Revoltingly Young

by Payne, C. D.

  9:12 a.m. It’s all coming together. Notes have been smuggled back and forth, and I’ve persuaded Kardos to lend me his credit card. Sunday morning in Billings: time for a true religious experience.

  2:17 p.m. Miren and I arrived at the sexually suggestive Bighorn Inn just after 10 a.m. She was wearing her lace head scarf and carrying her Bible. The motel is located near the campus of Montana State; so the desk clerk may have been used to young people appearing at all hours of the day and night without much luggage. I told him we needed a room for “Bible studies.”

  “Single or double?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you need a single bed or double beds?”

  “Uh, single,” I blushed.

  He assigned us a non-smoking room on the second floor, and I paid him $68.40 in very hard-earned cash. He didn’t even require a credit card, although he did ask me if I’d been in some kind of accident.

  I told him I was a lion tamer with the circus and had been mauled recently by one of my “big cats.” I don’t think he believed me.

  Both Miren and I were pretty nervous when we got to the room. We kicked off our shoes and crawled into bed fully clothed. I told her I loved her very much, and she said I was the nicest boy she’d ever met. We kissed and gradually peeled off each other’s layers. Just as I suspected, Miren has quite delectable breasts: rather large and nicely firm with compact rosy nipples. While I was getting acquainted with them, she pulled off my underwear, but I told her not to look at my body.

  “Why not, Jake?”

  “The bruises are too revolting.”

  Of course, then she had to see for herself. She tugged back the covers, looked at my crotch, and was visibly appalled. Not exactly the Romeo and Juliet moment one anticipates on such occasions.

  “We should have insisted you go to the hospital, Jake. Those injuries look serious.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks, Miren. See, things are still working.”

  “Will it hurt if I touch it?”

  “I’d say it will hurt more if you don’t.”

  Things eventually reached quite a frenzied state, and Miren inquired about birth control. I told her I’d brought along some condoms, but asked if she really wanted me to use one.

  “What do you mean, Jake?”

  “Well, I thought we could make a nice baby and get married.”

  “What!?”

  I told her about my conversation with her sister and Nerea’s plan to bring me into the Lurrieta family. Miren laughed and said no she does not want to have my child and get married. She said I should just ignore her sister, who thinks she can run Miren’s life because she (Nerea) is the elder by 14 minutes. Miren intends to go to college and study literature. She says any babies coming along in the next few years in the Lurrieta family will be due to her boy-crazy sister not her.

  I suppose I felt mostly relieved by that news. We got the condom on and went at it. Unlike with Veeva, it slipped right in without any hindrance. All of Miren’s body is incredibly toned, so she was able to do things with her pelvic muscles that are probably illegal in most states. Even though it hurt sometimes to move, I had an orgasm that detonated all the way up to the tips of my ears. Miren seemed to be having a good time too, especially on the second go-around when I lasted longer.

  Afterwards, we lay there together for as long as we dared. She told me about her childhood in Spain and I told her about growing up in rural Nevada. The one thing we have in common is that we both spent most of our lives living in trailers or caravans. Of course, Miren traveled around in hers, while mine was going nowhere fast. Miren snuggled against me and said she loved the way we fit together. I kissed her and tried not to think how transitory our connection may be. I suppose we could think about going to the same college–assuming I had the money and grades to get into one. It’s a real pain trying to do anything major in life when you’re only 15. It’s hard to follow your dreams when you’re swabbing toilets for peanuts and on the lam from the cops.

  When we turned in the key at the motel office, Miren picked up a complimentary newspaper from a stack on the counter. A boxed story on the bottom of page one caught my eye: “Hearse Hijacker Nabbed in L.A.”

  Yeah, they nailed Carlyle at last. They arrested him in City Hall while he was attempting to obtain a marriage license under a false name. The clerk got suspicious when he pulled out a giant roll of money and peeled off a $100 bill. When the cops grabbed him, he was found to be in possession of $7,300 in cash and wearing several thousand dollars worth of chunky gold jewelry. He’d also had a fancy diamond and platinum grillwork installed in his front teeth and now has quite the dazzling smile. The bride-to-be was a 17-year-old whose name was withheld because she’s a minor.

