Windchill Summer

by Norris Church Mailer

  Your friend,

  Jerry

  P.S. It is now two in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about wanting to tell me some things. Maybe you should write me the big secret. Nobody will read it, and I will burn the letter if you say to. It might be easier than saying it in person. Then we will know for sure what the score is before we see each other. But only if you really want me to know. I do think we have to have no secrets between us if we see each other again. And if we can’t deal with it, we’ll know that, too. Think about it. J.

  34.Baby

  Sometime after Jerry died, in the spring of 1968, Carlene started working the banquets. She tried to keep it from Baby, but Rita let it slip.

  “Carlene was working there?” Baby asked after Rita mentioned Carlene had burned her arm on a candle at a banquet. “How long has she been doing that?”

  “Oh, nearly six months now. You mean you didn’t know?” Rita said, her eyes wide.

  It hurt Baby’s feelings that Carlene hadn’t told her, but more than that, it really ate at her that she was being left out. Why should everyone but her get the big tips? By now, Baby knew that the banquets were pretty much an excuse for men to go out with girls they weren’t married to. And Rita made no bones about what she did with those men. She showed Baby some pictures of herself taken in a motel room.

  “Hey, Baby. Take a gander at these.” Rita handed her a stack of black-and-white photos. In them, she was wearing a black bra and G-string, black garter belt, and white fishnet stockings. She had darkened up the Marilyn Monroe mole on her left cheek with an eyebrow pencil and had on her usual pound and a half of makeup.

  Baby’s eyes bugged out. In one of the pictures, Rita was lying on a bed with her legs in the air, and the only thing hiding the whole works was the thin crotch of her black panties. Her boobs were pulled out of the top of the bra and squashed together in the middle of her chest. She had the biggest nipples Baby had ever seen—they almost covered her enormous breasts. Rolls of fat pooched out around the tight elastic of the garter belt. She was biting a string of dime-store pearls and looking at the camera through half-closed eyelids. It was gross.

  All the pictures were pretty much like that, except they were in different poses. Looking at them one after another, Baby couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Oh, Rita, these are the funniest things I’ve ever seen!”

  “Funny? What do you mean, Baby?” Rita said, snatching them out of her hand. “Can’t you see they’re very sexy? I was paid a lot of money to pose for these pictures.” She carefully slid them into an envelope and put them away in her purse.

  “I’m sorry, Rita. I didn’t mean it that way. I’ve just never seen anything . . . like that. You’re right. Theyare sexy. Who took them?”

  “I can’t tell you, but he knows somebody who makes porno movies and he thinks I can be a big star.”

  “Are you serious? You want to be in porno movies? Why?”

  “Why do you think? I’ve been giving it away for free, so why not get something out of it? Besides, they aren’t even shown in America. They send them to Europe and Sweden and places like that. He says I definitely have the body for it. They appreciate big-boned women in Europe and Sweden.”

  “Does Jackie know about this?”

  “What? So he can take a piece of the action? I think not. And you better not tell him either.”

  “Oh, right. You know I’m going to rush right up and tell him. But what about the guy who took them? Where did you meet him?”

  “At a banquet. He’s an old friend of Jackie’s. And now he’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Is that what you do at the banquets?”

  Rita laughed. “No, you silly thing. What do you think—I get up on the table with my clothes off? It’s just drinking and eating, with a little music and dancing. What people do afterwards is their own business.”

  “Well, if it’s all so innocent, why won’t Jackie let me work at one?”

  “Sweetheart, have you looked in the mirror lately? Jackie and Park think you’re the Oriental Ivory Snowflake queen. You must remind them of their sister or something.

  “Now, you better not tell anybody I told you all this, or you and me will both be in big trouble. I mean it, now.”

  “I’d still like to go, just once. If Carlene can do it, I can too. You could get me in. Please, Rita. Pretty please, with sugar on it.”

  It was exciting and scary, the thought of being in the same room with so many famous people—and wicked ones, who had dealings with porno. But mainly, Baby wanted to go just to show Jackie that he wasn’t the boss of her. His letting Carlene work the banquets but not her was one more in a long string of slights, and she was getting sick of it.

