“I’ve been to a few.”
“I had a boyfriend at the university when I was sixteen. Randy Reed. Raaandy Randy. I lied to my parents and went on the bus to visit him once for a weekend up in Fayetteville. He sneaked me into the dorm and we literally screwed the mattress off the bed for two whole days, not even going out for food. Lived on Cheetos and Hershey bars and Cokes from the machine. He nearly got thrown off the football team when somebody discovered us, but he was one of their best half-backs, so all they did was send me packing back to Little Rock like the little wench I was and told him not to see me again. Which of course he did.” She sighed. “He was so beautiful. I was so beautiful. We were so heartbreakingly young. Everything was brand new and we fit together like a key in a lock. I swear, I nearly went into a coma, the orgasms were so powerful. He was maaad about me. When I left for New York without telling him, he quit school and joined the marines. He never once tried to get in contact with me, but I heard he came back to Arkansas after he got out and became a bad drunk. One winter night when he was sloshed to the gills, he stopped to take a leak on the side of an icy road, slipped down the embankment, and crashed through some brush. A stick punched out his eye. Then he was a one-eyed drunk. Good old Raaaandy. Never heard about him again. He might even be dead now, for all I know.”
I could swear there was a tear on her cheek.
“Do you know how to call the Hogs?” she said, her face changing, lighting up. “Like they do at the football games?”
“Sure.”
“WOOOOOOO, PIG! SOOOOOOIE, RAZORBACKS!” she whooped at ear-splitting volume, and I jumped half out of my skin. She saw my face and doubled over with laughter. “Look at you! What kind of Arkie are you anyhow? Are you chicken? C’mon. Do it with me, Cherry! Let’s do it together!”
Well, how could I pass up a challenge like that?
“WOOOOOOOOO, PIG, SOOOOOOOOIE! RAZORBACKS!” The two of us called the Hogs, over and over, and the loud, high-pitched squeals rang against the glass walls of the pool room, echoing like we were a whole stadium full of fans. I started to laugh, too, and we hugged. Then Suzan kissed me gently, on the lips. Not a sexy kiss, but like a sweet sister would.
“What in the devil is going on, Suzan?” Freddy appeared at the door. “I could hear you all over the house. It sounded like you were being shoved into a wood chipper!” His hair was standing out in all directions.
“We were just talking about the Razorback football team and decided to call the Hogs,” I said.
“And then here you appear!” Suzan said, relapsing into hysterical laughter. I felt almost as drunk as she was, and had to laugh, too. We laughed until we collapsed on the chaise, hugging each other.
“I’m going to bed. Try not to wake up the rest of the house or someone will be calling the police.” Disgusted, Freddy turned and left.
“Calling the Hogs! And then here you appear! That was so funny!” We wiped our eyes and Suzan fished another bottle of Chardonnay out of a cabinet.
“I had a scholarship to the university. Academic, believe it or not. No dummy, this girl. Never actually got there, though. I was in the Miss Little Rock pageant and one of the judges was a scout from Eileen Ford. I only got first runner-up, the winner having knockers the size of bowling balls, but two days later I was on a bus for New York. I was barely seventeen. Left before high school graduation, which didn’t set well with the folks, I can tell you, but if you don’t walk through the door of opportunity when it opens, baby, it slams in your face. Moved in with Eileen. Boy, she’s a tough old buzzard. The girls who lived in her house had to do the housework, babysit her kids. She watched us like a hawk, and I couldn’t wait to make enough money to get out from under her scrutiny. Did you know I was on the cover of Seventeen before I had been in town three months? I’m sure my mother showed you all my covers. For a girl like me, it was like being shot out of a cannon. You can’t imagine the men that came out of the woodwork. Everyone from photographers to the guy who runs the newsstand propositioned me. At least I’d had a little experience with good ol’ Randy. I heard a booker tell one of the girls who was a virgin to go out and get laid. Really. She said that her eyes were blank and she could never make love to the camera until she made love to a man. I had no such problem. I started sleeping with the photographers right from the start. My eyes got worldly pretty quick, and I got covers. But you, now, you still have some innocence in your eyes.” She said it with a little half-smile, mocking me, but maybe mocking herself more.
