by Tom Reamy
He looked up at her, feeling things he had never felt before, wanting things he had never wanted before. Perhaps if he hadn’t been floating in the dreamlike area between wakefulness and sleep, his natural shyness might have prevented him. He slipped his arms slowly around her neck and pulled her gently to him. He felt her tense as if about to pull away, then her lips were like butterfly wings against him. She lay across him with her face buried in his neck. He stroked her hair and brushed his lips against her cheek.
“Is this what you want, John Lee?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Is this what you really want?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You’re all I want.”
“You’re sure you’re not just feeling sorry for an old lady?” she said shakily, trying to sound as if she were making a joke, but not succeeding completely.
He held her tighter. “I love you, San Diego Lightfoot Sue.”
She stood up, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers. “Daisy Mae and his big mouth,” she said, half laughing and half crying. John Lee stood up also, giving the striped pants a hitch in the back. “Oh, John Lee,” she said, hugging him to her, “take off those awful clothes.”
He stood on tiptoe to kiss her because his mouth came only to her chin. He removed the clothes, feeling no embarrassment at all. She turned out the light and locked the door before undressing, feeling embarrassment for herself for the first time in nearly thirty years. She turned back the cover on the day bed and they lay in the warm night, listening to the shrieks of strained laughter from Pearl’s, feeling, exploring, each trying to touch every part of the other’s body with every part of his own. Then, she showed him what to do and kissed him when he was clumsy.
They lay together, drowsily. Flamenco music drifted over from the party next door. Sue had her arms around John Lee, her breasts pressed against his back, her face against his neck. “John Lee?”
“Mmmm?”
“John Lee, when you’re twenty… have you thought, I’ll be fifty.”
“I love you, Sue. It doesn’t matter to me.”
She was silent for a moment. “Perhaps it doesn’t now. You’re too young to know the difference, and I still have a few vestiges of my looks left. But in a few years you’ll want a girl your own age and in a few years I’ll be an old woman.” He started to protest but she put her fingers on his lips, brushing them with feathery touches. “Your lips are like velvet, John Lee,” she whispered. He opened his mouth slightly and touched her fingers with his tongue. Then she clamped her arms around him and began weeping on his shoulder. “My God, John Lee! I don’t want to be like your favorite aunt, or even your mother! I don’t want to see you married to some empty-headed girl, some pretty, young girl, having your babies like a brood sow, living in a tract house in Orange County. I want to be the one to have your babies, but I’m too old…”
He twisted in her arms to face her and stopped her words with his mouth. The second time she showed him how to make it last longer, how to make it better, and he was very adept. He fell asleep in her arms where she held him like a teddy bear, but she lay awake for many hours, making a decision.
The next morning he moved his things from Pearl’s to Sue’s.
When he had gone, Pearl began to sob, large tears rolling down his face. His hands clutched at each other like graceful black spiders. Daisy Mae put down the glass of tomato juice with the raw egg and Tabasco he had made for his hangover, and took Pearl in his arms.
“Oh, Pearl, you knew it would happen. Just like it always happens,” he soothed.
“But John Lee was different from the others,” he forced out between heaving sobs.
“Yes, he was. But he’s just next door. He’s still our friend. We can see him anytime.”
“But it’s not the same. Sue will be taking care of him, not me! Oh, Daisy Mae,” he wailed, “if this is what it’s like to lose a child, I don’t think I want to be a mother any more!”
Sue began a new painting that morning. “I want you like you were last night,” she told John Lee, “sitting all asprawl in the chair, half asleep, with Punkin in your lap, but not in those same clothes.” They went through his meager wardrobe. She selected a pair of khaki-colored jeans and gave him one of her shortsleeve sweatshirts. She showed him how to sit. “Leave your shoes off. I have a foot fetish.” She ran her fingernails quickly across the bottom of his foot. His leg jerked and he grabbed her, giggling, and pulling her in his lap. She submitted happily to his kisses for a moment, then pulled away.