  Bean would be home in a couple of months, and although she probably would have to stop seeing Jackie anyhow, he had told her that if she went back to Bean, it was over between them. As if Jackie would ever be true to her! She knew she should quit working at the Water Witch, but it wasn’t so easy to just walk away like nothing had ever happened, as if none of it meant anything.

  “Please, Rita. Will you get me in?”

  Rita narrowed her eyes. Baby could almost see the wheels turning in her head, and knew she was probably up to no good, but it didn’t matter if she could get to a banquet.

  Rita sighed, as if Baby had worn her down. “Oh, all right. There’s one a week from Tuesday. Jackie will be in Little Rock, so I’ll be in charge. I’ll leave the kitchen door unlocked, and you can sneak in. Park always fixes the food earlier, so the kitchen will be empty. But you better watch your tail, because if you get caught, I’ll lie and say I had nothing to do with it—and you know Jackie will believe me.”

  —

  Tuesday night finally came. Baby changed clothes three times, but in the end she decided to wear her waitress uniform. That way, she could just tell everyone she was working.

  Baby switched off her car lights as she eased into the long gravel drive way of the Water Witch. Her glow-in-the-dark watch said it was one o’clock.

  The dining room was dark, but the back room was lit up like a lantern. She left the green Volkswagen down by the marina and went up the walk around the back. Music and laughter boomed out across the long lawn. The kitchen door was unlocked, as Rita had promised.

  Baby stumbled over the dirty linen bags waiting for early laundry pickup and sat down on the pile, hard, with a small “Oof.”She listened for a minute, but nobody seemed to have heard. Her wrist stung where she had scraped it on the counter.

  In the dark kitchen, a skinny ray of colored light squeezed out between the double doors to the banquet room. Hearing Rita’s screech of a laugh above the noise, Baby opened the doors a crack. She had never even been in the back room before. It was kept locked.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone near this entrance, and Baby slipped inside and moved to the corner. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lights. The back room was nothing like the elegant restaurant; it had the feeling of a gaudy Gypsy tent. Loud music blasted from a stereo. Suspended from the ceiling, a faceted mirrored globe spun above a small dance floor. As it turned, it picked up light from red, green, amber, and blue lamps and candles scattered around the room and flung it back against the walls, which were covered in silver-colored paper. The air shimmered. There were lush Oriental rugs on the floor and low red velvet banquettes against the walls. Little round tables were everywhere.

  Rita was draped over a barstool. She was wearing a gold lamé hostess gown with a neckline that plunged nearly to her waist. Her breasts were clearly visible when she leaned over, as she was doing now.

  The man sitting next to her on the barstool handed her the tube to a water pipe. Rita inhaled a cloud of smoke as bubbles formed inside the globe, then leaned over and blew smoke into his mouth. Everywhere Baby looked, men were kissing and fondling girls—on the dance floor, in the booths. Some were stretched out on the rugs. The air was hazy with pungent s
moke. It brought to life a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. Before coming here, Baby had tried to imagine what it would be like, but she was still shocked to see it all out in the open like this.

  Carlene passed by with a tray of drinks and caught sight of Baby, who was trying to blend into the woodwork.

  “Baby! What are you doing here?”

  “Sh! I just wanted to see what went on. I’ll only stay a minute.”

  “Oh, Baby, I wish you hadn’t come.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were working the banquets, Carlene? What did you think I’d do?”

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to know. I thought you’d think less of me, I guess.”

  “Why would I think less of you?”

  “The girls who work here are party girls, Baby. You know what that means?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “It means that they’re here to drink and dance, and if they want to, they sleep with the guys.”

  “You mean for money?”

  “Money. Presents, favors—whatever. Nobody has to do anything they don’t want to, but yeah. That’s what the banquets are. There’s a hefty cover charge for the drinks and drugs, which Jackie provides, along with the company of all these girls.”

  “Are you serious? Wow.” Looking more closely, Baby could see that she knew a lot of the girls from around the county. “Carlene—you don’t . . . I mean . . .”