“I don’t think I can sleep with men to get jobs, if that’s what you’re trying to say. I just don’t think I can do it.”
“You don’t have any idea what you can do. Beauty is a powerful tool, if you know how to use it. It is the key to all the doors there are. If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s never say never. Those are cold words to choke on.”
“Can’t you make it without all that? Don’t you think I have any chance at all?”
“If I didn’t think you had a chance, I never would have taken you on. Like I said, I’m in this for the money. And I think you’ll make money for me. But there are no guarantees.” She shrugged. “I really don’t know.” There was a little quiet moment while she went someplace else in her mind.
I wanted to make money, too, but more than that, I wanted…I don’t know how to put in words what I wanted. To be more than I was, I guess. To be more than just a gawky girl from Sweet Valley who works at some job and goes to church and gets married to somebody who works at some job and then has kids and always has to buy the cheapest detergent and cans of dark tuna instead of white and gets the family’s clothes at Wal-Mart or yard sales and pinches pennies enough to maybe take the kids on vacation once in their lives to Six Flags Over Texas or Disneyland. But probably not.
“What would you do if you had all the money you wanted?” I asked Suzan. “Like if the guy from the TV show The Millionaire came to your door and gave you a million dollars? What would you do with it?” I leaned back against the cushions, just a little out of her reach.
“Hmm. I would hire someone to kill Freddy, and then I’d move to Paris and live on the Left Bank, near Notre Dame. I’d eat in small cafés, drink kir, and have a young lover who didn’t speak English who would come when I called and leave me the hell alone the rest of the time. I would read all the books I never read in college, like Madame Bovary and Sister Carrie and take long walks and haunt the Louvre. I’d walk every day along the Seine wearing a long hooded cloak, like Cathy in Wuthering Heights.” She got misty-eyed at this image, her voice trailing away.
“You could do all that now, I bet. Except for the killing part. Why don’t you leave him?”
“Give him the business?”
“Start a new one…”
She paused a long minute, squinting up through the skylight at the stars. I felt like I’d said the wrong thing. Something in the air had changed. Underneath the wine I felt the ice creep back in.
“I’m not here to be your best friend,” she said in her normal voice, the Arkansas accent gone. “I’m here to guide your career, help you become a model, if that’s what you decide you want to do. And finally, you may not. So let’s think of tonight as a little interlude. A little down-home interlude. And tomorrow, we’re models again. Professionals. Just objects that make pretty pictures to sell products for big companies.”
She got up and unsteadily walked toward her bedroom, where I presumed Freddy had gone to bed. She was muttering something about Merle Oberon having a big, strange bumpy forehead, and how much better Linda Darnell would have been as Cathy.
I looked up at the Big Dipper through the roof and waited a minute to make sure she was gone, then found my little room, where Lana was sleeping soundly, wearing a white T-shirt, a big smile on her face like she didn’t have a worry in the world. I found the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and got between the soft sheets.
14
* * *
THE END OF THE ROAD
As the Mustang
eased into the fluorescent light of the Lincoln Tunnel, the sun was rising over Manhattan, washing the skyscrapers in gold and red. Sal was at the wheel, Lale asleep in the passenger seat, his head lolling against the window. They had driven the last part of the night in silence ever since they had stopped at a motel in western Pennsylvania and the night clerk had taken one look at Sal and decided there were no rooms at the inn. The clerk was one of those fat macho guys Sal hated the most—the kind who sits and watches TV all night at the desk, sleeps most of the day, then sacks out in the recliner with a can of beer in front of the TV at home while his wife works two jobs and cooks his dinner; the kind of tough guy who thinks the only good queer is one beaten up and lying bloody in the gutter. All it took for the rooms to be fully occupied was a look out the window at the baby-blue Mustang with the good-looking blond guy sitting in the front seat. If there was one thing the night clerk wasn’t going to abide, it was a couple of queers having their perverted sex right next to the room where he was sitting. His palms itched to hit Sal, just looking at his cropped hair and prissy walk, like he had a corncob up his butt.
