“Cherry, I think I hear something. Keep yelling.”
We kept screaming Bean’s name, and sure enough there was a faint answer. It was hard to tell where it was coming from, but we took off in the most likely direction.
56.Carlene
Tripp and Carlene drove toward town from the Ramada on Route 66, then turned off and went down the road that circled the lake, and passed by her trailer. The only light was a faint glow in her room, where Kevin was asleep on his little cot.
“That’s where Mama and Kevin and I live. Not much, is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“I don’t intend to live there forever—just a little while longer. I’ve almost saved enough to make the move.” She turned down a road that branched off past her trailer. “Let’s go on around the lake, and I’ll show you the restaurant where I work. It’s real nice, and not too far from here.”
They went down the narrow dirt road to the Water Witch, deserted and dark, circled the parking lot, and Carlene noticed that the lights were on down in Frank’s houseboat. He must have just gotten back in town. She hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. There was a little Honda motorcycle parked out by the dock. That was odd, but she couldn’t think about stopping in to see Frank now, with Tripp in the truck. He would probably call her tomorrow.
They drove back to 66 again for a quick pass by the Freezer Fresh, closed at that hour, and made the loop back to the high school so Carlene could show Tripp where she got her education, such as it was, since she never did graduate.
They pulled into the parking lot, and she and Tripp walked around to the elementary school building and the playground, off behind the big brick high school. The seesaws, swings, and other equipment sat still in the July moonlight, waiting for September, when the noisy kids would come back and wrestle them to life.
“Come on, Tripp. I’ll race you to the tommy-walkers! I bet you can’t walk them.” Carlene took off running.
“Hold on! That’s not fair! You got a head start!”
Carlene beat him, but Tripp leaped up and walked the bars hand over hand, right behind her, and then without skipping a beat, they jumped down and ran to the tall wooden swings.
“This is how you do it, Tripp. You stand up, pump to go as fast as you can, then you sit down.” She stood up and soon had her swing going in a high arc.
Tripp stood up on the swing and tried to pump, but couldn’t get the hang of the sitting down part.
“I think you have to be eight to do this, Carlene!” His slick leather-soled shoes slipped just then, and he almost flew off. He barely saved himself by grabbing onto the chain, and dragged his feet to slow down.
“Ow, my hands! I can’t believe you used to do this every day. Why weren’t more kids here brain-damaged?”
“Who said they weren’t? Come on. Don’t be a baby. Let’s do the merry-go-round!”
They took a couple of turns on the merry-go-round, pushing it to get going fast and then leaping on and off, like she swore the kids used to do.
“This is more fun than I had when I actually went to school here,” Carlene said, trying to catch her breath as the merry-go-round slowed to a stop. “Whooee. I gotta give up these cigarettes. They’re killing me.”
“Yeah, me too. Wow.” Tripp was a little winded himself. “So far, Sweet Valley is a groovy town. What else is there to see?”
“It’s a surprise. Let’s go. I saved the best for last. I’ll even let you drive my pickup, and I don’t let many people do that.”
They got back in the truck and Carlene pointed him up the mountain road. Tripp ground down to second gear to pull the hairpin turns, until they leveled out on top of the Ridge.
“Turn here, Tripp, and I’ll show you the best parking spot in Sweet Valley. Not that I want to seduce you or anything, so don’t get any ideas. You just need to learn the ropes of our exciting social life if you’re going to live around here, and for better or worse, parking is it.”
They pulled up at the red airplane lights, got out, and sat down on the edge of the bluff.
“Now, that’s some view. You were right. This is the top of the world.”
“I come up here sometimes and pretend that I’m a Caddo Indian and it is hundreds of years ago, before the white man came and messed things all up, and there was no town, but just a few wigwams down in that sweet valley there in the moonlight. Wouldn’t it be great to have lived then? No phones, no factories, no such of a thing as money. All we’d have to do was grow our food, hunt with a bow and arrow, play with our kids, and tend to living. Everybody working together to survive. I wish sometimes I could go someplace like that.”