  “No, I don’t.” Her voice was small.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t blame you for asking. I do have a boyfriend, though, who helps me out a little. I’m saving up to get to California, like we talked about. I hope you’re not mad at me, Baby.”

  “Why would I be mad at you, Carlene? I just wish you had told me, though. I wouldn’t have thought less of you. You’re doing it for a reason.”

  Just then, Rita caught sight of Baby and came over, giving her friend with the pipe a pat on his backside as she got up.

  “Hello, dollface. I see you made it.”

  “I should have known you were behind this, Rita,” Carlene said stiffly. She turned to Baby. “Okay. You’re a big girl, Baby. Have fun. I’m working.” Carlene left with her tray and started delivering drinks. Rita put her arm around Baby. She smelled like smoke—a pungent tang that wasn’t like any smoke Baby had smelled before.

  “Look at this crowd. Isn’t it exciting? That was Weston Bartlett I was talking to. He owns TV and radio stations, advertising agencies—you name it, he owns it. Over there is Don Brandon, the weatherman on Channel Six, and Merle Ferguson, a big lawyer from Little Rock. That’s Judge Greer in the corner with Brenda.” Baby squinted to see the gray-haired judge nestled into a banquette with one of the girls. They were smoking from a water pipe, too.

  “Rita, there’s marijuana here,” Baby whispered. “That’s against the law!”

  “Sure it is.”

  “Well, aren’t they afraid they will get caught?”

  “Who’s going to catch them? The judge is right here, and so are the lawyers. You don’t think they would rat on each other, do you? How could they do that without incriminating themselves?”

  Baby stared. Rita was right. Who were they going to tell? The judge who was sitting there smoking had sentenced a guy she knew from DuVall to twenty years in the pen for possession of marijuana. He was famous for being tough on kids who were caught with even one joint. A lot of them were sitting in prison right now. Baby had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The hypocrisy of it all was alarming. If you couldn’t trust the judges and the lawyers, who could you trust?

  She jumped when she felt a hand nudge her on the shoulder.

  “Can a guy get a scotch around here?” The voice was deep, as if it had been cured in cigarette smoke for years. He was back-lit, from the mirrored globe, and Baby squinted, trying to see his face. He thought she was a waitress. Well, why not? She had on her uniform.

  “I’m not supposed to tend bar,” Baby answered.

  The man stepped back and looked hard at Baby. “You work here?”

  “Well, usually I work the dinner shift on weekends, but tonight I’m helping Rita.”

  “I don’t think Rita needs any help,” the man said, laughing. Rita was back at the bar.

  The kitchen door swung open then and Jackie came in. One of the part-time cashiers was draped around him. He was staggering a little, drunk, and the woman’s hot-pink lipstick was smeared all over her mouth and chin. A pang of jealousy hit Baby hard. She was used to Jackie’s flirting, but she had never had it thrown in her face like this before. She should have known that Rita was lying about him being in Little Rock.

  He waved and called out greetings, then spotted Baby, who tried to hide behind her companion. The man put his arm around her waist as Jackie came up to them. His eyes were liquid red, a little unfocused.

  “I like your new girl, Jackie. You’re bringing them in younger and younger. This one looks about fourteen.”

  Jackie looked straight at Baby and flashed a smile. “Well, Frank O’Reilly, you old son-a-ma-gun! When did you get back in town? How the hell are you? This is Baby. She’s not regular banquet help. In fact, I’m not sure what she is doing here, but she istwenty-one.”

  His voice was smooth but hard as he turned toward Baby. “Did you miss your ride home tonight, Baby?”

  “No, I’m here with Franco,” she lied.

  “In your uniform?”

  “I didn’t have time to change.” Baby took Franco’s other arm and put it around her shoulders. He was tall, and the top of her head only came to the middle of his chest. He felt like a wall behind her, helping her face Jackie’s anger.

  Franco’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he almost smiled, but didn’t. Baby could feel his breath blowing her hair; the warm scent of scotch wafted around her.

  “Franco needs a scotch, Jackie.”