“Okay,” she said, laughing, “calm yourself. We’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said primly, striking a pose and beaming at her.
Thank God, she thought, he doesn’t seem to have any regrets.
“My Gawd!” Pearl shrieked, seeing the new painting for the first time. He bulged his eyes and hugged himself. “Sue! That’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life! It’s practically porno-graphic! If I look at it any longer, I’m gonna embarrass myself.” He turned away dramatically and saw John Lee grinning and blushing.
“I embarrass myself a little with that one,” Sue admitted. “Talk about erotic fantasies.”
The painting was in dark, brooding colors, but a light from somewhere fell across John Lee, sitting deep in the chair, one bare foot tucked under him and the other dangling. One hand lay on his thigh and the other negligently stroked the orange cat in his lap. His face was sleepy and sensual. His eyes looked directly at you. They were the eyes of an innocent fawn, but they were also the eyes of a stag in rut.
“You’re not… ah… gonna show it to a bunch of people, are you?” John Lee asked tentatively.
When he woke the next morning, the bed beside him was empty. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and unfolded the note lying on her pillow. “John Lee, my love,” it read in her masculine scrawl, “I had to go to San Diego for the day and didn’t want to wake you. I’ll be back tonight late. Sue.”
He was asleep when she came in. She sat on the edge of the bed and moved her hand lightly across his chest. “John Lee. Wake up, honey.”
He squirmed on the bed. “Sue?” he mumbled without opening his eyes. He turned over on his stomach, burying his head, fighting wakefulness.
She pulled back the covers and slapped him lightly on his bare bottom. “Wake up. I want to do another painting. Get dressed.”
“Now?” he complained. “I’m too sleepy. Leave your number and I’ll call you.”
“Okay, smarty,” she said, laughing, “you’ve got thirty seconds before I get out the ice cubes.”
“White slaver,” he grinned, sitting up and kissing her.
“Where did you hear that?”
“I spent the day with Pearl and Daisy Mae.”
She kissed him and stood up. “Come on, get a move on.” She put a new canvas on the easel. “Why wasn’t Pearl at work? And I thought Daisy Mae had left for, my God, Arizona.”
“Today is Saturday,” he said and went into the bathroom.
“So it is. I sorta lose track.” She began squeezing black and white paint from tubes.
John Lee washed his face and ran a comb through his hair. He came out of the bathroom and put on the same clothes he had worn for the last painting. “These okay?” she nodded. “Shoes or foot fetish?” he grinned.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Shoes.”
He put on his Sunday shoes rather than the sneakers. “Daisy Mae doesn’t leave for a couple of weeks yet. They’re having fittings and things. Wardrobe gave her… him an 1865 ladies’ riding skirt with a zipper on the side. Any welder in Duluth would know better than that. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing in particular. Just stand there.” Her voice was tense and hurried.
“Stand?” he groaned. “Don’t you want to do another one of me sitting down?” He snapped his fingers. “Do one of me asleep in bed!” She didn’t laugh at his joke so he stood where she indicated. She began, using only black and white. “Don’t artists need the
northern light, or something?” he asked hopefully, pointing to the dark skylight.
She smiled. “That’s just an excuse artists have been using for the last few thousand years when they didn’t feel like working. Be patient with me, John Lee. You can sleep all day tomorrow. I have to go back to San Diego.”
“Can’t I go with you?”
“No, John Lee.” Her voice was so serious he didn’t say anything else.
She finished just before dawn. He was about to fall asleep standing, so she undressed him and put him to bed. He put his arms around her and kissed her, wanting her to stay a little while. “No,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, “you’re too sleepy. I’ll be back in a few days and we can stay in bed for a week.”
He smiled and his eyelids began to droop. “That’ll be nice.”
“Yes, my little lamb, very nice.” She kissed him gently on the mouth. He was asleep before she got out the door.