“Hit the road, buddy, you and your girlfriend out there. There ain’t no rooms available.”
“Look, friend, that’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been driving for hours and just want to get some sleep. You’ll have no trouble, I promise.”
“Yeah, sure. Blondie there is your brother, right? The two of you look just alike. But it don’t matter. Like I said, we got no rooms.”
Lale watched through the car window and shifted uncomfortably in his seat when the night clerk stared out at him. Sal shrugged and started toward the door. Then he turned back.
“By the way, junior—give my regards to your wife. We’re old pals. She used to give me a blow job every Saturday, through the bars of her cage at the monkey house in the Bronx Zoo.”
Before the clerk could get off the stool and maneuver his belly around the counter, Sal had scooted out the door and slid in behind the wheel, laughing like a maniac. The Mustang skidded and slung gravel as the clerk lumbered onto the driveway. All he could do was grind his teeth and give a rude hand gesture to the rapidly receding taillights.
“So what was that all about, man?” Lale asked, a little scared. “You’d of thought you were trying to rob him or something. You weren’t, were you?”
“I should have robbed his fat tushy. But no, it seems he smelled a gay man and was afraid to let us near him. Mark my words—anytime you find a gay basher, right under the skin is a closet queen. The opposite of love isn’t hate, you know. It’s indifference. If there’s hate, there’s love, too. Or at least lust.”
“Yeah. Right. So he thought you and me were…boyfriends? Well, did you tell him we weren’t?”
“What for? I’m not ashamed of you.”
“All right. Fine. Just keep driving. When we get to New York, I’m out of here. I promise I’ll pay you back for the meals and the gas when I get a job. But I’m not ever going to be your boyfriend, no matter how nice you are to me. Got it?”
“You’ve made yourself clear, darling. Still, never say never. One never knows, does one?”
“In this case, yeah. One knows.”
After emerging from the tunnel on the west side of Manhattan, Sal made a turn down Eleventh Avenue.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Sal said. “We’re home. New York City.”
Lale stretched, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. “Is this it? Where’s the skyscrapers?”
“Look out the window, in the upward direction, sweet cheeks. You can’t see the skyscrapers for the buildings, baby. Let’s pull in and have a little breakfast. I could use a cup of coffee.”
They parked the car on the street in front of the Sunrise Diner. Morning traffic was already heavy on the West Side Highway. Near the tunnel exit, several streetwalkers, still dressed in their evening finery of cheek-peeking skirts and midriff-baring tops worn under cheap leather coats with tatty fake-fur collars, eyed the drivers, searching for a flicker of interest. Cold and tired, their makeup the worse for wear, they bravely marched up and down the sidewalk in their painfully high heels to keep warm, waiting for the morning rush of guys who wanted a quick blow job before heading to work.
Lale got out of the car and stretched, then stared in disbelief as one of the streetwalkers, wearing a purple wig-hat, came over to him. Her legs were muscular, covered in black fishnet stockings. Her white patent-leather high heels were scuffed with black streaks.
“What’re you doing with this guy, gorgeous?” she said, coming too close to him. “Why don’t you let a real woman show you what it’s all about? On the house.”
“Get lost, sugar,” Sally snarled. “He’s mine.”
“Wait a minute, Sal. I’m not yours,” Lale interrupted. “You have to stop saying that to people.”
“You’re not?” The woman reached out to touch Lale’s hair. “So there’s a chance, hmm?”
“No!” He jumped back. “No chance! I mean, I’m not interested, ma’am, but thanks just the same. I just meant that me and Sal here are not together, that’s all. I just met him and he offered me a ride. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Way to go, Sal. If you find any more like this, send them my way. See you around, gorgeous. Look me up if you can ditch this guy. I can usually be found right here. Ask for Yolanda. Everybody knows me.”
“What kind of a place is New York, anyhow?” Lale said as the woman sauntered away. “You didn’t tell me it would be like this.”
