn
er: me, my future wife, and her aunt Rosa. Uma’s dad was busy at work training some new dealers. He’s chartered a fleet of buses to snag more seniors and is anticipating a boost in traffic. The casino business is very competitive these days since all the Indian tribes started muscling in on the action. Aunt Rosa made chicken cacciatore, one of her specialties. Very delicious. I can only hope Uma proves as culinarily gifted down the road. The conversation, though, got a little scary in spots.
“Noel, are you Catholic?” asked Aunt Rosa, getting down to basics.
My Consuela experience had prepared me for such a question.
“Yes, I am,” I lied.
“That’s odd,” she commented, “I don’t recall seeing you in the congregation at St. Paul’s.”
“Uh, we usually go to the Church of Christ. It’s closer.”
Eyebrows were raised around the table, some in warning.
“The Church of Christ! How extraordinary! That’s certainly taking ecumenicalism to a new level.”
“Well, my grandmother can’t walk very far–though she prefers St. Paul’s, of course.”
Aunt Rosa appeared somewhat mollified.
“And when, Noel, was your last confession?”
Uma smiled into her plate; it appeared she was enjoying my grilling.
“Uh, my last confession? Yes, uh, that was last week. Very, uh, absolving.”
“You sound most devout, Noel. Did you have Father Gillis or Father Sheldrake?”
“Uh, I don’t know. It was kind of dark and they were behind a screen.”
“Well, of course. But you can always tell which is which from their voices. I generally prefer Father Gillis. He takes ones transgressions much more seriously. Sin is no frivolous matter to him.”
“Yes, well, fortunately I don’t have that many sins. Speaking personally, that is.”
“We are all sinners, Noel. I believe I witnessed some in our back-yard pool. Very recently, in fact.”
I colored and shoveled in the chicken. Uma was right. We needed to get that uptight religious chick married off. If she weren’t around, Uma and I could be going at it in style and comfort.
After dinner we loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up, while Aunt Rosa retired to the family room to watch TV. Uma sneaked us a glass of wine and I sneaked many scorching kisses. Then we went out and sat by the pool in adjoining lounge chairs and watched the sun go down. I screwed up my courage, grasped my darling’s hand, and told her I loved her.
“I don’t know if we’re mature enough for love, Noel. I certainly share your sense of intense infatuation. I enjoyed being alone with you last night.”
“Me too.”
“I never realized that our bodies react so strongly to kissing. It really is a powerful antecedent to intercourse. I got quite wet after a time.”
I appreciated that Uma now felt comfortable enough with me to discuss the state of her vagina.
“Yes, Uma, I seem to respond to kissing in that way also.”
“You do indeed, Noel. Though from what I can see, you can get turned on just from talking.”
I looked down. She had a point there.
FRIDAY, July 29 – Toby has achieved his 15 minutes of fame. The Humboldt Star came out today, and there he was with sandwich board on the front page of the inside section. Here is the news article in its entirety:
Wedding’s Longest March?
Winnemucca. Local teen Noel L. Wescott, 15, can now be seen treading the boards of downtown in his role as super salesman for a local wedding chapel. He also assists at weddings and commitment ceremonies, where he plays the role of “Toby,” a 19th Century rustic servant. Wescott reports he enjoys the work and is happy to do his part to bring both residents and visitors closer together. The hard-working youth calculates by the end of summer he will have carried his signs over 2,500 miles. That’s a lot of shoe leather devoted to love.
Are those people incapable of basic math? I just made up that mileage estimate off the top of my head. I can’t believe they actually printed it. The photo wasn’t that flattering as young Toby was sweating like a pig.
Nevertheless, Grandma was thrilled and rushed out to buy a dozen copies. I scanned the article into my computer and e-mailed the file to Awanee. She’ll have to be content with that photo until I can scrape up some more. Perhaps I can dig up some shots of Brandon De Wilde on the Web and pass those off as candid views of her absent beau. I also sent the story to my brother, though he has yet to reply to my last e-mail. Even if he is still in Europe, he must have taken along some sort of laptop. I feel I just don’t rate with that guy. He could be a vital father figure for me if he wasn’t so fucking aloof.
Mr. Dugan commented that in future interviews I should insist they mention the full name, address, and operating hours of his business. He also was pissed that in cropping the photo the editors seemed more interested in showing Toby than his sign. I hope I don’t wind up some small-town businessman grubbing for dollars like my boss. God knows what I’ll be when I grow up. At present I have no discernible occupational aspirations, although I think being a roadie for a rock band might suit me. As long as I don’t have to lug anything heavy.
