Granted, not every woman was a visual calamity. Not every man. Large pockets of fairgoers looked clean and fit, like hippie farmers or poetry-writing peaceniks—trademark Man-shire style. But rednecks held the majority. Apparently, the fair brought the backwater hicks to the forefront.
It occurred to Peg that, in this mass of humanity, she could very well be the only Jew. She clutched Ray’s hand at that frightening thought. There were more Jews in New York than in Israel. And in Vermont? Maybe five? Now six, counting her?
While Peg examined the crowd, she felt the sting and shame of her own snobbiness, not just about style but also sophistication. If she was going to live in Vermont, she’d have to get over that yesterday. Look at Linus. An Ivy-educated, intellectually inclined civil libertarian, he was best friends with Stan the sugar shack man. The Vermont ethos was acceptance and tolerance. And Peg would get started on developing hers right away. But first, she’d steer clear of the three-hundred-pound, bearded, sauce-stained slob heading her way with a rack of dripping ribs in his hand.
Ray said, “I want a bloomin’ onion. And then I want to go on that Ferris wheel and make out.”
“Can we make out before you eat the bloomin’ onion?” she asked. The vegetable in question, she had just learned, was an onion julienned into the shape of a flower, dipped in batter, deep-fried in bacon grease and served on a paper plate with spicy mayonnaise. The sight of it made Peg’s stomach lurch.
“I’ve got mints,” he said. Ray purchased his gassy treat, and they walked to the Ferris wheel. He ate as he walked, making “yummy” sounds.
They waited for a turn on the wheel. Ray ate most of the onion on line, and took the rest onto the ride. They asked for a private car. Ray winked at the conductor, who winked back. As soon as the herky-jerky process of loading all the ride’s cars was finished, they took off and up in circular flight.
Peg said, “I can see the clog dancers from here.”
“Kiss me, baby,” said Ray.
She did as she was told. They smooched cutely, lips and tongues, no heavy-duty grappling. It seemed a bit too lazy, too slow. Not Ray’s usual urgency. And then he stopped kissing her back at all. She pulled away, and saw to her shock and horror that Ray was out cold.
She slapped his cheeks. Pinched his leg. Nothing. He was still breathing, much to her relief. Peg checked her watch. It was about forty minutes since they’d left the house. Ray had been seated at the table near Wilma. He must have downed her Xanax-spiked cider when Peg, Tracy and Gloria left the room.
“Do you hate me? Am I evil? Do I deserve this kind of treatment?” Peg asked the heavens, fists shaking in fury. She sat in her creaky car at the tippy-top of the Ferris wheel, Ray slumped against her shoulder, snoring in staccato blasts like a duck, the remains of a bloomin’ onion squashed into his shirt.
Peg braced herself for the downswing. The wheel kept turning, fast enough to flip-flop her stomach. She looked at the throngs of people below, cramming the fairway. “And I didn’t even get a funnel cake,” she sighed to the breeze.
Ray slipped off her shoulder, and collapsed on the floor of the car, his head nudging open the little doors. Peg screamed, and pulled him back inside before he fell to his death, or got his cranium squashed by a spoke. When she found Tracy and Gloria later, she would have to kill them.
Do I see myself as someone who would murder her only two friends in this entire state? she wondered.
Strongly agree, if the murder was quick and painless.
The ride ended. Not a moment too soon, because Peg’s arms were getting tired from holding Ray upright. When the conductor stopped their car at the exit platform, Peg whimpered that she needed help.
The conductor sized up the situation, and helped her drag Ray out of the car, down the entrance steps and off to the side, where he lay Ray down on the dirt. With an apology, he returned to his duties at the ride. The people waiting on line to board the Ferris wheel watched the incident. Unlike a New York crowd, who would have glanced at Peg’s torment and then, with studied ennui, returned to their own conversations, the Vermonters gawked openly, pointing, laughing. A few hick kids got off the line, and circled Peg and Ray.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked a nine-year-old boy. “He’s drunk!” he answered for himself.
“He’s not drunk,” said Peg.