He woke up late Sunday afternoon and immediately looked at the painting. It wasn’t as well done as the other two, he thought. It had a hurried look. It was also in black and white. The John Lee in the painting was just standing there, his arms hanging at his sides, looking at you from beneath lowered brows. John Lee looked at the floor where he had been standing when he posed, but nothing was there. Yet, in the painting, there were lines on the floor. He was standing within a pentagram. And he looked different, he looked older, at least five years older, at least twenty.
Tuesday night Pearl and Daisy Mae took him to Graumann’s Chinese where he thought the movie was great and had a wonderful time standing in the footprints, though he had never heard of most of the people who had made them. After the movie they went to a Chinese restaurant where he ate Chinese food for the first time. He didn’t really like it but he told Pearl he did because it made him happy. It was nearly midnight when he got back to Laurel Canyon. Pearl wanted him to stay in his old room, but he said he’d better not because Sue might come home during the night and he wanted to be there.
He went up the wooden steps feeling incredibly content. If Sue were only there. Punkin came down the bannister like a tightrope walker, making little soft sounds of greeting. John Lee picked him up and made crooning noises. The cat butted his head against John Lee’s chin, making him chuckle. He carried Punkin into the house and turned on the light.
His head exploded. His legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer and he fell to his knees, dropping the cat. There was something white beside him but he couldn’t make his eyes focus. He thought he heard a voice but he wasn’t sure because of the wind screaming through his head. The white thing grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. It shouted more words at him but he couldn’t understand what they were. Something crashed into his face. The fog cleared a little. There was a man dressed in white, holding the front of his shirt. He could smell the sour whiskey on his breath. He slapped John Lee again and shoved him against the wall, but he managed to stay on his feet.
The wind was dying in his head. He heard the man’s angry words. “Jesus Christ!” he said, looking at the picture of John Lee sitting in the chair. He took a knife from his pocket and slashed through the canvas.
“Stop it!” John Lee croaked and took an unsteady step in the man’s direction.
He whirled, pointing the knife at John Lee. “Jesus Christ!” he said again, in amazement. “You’re just a little kid! She threw me over for a little kid!” The man’s face seemed to collapse as he lunged at John Lee with the knife. John Lee grabbed his arm but the man was far too strong. Then the man stepped on Punkin’s tail. The cat screeched and sank his claws in his leg. The man bawled and fell against John Lee. They both went to the floor, the man on top, his face beside John Lee’s.
“Jesus God,” the man whispered in bewilderment. Then his breath crept out in an adenoidal whine and didn’t go back in again. John Lee squirmed from beneath him. The man rolled onto his back. The knife handle stuck straight up in his chest, blood already clinging to it. John Lee tried to get to his feet, but could only make it to his knees. He saw Pearl and Daisy Mae run in but there was something very wrong with them. They floated slowly through the air, running toward him but getting farther away. Their mouths moved but only honking sounds came out. Then the floor hit him in the face.
The first thing John Lee felt was someone clutching his hand. He opened his eyes and they felt sticky. Pearl’s tense and worried face leaned over him, smiling tentatively. “Pearl?” His face hurt and his mouth wouldn’t work properly. He sounded as if he were talking with a mouth full of cotton.
“Don’t try to talk, John Lee, Sugah,” Pearl said anxiously. “You’re in the hospital. They said you had a mild concussion. I was scared to death. You’ve been unconscious for ages. This is Thursday.”
John Lee put his hand to his face and felt bandages on his mouth and a compress under his lip. “What happened,” he had to swallow to get the words out, “happened to my mouth?” It hurt to talk.
“You got a split lip. It’s all purple and swelled up. But don’t sweat it, Sugah. It makes you look ve-ry sex-y.”
John Lee grinned but stopped when it hurt too much. “Is Sue back?”
“She sat with you all night. I made her go home and sleep. They put you in a tacky ward but Sue had you moved to this nice private room.”