  “Park can make it. He’s behind the bar.”

  Baby’s heart froze. She hadn’t noticed Park, but he had noticed her. Now, looking at him, she could see that his jaw was clenched. Baby felt his fury and disappointment burn a hole in her chest.

  Franco took Baby by the arm, and they walked to the bar. “Cutty, neat,” Franco ordered.

  “Nothing for me, Park, thanks,” Baby said, as if he had asked. Park picked up the bottle of Cutty Sark, poured it without taking his eyes off Baby, and set it on the bar. As Franco reached for the glass, Park’s hand went around his wrist. The drink spilled. Franco looked at him, surprised, and tried to pull away, but Park had the advantage. A silent game of arm wrestling began, each man rigid, fixed in an arm lock.

  Baby stood rooted at the bar, watching the struggle, afraid to move or speak. Franco was bigger than Park, but Park was all wiry muscle. Jackie ambled over, as if he were coming to watch an amusing game. He laughed, slapped Park on the back, and said something in Chinese. Without taking his eyes off Franco, Park spoke.

  “Baby has an early class tomorrow. She has to leave.” Then he let go of Franco’s wrist.

  Franco rubbed the wrist and straightened his sleeve. “I’ll walk her to her car.”

  “See you on Saturday, Baby,” Jackie said as she and Franco started toward the door. His words were calm, but his voice was strained. A large vein was throbbing in his temple. “Drop by the office before you start the shift.”

  Baby looked over her shoulder at Park. He was busy wiping the bar with angry swipes and didn’t watch her leave.

  Franco put his arm around Baby’s shoulders as they walked toward the VW. She caught another whiff of scotch as he leaned down to kiss her. She turned her head, and his lips brushed her cheek.

  “I get the picture,” he said. “Jackie’s a lucky guy and is too stupid to know it. If he gives you any trouble, give me a call.”

  He stepped back and opened the car door for her. She got in and shut the door. He leaned down and spoke through the open window.

  “You smell like fr
esh jasmine. I bet you taste like moonlight.” He ran the back of his finger down her cheek, gently, like a butterfly wing. Then he walked away.

  —

  Too keyed up to go home, Baby drove into town, around the sleeping streets of Sweet Valley. Most of the houses were dark. Inside, babies were asleep in their cribs; men and women were deep in the last hours of good sleep before they had to get up for their seven o’clock shift. They were all so normal, and decent.

  After a while, Baby found herself in front of Cherry’s house. It was an older two-story house with a wide porch and a dark green swing. At the side of the house was a big empty lot they called the clover patch. When they were kids, they used to search every inch of that patch on their hands and knees, looking for four-leaf clovers, waving away the bees that lit on the sweet-smelling purple flowers. They almost never got stung, because the bees were too busy taking the nectar to notice them, but once Cherry sat smack down on top of one. It had scared Baby to death when Cherry jumped up screaming and pulled down her pants, right out there in the daytime.

  Baby smiled, remembering, then looked up at the dark windowpanes of Cherry’s room on the top floor. Baby imagined her asleep under the orange-and-yellow coverlet, stuffed animals tossed onto the floor, a soft cool breeze from the attic fan blowing across the bed.

  She sat for a long time, looking at the clover patch and the Marshalls’ house in the fading moonlight and wondered about Carlene. Maybe after Jerry was killed, she had just given up and decided to get some money any way she could, just to get out of town, start over fresh where nobody knew her. Goodness knows that the people in this town never gave her anything but the rough side of their tongue when she was down. Why she had kept it a secret from Baby was obvious: Carlene was ashamed.

  Baby felt so tired. Dirty. She wanted to be a little girl again, her and Cherry, wanted to play in the clover patch with no worries except being stung by bees—no wars; no boys dying; nobody doing drugs or selling their body.

  She would call Cherry tomorrow and tell her they’d work together at the pickle plant this summer. Bean would be home soon, and she would tell Jackie Lim where he could put his banquets. She was through with the Water Witch. Let Carlene do what she had to. Baby wouldn’t be part of it anymore.