“He fainted,” said a little girl, maybe ten. “The ride was too much for him. Or maybe he’s got vertigo.”
“He might have narcolepsy,” said another boy. “We’ve got a narcoleptic cow. You can tell when she falls asleep because she stops chewing.”
Peg said, “He’s not narcoleptic. And he doesn’t have vertigo. At least, I don’t think he does.”
The children nodded silently, trying to come up with another possible explanation for a grown man losing consciousness on a sissy ride.
“Maybe he’s pretending,” said the first boy, nudging Ray with his sneaker.
The other kids said, “Yeah!” and joined in with the prodding of prostrate Ray.
Peg said, “Stop that!” The kids were laughing now. “I’m calling a cop.”
“No need, ma’am,” said a baritone voice.
The kids ran back to their parents on the Ferris wheel line. Peg looked up at the voice. It was a cop. Middle-aged, sunglasses at dusk, stuffed into a cardboard-brown-colored uniform, fully loaded with hat, billy club, gun, walkie-talkie. He was holding a corn dog in one hand. The other rested gently on his holster.
She said, “Those children were harassing my friend.”
“What do we have here?” asked the cop, pointing at Ray with his corn dog.
What to say? He’d been drugged with prescription sedatives? That might lead to more questions, which she didn’t want to answer. For all she knew, this country cop might haul her in to his station house, and she’d never see the light of day again. It’d be like Midnight Express, but not in Turkey. In Sunbridge.
Peg said, “He’s drunk.”
The cop—“Officer A. M. Call,” read the stitching on his shirt pocket—said, “This is a dry fair, ma’am. If he’s drunk, I’ll have to search you both and confiscate your alcohol. And give you a fine.” His gun hand reached behind to his back pocket. He whipped out a mini-clipboard with silver hoops. The ticket pad.
“He’s not drunk. I lied,” said Peg. “He’s a vertiginous narcoleptic.”
“A what?” asked the cop, getting a pen from his front shirt pocket.
“He gets dizzy. And sleepy. Suddenly. Without cause.”
“He’s dizzy,” said the cop. “And sleepy.”
“Exactly. Without cause.”
“I know the cause,” said Officer Call. “He’s drunk. Fine for being publicly intoxicated at dry fair is four hundred dollars.” Corn dog propped in his mouth, he started filling out the ticket form.
“He’s not drunk!” said Peg. “Test him! You’ll see.”
“If you want to contest this fine, you can take it up with the county registrar in White River Junction. Call the number on the ticket to schedule a hearing.”
Peg said, “I can’t help feeling like you’re giving me an unusually high fine because I’m from out of state. I’ve heard that this happens. You’re trying to drive flatlanders out of the area with trumped-up charges.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Officer Call. “For sharing it, I’ll have to charge you with disorderly conduct. Fine of two hundred dollars.”
She turned toward the people on line at the Ferris wheel. They were all watching and listening. Some seemed sympathetic. But, for the most part, the Vermonters were grinning, enjoying this part of the evening’s entertainment.
This wasn’t a fair. It was an unfair. This “officer” should be fired for extortion.
“You should be fired for extortion,” said Peg, exercising her constitutional right to free speech. “I’m going to schedule a hearing. And the judge is going to get an earful from me.”
“That’s nice. When you see J
udge Call, tell her that her nephew Artemis says hello,” he said. “Name.”
“Peg Silver,” she spit.
“Address,” he said.
How to answer that one? “I have a farm in Manshire, but I haven’t moved in yet.”
“Address where you’re staying,” he said.
“I’m not sure of the exact address,” she said, making this process a difficult as possible for the bastard.
“Describe the place,” said the cop.
“It’s a big Federal on River Road in Manshire. Right before the bridge into New Hampshire.”
Officer Call stopped writing. He looked at her, and then at Ray. “Linus Bester’s?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” said the cop. “You’re that topless girl I turned the SuperLight on last week on the boat dock at Dartmouth. And this fellow is the one who said I had no balls.”
“That was you?” asked Peg. “Small valley.”