“The man…” He tried hard to remember what happened. “The man…”
“He’s dead, Sugah. You never saw so many police cars and ambulances and red lights. I don’t know what they’re gonna do, John Lee.” Pearl was distraught.
Sue came in. “Don’t upset him, Pearl. Everything will be all right.” She smiled brightly and John Lee felt everything would be. “How are you feeling, little lamb?”
“Awful,” he groaned and tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.
Pearl gave his arm a pat and said, “I’d better get back to work before May Co. fires my little black fanny. Bye, Sugah.”
“Bye, Pearl.” Pearl left with a big grin. Sue sat in the chair he had vacated. She took John Lee’s hand and held it to her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as if in pain.
He wanted to bring back her bright smile. “You’re looking particularly beautiful today.” He had never seen her dressed up before. She wore a silk suit in soft green, her auburn hair loose and long.
She did smile. “Thank you—and thank Playtex, Maiden-form, and Miss Clairol. You look… pretty awful.” But she said it as if she didn’t mean it.
“Pearl said I looked ve-ry sex-y.”
She grinned and then her face was serious. “John Lee, are you lucid enough to listen and understand what I have to say?” He nodded. “All right. There’ll be a… hearing… or something in a few days, when you’re feeling better, with the juvenile authorities. You won’t be in any trouble, because they know Jocko attacked you. They know it was an accident…”
“Who was he?” he interrupted.
She looked at him for a moment. “Someone I used to know,” she said softly.
“Did you love him? Was he your lover?” He didn’t know if he was saying it right. He wanted to know but he also wanted her to know that he didn’t care.
“They’re not exactly the same thing, but, yes, to both.” She didn’t look at him.
“You gave him up for me,” he said in wonder, loving her so much it hurt.
She looked at him then, and smiled, but there was a funny look in her eyes. “I’d give up most anything for you, John Lee.”
The next couple weeks were a blur. A bunch of people talked to him: men in blue suits and tight-faced women in gray. He told them everything that happened and they went away to be replaced by others, but none of them would let him see Sue again. There was one lady he liked, who said she was a judge. He told her that his grandfather was a judge, but he died a long time ago. She asked him about everything and he told her. She had a kind voice and made the others behave the way Miss Mahan would.
“But, Your Honor,” one of the m
en said, pacing the floor of her office, “this child has killed a drunken sailor in a knife fight over a prostitute.”
The judge laughed pleasantly. “Really, Mr. Maley, there’s no need for exaggeration. You’re not addressing a jury. John was merely protecting himself when attacked. The man’s death resulted when he fell on his own knife.”
“You can’t deny he’s been living with a known prostitute. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t seduced him.”
“Please, Mr. Maley,” the judge frowned, displeased, “don’t speak that way in front of the child.”
“You saw those paintings! Disgusting!”
The judge stood up and began putting on her coat. “Artists have been painting nudes for several thousand years, Mr. Maley. You should see the collection in the Vatican. And these are very good paintings. I made the artist an offer for the nude myself. Come along, John. I’ll take you to dinner. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Dwayne came to see him one day, but John Lee would never have recognized him. He hadn’t seen him since he went away to the army seven years before. Dwayne was twenty-nine, big and good looking like all the Peacock men. He shook hands with John Lee, saying little, and went away after talking to the judge.
Aunt Rose and her husband flew out from Hawley. She touched him a lot and clucked a lot. Of course, she’d like to take care of him, him being the youngest son of her late sister and all, but the way things were, the economy and the cost of living and all, she just didn’t see how she could.
It was a terrible thing, her sister marrying into the Peacock family; such an unfortunate family. Poor Grace Elizabeth’s husband had died the same day she was buried; the very day John Lee had left on the bus. He had fallen off the tractor and been run over by his own plow. He had crawled almost all the way to the house before he bled to death. Such a tragic family, the Peacocks. Her sister had lost six of her children, five of them in infancy and poor Wash, Jr.