On one of his rounds this afternoon Toby ran into Mrs. Greene, my fantasy mom. She congratulated me on my news article, then spilled her guts. It seems Jamal has signed up with an online dating service and has been corresponding with some 23-year-old black woman in Reno. Well, that explains why I hadn’t heard lately from my pal.
“If that woman shows up in town, I’m going to have her arrested!” Mrs. Greene declared. “Carlyle is only 15!”
True enough, but what parents don’t understand is a 23-year-old woman is exactly what a 15-year-old boy needs. For example, I could use one right now to help me get ready for Uma. I mean high school sex-education classes are helpful, but there’s no substitute for practical experience. I wonder if Jamal’s babe has a friend?
9:37 p.m. Jamal just went home empty-handed. He came over to borrow bus fare to Reno, but I had to decline. I pleaded poverty, but actually I didn’t want to piss off Mrs. Greene. I hope he doesn’t do anything desperate. He seems quite gone on Rashilla, even though they’ve never met and only spoken a few times by phone.
“This Rashilla,” I inquired, “does she think you’re black?”
“Sure. I sent her my picher.”
“And you want to have sex with her?”
“Yeah, and so does she. The bitch say she wants to untie my dick.”
“You told her about that feature, did you?”
“Right on, baby.”
“If you like her, why are you calling her a bitch?”
“That’s just the lingo, dude. Get with the program.”
“And what happens when you take off your clothes and she finds out the rest of you is white?”
“No problem, man. It’s going to be like really dark. Dig it?”
“And if you spend the night, will it be really dark the next morning?”
“Damn!”
Jamal gave the matter some thought.
“Well, by then the bitch will be like totally digging me. She won’t mind.”
“Jamal, it’s not legal for a chick that old to have sex with a kid our age.”
“Why the fuck not? We couldn’t be havin’ no sex if the guy wasn’t turned on.”
“A valid point, but I don’t write the laws. You could both be arrested.”
“Tell it to the judge, man. Don’t be tellin’ it to me!”
11:15 p.m. Had a long phone chat with Uma. She has such a sexy voice I felt like I was getting an erection in my ear. Is that possible? I told her about Jamal, and she thinks we should sign up her aunt Rosa for online dating. A great idea. It’s the perfect way to troll for cultivated and single Catholic men who dig ex-nuns who can cook.
“Has your aunt Rosa ever had a date?” I asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of years of going without.”
“I know.
It’s no wonder she’s always vacuuming. A dust ball doesn’t stand a chance in this house.”
“I noticed it was pretty spotless. I miss you, darling.”
“I’m only a mile a way.”
“Shall I come over and sneak up to your room?”
“I don’t think so. You’ll have even more to talk about in confession.”
“What?”
“My aunt’s going to check you out with the priests, you know. I couldn’t believe you said what you did. I’ve been thinking it over. We’ll have to get you to confession soon.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not a Catholic!”
“Don’t worry, Noel. I can coach you.”
“I’ll be struck dead by lightning, Uma. The Pope will send his agents after me with instructions to shoot to kill!”
“Well, the alternative is having Aunt Rosa totally pissed at you. The one thing worse for her than being non-Catholic is being a lying non-Catholic. She’ll make it hard for me to see you.”
Damn. Now I have to go spill my guts to some nosy priest. All for the oft chance of getting laid. And what assurance do I have that my confessor hasn’t been buggering some altar boy?
11:53 p.m. I downloaded some songs from a band that Uma recommended, the Winking Pixies. Pretty cool group. If they ever link up with my current favorite band, they’d be the Winking Pickled Pixie Punks. On that note, I think I’ll hit the sack.
SATURDAY, July 30 – On the bus to Las Vegas. Yeah, I’m going to visit my brother. It wasn’t his idea or mine. Veeva phoned early this morning and said it was time to “beard the lion in its den.” She knows Nick is back because her mother talked to him last night. He’s also scheduled to perform this weekend. I’m meeting Veeva and Tyler in Vegas, and we’re going to get my brother to spill about his past or die trying. The whole idea sounds kind of half-baked and impulsive, but there’s no resisting Veeva once she’s made up her mind. I had to call up and cancel my date with Uma. We were going to watch “Hud” on DVD at her house and hope that the adults hit the sack early. This “physical intimacy” business is amazingly addictive. To hell with my brother and his tempestuous youth. All I really want to do is hole up with Uma somewhere private and merge our living flesh.