San Diego Lightfoot Sue

by Tom Reamy

  “Yes, Pearl?” He spoke quietly and cautiously.

  “John Lee, don’t pay attention when we tease you about how cute you are, or when we ogle your body. It’s just the way we are. It’s just the way the lousy world is.”

  “I won’t, Pearl.” He felt the hurting in the back of his throat, but he didn’t know why.

  Pearl suddenly stood up, the big grin back on his face. “Well. Look at me. Poor Pitiful Pearl. Now. What do you sleep in? Underwear? Peejays? Nightshirt? Your little bare skin?”

  “My pajamas are in the box, I think.”

  “Good enough.” Pearl left the bathroom and returned when John Lee was drying on a big, plush towel printed like the American flag. Pearl reached in and hung the pajamas on the doorknob without looking in. “There you go, Sugah.”

  “Thank you, Pearl.”

  He left the bathroom in his pajamas with his Sunday suit over his arm. Daisy Mae took the suit. “I’ll clean and press that for you.”

  “You don’t have to, Daisy Mae.” The names were beginning to sound normal to him.

  Daisy Mae grinned. “It won’t hurt me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pearl took his arm. “Time for you to go to bed.” He led John Lee into the bedroom. There was an old, polished brass bed. John Lee stared at it, then ran his hand over the turned-back sheets. Even Aunt Rose hadn’t thought about red silk sheets. He never imagined such luxury.

  “Golly,” he said.

  Pearl laughed and grabbed him in a big hug and kissed him on the forehead. “Sugah, you are just not to be be-lieved!” John Lee grinned uncomfortably and turned red. Pearl pulled the sheet up around his neck and patted his cheek. “Sleep tight.”

  “Good night, Pearl.”

  Daisy Mae stuck his head in to say goodnight. Pearl turned at the door and smiled fondly at him, then went out, closing it. John Lee wiggled around on the silk sheets. Golly, he thought, golly, golly, golly!

  Pearl walked dreamily into the living room and collapsed becomingly onto the big purple fur chair. He sighed hugely. “Daisy Mae. Now I know what it must feel like to be a mother.”

  The next morning John Lee woke slowly and stretched until his muscles popped. He looked at the ceiling but there was no faded, water-stained paper, only neat, white tiles with an embossed flower in the center of each. He slid to the side of the bed and felt the silk sheets flow like water across his skin. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself, splashing cold water on his face and combing the tangles out of his hair. He sure needed a haircut. He wondered if he ought to let it grow long now that he was in Hollywood.

  Hollywood.

  He’d almost forgotten. He bet Miss Mahan was worried about him. He sure liked Miss Mahan and a pang of guilt struck him. He should have told her he wouldn’t be back in school this fall; especially after she was nice enough to come to Mama’s funeral and all. Well, there was nothing he could do now. Mr. Cuttsanger would tell her—and everybody else—where he was.

  He went back to his room and put on his best pair of blue jeans, a white tee-shirt and his gray sneakers. He wondered where everyone was. The house was very quiet. He guessed they had both gone to work. He went out on the back porch, only Pearl called it a deck, and saw Daisy Mae lying there on a blanket stark naked. He started to go back in, but Daisy Mae looked up. “Good morning, slugabed, you sleep well?” John Lee fidgeted, trying not to look at Daisy Mae. “Yeah. Real good. Where’s Pearl?”

  “She’s at work. Does windows for May Company.”

  “Didn’t you have to work today at Paramount?” Paramount!

  “Got a few days off. Just finished something called Wives and Lovers. Gonna be a dog. You want some breakfast, or you wanta join me?”

  “Uh… what’re you doin’?” He sure didn’t seem to care if anybody saw him naked.

  “Gettin’ some sun, tryin’ to get rid of this fish-belly white.”

  “You always do it with… uh… no clothes on?” You’re acting like a hick again, John Lee Peacock. Damnation, he thought Daisy Mae chuckled. “Sure. Otherwise I’d look like a two-tone Ford. If it embarrasses you, I’ll put some clothes on.”

  “No,” he protested quickly. “No, of course it doesn’t embarrass me. I think I will join you.”

  “Okay.” He pointed back over his head without looking. “There’s another blanket on the chaise.”