  Carlyle just proved my point. He followed his dream and look where it got him.

  8:45 p.m. I finally got through to Stoney. She said all of Winnemucca is in an uproar over the arrest of the town’s favorite son. She heard on the grapevine that Mrs. Carlyle Bogy-to-be is expecting a little surprise. I’m sure it will be with Carlyle as the father. No, she hasn’t heard if Carlyle’s intended is black, but that’s what everyone assumes. She said Carlyle is facing a battery of charges and may not get out of jail until his kid is in the fourth grade. We agreed that could be a blessing in disguise for both the mom and the kid.

  I told her about my interlude in Billings with Miren. Stoney said she has no faith in my taste in women and could only hope Miren wasn’t another bitch goddess like Uma. I assured her that was not the case, and that we were very compatible.

  Speaking of which, Stoney has figured out the cause of her sexual problems. Scott had been putting too much of himself into the act and kept banging into her cervix (whatever that is). Things have improved in that department since he’s been exercising some restraint.

  “Uh, how big is that guy?” I asked.

  “I’d say he’s just over the line into the freak category, Noel. Just my luck I have to get stuck on the biggest stud around.”

  “He’s bigger than Tyler?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Oh, way bigger. No comparison really.”

  Damn, I hope Uma knows what she’s letting herself in for.

  Stoney said she’s been dressing nice and putting on her make-up every day. Since she started associating with Scott and his crowd, her popularity quotient has gone way up at Winnemucca High. Girls who used to look past her like she was invisible or a stain on the wall now say hi to her in the hallways. Some have been encouraging her to try out for cheerleader.

  “God, Stoney,” I exclaimed, “your life has been totally transformed!”

  “Yeah, Noel, I guess it has. But one thing hasn’t changed.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I still want to murder my mother and buy a Harley with the insurance money.”

  MONDAY, September 19. I’ve been thinking things over. I have now slept with 2-1/2 chicks. (I’m only counting Uma as half since we didn’t go all the way.) People might think I’m wantonly promiscuous, but I truly and deeply care for all those girls. I’m willing to marry them in this order: Miren, Uma, Veeva, and Vrsula. I put the last one on the list in case the other three fall through. Veeva might rank higher than Uma if it weren’t for the incest issue. I’m really pissed at Uma; I’ve been checking my e-mail regularly on Jin’s computer and she hasn’t once bothered to write. I mean what is going on with that chick?

  I suppose I’m thinking more about her now since Miren quashed our marriage plans. I think I was getting used to idea of going into marriage, fatherhood, and trampolining full time.

  Now I’m back to being a lonely high-school dropout fugitive with no discernible future.

  At breakfast this morning Vrsula kept saying something unintelligible about Humphrey Bogart. I finally figured out that she was suggesting I might wind up with a scar on my lip like him. As long as girls don’t object to kissing me, that would be OK by me. I’m more worried about my loose tooth, which at last is
showing signs of taking root again. Still, I won’t be opening any beer bottles with my teeth for a while.

  I don’t think Joe College likes me dining with Vrsula. The bacon this morning was rather sub-par and he also burned my toast.He has taken to tying a dishtowel over his hairnet, so he looks like a Bedouin. Now Mr. Povey is addressing him as Joseph of Arabia.

  1:22 p.m. I just received a dressing down in the ladies’ doniker from Nerea for blowing the marriage deal with her sister. It turns I wasn’t supposed to discuss the matter with Miren. According to Nerea, I should have just sabotaged the condom and impregnated her through stealth.

  I was a bit surprised that Nerea was so up-to-date on my sex life. It appears those girls aren’t into keeping secrets from each other. She said her sister likes me a lot and hopes to meet me again “for church” next Sunday. Sounds like a great idea if I can afford it, but those motel rooms take a giant bite out of my paltry income. Perhaps I can negotiate a discount, since we’re only there for a few hours–although the wear and tear on the mattress can be substantial.