“You have no idea,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“I look a lot different with my clothes on?”
The crowd laughed. Officer Call pointed his corn dog at them. They stopped laughing.
He said, “Since you’re a friend of Linus’s, I’ll let you off—this time.” He ripped the tickets off his pad and put them in his pocket. Officer Call ate the remainder of his corn dog in one big bite. While chewing, he bent down and lifted Ray in his arms, carrying him like a sleeping child toward the parking lot. Peg hurried to keep up.
The cop said, “Where’s your car?”
“Mention the name Linus Bester and I get out of jail free?” she asked.
“That’s right,” said the officer. “Plus a police escort back to Manshire.”
Peg couldn’t find her Subaru in the parking lot full of other Subarus. She had to use her nifty remote to locate the car. Officer Call loaded Ray into the passenger side and buckled him in. Peg got in the driver’s side and followed the cop in her car as he walked toward his vehicle—a blue Subaru with the words “Manshire Sheriff” painted in white. Then she followed him back to the Federal.
They both pulled into the driveway. Out of his car window, Officer Call said, “Need help getting him inside?”
Peg said, “You’ve done enough. Thank you.”
“Tell Linus that Artemis says hello.”
Peg nodded. “Tell me the truth,” she said. “You were giving me that trumped-up ticket just because I’m from New York.”
Sheriff Call said, “New York? I thought you were from New Jersey.” Then he drove off into the night.
New Jersey?
Peg had never been so insulted in all her life.
Chapter 24
Peg opened all the car windows. She’d have to leave Ray in the car for now. As she adjusted the seat down for his comfort, she examined him. Great body. But, in sleep, his slackened face lost its allure. Without the gooey toffee eyes, and the mischievous curve of his lips, Ray looked blank, almost unrecognizable.
It was just seven o’clock. The drugs would wear off in a few hours. She’d come back at ten and get him out of the car. She went inside, glad that ordeal was over. Peg was curious, too, about what was going on with Linus and Wilma. She would love to catch a few snippets of their conversation. Spying would be wrong, of course. And Peg so wanted to be right. She made her presence known upon entry by yelling a big hello to the house.
No hello back.
In the living room, Peg found Linus dead asleep on the couch. Wilma wasn’t in sight.
Linus drank the Xanax cider, which explained his condition. But where was Wilma? Peg called out again. No response. Her hostess had either gone out, or was sequestered in her room.
Peg looked down at Linus on the couch. Even knocked flat by Xanax, he smiled in his sleep. Peg could imagine waking up to a smile every day. That would be a pleasant start to the morning.
The sight of a sleeping man had always made Peg’s heart tight. Linus’s face in slumber took on a beautiful softness. She adored the upturned corners of his mouth. She leaned down and, with two fingers, pulled his lips into a frown. As soon as she let go, the happy tilt bounced back. Peg tried again. Linus dopily brushing her hand away. The contact of his fingers gave Peg an illicit jolt.
She wanted to touch him, she realized. She was burning to. How bizarre, she thought. Usually, Peg’s desire was reactive. Her boyfriend (at the time) would look at her in a certain way, whisper how much he wanted her, and her passion was stoked to full blast. Case in point: Ray.
And yet here she stood, over Linus’s vulnerable, prostrate body, reacting to nothing, and her pulse was skipping through her veins. This was active desire. She liked the clarity of it. The purity.
There was just enough room for Peg to sit next to Linus’s sprawled body on the couch, so she did. She put her hand flat on his chest, feeling his lungs inflate and deflate. She touched the pulse point on his neck, his skin toasty. Peg quickly glanced around the room. What she was doing? With Linus in his state of defenselessness, it was a violation, a crime, probably. She had no right.
Did she see herself as someone who’d molest an unconscious man? she wondered.
Strongly disagree. Vehemently disagree. With all her moral fiber, she disagreed.
Peg next tickled Linus’s bare arms. They weren’t as muscular as she usually liked. Hardly anything about Linus was what she usually liked. She edged her knuckles against his rough cheeks. In his sleep, he smiled wider and sighed. Peg placed her hand over his heart, registering the clip-clomp under her palm.