  John Lee spread the blanket on the porch and pulled his tee-shirt over his head. He pulled off his shoes and socks. Daisy Mae wasn’t paying any attention to him. He looked around. The next house up the hill overlooked them, but that was the only one. He didn’t see Anybody up there. He took a deep breath, slipped off his pants and quickly lay down on his stomach. He might as well get some sun on his back first.

  Daisy Mae spoke without looking at him. “Don’t stay in one position more than five minutes or you’ll blister.”

  “Okay.” He estimated five minutes had passed, swallowed, and turned over on his back. He looked straight into the eyes of a woman leaning on the railing of the next house up, watching him. He froze. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Then he jumped up and grabbed his pants. He knew he was acting like an idiot but he couldn’t stop himself. He hopped on one foot, trying to get the pants on, but his toes kept getting in the way. They caught on the crotch and he fell flat on his butt. He managed to wiggle into them sitting on the floor.

  Daisy Mae looked up. “You sit on a bee or something?”

  “No.” He motioned with his head at the woman, afraid to look at her because he knew he was beet red all over.

  Daisy Mae looked up, grinned, and waved. “Hi, Sue.” He didn’t do anything to cover himself, didn’t seem to care that she saw him.

  “Hello, Daisy Mae.” Her voice was husky and amused. “Who’s your bashful friend?”

  “John Lee Peacock from Kansas. This is Sue. San Diego Lightfoot Sue.”

  Damnation, John Lee thought, I’m acting like a fool, sitting here hunkered up against the shez, as Daisy Mae calls it. Doesn’t anyone in Hollywood have a normal name? He forced himself to look up. She was still leaning on the railing, looking at him. Only now she was smiling. She was wearing a paint stained sweatshirt and blue jeans. Her hair was tied up in a scarf but auburn strands dangled out. She wasn’t wearing any makeup that he could see. She was kinda old he thought, but really very stunning. Her smile was nice. He felt himself smiling back.

  “Nothing to be bashful about, John Lee Peacock. I’ve seen more male privates than you could load in a boxcar.” Her voice was still amused but she wasn’t putting him down.

  “Maybe so,” he answered, “but I haven’t had any ladies see mine.” His boldness made him start getting red again.

  She laughed and he felt goose bumps pop out on his arms. “You could have a point there, John Lee. How would you like to make a little money?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s okay,” Daisy Mae said, getting up and wrapping a towel around his waist. “Sue’s an artist. She wants you to pose for her.”

  John Lee looked back up at her. “That’s right,” she said. “I’m as safe as mother’s milk.”

  “Well, okay, I guess. But you don’t need to pay me for something like that.” He got up and kicked his underwear under the chaise.

  “Of course I’ll pay you. It’s very hard work. Come on up.”

  “Uh… how do I get up there?”

  “Go down the street and come up my steps. Front door’s open, come on in. You’ll find me.” She smiled again and went out of sight.

  He looked at Daisy Mae. “Will it be all right with Pearl?”

  “Sure. We’ve both posed for her. She’s good. Scoot.” Daisy Mae went into the house. John Lee put on his tee-shirt and shoes. He wondered if he should take off his pants and put on his underwear, but decided against it.

  He opened her front door and went in as she had told him. She was right about him finding her. The whole house was one big room. A small kitchen was in one corner behind a f
olding screen. A day bed was against one wall between two bureaus that had been painted yellow. There was a door to a closet and another to a bathroom. There were a couple of tired but comfortable-looking easy chairs, a drafting table with a stool pushed under it, and an easel under a skylight. Pictures were everywhere; some in color, mostly black and white sketches; thumbtacked all over the walls, leaning in stacks against the bureaus, chairs, walls. A big, orange cat lay curled in a chair. It opened one eye, gave John Lee the once over, and went back to sleep.

  Sue was standing at the easel, frowning at the painting he couldn’t see. She had a brush stuck behind one ear and was holding another like a club. “I’m glad you showed up, John Lee. This thing is going nowhere.” She flipped a cloth over it and leaned it against the wall.

  John Lee stared at the pictures. Nearly all of them were of people, most of them naked, though there were a couple of the cat. Some of the people were women but most of them seemed to be men. He spotted a sketch of Pearl and Daisy Mae, leaning against each other naked, looking like a butterfly with one black and one white wing.

