San Diego Lightfoot Sue

by Tom Reamy

  “No, sir, but I remember the feed store.”

  “Imagine that. You musta been about four-five years old.”

  “I was born in forty-eight.”

  “Closed the feed store in fifty-two. Imagine you rememberin’ that far back.” He continued to ramble on in his pleasant, friendly voice. John Lee asked questions and made comments to keep him going, to make the time pass faster. A whole hour before the bus would come.

  But it finally did, cutting off the highway in a cloud of dust and a dragon hiss of air brakes. John Lee looked at the magic name in the little window over the windshield: LOS ANGELES. He swallowed and solemnly shook hands with Mr. Cuttsanger.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Cuttsanger.”

  “Goodbye, John Lee. You take care now.”

  John Lee nodded and picked up the box and walked to the bus, his legs trembling. The door sighed open and the driver got out. He opened a big door on the side of the bus that cut right through Continental Trailways. He took the pasteboard box.

  “Where you goin’?”

  “I’d like a ticket to Los Angeles, please.” He couldn’t keep from smiling when he said the name. The driver put a tag on the box, put it in with the suitcases, and closed the door. John Lee followed him into the bus. Inside was cool like some of the stores in Liberal.

  He bought his ticket and sat down in the front seat, scooting to the window as the bus lurched back onto the highway. He looked back at Miller’s Corners and waved to Mr. Cuttsanger, but he was taking down the red flag and didn’t see.

  John Lee leaned back in the seat and hugged himself. Once more he couldn’t keep from smiling. After a bit, he looked around at the other people. There weren’t many and some weren’t wearing Sunday clothes; so he decided it would be all right to take off his jacket. He settled back in the seat watching the baked Kansas countryside rush past the window. Strange, he thought, it looks the same way it does from the school bus. Even though he tried to prevent it, the smile returned unbidden every once in a while.

  The bus went through Hawley without stopping, past the white rococo courthouse with its high clock tower; past the school, closed for the summer; over the hump in the highway by the old depot where the railroad tracks had been taken out; across the bridge over Crooked Creek.

  It stopped in Liberal and the driver called out, “Rest stop!” John Lee didn’t know what a rest stop was, so he stayed on the bus. He noticed that some of the other passengers didn’t get off either. He decided there was nothing to worry about.

  He tried to see everything when the bus left Liberal, to look on both sides at once, because it was the farthest he had ever been. But Oklahoma looked just like Kansas, Texas looked just like Oklahoma, and New Mexico looked like Texas, only each seemed a little bleaker then the one before. The bus stopped in Tucumcari for supper. John Lee had forgotten to eat dinner and his bladder felt like it would burst.

  He was nervous but he managed all right. He’d eaten in a café before and, by watching the others, he found out where the toilet was and how to pay for his meal. It was dark when the bus left Tucumcari. He tried to go to sleep, to make the time pass faster, the way he always did when the next day was bringing wondrous things. But, as usual, the harder he tried, the wider awake he was.

  He awoke when the bus stopped for breakfast and quickly put his coat over his lap, hoping no one had noticed. He waited until everyone else had gotten off, then headed for the toilet keeping his coat in front of him. He didn’t know for sure where he was but all the cars had Arizona license plates.

  It was after dark when the bus pulled into Los Angeles terminal, though it seemed to John Lee as if they had been driving through town for two hours. He had never dreamed it was so big. He watched the other passengers collect their luggage and got his pasteboard box.

  Then he went out into: Los Angeles.

  He walked around the street with the box clutched in his arms in total bedazzlement. Buildings, lights, cars, people, so many different kinds of people. It was the first time he had ever seen a Chinese, except in the movies, although he wasn’t absolutely sure that it wasn’t a Japanese. There were dozens of picture shows, lined up in rows. He liked movies and used to go nearly every Saturday afternoon, a long time ago before the picture house in Hawley closed.

  And buses, with more magic names in the little windows:

  SUNSET BLVD.; HOLLYWOOD BLVD.; PASADENA; and lots of names he didn’t recognize, but were no less magic, he was sure, because of that.