“It was a little like that in Nam. Or it was before the war, I would imagine. Pretty and primitive. The most valuable thing the people owned was their water buffalo.”
Tripp lit up two cigarettes, like Paul Henreid did for Bette Davis, and handed one to Carlene. They leaned back on their elbows and smoked.
“What was Vietnam really like, Tripp? I don’t mean the war. What was the place like before the war?”
“Before the war . . . I think it was warm and full of life and beautiful. The light was magic in the rainy season. Rain swept down every day at two o’clock and turned the rice paddies to silver. Little barefoot boys rode high up on the backs of water buffalo and never seemed to notice it was raining. People would be out on their bicycles going about their business, and when the rain started, they wouldn’t miss a spin of the pedal as they pulled out bright-colored rain ponchos and covered themselves, turning the roads into rivers of moving color—purple, green, blue, pink, and yellow. Whole families rode on a single bicycle, kids sandwiched in between the parents. It was unbelievable, how much they could balance on those bikes—long loaves of bread, baskets piled high with mangoes or red dragon fruit and flowers, large trees, even things like windows for their houses.
“The women wore these long-sleeved, high-necked silk dresses, split up each side over narrow pants, and they looked like graceful flowers on their bicycles. The high school girls wore them in white silk, as uniforms. They never seemed to get dirty, even riding out in the rain and the mud. The people probably laughed a lot before the war. I think they used to be happy.”
“I wish Jerry could have seen it like that. It seems like he only saw the bad side of it.”
“He had beauty in his life. He had you.”
“Did he talk to you about me?”
“He did. A lot. I can see why he liked you.”
“I see why he liked you, too.” They sat in companionable silence. Carlene started to say something, then stopped.
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. It’s crazy.”
“Tell me anyhow. I’m crazy, too, sometimes.”
“All right, then. Would you think I was weird if I told you he came to me when he died?”
“No, I wouldn’t think you were weird. Tell me about it.”
“I might have imagined it, but I was out behind my trailer, sitting on this big rock where I go to be by myself sometimes. I was reading the last letter he sent me, for something like the fortieth time, and I heard him call my name as clear as day. As close to me as you are right now. He said, ‘Carlene.’ That’s all—just my name. But it was his voice, as real as yours is. I looked around, thinking it was maybe somebody who sounded like him, but there wasn’t anybody there. Of course, I thought I was going bananas or something, but then a couple of days later, his mother called and told me he had been killed. Nobody can ever tell me it wasn’t him coming to say good-bye.”
“I think it probably was. I’ve heard of strange things like that happening. People tend to believe in the supernatural more in California, for some reason. I don’t laugh at it, Carlene.”
“I like your accent. It sounds like California. The way you say ‘Carlene’ is nice. Do you like the name Carlene?”
“It’s a good, strong name. Why? Don’t you like it?”
“Not for a mo
vie-star name. I was named after my daddy, Carl. Me and him didn’t get along too well, and I thought I might change my name when I got to Hollywood.”
“A lot of people do that. I think Tony Curtis is really Bernie Schwartz or something. Have you thought of one you like?”
“I don’t know. Not really. Maybe you can help me figure one out. It needs to be something memorable and catchy but simple, like Marilyn Monroe, or Lana Turner.”
“Hm. How about . . . Madeleine Morgan?”
“Nah. Too many M’s. Too much like Monroe. What do you think about Ramona Desmond?”
“Too old-fashioned. Sounds like that movie Sunset Boulevard.What about . . . Veronica Fairchild?”
“Too la-de-da. It’s not the one, but I’m definitely changing it. I want to start all over, like a new person out in California. Leave the old me behind.”
“It’s a good place to do that.” He took a last drag from his cigarette and ground it against the rock, snuffing out the ember; flipped it out into the air over the treetops. Carlene did the same.
The moon was waxing toward full and came out from behind a cloud, lighting up the night with blue-white light.