She didn’t dare touch him below the belt. This foray had already ventured as far into the perv realm as she ever wanted to go. But she might as well get an eyeful or him, if not a handful. Scanning the length of Linus’s torso, Peg remembered Wilma complaining (complaining!) that his cock was too large. Peg assessed the area. Was it her imagination, or did she see movement under his shorts? Linus mumbled unintelligibly. Was he waking up? Fearing the worse, Peg started to rise off the couch.
She didn’t move fast enough. Suddenly, Linus grabbed her, pulling her on top of him, grappling her across his chest. He nuzzled her neck and bit gently on her shoulder.
One of his knees got between her legs, one hand on the small of her back, pushing her hard against him. His other hand was around her neck, holding her tightly in place. The nibbles on her neck, the leg between hers, Linus’s chest squashing her tits. And, blammo, Peg came, gasping, with a lightning rod to the groin.
Peg had never come like that before. Not fully dressed, in five seconds, with a man who was sound asleep.
She scrambled to free herself and ran across the room. Her head swung to the left and right, searching for Wilma, Ray, any witnesses. Finding none, she loped upstairs to her room and locked the door. She set her alarm for ten, when she’d check on Ray, and turned off the lights. Hours before she fell asleep, Peg lay on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling, shaking from the inside, Linus’s hand- and lip-prints burning against her skin.
“There’s something wrong with my alarm clock,” said Peg the next morning. “I meant to check on you, but it never went off.”
At the breakfast table, Ray said, “Look at my face!”
“I’m so sorry,” said Peg.
“The swelling should go down,” said Ben. “In a few days.”
Ray had spent the night in Peg’s car, the windows down. He’d become a feasting ground for every mosquito in the Upper Valley. Big red welts covered his neck, collarbone and hairline. Little bumps ran up and down his arms and legs. A whopper had caused his eyelid to swell.
“What can I do?” asked Peg.
“You’ve done enough,” Ray barked. “I wish I knew why I passed out.”
“It was the bloomin’ onion,” said Tracy. “That much grease will flatten anyone.” That made Ben laugh. Tracy joined him.
Ray said, “I don’t think this is funny.”
“It’s just a few mosquito bites,” said Gloria, munc
hing Grape Nuts.
“I’d say over two hundred,” said Luke, breaking his vow of silence.
That made Tracy and Ben giggle again. Peg said, “You two must have had a good time last night.”
Tracy nodded. “We rode the Tilt-A-Wheel ten times. And the Pirate Pendulum. And the Hurl-A-Coaster.”
The two new chums proceeded to relive their thrill rides. Linus and Wilma came out of their bedroom. Peg hadn’t realized they were still in there. Wilma looked bright, fresh, rested and alert. Linus seemed okay. The sight of him made Peg blush furiously.
Linus sat down at the table. “Everyone had fun last night?” he asked.
Grumbles from Ray, silence from Peg and hearty agreement from Tracy and Ben. Gloria and Luke merely nodded.
Linus asked Ray, “What’s wrong with your face?” “Mosquitoes.”
Leaning in for a closer look at Ray’s eye, Linus said, “Two pincer marks. That’s the work of an earwig.”
“I was bit on the eye by an earwig?”
Tracy and Ben laughed again.
Ray said to Ben, “If you’d passed out on the Hurl-A-Coaster, I doubt you’d be yukking it up this morning.”
Linus said, “There’s a tube of Cortizone cream in the men’s bathroom.” To the group, he announced, “We have a couple of special guests coming to talk to you this afternoon. We’ll meet on the back porch at two.”
“Anything scheduled before then?” asked Peg.
“Nope,” said Linus.
“Shouldn’t we be Inward Bounding?” she said. “I propose that you conduct individual evaluation sessions. I volunteer to go first.”
Linus said, “At the end of week two, once we’ve finished the interpersonal exercises, we typically plan for a free day or two to catch your breath and reflect on your experiences.”
The Girlfriend Curse Page 17