  He was standing on the curb, just looking, when a bus with HOLLYWOOD BLVD. In the little window pulled over and opened the door right in front of him. The driver looked at him impatiently. It was amazing how the bus had stopped especially for him. He got on. There didn’t seem to be anything else he could do.

  “Vine!” the driver bawled sometime later. John Lee got off and stood at the corner of Hollywood and Vine grinning at the night. He walked down Hollywood Boulevard, gawking at everything, reading the names in stars on the sidewalk. He never imagined there would be so many cars or so many people at night. There were more than you would see in Liberal, even on Saturday afternoon. And the strange clothes the people wore. And men with long hair like the Beatles. Mary Ellen Walker had a colored picture of them pasted on her notebook.

  He didn’t know how far he had walked—the street never seemed to end—but the box was heavy. He was hungry and his Sunday shoes had rubbed a blister on his heel. He went into a café and sat in a booth, glad to get rid of the weight of the box. Most of the people looked at him as he came in. Several of them smiled. He smiled back. A couple of people had said hello on the street too. Hollywood was certainly a friendly place.

  He told the waitress what he wanted. He looked around the café and met the eyes of a man at the counter who had smiled when he came in. The man smiled again. John Lee smiled back, feeling good. The man got off the stool and came to the booth carrying a cup of coffee.

  “May I join you?” He seemed a little nervous.

  “Sure.” The man sat down and took a quick sip of the coffee. “My name is John Lee Peacock.” He held out his hand. The man looked startled, then took it, giving it a quick shake and hurriedly breaking contact. “I’d rather be called Johnny, though.”

  The man’s skin was moist. John Lee guessed he was about forty, and a little bit fat. He nodded, quickly, like a turkey. “Warren.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Warren. You live in Hollywood?”

  “Yes.”

  The waitress brought the food and put it on the table. Warren was flustered. “Oh… ah… put that on my ticket.” The waitress looked at John Lee. Her mouth turned down a little at the corners. “Sure, honey,” she said to Mr. Warren.

  John Lee discarded the straw from his ice tea and put sugar in it. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “Ah… no. No, I’ve already eaten.” He took another nervous sip of the coffee and John Lee heard a smothered snicker from the booth behind him. “You didn’t have to pay for my supper. I’ve got money.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Warren.”

  “You’re welcome. Uh… how long you been in town?”

  “Just got here a while ago. On a Continental Trailways bus; all the way from Miller’s Comers, Kansas.” John Lee still couldn’t believe where he was. He had to say it out loud. “I sure do like bein’ in Los Angeles, Mr. Warren.”

  “You have a place to stay yet?”

  He hadn’t really thought about that. “No, sir. I guess I haven’t.”

  Warren smiled and seemed to relax a little. It was working out okay, but the kid was putting on the hick routine a little thick. “Don’t worry about it tonight. You can stay at my place and look for something tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Warren. That’s very nice of you.”

  “My pleasure. Uh… what made you come to Los Angeles?”

  John Lee swallowed a mouth full of food. “My mamma died the other day. Before she died, she gave me the money to
get away.”

  “I want to sit on the porch a while and rest,” she had said. “It was either Los Angeles or St. Louis and the Los Angeles bus came by first.” He pushed the gray memories back out of the way. “And here I am!”

  Warren looked at him, no longer smiling. “How old are you?”

  “I was fifteen last January.” He wondered if he was expected to ask Mr. Warren’s age.

  “God!” Warren breathed. He slumped in the seat for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Look, uh… Johnny. I just remembered something. I won’t be able to put you up for the night after all. As a matter of fact, I have to dash. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Warren. It was kind of you to make the offer.”

  “My pleasure. So long.” He hurried away. John Lee watched him stop at the cash register. When he left, the cashier looked at John Lee and nodded.

  “Nice goin’ there, John Lee Peacock, Sugah.” The voice whispered in his ear with a honied Southern accent. He turned and looked nose to nose into a grinning black face. “Got yoself a free dinnah and didn’t have to put out.”

  “What,” he said, completely befuddled.

  A second face, a white one, appeared over the back of the seat. It said, “May we join you?” doing a good imitation of Mr. Warren.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” They came around and sat opposite him, both of them skinny as Mr. Cuttsanger. He thought they walked a little funny.