“You go on back to the truck, Tripp. I need to answer the call of nature. Cokes always do that to me. I’ll just be down by the rocks. Go on, now.”
“All right. I’ll wait for you.”
Carlene went down the little path and through Fat Man’s Squeeze. She’d be out of sight there, in case Tripp was watching. She stumbled over something in the dark that clanked, and took out her lighter to see what it was. It was a can of red paint, left over from the kids who painted SENIORS OF ’69 on Sweet Rock. The brush was in the can. Carlene swished it around a few times, poking through the dried-out skin on top, and found the paint was still wet.
“If I’m going to have a new name and a new life, I’m going to get rid of the old one. I’ll lay you to rest, Ida Red, and leave you buried here at the bottom of Sweet Rock,” she said out loud. “This will be your final resting place.”
She wrote on the rock wall, IDA RED IS DEAD!! She didn’t care if anybody ever saw it or not, or what they might think. Somehow finally killing the hateful name lifted her spirits. She hadn’t told Tripp, but she had already decided on her new name. She was going to be Hedy, after Hedy Lamarr, the most beautiful actress in her mother’s drawer of old pictures. She would be Hedy Golden, and if Jerry’s parents didn’t like it, too bad. It would have been her name if Jerry had lived; she was entitled to it, and she would take it. She couldn’t tell Tripp, though. He might not approve, and that would spoil it a little. She would introduce herself as Hedy Golden, shiny and new, when she got to California, and nobody would ever know she had once been a poor girl from Sweet Valley, Arkansas, known as Ida Red.
—
“Ready, Tripp?” she called out as she climbed back up over the rocks. He was sitting on the tailgate, dangling his legs out of the back of the truck waiting for her, smoking a joint. He held it out and she took a toke.
“What’s the deal around here about pot?” he asked.
“Well, you can go to jail for twenty years at a great place called Tucker Prison—famous for the Tucker Telephone, a little electric device they hook up to your balls and then dial your number—if they catch you with a single joint. If they find it in your car, they can confiscate the car and sell it at auction, usually to their brother-in-law, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’d watch myself if I were you. However, that said, I have a friend up here on the Ridge who raises just about the best homegrown you’ll ever find anywhere, and it might be worth taking the chance.”
“Would you introduce me?”
“Be happy to.”
They finished the joint, and Tripp put the roach in a little tin box in his pocket. The stars had never been brighter. Funny, but Carlene wasn’t really attracted to Tripp, in spite of how good-looking he was. It was almost a relief. There is nothing like having a great-looking guy for a pal when you don’t have to worry about seducing him. A relief for the guy, too, since she didn’t get any vibes from him that he was particularly attracted to her. Jerry was too strong a presence between them.
They lay down on the grass then, side by side, like eight-year-old chums, and looked up at the sky. Carlene was happier than she had been in more than a year. Part of it was, the responsibility of Jerry’s pictures had sat on her like a heavy weight, and that had been lifted. She hadn’t realized how much they were bothering her. Now it was out of her hands, and if nobody ever saw them, there was nothing she could do about it.
Another thing was that it was so nice to be out with somebody besides Frank, somebody who was her own age. It was so clear to her tonight that she didn’t want to be with Frank. Playing on the swings, she had felt so light and free—like a kid again. She didn’t enjoy the dirty games with Frank anymore. He had gotten too into them, and it wasn’t fun like it had been at first. Her heart sank every time he dragged out that camera equipment. Maybe she could get the film and the pictures away from him and burn them. If she did become a star in Hollywood, it wouldn’t be good to have pictures like that of her floating around, even if they were locked in a drawer—and certainly not a film. She made up her mind to tell Frank tomorrow. He might not like it, but she thought he would give them to her when she explained. Then nothing would stand between her and her future.
—
“It’s hard to believe the astronauts are up there somewhere on their way to land on the moon,” Tripp said. “I wonder if they are looking down here at us right now. That must be so bizarre.”
“But the moon looks so close tonight, doesn’t it? Like you could fly up to it in no time.”