  She watched him look for a while. “This is just the garbage. I sell the good stuff. That one of Pearl and Daisy Mae turned out rather well. It’s hanging in a gay bar in the Valley. Got eleven hundred for it.”

  “Golly.”

  “You’re right. It was a swindle.”

  “Do you… ah… want me to… do you want to paint my picture with my… clothes off?” He waved his hand vaguely at some of the nude sketches. Damn his ears!

  She didn’t seem to notice. “If you don’t mind. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a few days yet. Give you a chance to get used to the idea. I want to make some sketches and work on your face for a while.” She came to him and put her hand on his cheek. “You’ve got something in your face, John Lee. I don’t know… what it is. More than simple innocence. I just hope I can capture it. Hold still, I want to feel your bones.” He grinned and it made her smile. “Makes you feel like a horse up for sale, doesn’t it?” She ran her cool fingers over his face and he didn’t want her to ever stop. He closed his eyes.

  Suddenly, she caught her fingers in his hair and shook him. She laughed and hugged him against her warm, soft breasts. His stomach did a flip-flop. She released him quickly and crossed her arms with her hands under her armpits. She laughed a little nervously. “You’re just like Punkin. Scratch his ears and he’ll go to sleep on you.”

  “Punkin?”

  She pointed to the cat. “Don’t you think he looks remarkably like a pumpkin when he’s curled up asleep like that?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed.

  “Do you want to start now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay. Just sit in that chair and relax.” She pulled the stool from beneath the drafting table and put it in front of the chair. She sat on the stool with her legs crossed, a sketch pad propped on one knee. She lit a cigarette and held it in her left hand while she worked rapidly with a stick of charcoal. “You can talk if you want to. Tell me about yourself.”

  So he did. He told her about Miller’s Corners, Hawley, the farm, school, Miss Mahan who also painted but only flowers, Mr. Cuttsanger, his mother, a lot about his mother, not much about his father because he didn’t really know very much when you got right down to it. He made her chuckle about Aunt Rose and Aunty Lilah. She kept turning the pages of the sketch pad and starting over. He wanted to see what she was drawing but he was afraid to move.

  She seemed to read his mind. “You don’t have to sit so still, John Lee. Move when you want to,” He changed position but he still couldn’t see. Punkin suddenly leaped in his lap, making him jump. The cat walked up his chest and looked into his eyes. Then he began to purr and curled up with his head under John Lee’s chin.

  Sue chuckled. “You are a charmer, John Lee. He treats most people with majestic indifference.” John Lee grinned and stroked the cat. Punkin squirmed in delicious ecstasy. Then John Lee’s stomach rumbled.

  Sue put the pad down and laughed. “You poor lamb. I’m starving you to death.” She looked at her watch. “Good grief, it’s two-thirty. What do you want to eat?”

  “Anything.”

  “Anything it is.”

  He stood with Punkin curled in his arms, watching her do wonderful things with eggs, ham, green peppers, onions, and buttered toast. He said he loved scrambled eggs and she laughed and said scrambled eggs indeed, you taste my omelettes and you’ll be my slave forever. She pulled down a table that folded against the wall, set out the two steaming plates with two glasses of cold milk. He was quite willing to be her slave forever, even without the omelette.

  Punkin sat on the floor with his tail curled around his feet, watching them, making short, soft clarinet sounds. She laughed. “Isn’t that pitiful? The cat food’s under the sink if you’d like to feed him.”

  “Sure.” He tried to pour the cat food into the bowl, but Punkin kept grabbing the box with his claws and sticking his head in it. John Lee sat on the floor having a fit of giggles. God o’mighty, he thought, everything is so wonderfully, marvelously, absolutely perfectly good.

  She continued sketching after they did the dishes. He sat in the chair feeling luxuriously content. He smiled.

  “May I share it?” Sue asked, almost smiling herself.

  “Huh? Oh, nothin’. I was just… feeling good.” Then he felt embarrassed. “You… ah… been painting pictures very long?”

  “Oh, I’ve dabbled at it quite a while, but I’ve only been doing it seriously for a couple of years.” She smiled in a funny, wry way. “I’m just an ageing roundheels who decided she’d better find another line of work while she could.”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about. “You’re not old.”