  The black one said, “I’m Pearl and this is Daisy Mae.”

  “How ja do,” Daisy Mae said, chewing imaginary gum.

  “Really?” John Lee asked, grinning.

  “Really, what, Sugah?” Pearl asked.

  “Are those really your names?”

  “Isn’t he cute?” shrieked Daisy Mae.

  Pearl patted his hand. “Just keep your eyes and ears open and your pants shut, Sugah. You’ll get the hang of it.” He lit a pale blue cigarette and offered one to John Lee. John Lee shook his head. Pearl saw John Lee’s bemused expression and wiggled the cigarette. “Nieman-Marcus,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Queen of Spades and Cotton Tail.” They all three looked up at a chubby young man, standing with his hand delicately on his hip. His fleshy lips coiled into a smirk at John Lee. He wore light eye makeup with a tiny diamond in one pierced ear. He was with a muscular young man who looked at John Lee coldly. “You girls stage another commando raid on Romper Room?”

  “Why, lawdy, Miss Scawlett, how you do talk!” Pearl did his best Butterfly McQueen imitation and his hands were like escaping blackbirds.

  “This a Cub Scout meeting and we’re den mothers,” Daisy Mae said in a flat voice. The muscular young man grabbed Miss Scawlett’s arm and pulled him away.

  “It’s a den of something!” he shot back over his shoulder.

  “Did you see how Miss Scarlett looked at our John Lee?” Daisy Mae rolled his eyes.

  “The bitch is in heat.”

  “Who was that gorgeous butch number she was with?”

  “Never laid eyes on him before.”

  “Your eyes aren’t what you’d like to lay on him,” Daisy Mae said dryly.

  Pearl quickly put his hands over John Lee’s ears. “Don’t talk like that afore this sweet child! You know I don’t like rough trade!”

  John Lee laughed and they laughed with him. He didn’t know what they were talking about most of the time but he decided he liked these two strange people. “Doesn’t… uh… Miss Scarlett like you?”

  “Sugah,” Pearl said seriously, taking his hands away, “Miss Scarlett doesn’t like anybody.”

  “Stay away from her, John Lee,” Daisy Mae said, meaning it.

  “She has a problem,” Pearl pronounced.

  “A big problem,” Daisy Mae agreed.

  “What?” John Lee asked, imagining all sorts of things.

  “She’s hung like a horse.” Pearl nodded sagely.

  “A big horse.” Daisy Mae nodded also.

  John Lee could feel his ears getting red. Damnation, he thought. He laughed in embarrassment. “What’s wrong with that?” He remembered Leo Whittaker in his room at school who bragged that he had the biggest one in Kansas and would show it to you if you would go out under the bleachers.

  “Sugah,” Pearl said, patting his hand again, “Miss Scawlett is a lady”

  “It’s a wonder it doesn’t turn green and fall off the way she keeps it tied down. Makes her walk bow-legged.”

  “Don’t be catty, Daisy Mae. Just count your blessings.” Daisy Mae put his chin on the heel of his hand and stared morosely at nothing, like Garbo in Anna Christie. “John Lee, Sugah,” Pearl continued, “was all that malarky you gave that score the truth?”

  “Huh?” John Lee asked, completely confused.

  “It was,” Daisy Mae said in his incredible but true voice. “You really don’t have a place to stay tonight?”

  “Huh-uh.” He wondered why Pearl doubted him.

  “And he’s also really fif-teen” Daisy Mae said, cocking his eyes at Pearl.

  “Daisy Mae, Sugah,” Pearl said with utmost patience, “I’m only bein’ a Sistuh of Mercy, tryin’ to put a roof ovuh this sweet child’s head, tryin’ to keep him from bein’ picked up by the po-leece fah vay-gran-cee.”

  Daisy Mae shrugged fatalistically.

  “Why does it matter that I’m fifteen?” John Lee really wanted to know what they were talking about.

  “You are from the boonies,” Daisy Mae said in wonder. “Sugah, you come stay with us. There’s a lot you’ve got to learn. If we leave you runnin’ around loose, you gonna get in seer-ee-us trouble. Sugah, this town is full of tiguhs and… you… are… a… juicy… lamb.”