“I haven’t told you much of anything, have I? So much to tell, so little time. This is just the normal morning crowd here.” Sal laughed. “Don’t get so uptight. There are a million different kinds of people in this city, and you’ll meet them all, top to bottom. Now that you’ve started somewhere near the bottom, come on in and let’s have some breakfast. I really need that coffee.”
“I don’t think so. This here is where we part company. Thanks for the ride and all, but I don’t think I care for New York all that much. I’ll try to get another ride out of here as fast as I can.”
“Really? And go where, may I ask? Home? I would doubt there are many New Yorkers heading to Arkansas. Maybe you can find your truck-driver friend—Smitty, did you call him?”
“Snuffy.”
“Right. Snuffy. Maybe by chance he’s in New York? Assuming he would give you a ride back home after the punch he threw at you. I had the feeling you weren’t at the top of his hit parade.”
Lale looked at the ground, then up the long avenue with its endless row of grimy buildings; nothing but brick and concrete and traffic as far as he could see. He was so tired and cold.
“Or maybe you have bus fare hidden in your boot there?” Sal went on, raising one eyebrow.
“No. I told you. I have ten dollars in my pocket. That’s it.” His voice broke, and he looked back at the ground.
Sal put his hand on Lale’s shoulder and forced him to look him in the eyes.
“Don’t be silly, Lale,” he said, in a kinder voice. “I’m not going to jump on you, although the thought did cross my mind while you were sleeping so soundly with your pretty little rosebud mouth open and that delicate strand of saliva dribbling down your chin. Let me treat you to breakfast, then you can decide what you want to do. I’ll help you. Whatever you want to do. No strings attached.”
Lale hesitated. The street was piled with garbage waiting the morning pickup, and cars were going by, their drivers either studiously ignoring or ogling the women still defiantly strutting and shivering in the cold like a small flock of bright birds. Well, he was here now. He was at the end of the road, for better or worse. Lale shook his head and pushed his hands into his pockets. He had stupidly spent half the money in his wallet treating Sal to supper last night when they stopped at a steakhouse on the road, and he knew the rest wouldn’t get him far.
“All right. Thanks, Sal. I’ll pay you back when I can get a job. I mean it.”
“I’m keeping a tab.”
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br /> The Sunrise was warm and lively, full of freshly scrubbed people, their hair still damp from the shower, going to work, and others, exhausted, dressed in club clothes, coming back from a night of partying. It was a long narrow diner with a counter down the length of the room and red booths that matched the Coca-Cola signs. Hand-lettered blackboards above the counter announced the specials of the day. Sal and Lale found an empty booth, and a waitress wearing a tight green uniform and silver eye shadow came over to their table.
“Hey, Sal, when did you get back in town?”
“Five minutes ago, Freda, and it’s so great to be back in civilization! I’m simply not cut out for the country life. But I brought back a souvenir. Meet Lale. If you can believe it, until two days ago he’d never been out of Arkansas.”
She eyed Lale with a practiced once-over.
“Arkansas, huh? How did you luck into meeting Sally here?”
“Um, I needed a ride, and he had one. We’re just friends. That’s all.”
“Oh, don’t worry, sugar. I can tell you’re straight. Anybody can see that written all over you. I have never been wrong about that. I have built-in radar.”
“I can think of a time or two you were wrong, Freda.”
“That was a choice, Sal. Of course I knew the score. I was just curious.”
“Right. Freda here has built-in radar, darling. Or should I say gay- dar?”
“Ha. That’s a good one. Anyhow, welcome to New York, Lale. What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have eggs, over easy, yellows not too runny, sausage, and biscuits.”
“Sorry, no biscuits. No grits, either. How about a bagel?”
“What’s that?”
“Bread. You’ll like it, I promise.”
Sal seemed to know quite a lot of the people in the diner. He waved to them as they came in the door, and blew kisses to a few. A tall, well-built man came in carrying a big flat leather portfolio, sat at the counter, and ordered coffee. He glanced around the room and zeroed in on Lale, who met his eyes, then looked away.
Cheap Diamonds Page 13