  Next time, says Nerea, I should “be a man” and make sure “the sperm reaches the egg.” I protested that Miren would hate me if I did that, but Nerea said a woman’s hormones change once she’s pregnant and Miren would love me even more. She says the female body does that automatically so the woman won’t despise the man for putting her through nine months of “horrible pain and sheer hell.” Sounds reasonable to me.

  6:27 p.m. Amazing news. Veeva just checked in from Albi. To her utter astonishment, she found not one but two birth listings for “S. Saunders, non-citizen.” Registered on the 8th of December fifteen years ago were the births of Emma B. Saunders and Marie A. Saunders. No father was listed for either of them.

  “Do you realize what this means, Noel?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Uhmm, you’re a Sagittarius?”

  “Exactly! I’m a Sagittarius with a missing twin sister somewhere. And here’s the confirmation: My false birthday was June 16, which made me a Gemini–the sign of twins!”

  “I’m not following the connection, Veeva.”

  “Don’t you see, Noel? It would be just like my mother to give me a fake birthday with that reference to twins. Her sadism can be so subtle.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing. So where’s your missing sister?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. I spent all day searching for that dwarf’s brother. But there don’t appears to be any Nunezes living in this district. I don’t know, he may have moved away or been deported or something. It’s very discouraging. I did find out that no Nunez–named Sarah or otherwise–has died in this province in the past 15 years.”

  “Then Alfredo is lying as usual.”

  “Yes, and now you must get him to tell the truth.”

  Easy for her to say. I don’t think she has a clue how formidable that dwarf really is.

  “So what are you going to do now, Veeva?”

  “Head to Lyon, of course. It’s time for a heart-to-heart talk with Sheeni.”

  “Sounds good, Veeva. You can threaten to expose her to her husband if she doesn’t come clean.”

  “I couldn’t do that to my own mother, Noel. And what was that disgusting photo you sent to my cell phone?”

  “Those are my bruised privates, Veeva. I thought you’d like to see the price I’m paying for this quest of yours.”

  “It’s your quest too, Noel. Aren’t you interested in locating your missing niece?”

  I suppose, though I think “Uncle Noel” has more than enough nieces and nephews already.

  11:57 p.m. No more visitors after dark. That’s my new rule and I intend to stick to it. I answered a loud rap on my door this evening, and there was Miren’s florid-faced papa pointing his very scary Luger at me. He forced his way inside and announced he had come “to exterminate some asqueroso vermin.” His breath smelled strongly of garlic, cigars, and booze. I backed up as far as I could and asked for the particulars of his complaint against me.

  “You know what you did, you degenerate pajiera. You sneaked into the women’s doniker today and molested my Nerea.”

  “Excuse me! I was cleaning the women’s doniker today, and she dropped by to chat. It was all totally innocent.”

  “You had the door closed!”

  “The door has one of those spring thingies on it, Mr. Lurrieta. It closes automatically.”

  “And you’ve had your pringao hands on my Miren. That I cannot forgive!”

  I had put more than my hands on her, but this I did not point out.

  He stuck the steel barrel of his gun into my bruised abdomen. At that range, I knew, I could hardly count on him to miss.

  “Will you grant me one last request, Mr. Lurrieta?”

  “What’s that, malnacido?”

  “Will you share a glass of wine with me?”

  “Si, claro. I appreciate a chupaverga who goes bravely to his maker.”

  I got him to withdraw his firearm an inch or two, turned around in the confined space, opened my cupboard door, and spotted Señor Nunez’s pistol. I knew it was loaded because I had checked it out previously. If the gun actually worked, I might be able to get off the first shot, but did I want to have a gun battle with a drunken Spaniard in a room no bigger than a coffin? I decided to go with Plan B. I very shakily poured some of Kardos’s wine into two paper cups and covertly added a splash from the shampoo bottle into one of them. I turned around and was virtually certain I handed the proper cup to the guy with the gun.