  “I stood on the shore and chunked rocks at the Mayflower.” She sighed. “I’m forty-five.”

  “Golly. I thought you were about thirty.”

  She laughed her throaty laugh that made him tingle. “Honey, at your age everyone between twenty-five and fifty looks alike.”

  “I think you’re beautiful,” he said and wished he hadn’t, but she smiled and he was glad he had.

  “Thank you, little lamb. You should have seen me when I was your age.” She stopped drawing and sat with her head to one side, remembering. “You should have seen me when I was fifteen.” Then she shifted her position on the stool and laughed. “I was quite a dish—if I do say so myself. We were practically neighbors, you know that?” she said, changing the subject. “I’m an old Okie from way back. Still can’t bear to watch the Grapes of Wrath. We came to California in ’33 and settled in San Diego. Practically starved to death. My father died in ’35 and my mother went back to telling fortunes and having seances—among other things. My father wouldn’t let her do it while he was alive.”

  “Golly,” he said bug-eyed. “A real fortune teller?”

  “Well,” she said wryly, “I never thought of it as being very real, but I don’t know anymore.” She looked at him speculatively for a moment, then shrugged. “Whether she was real or not I don’t know but I guess she was pretty good, ’cause there seemed to be plenty of money after that. Then the war started. And if you’re twenty-three, in San Diego, during a war, you can make lots of money if you keep your wits about you.” She shifted again on the stool. “Well, we won’t go into that.”

  “Where’s your mother now?”

  “Oh, she’s dead… I imagine. It was ’45 I think, yeah, right after V-J Day, I went over for a visit and she wasn’t there. Never heard from her again. You know, her house is still there in San Diego. I get a tax bill every year. I don’t know why I keep paying it. Guess I’d rather do that than go through all that junk she had accumulated. I was down there a few years ago and went by the place. Everything was still there just as it was; two feet deep in dust, of course. I’m surprised vandals haven’t stripped the place, considering what the neighborhood’s become. I took a few things as keepsakes, but I didn’t hang around long.
It’s worse than it was when she was there.”

  She worked a while in silence then stopped drawing again and looked at him in a way that made his stomach feel funny. “If I were twenty and you were twenty… you’re gonna be a ring-tailed boomer when you’re twenty, John Lee.” She suddenly laughed and began drawing. “If I’m gonna make people older and younger, I might as well make myself fifteen—no point in wasting five years.”

  He didn’t know what a ring-tailed boomer was, but the way she said it made his ears turn red. Her mentioning San Diego reminded him. “Why do they call you San Diego Lightfoot Sue?”

  “Daisy Mae has a big mouth,” she said wryly. “I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  “I sure like Pearl and Daisy Mae,” he said and smiled. “So do I.”

  “Pearl is awfully nice to me.”

  “Some people have a cat and some people have a dog.” He sure wished he knew what people were talking about, at least some of the time.

  It seemed to him hardly any time had passed when Pearl sashayed in with a May Co. carton under his arm. “It is I, Lady Bountiful, come to free the slaves,” he brayed and presented the box to John Lee with a flourish. “It’s a Welcome to California present.”

  “Golly.” He took the box gingerly.

  “Well, open it.” John Lee fumbled at the string while Pearl planted a kiss on Sue’s cheek. “Sugah, you look more like Lauren Bacall every day!”

  Sue grinned. “Hello, Pearl. How are you?”

  He sighed an elaborate sigh. “I am worn to a frazzle. I’ve been slaving over a tacky May Company window all day. If they would only let me be cre-a-tive!”

  “Wilshire Boulevard would never survive it.”

  John Lee stared at the contents of the box. “How did you know what size I wore?”

  “Daisy Mae has tape measures in her eyeballs.” He made fluttering motions with his hands. “Well, try them on.” John Lee grinned and hurried to the bathroom with the box. He put it on the side of the tub and went through it. There were pants, a shirt, socks, shoes, and, he was glad to see, underwear. But he had never seen gold underwear and they looked kinda skimpy. He quickly shucked off his clothes and slipped on the gold shorts. Golly, he thought. They fit like his hide and he kept wanting to pull them up, but that’s all there was to them.