  “Your fangs are showing,” Daisy Mae said tonelessly. Pearl turned to him, about to cut him dead, but instead threw up his arms and did Butterfly McQueen again. “Lawzy, Miss Daisy Mae, you done got a spot on yo’ pretty shirt!” He turned back to John Lee with a martyred expression. “I wash and clean and iron and scrub and work my fanguhs to the bone and this slob can get covered in spaghetti sauce eatin’ jelly beans!”

  John Lee dissolved in a fit of giggles. Pearl couldn’t hold his outraged expression any longer and began to grin. Daisy Mae chuckled and said, “Don’t pay any attention to her, John Lee. She’s got an Aunt Jemima complex.”

  Pearl got up. “Let’s get out of this meat market. There are too many eyes on our little rump roast.”

  Daisy Mae put his hand on John Lee’s. “John Lee, if we run into a cop, try to look twenty-one.”

  He wiped the laugh tears from his eyes. “I’ll do my best.” He got the pasteboard box and followed them out of the café. They cut hurriedly around the corner past a large sidewalk newsstand, then jaywalked to a parking lot. Pearl and Daisy Mae acted like a couple of cat burglars and John Lee had to hurry to keep up.

  They got into a ’63 Corvair and drove west on Hollywood Boulevard until it became a residential street, then turned right on Laurel Canyon. They wound up into the Hollywood Hills, Pearl and Daisy Mae chattering constantly, making John Lee laugh a lot. He felt very good and very lucky.

  Pearl pulled into a garage sitting on the edge of the pavement with no driveway. They went up a long flight of rickety wooden steps to a small two-bedroom house with a porch that went all the way around. Pearl flipped on the lights. “It ain’t Twelve Oaks, Sugah, but we like it.”

  John Lee stared goggle-eyed. He’d been in Aunt Rose’s and Aunt Lilah’s fancy houses lots of times, but they ran to beige, desert rose, and old gold. These colors were absolutely electric. The wild patterns made him dizzy and there were pictures and statues and things hanging from the ceiling. “Golly,” he said.

  “Take a load off,” Daisy Mae said, pointing to a big reclining chair covered in what looked like purple fur. John Lee put the box on the floor and gingerly sat down. He leaned back and was surprised at how comfortable it was. Pearl put a record on the record player but John Lee didn’t recogniz
e the music. He yawned. Daisy Mae stood over the box. “What’s in this carton you keep clutching to your bosom?”

  “My things.”

  “Pardon my nose,” Daisy Mae said and opened it. He pulled out some of John Lee’s everyday clothes. “You auditioning for the sixteenth road company of Tobacco Road?”

  “Don’t pay any attention,” Pearl said, sitting beside John Lee. “She’s a costumer at Paramount. Thinks she knows every-thing about clothes.”

  “Don’t knock it. I had to dress thirty bitchy starlets to buy that chair you got your black ass on. I’ll hang these up for you, John Lee.”

  John Lee yawned again. “Thank you,”

  Pearl threw up his hands. “Land o’ Goshen, this child is ex-haus-ted!”

  Daisy Mae carried the box into a bedroom. “Two days on a Continental Trailways bus would give Captain Marvel the drearies.”

  Pearl took John Lee’s arm and pulled him out of the chair. “Come on, Sugah. We gotta give you a nice bath and put you to bed, afore you collapse.” He led him to the bathroom, showed him where everything was, and turned on the shower for him. “Give a holler if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” Pearl left. John Lee had never taken a shower before, although he had seen them at Aunt Rose’s and Aunt Lilah’s. He took off his clothes and got in.

  The door opened and Pearl came in, pushing back the shower curtain. “You all right, Sugah? Oh, Sugah, you are all right!” He leered at John Lee, but in such a way that made him laugh. His ears turned red anyway. Pearl winked and closed the curtain. “You don’t mind if I brush my teeth?”

  “No. Go ahead.” He could hear Pearl sloshing and brushing. After a bit there was silence. He pulled back the shower curtain a little and peeped out. Pearl was leaning against the wash basin, a toothbrush in his hand, his head down, and his eyes closed. John Lee watched him, wondering if he should say anything.

  “John Lee,” Pearl said without looking up, his voice serious and the accent totally absent.