  We clinked cups, said “Salud!” and Mr. Lurrieta downed his with a mighty gulp. I took a tentative sip and managed an ingratiating smile.

  “Drink up, lambioso!” he exclaimed. “We’ve got to get this over. We can’t have everyone in the show up all night dealing with your pelotudo corpse.”

  “Mr. Lurrieta, with all due respect, may I ask if Alfredo Nunez is the person who has been spreading these lies about me?”

  “Alfredo is my amigo,” he replied, wiping a hairy, muscular hand down over his face and shaking his head. “He knows you to be el hijo de la gran puta and has told me so. You dishonor him by calling him a liar. For that also you must die.”

  “Show me the evidence,” I persisted. “Show me the evidence that I have defiled your daughters.”

  “The evidence is in your face, coño. You have . . . You have . . .”

  He didn’t finish his explanation. He got an odd grin on his face, then his eyes trampolined up and down, the gun slipped from his hand, and he crumpled to the floor. My strategy had worked. I had proved scientifically that the liquid in the bottle was not shampoo. Now, what to do with my slumbering houseguest? Powered by a fierce jolt of adrenaline, I managed to drag him unseen out the door and across the lot. I left him curled up and clutching the wine bottle by the front entrance to the big tent. He was wearing a heavy jacket, so he shouldn’t freeze to death. I don’t know what I’ll do if he comes after me tomorrow, but this time I’ll be the guy holding the Luger.

  TUESDAY, September 20 – Pretty bleary-eyed. I was too on edge to get much sleep last night. No sign yet of Miren’s father. We jumped this morning to Sheridan, Wyoming, and Mrs. Lurrieta drove the truck pulling their trailer. I’ve never seen her do that before.

  Not much difference so far between Montana and Wyoming. Ninety-nine percent of what you see is scenic wilderness and rugged mountains–interrupted only by disfiguring blotches of human habitation. Sheridan appears to be another Old West town panning for tourists rushing by on the Interstate highway.

  11:32 a.m. Things are grim. Mr. Lurrieta is in a hospital in Sheridan. They thought he was sleeping off a bender, but when he didn’t wake up, they hauled him off to the emergency room. Very unnerving. I’ve wiped down both guns and the other incriminating items, crammed them into a plastic bag, and ditched them behind some bushes on a remote part of the lot. Too bad I hadn’t thought to wipe my fingerprints off that damn wine bottle!

  I must have splashed
in too much of Señor Nunez’s knockout drops. How was I supposed to know the proper adult dose? Hell, there were no instructions or warning labels on the bottle. If he croaks, I’ll probably be charged with homicide, even though the deceased was threatening me with a gun. Plus, I looked in the doniker mirror this morning and was alarmed to see my loose tooth is turning brown. I look like a real criminal. I’m sure it will be one more thing prejudicing the jury against me. I wonder if they gas 15-year-olds in this state?

  7:18 p.m. Mr. Lurrieta is still in intensive care. Haven’t spoken to Miren or Nerea yet as they’ve been at the hospital all day. Meanwhile, the afternoon performance went on without them. Joe College, volunteering to help fill the gap, ran out and did some semi-pathetic juggling. It seems he went to circus summer camps as a kid and fancies himself a performer. The audience applauded politely, but I expect they’re starved for entertainment in his burg.

  Two sheriff’s deputies came poking around during the dinner break. They talked to all the Patsatzises, then worked their way around to the rest of us. I told them I knew Mr. Lurrieta only by sight, but had spoken several times to his daughters. They seemed suspicious and wanted to know why my face was so torn up. I told them I had been in an altercation recently with a former employee, but no, the dispute had not involved any of the Lurrieta family. Don’t ask me if they believed me. I’m sure I looked suspicious with my shaky voice, nervous tremor, shifty eyes, ugly lip scab, and lowlife tooth. They wrote down my name and were disappointed I couldn’t produce an I.D. I explained I was too young to have a driver’s license.