“Yeah. Or maybe it’s just the pot making it seem that way. But whatever. This feels good, laying here under the stars like this. I haven’t been this relaxed in a long time.”
“Me neither. It’s way better than sex.”
“That’s debatable, but I know what you mean.”
“You have a girlfriend, Tripp?”
“Nope. I’m married.”
“Oh really? Where’s your wife?”
“Back in San Francisco. Two months before I was due to leave Nam, I stumbled into a punji trap, and they sent me to Chu Lai to the hospital. Faye was one of the Vietnamese nurses who took care of me. Her real name is Phuong, but I started calling her Faye, and it fits her. I thought she was an angel, and married her and brought her home with me. It was a crazy thing to do in a lot of ways, and even though it didn’t work out, I’m glad I got her out of there.
“Part of the reason I’m staying here and going to DuVall is to give us a little time to think things over. She was not really in love with me, I soon discovered, but she sure is in love with America. That’s cool. I’m probably not in love with her, either. We’ll stay married, though, at least until she gets her citizenship. She knows where I am, but we agreed not to write or call or be in touch in any way for six months. Then we’ll see what happens.”
“Is she beautiful?”
“I think she is. She’s tiny. Long hair, small hips; strong legs with big calves, like a lot of the Vietnamese women have. She’ll do all right over here, since she speaks perfect English. Her father was a language professor before the war. She can always get a job as a nurse somewhere. Faye can take care of herself, I have no doubt.”
“Well, I hope it works out for the best, whatever that is. What will you do until school starts?”
“I don’t know. Maybe get some kind of a job. What do you think would be a good place to work for a few weeks?”
“Not much choice for a short-time job. The pickle plant, I guess, would be easiest to get on. It’s hard work but the most interesting, if you’re looking for interesting. You’d meet a lot of kids there. Everyone in Sweet Valley should definitely experience the pickle plant at least once. It’s part of the local culture.”
“Pickle plant, huh? Sure, why not? Sounds like a chapter for my memoirs.”
; 57.Cherry
“BEAN! KEEP YELLING! IT’S ME AND CHERRY!” Baby was screaming. Our voices echoed all over the place. There were a lot of high rock cliffs on this part of the Ridge, which made it really confusing to tell where the sound was coming from.
I didn’t see how the law could ever find Bean’s patch, because I didn’t see how we would, and we knew it was there. My legs were all scratched up and stinging. When would I learn not to wear miniskirts on these excursions? I had on my favorite mint-green leather gillies, too, and they were getting beaten up. One of the laces had already caught on a stump and broke, and it was hard to walk with the shoe flopping with every step. I needed to have my head examined. I mean, who did I think would be up here in the woods to see me and say, “Oh, that Cherry Marshall is so chic in her green miniskirt, striped sweater, and matching shoes?” I’d never wear them again, so it was hard payment for a lesson learned.
After, it seemed like, another hour of crashing around, we heard our names being called, and this time there was no mistaking where it was coming from. It was close.
“Over there, Cherry! I see him!”
Sure enough, Bean was standing beside a rock cliff, waving his arms and yelling at us. We crawled over some dead logs and finally made it to the little clearing where Bean had his marijuana patch. I couldn’t believe the size of them. They were higher than my head, and that’s pretty high.
“Baby, what in the world are you doing coming out here at this time of the morning?” Bean didn’t seem too happy to see us. “And why are you coming from that direction? That’s the most roundabout way of getting here I ever saw. Didn’t you know the way?”
“We wanted to take the scenic route, what do you think?” Baby seemed considerably less glad to see him than she was a minute earlier.
“Why did you bring her up here? You know not to bring people—no offense, Cherry.”
“She knows all about it, Bean. She’s been smoking your pot with your old pal Tripp Barlow, so she’s hip.”
“Look, Bean, you know you can trust me. We had to come up here to talk to you because we’re looking for Tripp. It’s kind of an emergency. We haven’t seen him since night before last. We saw his car up at your house. Do you know where he is?”
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